And the snakes start to sing

Base on personal experiences with a little embellishment, this is a gripping story of a case that stops DCIs Forman and McCombe in their tracks.

When a teenage girl is attacked on a bridge there is only one suspect. But it's not as simple as that. With twists, turns and a brain aching case, will the truth ever come to light?


2. CHAPTER TWO - Jordan

The side of my face still stung from being aggressively pushed to the ground, my shoulders aching and my knees numb. The car shook along the bumpy road. The noise of the sirens was becoming tedious and the chatter of the two officers in the front gave no relief from the mind numbing agony of unknowing.


One officer, the one in the passenger seat, turned to speak to me. His ginger beard was stained a brighter shade of brown red from the blood off Sasha’s hands.
    “This is your last chance my son.” He said, sternly, “Tell us your name now and own up here and everything will be a lot easier when you get in there.” He nodded in the direction of the glowing building we were headed towards. I grunted. I wasn’t about to own up to a crime I didn’t commit.
    “Attitude won’t get you nowhere.” The other officer piped up. “Just give us your name, they’ll find it out sooner or later.” I sighed, beginning to waver under the boredom. Maybe if I spoke then they might be a little more lenient.
    “Butcher,” I said. The passenger side officer chuckled.
    “We want your actual name, mate, not some crappy name your pals have given you.”
    “Jordan, Lee, Butcher.” I said with a sarcastic tone. The officers looked at each other.
    “You wouldn’t be the Jordan Butcher that got caught up in that knife crime case last year, would you?” They now seemed genuinely interested in me.
    “I bailed Charlie out, yeah, that was me.”
    “Ahhh, we’re still sorry for that one mate. We’ve had to give up on that one.”
    “Yeah, well, Toby got off scott free while Charlie gets a criminal record for something he didn’t do.” I scoffed.
    “Swings and roundabouts mate.” Said the passenger side officer as we pulled into the station.


They climbed out, the passenger side officer putting his hand on my head as he took me from the car. We walked up the steps to the doors. The building smelt clinical, like a dentist’s or doctor’s, but with a hint of coffee. The front desk was smooth veneer laminated wood. A female officer with blonde hair tied neatly back in a bun looked to at the two officers.
    “Alright, what can we do this one for?”
    “This is Jordan Lee Butcher, yes, the Charlie’s Angel Jordan Butcher.” The ginger officer smiled, “He’s in on suspicion of sexual assault.” I could feel my blood starting to boil. I could never lay a finger on Sasha in any way to hurt her. I never had and never would. The female officer scribbled my details in a black permanent marker on a pair of large plastic air seal bags.

“All of your belongings and any excess clothing in these please.” she said, holding them out for the other officers to hold.


I began removing my shoes, my belt, my hoodie. Then I passed over my keys, my phone, my wallet, my fags, my lighter and my roll-up tin. I slid my rings off my finger and reluctantly took off the dog tag that hung round my neck. The ginger officer inspected the dog tag, smiling as he read the inscription.

“Ha, knew you were a wrong’en.” He howled. I glared at him.
    “What’s that meant to mean?” I hissed. The officer held up the inscription on the tag. Kitty <3.
    “Who’s Kitty ‘eh?” he laughed. A lump began growing in my throat. “Take him through.” he called to the blond woman. She came, taking my arm and walking me through a swipe key door.


In a small side room, she stood beside me in eery silence as she fiddled with papers and boxes. She placed two sheets of paper with labeled boxes, and a pad of ink on the table. I stood, in the eery silence, placing one finger, then another, into the ink, and then pressing them firmly, in order, on the white paper.  Then she stood me against a wall, noted my weight, and height, then swabbed the inside of my cheeks with a foul tasting cotton swab. She took a small sample of my hair, and  I was then stood against the plain white wall to have photographs taken. I couldn’t believe that this was happening to me. The further and further the evidence collection went, the swabs under nails, the scraping of dried blood from my hands, the angrier, emptier and more frustrated I felt. I could feel tears welling up inside my eyes, but of course, I couldn’t let them out. My neck felt odd, empty without the weight of the dog tag around it. My heart beat felt fainter. I couldn’t quite comprehend the events unfolding in front of me. Once the tests were over, I was taken from the room.


She placed me in a cell, and locked the door. I sat on the blue, plastic covered, foam, crash mat at the far side of the room. I looked around the walls. They were that horrible custard yellow, like the classrooms at primary school. There was a single barred window, too high to ever be used to look out of and the large metal door, with sliding window panels at face and foot height. And now, left alone with my thoughts, I could let it all go.


The tears began flowing, and my heart rate picked up pace as I realised just how scared and alone Sasha much have been feeling. I wanted to know what was happening. I wanted to know what had happened.

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