LITTLE BOY LOST
===============
When Phil moved into Detective Sergeant Keith Hatch's house on the Finsbury Park side of Islington, London, England, he brought with him a vast array of what Keith, had he not been so much in love with him, would have called 'junk'.
As it was the plaster dogs of unlikely breeds which looked as if they had been won from a fairground stall - and probably had, the silhouettes of Regency ladies in their gilt frames, the ruched table lamps in matching shades of mauve and purple, he thought of as 'charming'.
While Phil himself of course was - alluring, enchanting, fascinating, ravishing, seductive, tempting - in fact - irresistible.
The tender way he looked at him, the way he tossed back the lock of unruly blond hair out of his wide, seemingly so innocent eyes, his slim waist and hips, his long legs that went all the way to his arse - that arse, two perfect gloves with a cleft that led to Paradise. The scent of him. a sweetness that owed more to youth and good health than to anything out of a bottle. His passionate kisses, the gasps he made when he came.
Overall his intense devotion.
But for Keith the most liberating thing was the relief from loneliness. He had not realised, ever since he had broken up with Alan back in Feltenham, how much he had missed the company of someone in the evenings either out perhaps at the Clubs or staying in in front of the telly, at night in the big double bed they had bought together, silent and sleepy over the breakfast coffee and cornflakes. Someone to moan to about his work with the Police Gay Community Liaison Force at the end of a long, tiring day, sitting comfortably close together on the sofa, and listening to the trivial but entertaining gossip which Phil brought back from his job at Tescoes.
Keith was, he realised, an uxorious creature and in these new circumstances was very happy. He hoped Phil was as well.
Even his governor, Inspector Sheridan, at Islington Police Station noticed the difference.
"You've mellowed, Keith," he said. "You've lost that strained, searching look you always had."
And Detective Constable Peter Lippett dared his Sergeant's wrath by saying, "Married life suits you, Sarge!" He did get a playful clip round the ear for his pains though.
Life had settled into a routine, a pleasantly satisfying one and Keith was therefore more than a little disturbed when he was called into Inspector Sheridan's office on Monday June 24th to find his governor looking at a piece of paper.
"Ah Keith," he said, "your friend, Inspector Newman, it seems requires your services down at Feltenham."
"Newman, sir!" said Keith. "But he hates gays. It was he who told me I'd have to leave Feltenham because there was no future for me there."
"Be that as it may, it seems that he requires your special abilities. There's been a kidnapping, a young boy apparently, and he thinks it's some paedophile who's done it. Newman wants someone who has a special knowledge of the Feltenham gay scene to make enquiries down there. Seems he's drawn a blank with his investigation. He asks if you can be seconded down there for a week."
"Must be really desperate," observed Keith wryly. "I haven't been to Feltenham for nearly eighteen months now. I'd be really out of touch."
"But you do know someone down there who could bring you up to date," suggested Sheridan.
"Alan Forrest!"
He hadn't seen Alan since last year's Gay Pride March when he had come up to London and helped him to catch a pair of gay-bashers, since in fact the week in which he had first met Phil. He and Alan though had kept in touch with occasional phone calls. Keith had told him about Phil and the information had been received with a slight chilliness - or perhaps Keith had imagined this, after all Alan had had his chance to come up to London with Keith, had been asked twice in fact but each time had refused, perhaps had not had the courage to make the break with his home town.
"I've got quite a big work load on at the moment, sir," Keith said. He didn't really want to go.
"Yes," said Sheridan. "I checked, but nothing Lippett and the rest can't take over. He's a bright lad is young Peter. You should delegate a bit more. I don't think we can refuse D.I. Newman's request."
Keith bowed to the inevitable. "I'll go down at the weekend, sir."
"Tomorrow, Sergeant," said Inspector Sheridan. "Wednesday at the latest."
Keith wondered how he was going to break the news to Phil. Would he be disappointed, angry, or worse, sulky?
Phil was in the kitchen, whistling a currently popular song. "Hi, lover," he called out as Keith came in. Onions were frying gently in a pan together with courgettes, tomato slices, red and green peppers. Appetizing smells filled the air. "Spanish omelette," he announced.
"Ole," said Keith, kissing him on the nape of his neck where the hair grew in a soft M shape.
"Which do you want, supper or sex?" asked Phil.
In a brief but clear flash of memory Keith remembered the last time he had had sex with Alan. It had been here, in the kitchen, over this very work-surface, this time last year.
"Both," he said, "but not at the same time. I'll open a bottle of wine."
Phil cracked open four eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a fork. He seasoned with sea salt and ground black pepper. Then he tipped the mixture into the frying pan where it sizzled and started to firm around the vegetables. Keith opened a bottle, the cork coming out with a gentle plop. He put the wine down to breathe and then went behind Phil again, holding him round the waist, the boy's back against his chest and loins.
"I'm sorry but I've got to go down to Feltenham," Keith said. He waited anxiously for Phil's reaction. It wasn't any of those he expected. Phil twisted round to face him. Instead of a frown or a sulky grimace, a smile spread across his face. Now they were front to front and Keith could feel Phil's erection against his own.
"Great," he said. "I'll come with you. Always wanted to see this Feltenham you keep talking about. Dorset is it?"
"Gloucestershire. Cotswold country. But your job?"
Phil shrugged. "I've been meaning to give it up for a long time. No future. I'll get something better when we get back." He pushed him away, gently. "Hang on," he said. "We'll have to eat first, The food will spoil else."
