"Right." He started to cry. I suddenly felt really uncomfortable. "Spike?" I said softly. "That's why she didn't bloody want me, she was a rug-munch...r. A dyke." He glared at me and in his upset he didn't see my fist head straight towards his jaw. He fell and lay sprawled across the ground, clutching his chin. I stood up and looked down at him. I stood on his shoulder, holding his body down. "You wanna watch what you fucking say? That's not the wisest thing to. At 9 am prompt the next day I walked into his office, dressed in a smart blue business suit. He was a tall good looking (in a craggy sort of way) I almost expected him to be dressed in a plaid shirt, cords and hiking boots. He certainly looked larger than the office anyway. He sat me down, brought in some coffee and said to me ‘Barbara, this is quite a bit out of line, an investigator actually sitting down with the person he investigated. Can you tell me what exactly you had in mind?’ I told. More

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