Flux

himself, his arms, legs, body and face, shutting his eyes tightly to protect them. The helicopter now roared overhead, the down draft shaking the bushes which were giving him cover, the noise deafening in his ears.
    Please God help me. Why do you torment me so? Please save me, I’m not a bad person. Please. He prayed harder than he could ever remember praying in his life.
    The dog barking was loud enough to be heard over the noise of the chopper, being just inches from his face. Iain snapped open his eyes and flinched away from the German shepherd which was straining on a tight leash. On the other end of the lead was an officer of the law, who was shouting something into his radio.
    The chase was over and the game up. Iain knew it and started to stand but before he could, the policeman leaped into the ditch and knocked him back down. Iain was now lying on his front, a knee in the small of his back and his arms held tightly bent behind his back. The pain was excruciating and his face pressed into the muddy water. He couldn’t breathe as the handcuffs were slapped tightly around his wrists, digging into the skin. His head was pulled backwards and upwards by the hair, out of the mud. Iain took a deep gulp of air.
    “Iain Andrews. I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. You have the right to remain silent but anything you do say will be taken as evidence…”

Chapter Thirty-Three
    Interrogation

    The police van raced through the streets with sirens blazing. Iain sat, flanked by two police officers, both watching him intently. Not a word was spoken. On the inside of the van was a mesh cage, presumably to stop the suspect escaping if there were to be a crash. Iain thought it a little extreme; surely he was no danger to society? At least he didn’t think so himself.
    They went in through the back door of the station and were met by the WPc behind the desk; her hair pulled back in a bun behind her hat, stretching her features tight to give her a sterner look than she might have had.
    “Name?” asking the question with one blunt word.
    “Iain Andrews,” answering as if speaking to his headmistress when he’d been at school. Although this time matters were a tad more serious than bunking off PE.
    “Age?”
    “Twenty two,” Iain’s voice trembling slightly as he looked about at his surroundings; looking anywhere to avoid eye contact and the stares of the police officers. Besides the woman at the desk and the two which still stood at his side, others had come into the room. It was not everyday they managed to apprehend a cannibal.
    Hands still tightly cuffed behind his back, Iain was photographed and a swab taken from his mouth using what seemed to all intents and purposes to be a cotton bud. His DNA was now on record. His hands were only freed to enable fingerprints to be taken. The officer in charge told Iain to rub his wrists to restore circulation where the cuffs had bitten into them.
    Iain half expected to see Bert somewhere in the room, gloating, and found himself surprised by his absence.
    He flinched as the cell door closed behind him with a heavy metallic clunk. There was something very final about the sound of the lock turning. He was now imprisoned. He wondered what was to happen next; until recently he’d never been in any serious trouble; never been arrested or had to spend a night in the cells.
    Oh God, why have you deserted me?
    Of course, there was no reply.
    Why me? Please help me. A tear trickled from the corner of his eye. He was deserted and alone. Even the foul company of Bert would have been a reassurance.
    He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting and feeling sorry for himself when he heard the key turn in the cell door. It swung open with a creak. A man in a suit entered, along with a uniformed police officer, and held out his hand. Iain stood and shook it. “Please come with me sir, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
    The man leading the way down the corridor was maybe about forty years old, although he had one of those faces where it is difficult to tell. His mousy hair was slightly receding to match his lack of chin. He wore a smart suit but the combination of yellow shirt and crimson tie made Iain look away. Going through a door marked interview room, the man requested the uniformed officer wait outside. The policeman obliged, moving to outside the door but not locking it.
    Already seated in the interview room was another man. This one definitely showed his age; his