Keith kissed him on the mouth.
"Spoilsport," he said. "Go on then, chef. The other can wait, I guess."
After the wine was finished, Phil lay back in the chair and sighed contentedly. Keith glanced down at the bulge in Phil's white chinos. It seemed to invite closer inspection. One of his trouser legs was rucked up to mid calf and Keith knelt on the floor in front of him, placing his hand on the bare flesh just below Phil's knee. Then slowly he ran his hand up the leg, under the hem up to the soft warm skin of his thigh. Phil shivered with anticipation and opened his legs wider to allow greater access. At the top in the crotch Keith's finger tips encountered the softness of underwear and within it the smooth circumference of Phil's testicles.
With his other hand he felt the erect cock inside the trousers, a hard shaft against his palm and he squeezed it softly before reaching up to the waistband and undoing the fastener. The top of the trousers opened and Keith took hold of the zip between forefinger and thumb and started to draw it slowly down, aroused as the swelling in the boy's white underwear was revealed, ample evidence of even more pleasures yet to come.
He edged Phil's trousers over his slim hips, down his muscled legs and the erect cock under the briefs was close to his face. He drew the stimulating scent of the boy's cock deep into his nostrils. Keith extended his tongue until it touched the briefs where they covered though hardly hid the silhouette of Phil's rigid cock. He tasted thr erotic mix of soft underwear, warm from a day's wear, boy sex and a hint of sweat and Keith opened his mouth wide and took hold of as much as he could of the boy's erection.
With his right hand he grasped the boy's balls, softly wrapped as they were in the clinging cotton and he fondled them gently as he licked the material until it was transparent.
Then slowly and deliberately he started to draw the briefs down over Phil's hips, easing the waist band over the head of the erect cock. Once free the shaft sprang upwards, the glans shiny with his own spittle, a small drop of clear liquid forming at the top.
Gently with the tip of his tongue he tasted the globule and then traced the vein which ran down the underside of the shaft. Phil shivered at the intense feeling. Keith's hand cupped his ballsack and then crept its way underneath, his fingers inching along the perineum, that sensitive area of skin between the underside of the balls and the cleft of his arse. His middle finger found, and pierced, the hole that led to delight.
Phil's cock twitched and Keith took the tip of the head inside his mouth. It felt warm and smooth, and he opened his mouth further letting his lips slide down the full length towards where the soft hair sprouted at the base, his tongue massaging the head, winding itself round the erect rod. Phil moaned with pleasure, and began to move his body up and down, transfixed as it was on the finger up the centre of his being, sliding his cock in and out of Keith's mouth then thrusting it in a steady but increasing rhythm. He panted and gasped as Keith was able to fit even more of him inside, his cock going further and further back into the throat with each thrust.
Phil without warning grabbed the back of Keith's head with both hands and pulled it into his crotch. His balls were against Keith's chin, and the hair around the base of his cock was pressing against his nose.
Phil threw his head back, his mouth open. "I'm going to cum," he cried, and once again began thrusting in and out. Keith suddenly felt the cock jerk and begin to pulse. He sucked even more fiercely and Phil let out a groan, holding Keith's head where it was so that the pulsing cream shot into his mouth and throat.
After a while Phil said, "Now it's your turn."
Later that evening Keith gave Alan a ring.
As always - even now immediately after glorious sex with Phil - he still felt a jolt when he heard Alan's voice. And there was still the gladness in Alan's tone when he recognised Keith's voice.
"Hi, stranger," he said. "How's life?"
"Oh you know. Up and down."
There would have been a time when Alan would have followed this with a flirty, suggestive comment full of innuendo and double entendre but since Phil that had ceased. Keith respected his consideration but obscurely rather regretted the absence.
"I'm coming down to Feltenham," he said. "Apparently Newman wants some help with a case and he thinks I'm the gay needed. Probably the only one he knows."
"He's got Police Constable Colin Carey," said Alan, "but he's still closet. It'll be great to see you. You want to stay here?"
"Phil will be coming down with me," said Keith.
There was a pause, not long enough to read too much into it but long enough to notice. Then Alan's voice again. "That'll be OK," he said. "I can sleep in the spare bed. You two can have my double."
Keith felt uncomfortable. "Are you sure?" he said. "I don't want to turn you out."
"Course," said Alan. "No problem at all. You're not staying for more than six months are you? It'd be stupid to have to put up at the Imperial Hotel. You proles wouldn't appreciate the luxury anyway."
"If you're sure," said Keith. "It'll certainly help as I'll need your expert knowledge of the scene." He tried to cover his embarrassment with a joke. "You are still in touch with the gay scene I trust?"
"As often as possible, darling."
When Keith and Phil arrived the following morning, 8.25 from Paddington, reaching Feltenham 10.14, Alan picked them up from the station in his rather decrepit blue Ford Cortina of which he seemed inordinately proud. He had passed the driving test - another success he had achieved alone, or at least without the help of Keith - two months before. Phil and Alan eyed each other with the wary suspicion of two tom cats in an unexpected roof-top, night-time encounter, presumably wondering what on earth Keith had seen in the other.
Keith introduced them and on the short journey to the flat could not help but notice Alan giving Phil, sprawled on the back seat, appraising glances through the driving mirror.
For a moment Keith thought the two might have been brothers but then he realised that it was only their youth and high spirits that were similar. Physically there were many differences. Alan's hair was darker, his eyebrows were thicker, his nose straighter without the little tilt at the end which gave Phil such a cheeky, appealing look. Alan's chin was a little firmer, his smile broader. He suddenly noticed how strong and capable the hands on the driving wheel looked.
They climbed up the three flights of stairs to Keith's old flat in Cadogan Square, which Alan had taken over and which seemed to have altered little since Keith had left. The furniture was a little different but the decoration was unchanged and the bedroom, in which he and Alan had spent so many sex-filled nights, looked exactly the same. Not for the first time Keith wondered whether he had done the right thing in accepting Alan's offer of accommodation.
Alan still worked at Geraldo's CDs, the music shop on the High Street, but as he worked all day Saturday he was entitled to a weekday off. So he was free on Tuesday to look after his guests. Conversation was a bit strained until Keith raised the subject of Feltenham's gay life.
Phil seemed to become suddenly enthusiastic and Alan was obviously pleased to chatter about who was going out with whom, where the latest pick-up places were, the gossip from the Olympia - which largely concerned the doings of the barman, Nick and whether or not the lead singer of 'Triple Bypass', the group appearing at the local (straight) night club was or was not gay. Alan thought he was, Phil thought not. Keith who had never even heard of the group pretended to be uncommitted.
He had to go into the Police Station to see Inspector Newman, so he left the two 'children' as he privately thought of them, bickering amicably about the comparative virtues of the latest designer outfits with Alan volunteering to show Phil round the shops that afternoon while Keith did his duty.
"Glad you could make it, Hatch," said Detective Inspector Newman, a large fat man imprisoned in what always appeared to be a slightly too small uniform. He had a habit of making statements like that even though the recipient had not had any choice in the matter. He peered at Keith from behind his desk with what could be disapproval, if not active dislike, and was overcoming the feeling only with difficulty.
"If I can help in any way," said Keith vaguely.
"The boy," said Newman, "Jason Phillips, seven years old - "
"Phelps," suggested Keith.
"What? Oh yes, Jason Phelps - " He referred to a file open on the desk in front of him. " - was last seen in the kids' playground last Wednesday afternoon. The mother - divorced woman, single parent - " he made that sound like a crime in itself " - knew he was there but didn't in fact go to fetch him until just after 5 o'clock. When she did arrive, the boy was no longer there."
It sounded a familiar story. Keith wasn't sure why he had been summoned though.
"Two witnesses saw a man watching the boys playing. Had a peculiar look in his eyes."
Keith felt a sudden spurt of anger. So a man watching some kids playing had to be a gay man, a paedophile who would no doubt lust after the boy, subject him to disgusting sexual practices then kill him! He nearly expressed his objection but prudence won. It might after all be the case. Had happened before - too often unfortunately.
"We don't seem to be able to get much further. Mother seems to be holding something back. Witnesses - well I can't be sure - but I think they know more than they say. Wondered whether a - " he paused, obviously not sure of the right term to use - "someone special like you," he compromised, "could - er - help us along a bit."
"I'll see what I can do of course, sir," said Keith, "but . . ."
"Good man," said Inspector Newman, obviously not wishing to hear any objections. "Now who can we get on the team? Sergeant Wilkes, you'll know her of course, is already on the case. A PC to do the plodding work. It was Harrison but he's off sick, I understand." He paused as if to think of someone else suitable.
"Could I have P.C. Carey, in plain clothes of course?" asked Keith. We gays should stick together.
"Carey?" said Newman as if he had never heard of the name. He obviously was shuffling it around in the pigeon-holes of his mind. Eventually it found a suitable resting place. "Ah yes, Carey! Good choice! I'll organise that."
"Thank you, sir," said Keith and prepared to get up and leave.
"You'll report anything of importance directly to me of course," said Newman and waved his hand in dismissal.
After his interview with Inspector Newman, Keith sat in Sergeant Petra Wilkes' office and sipped tea, after refusing 'something stronger'. He thought he would need all his wits about him to cope with 'the children' later that evening.
"What's Mrs Phelps like?" he asked.
Petra Wilkes, brisk, efficient, short-curly brown hair and intelligent eyes, thought for a moment, then spoke. "Worried, harassed, too many responsibilities, too little money. She said she thought someone else, a neighbour, was looking after the kid in the Park."
"Newman said he thought she might have been hiding something."
"How would he know?" said Petra Wilkes disloyally. "He's never even seen her. There are parts of her life she clams up on certainly. Like her marriage. It ended a couple of years ago. She says 'incompatibility' but could possibly be 'abuse'."
"Have you seen the father?"
"Can't find him. He left the area after the divorce, according to Mrs Phelps and wasn't at the last address he gave. He seems to send some money fairly regularly but generally no forwarding address. He obviously doesn't seem to bear a grudge but doesn't want to be located. The mother got custody."
The poor woman, thought Keith, worried out of her mind. Not knowing what to do next, fearing the worst, praying for the best, probably blaming herself for not looking after the boy.
"If you think she's hiding something, perhaps you'd better have another go at her," he suggested. "I don't think my 'special talents' run in that direction."
Petra Wilkes smiled.
There was a knock on the door. Constable Colin Carey, tall, blond, softly-spoken, deliberate in all his movements, came in. Keith noticed that, since the last time he had seen him, he had shaved off his moustache. It made him look younger and more attractive.
"Keith," he said, and sounded genuinely pleased to see him. "Sorry, I mean Detective Sergeant Hatch! How's London life treating you?"
"Keith'll do. I'm only down here for the week and I don't think discipline will suffer too much," said Keith. "Anyway we'll get all muddled up with Sergeant Wilkes. How are you, Colin?"
"The guvnor says you asked for me to work with you. It's going to be good doing a real job for a change - rather than traffic duty or Police Constable Plod showing the flag on the street corner."
Keith had felt slightly guilty that he had suspected Colin of outing him to Inspector Newman and now felt pleased that his request had met with such obvious gratitude.
"What about these two witnesses?" asked Keith. "The ones who saw some man watching the kids?"
Petra Wilkes said, "One's a mother whose own child was in the Park. She noticed this man watching the kids from outside the railings. Couldn't describe him except to say he had dark hair and was wearing jeans and some sort of dark bomber jacket."
"The other one was a man, David Kingsley - " sitting opposite to Carey, Keith saw him give an obvious start at the mention of the name though he tried to cover it up by scratching his ear as if struck by a sudden irritation " - who was taking his dog for a walk when it got involved in a little fracas with some other dog. Apparently he noticed this other man because he didn't take his eyes off the kids even though the two dogs were going at it hammer and tongs."
"I think I'd like a little chat with Mr Kingsley," said Keith.
"I don't think there's much more to be got out of him," said Petra Wilkes,
"I have a hunch," said Keith. "I'll take Colin and see what we can find."
Wilkes nodded. "I'll see Mrs Phelps but I've got some paperwork to catch up on first." She grimaced. "You know how keen the guvnor is on reports etc."
"How far away does this Kingsley guy live?" asked Keith as he and Colin went downstairs.
"Other side of town," said Colin. "I'll organise a car."
"You know him, don't you?"
"Might have come across the name," said Colin vaguely.
"Come on, Colin. You don't have to hide it from me. Alan's told me about you."
"So you know about Alan and me?"
It took only a second for the import of that to sink in. "Well, I didn't know that - not until now," said Keith, "but I know you're gay. Don't worry I won't let it out. I can well understand your wanting to keep quiet about it - especially with a guvnor like Newman."
While Colin went to fetch the car, Keith thought about the news he had just heard. So Alan had had sex with Colin. Not that there was any reason why he should object. He and Alan had broken up by the time that had happened. He had no influence over Alan's behaviour. Just because he (Keith) had abstained from sex for months following the breakup did not mean that Alan should have done the same.
All the same he felt confusingly a little hurt. He tried to dismiss the feeling after all he did have Phil now - and they were very much in love. He went out through the swing doors into the courtyard outside where Colin was waiting in the car.
The air was warm and smelled much cleaner than the polluted London atmosphere which Keith had now grown used to. The plane trees along the side of the road were in full leaf. Summer was just around the corner if not already turning it.
"So Alan told you about us," said Colin.
"Well he didn't give a blow by blow account," said Keith shortly. He hoped Colin wasn't going to pursue the subject ad nauseam. "Now come clean about this Kingsley character. You do know him don't you?"
"Yes," admitted Colin. "I recognised the name immediately. He is gay. We've had sex so I know that for sure."
"OK, that's fine," said Keith. "Now he's obviously going to recognise you when we talk to him. Do you have a problem with that?"
"Are you going to tell him you're gay?"
"Sure! That's the reason I'm down here."
They drove through town, the pavements busy with shoppers. An occasional beggar sat propped against a wall, some receptacle or other hopefully opened in front of him. A boy on roller blades zigzagged dangerously through the crowd.
"It won't be a problem," said Colin after a pause. Then "Talk of the devil. There's Alan! Wow. Look who he's with. What a dish!"
The two boys were just coming out of an expensive looking clothes Boutique, Phil clutching a plastic bag. They looked happy and were in animated conversation, smiling, looking very youthful and unworldly. Keith suddenly felt rather old.
"That," he said, "is my latest, and you can keep your grubby little paws - and any other part of your anatomy off him!"
"Yes, Sarge," said Colin. Keith thought he heard the words 'You lucky bastard' whispered under his breath.
David Kingsley lived in a small house in a terraced row on the other side of Town to the Police Station. Originally brick Victorian workers' cottages, they had been smartened up with a facade of stucco and painted various pastel colours which gave them a vaguely Mediterranean appearance. Most had tiny neat gardens with scarlet geraniums in front though Kingsley's looked a bit overgrown as if he was only a half-hearted gardener but the windows were clean and the net curtains white.
Colin rang the bell. This was immediately followed by a furious outbreak of barking, several ineffective shouts of 'Quiet, Doris' and eventually the door opened.
A youngish, middle-aged man holding a large black Labrador which, once the door was opened, looked more embarrassed - probably by her name - than dangerous.
The man smiled when he saw Colin but looked less pleased when he saw the figure of Keith standing behind him. Keith stepped forward and showed him his warrant card. "Sergeant Hatch," he said, "and you know Police Constable Carey."
David Kingsley looked worried.
"Can we come in, Mr Kingsley? We'd like to ask just a few questions about the man you saw in the Park, the day the boy disappeared."
Kingsley stepped back, still holding the dog's collar. He indicated a door to the right of the tiny hall and all three went into the front room. A settee, two arm chairs, a brown carpet and two green rugs to match the dark green curtains at the windows. There were some pictures on the walls, group photographs mostly, covering quite a long period of time. Some very serious five year olds looked out from one faded group, a smiling squad of army cadets in another, a group of what looked like teachers, very sports jacket and patched elbows.
The dog gave a breathy sigh and slumped down on one of the rugs. Kingsley indicated the chairs and perched himself uneasily on the edge of the sofa.
"We think you know a little more about this man than you've told us so far," said Keith.
Kingsley's eyes shifted. He seemed unwilling - or unable - to meet Keith's.
"I've told you all I know," he said. "I saw the man. Some horrid little Jack Russell terrier attacked Doris. The man didn't even stop looking at the boys. That's all I can tell you."
"How did you know he didn't look at the dogs? Surely you weren't watching him all the time."
Kingsley didn't seem to know how to answer that. "No - well - obviously I didn't - er - I had to separate the dogs of course . . . "
"Now come on, Mr Kingsley, it's truth time," said Keith. "I'm actually with the Police Gay Liaison Force in London and I've been sent down here to help with the case - if there is a 'gay' dimension. I am gay. You know Colin Carey is as well. Is there anything else you can tell us about this man you saw in the Park."
David Kingsley looked almost relieved.
"Well to tell the truth, yes there is," he said. "I knew the man. He certainly was gay. I - "he looked a little uncomfortable here but carried on nevertheless " - picked him up in the cottage, you know the one by Imperial Street and we had sex. I never knew his name though. I think he said 'Call me John' but that was all - and I never talked to him or even met him again. Not until I saw him in the Park."
"When was this, Mr Kingsley? When you picked him up?"
"Some time ago. Last autumn it must have been. September? October probably."
"Now we're wondering," said Keith, "if this man could possibly have kidnapped the boy. It's a bit embarrassing for you but could you tell us if there was anything odd about the sex you had with him."
"Oh no," said Kingsley, seemingly not embarrassed at all, now that the whole story was coming out. "He sucked me off and then he fucked me, safely of course. He seemed to enjoy it. I certainly did. I'd never have thought he'd be turned on by little boys."
"Yet he was watching the kids playing in the Park, watching then so closely that even when your dog, Doris, got into this fight with another dog, he didn't even look." Doris looked up at her name and then lay down again.
"That's right," said Kingsley. "Of course I didn't watch him all the time but I swear he never took his eyes off that boy. I was trying to catch his attention you see. Hoped we might have a re-run."
"OK," said Keith. "Now is there anything you can tell us about the man. What did he look like? Have you ever seen him in any of the Clubs, the Olympia for instance. Have you ever seen him with anyone else you know?"
"He's tall," said Kingsley, indicating with his hand a height about six inches above his own head. "Dark hair, eyebrows very thick. They meet in the middle. Makes him look severe except when he smiles. About thirty I suppose. Good build, nice cock - all of - well six or seven inches."
Colin laughed.
"I don't think we can put details like that on our wanted poster," said Keith smiling.
"I had seen him once or twice before at the Olympia. Not with anyone in particular but he was chatting with the barman. You know, Nick."
"Oh yes," said Keith, "I know Nick. Right. Thank you, Mr Kingsley. If you should remember anything more about this 'John' - or hear anyone else talk about him, please get in touch." He patted the dog who who acknowledged by wagging its tail. He went out into the hall.
He heard Colin say a few words but couldn't hear what they were, before the other two joined him.
When they got back to the Station, Inspector Newman had gone - home said the Duty Sergeant, even though it was scarcely 3 o'clock. Perks of the job, thought Keith. Sergeant Wilkes was out, presumably interviewing Mrs Phelps. Colin Carey had some paper work to do and Keith sat around twiddling his thumbs for twenty minutes before deciding that he might as well go back to Alan's flat himself. He would, after all, be working that evening at the Olympia Club and was wasting his time just sitting in the Station.
Back at the flat, Alan opened the door.
"You're early," he said, looking surprised though pleased. "I thought it was Phil even though I'd lent him the spare key."
"Where is he?" asked Keith.
"He met someone he knew while we were in Town," said Alan. "Someone he'd met in London apparently. They were gossiping about Town matters, so I left them to it. He said he'd be back by six, which was when we were expecting you."
Keith felt a trifle disappointed. He had been looking forward to seeing Phil, perhaps going out with him, showing him some places that later they would be able to share together.
It was hot in the top floor flat right under the roof and the air, even though the windows were open, was close and stifling. Alan had stripped to a T-shirt and shorts. Keith noticed that his legs were tanned.
"How's the case?" asked Alan.
Keith though of a young boy, terrified, possibly in pain. A slight figure innocent and abused. He tried to put the picture from his mind. "Not good," he said. "A couple of leads but . . . "
"Let's go out," said Alan, realising that Keith didn't want to talk about it.. "We can take the car up to the Common. It'll be cooler up there."
"What about Phil?"
"He wasn't expecting you to get off work till six. Probably won't be back himself until then. Anyway, as I said, he's got a key. We can leave him a note if you want. Tell him to wash the lettuce for supper." Alan's tone had an almost triumphant note in it, as if he was pleased to be taking Keith away from the possibility of seeing Phil.
"OK," said Keith.
They climbed into the car, gasping at the heat inside and Alan 'ouching' as the plastic seat burned the back of his bare legs. He turned the air conditioning full on, opened all the windows as well as the sun roof and they set off, the old car grumbling slightly as it reached the steep hill outside town which led up to the top of Cudlip Hill and the Common.
He parked by the Golf Clubhouse and they got out and started down the track which led to the Common. There were a few golfers, serious looking individuals lugging their heavy golf bags and all looking as if they were doing the opposite of enjoying themselves.
Soon Keith and Alan reached a five-barred gate and were on the Common proper, its short tufted grass dotted with pink pyramid orchids, yellow rock rose and purple wild thyme. There was a breeze up here which cooled their sweat and blew Alan's slightly long hair around making it look dishevelled and attractive.
"This is where I found the body," he said suddenly after a short though companionable silence. "Two years ago. I've never come up here since."
For a moment Keith did not know what he was talking about but then the details came back to him, Alan's discovery of the body of a young boy, the other deaths, Alan's own escape from the killer. "I've never been up here at all," he said. "It was Colin Carey who first saw you, wasn't it?"
Alan took off his T-shirt. Keith noticed how his body had filled out. He had no longer the angular grace of the adolescent he had known. Now he was a young man with broad shoulders and a developed chest. Nevertheless he could still remember every inch of that body, could still trace in his mind the contours.
They walked across the grass till they came to a shallow depression, a saucer which caught the sunshine in a trap and sheltered them from the breeze. Alan sat down and then lay on his back. He shut his eyes against the glare of the sun. Keith sat by his side and looked at him, the thatch of blond hair, his closed eyes, the side of his nose, thrown into shadow by the sun, the Adam's apple bulge in his throat, the curve of his jawline, the curlicues of his ears, his chest, smooth and brown, the two dark pink nipples, the space between the broad chest muscles, then down to where a soft line of darker hair led from his umbilicus to disappear beneath the waist band of his light blue shorts.
Keith knew exactly what lay hidden beneath the material, knew the shape, the size, the colour, the smell, the taste, the potency, how it would spring to attention from the bush of springy hair that surrounded it. He felt his own cock stir.
"You saved my life," said Alan, without opening his eyes, "when that man was trying to force me into his car."
I could just kiss him, thought Keith. Here, out of sight of any casual passer by. But what would that lead to? "Only doing my duty, sir," he said forcing a jocular tone into his remark. "It's what we're supposed to do."
Alan sat up.
"Are you happy with Phil?" he asked looking at him. This was a new Alan, adult, responsible, caring, no longer the 'boy' whom Keith had lived with for such a comparatively short time but with whom he had been prepared to share his life.
"Yes, Alan," he said. "I am."
"We'd better be getting back, then," said Alan, jumping up. "Don't want the kid thinking he's been deserted." He turned to go.
"Alan," said Keith putting one hand on the ground to help himself up while the other reached out to take hold of Alan. "Ouch!" He had pushed his palm onto a dwarf thistle plant and the thorns had gone into his skin. "Shit! That hurt!"
"You want to be careful of stray pricks," said Alan.
Phil was indeed home when they got back. He was watching the TV and looked up a little askance at Alan's naked chest and tight shorts. Alan went into the bedroom to change.
"We've been up to the Common," said Keith. "It was so hot in the flat, we felt we needed some fresh air. Alan used to take his dog for walks up there."
"You've caught the sun," said Phil and kissed the bridge of Keith's nose where the sun had turned it slightly pink.
Keith felt a sudden surge of love for the boy. He knew how it would feel to lose him, to know he was in danger and there was nothing he could do to help. To sit worrying, like Mrs Phelps must be doing at this very moment.
"And where have you been all afternoon?" asked Keith.
"I met someone from London. Never realised he lived in Feltenham. We chatted, had a coffee, you know."
Keith who had heard this from Alan, waited for more but Phil did not elaborate.
"What do you say we go to the Olympia this evening?" said Keith. "I've got to anyway to ask some questions but you might find it amusing. Not up to the 'Jam Factory' or 'Clicks' standard, I'm afraid."
They had a meal which Phil called supper, Alan, tea and Keith thought of as dinner. Whatever it was called, it consisted of pasta and Alan's special 'sort of' bolognese sauce which brought all sorts of memories back to Keith - and a sad/pleasant feeling almost of home-sickness.
After the meal the 'boys' insisted that Keith change in the living room while they took over the bedroom. He could hear them giggling together. It didn't take him long though to pull on a pair of jeans and a green blouson shirt. He made a phone call to the nick but neither Colin Carey nor Sergeant Wilkes were there. He watched a bit of television.
At last they appeared. Keith gasped. They were both wearing striped tank tops and Versace culottes, bought during the morning's shopping spree. They posed at the doorway waiting for approval. "Sisters," they sang, "Sisters. There were never such devoted sisters."
My God, thought Keith. I am getting old.
Whether they had hoped to make a tremendous impression on the Club was unsure but they were to be a little disappointed. There were just three people propping up the bar, all according to Phil the wrong side of ninety. Music to dance round your handbag to was playing softly through loudspeakers.
"Very trendy," said Phil.
"It is only Tuesday," said Alan in extenuation. "It'll warm up later."
"At least there's Nick," said Phil. He stood behind the bar, dark-haired, mid thirties, an air of confidence, of always getting what he wanted, which had its own attraction.
"How do you know Nick?" asked Keith sharply.
"He's the friend I met this afternoon. I told you. He often comes up to London. We had a coffee."
"You didn't tell me his name," said Keith.
"Hi, darlings," called Nick from the bar as the three came over. "First drinks on the house."
Without asking them what they wanted, he took the tops off three bottles of beer and handed them over.
"Nice to see you, Alan, Phil and - er - I know the face." Was it possible, thought Keith, that he really didn't remember the person he had outed at the Police Station, caused so much grief, broken up a relationship.
"Sergeant Keith Hatch," said Keith formally, "of the Metropolitan Gay Liaison Special Force."
"Ah yes." For a moment he looked disconcerted, the confidence drained out of him, then it was back. "Ah yes, of course, Keith. What can I do for you?"
"I've a couple of questions I'd like to ask."
Nick nodded. "Shoot," he said.
"I think you know or knew someone we're looking for. His name is John."
Nick laughed. "So many," he said. "They're all Johns."
"About 30, dark hair, eyebrows meet in the centre. A tall man about 6' 2 or thereabouts."
"Oh. You mean Jonathon," said Nick. "Haven't seen him for months though. Suddenly stopped coming to the Club. Pity! Had my eyes on that one. Think he got himself into some sort of relationship. Never very good for trade, that." He smiled.
"Do you know his full name?"
"Oh yes. As a member of the Club we would have name and address but not of course necessarily true. Jonathon Price, he called himself. I know, same as the actor but could be kosher. Wait a minute, I'll tell you his address." He looked into a blue bound book on a shelf under the bar counter. "117 Wellington Street," he said.
The Club was filling up and Nick went off down the bar to serve.
Someone came up and stood behind Keith. It was Colin. "Hello, Alan," he said and looked at Phil.
"Didn't expect to see you here," said Keith, not introducing him. He turned away from the bar, drawing Colin with him.
"I've been round various gay spots this afternoon," said Colin. "Got several reports of our man but none recent. Seems to have stopped cottaging about six months ago."
"I've got a name and an address," said Keith. "Don't know how accurate it is though. Jonathon Price, 117 Wellington Street."
Colin frowned. "Well the address is dodgy for a start. Wellington Street is just round the corner from where I live. It's only short. I doubt whether there's more than eight or ten houses in the whole road."
"Shit!" said Keith. "I'm worried about the missing boy. It's been over a week now."
"If anything nasty's going to happen to him it'll be all over by now," said Colin. His eyes flickered to the bar and back. "You'd best to be worrying about your own 'boy' instead."
Phil was sitting on a stool at the bar, his arm lying along the surface. Nick had returned and as Keith watched, he saw the barman put his hand over Phil's. They seemed to be in animated conversation.
Keith felt a sudden spurt of jealousy rage shoot through him. Damn it. Was it always going to be like this? "He's a person in his own right," he said. "He's got to make his own decisions."
"Doesn't mean you should just stand by and let it happen," said Colin.
A burst of disco music though the speakers replaced the bland stuff of earlier.
Keith went over to Phil and put his hand on his shoulder. Phil turned and gave him a look of such sweetness, such affection that Keith's jealousy disappeared. "What are you doing?" he said lightly, "allowing another man to hold your hand?"
"Nick's a 'touchy/feely' person," said Phil. "He doesn't mean anything by it. Apart from friendship."
Keith doubted that but did not pursue the matter. "Whereas I am too anal-retentive?" He lowered his head so Phil's ear. "I'd like to touch you now," he whispered. "All over."
"Let's dance," said Phil, getting up and dragging Keith onto the small square of dance floor where a few couples were already gyrating enthusiastically. The lights dimmed and were replaced by flashing bursts of colour. They joined the madding crowd.
When Keith and Phil got back to the flat at about one o'clock in the morning, they were alone. Alan had gone home with Colin.
Phil flopped down on the sofa.
"Do you want anything?" asked Keith.
"What do you think?" answered Phil, leaning back in the chair. Keith could see the outline of his cock through the cotton material of his culottes. It was obvious he was not wearing underwear.
Keith lifted the tank top and ran his hand over Phil's back and down around his waist. His touch was gentle and caressing. Then he took his own shirt and pulled it over his head, returned to Phil, feeling his strong chest, his fingers touched a nipple and he stroked and continued to kiss. He removed the top and while Phil lay slightly back, ran his tongue over his torso and belly. Keith put his hand on Phil's culottes and explored.
He stood up, unzipped and pulled his own jeans down, and the Phil stared at the bulge in the underpants. "I want that in me," he said. He reached forward and pulled them down. His penis was hard, and the boy looked at it intently.
"Yes," he said, as if he had made up his mind. "I certainly want that." He put his hand to it, felt the shaft, felt the balls beneath, stroking and rubbing. Keith stood close, brushing his hand through the boy's fair hair, bending to kiss his mouth, tasting the saliva, smelling his scent.
"Now," said Phil. "Now."
"Wait a minute."
Keith went to the dresser drawer and brought back a tube of KY. He squeezed out some jelly into the palm of his hand and rubbed it the full length of his cock.
Phil lay on his back and raised his legs in the air resting them on Keith's shoulders. Keith bent over him and kissed him on the lips, his tongue probing, twisting with Phil's own, two snakes wrestling together.
With his slippery fingers he felt along Phil's arse crack until he located the hot hole, inserting his middle finger, pushing against the initial resistance and then once the opening gave, pressing in. He worked his finger in and out and then removed it.
Phil gave a great sigh, his mouth covered by Keith's lips, his arse ready and waiting.
Keith guided his cock in, pushed forward and slid right into the hot, moist hole. He pushed all the way inside in one smooth go and then paused for a moment for fear he would come right then.
Then he withdrew a little and plunged in again and every time he pushed, Phil raised his hips so that the cock went in as far as it could. While his balls rubbed against the smooth flesh of Phil's cheeks, he was thrusting the head of his cock against the insides of the boy's body.
In and out, his movements became wilder and he could feel the heat of the arsehole all around his prick. His kiss turned into a gasping pant and Phil's hands reaching behind him grabbed his cheeks and pulled him, the fingers curled, the nails scratching.
Phil was making strange, almost animal like sounds and Keith could hear other sounds which he knew must be those he himself was making.
Then he knew he could not stop, the pressure built up, unstoppable, irreversible. An explosion in his loins and he came again and again, the semen pulsing into his lover's body.
He gave a great cry and collapsed on top of him, gasping almost incomprehensible words of love.
Inspector Newman sat in his chair, relaxing with a cup of tea on the desk in front of him, and surveyed his work force. Sergeants Wilkes and Hatch sat in the uncomfortable upright chairs which were all that the office provided and looked as if they were sitting to attention. Constable Carey stood behind Sergeant Hatch. They had all presented Newman with written reports but he liked to hear what they had to say. It saved him the necessity of reading the damn things.
"I went to see Mrs Phelps yesterday afternoon," said Sergeant Wilkes. "D.S. Hatch thought it would be better if I went. We had a good heart to heart. Very upset she still is, of course."
"Get to the point, Sergeant," said Newman, glowering over the edge of his tea-cup. "We don't need this sentimental stuff."
"No, sir," said Sergeant Wilkes equably. She obviously understood her boss's moods. "Well she eventually told me about the cause of the breakdown of the marriage. Apparently her husband was gay."
Inspector Newman made an odd sound. It presumably expressed his disgust, his outrage at the general decadence of modern life, the lack of fibre and moral backbone of the general public. There was a pause while everyone waited for his comment. "Well, go on, Sergeant," he said eventually.
"It seems he is now living with another man and Mrs Phelps feels in some way that it is her fault. She thinks she has been unable to 'hold' him and is embarrassed to admit that he has left her for another man. So that's what she had been hiding!"
Newman waited for more but she said nothing. He turned to Keith. "Well, Hatch, anything you can add?"
"We got a name and address for the man seen looking at the boy," said Keith. "Unfortunately the address was false. There is no such house in Wellington Street. It is possible that the name is also false of course."
"Damn it," said Newman. "This case is full of gays. Never trusted them. Never know what they get up to. Gays, paedophiles, they're all the same. God knows what they've done to the boy."
"We don't know that this Jonathon Price has taken the boy of course, sir," said Keith ignoring Newman's outburst though inwardly he was seething at the Inspector's prejudiced condemnation of all gays.
"Wait a minute," said Wilkes. "What did you say his name was?"
"We don't know for sure but the name he gave at the Olympia Club was Price, Jonathon Price."
"But that's the husband's first name," said Wilkes. "Jonathon Phelps. Have you got a description?"
"Dark, mid thirties, bit over 6 foot, eyebrows meet in the centre."
Sergeant Wilkes pulled out a photograph from her pocket. She showed it to them. A thin-faced, handsome man with dark hair and thick eyebrows smiled out from it. "That's the husband," she said. "Mrs Phelps gave it to me."
"You think the husband has kidnapped and murdered his own boy?" said Newman. He sounded confused.
"Not necessarily, sir," said Keith. "If this is the man , and it'll be easy enough to identify - we have two witnesses at least, he probably did take his son but not for any abominable motives. He must have known that being gay, living with another man, he would never get custody of his son. So he took him. Probably looking after him just as well as the mother could."
"He'll go to prison when we catch him," said Wilkes.
"If you catch him," said Keith. "For all we know they may have left the country. Could be anywhere. He's got a week's start on us."
Newman still looked confused.
"I'll write out a report for you when we get the positive identification, sir," said Sergeant Wilkes.
Later the following day, Keith and Phil waited on the platform at Feltenham station for the London train. Alan and Colin had come to see them off.
"Any news?" asked Keith.
"Hang on a minute," said Colin. He got onto the Police Station on his mobile and chatted for a while with Sergeant Wilkes. Eventually he finished.
"Well Keith," he said, "You were right. They got him. It'll end up in a court battle of course. Little boy wants to stay with his father and 'Uncle' tbough how much influence that'll have on the judge I don't know."
"You shouldn't have told him," said Alan mischievously. He'll probably think he's bloody Sherlock Holmes now."
"Or Miss Marple," said Phil with a wink. Keith punched him playfully.
Phil and Alan shared a last confidence giggling together quietly as the train pulled into the station. Keith looked at them fondly before climbing into the carriage. "All aboard!" he said. Phil joined him and they lent out of the window together to say goodbye. He could feel Phil's body pressed against his all down one side. It felt very comforting.
"Cheerio, Colin. Bye, Alan."
"Hope all goes well with you two," said Keith.
"Don't make marriage plans yet," said Alan.
Colin winked which could have meant anything - or nothing, but he stood very close to Alan and Keith felt contented.
The train jerked, then pulled away from the station.
Alan and Colin waved until it was out of sight.
"Do you have to go straight back to work?" asked Colin. "We could call in at my place on the way."
Alan smiled and their arms brushed together as they walked back to the car.
"Ooh you are awful," he said.
As they were getting in, another car pulled up behind them. Nick leant out of the driver's window.
"Have I missed them," he asked.
"Fraid so," said Alan.
"Shit," said Nick.
"Leave them alone," said Colin. "They're good together!"
Nick grinned. "I always get what I want," he said. "Don't I, Alan?"
Alan didn't answer.
Completed: 5th August 1998 4:07:31 pm Word count: 9,099 words
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