Psycho Alley by Nick Oldham

whole truth had been spoken. Dave Anger’s resentment towards Henry was far more fundamental than disliking Henry just because he might have been a loner or a nutter, neither of which accusations Henry would have accepted anyway. He certainly wasn’t a loner.
    Anger left. A few moments later, Debbie came back, hesitance in her step.
    â€˜Everything OK?’ she asked.
    â€˜Yeah, just a bit of mutual appreciation,’ he smiled, making her chuckle. ‘Right, time for business.’
    To be an effective SIO managing a murder investigation requires the juggling skills of a circus performer. There are so many things to think about and it is easy to forget important details in the morass of tasks and information which come in. He knew that his initial priority was to get as much from the crime scene as possible, as well as tracking down George Uren.
    Despite his personal conflict with Jane Roscoe, he knew the crime scene was in safe hands. She would deal with it effectively. That left him to think about Uren and how best to track down and nail the bastard, because if this was done, it could very well be a quickly-solved murder investigation with a lot of kudos coming his way, something he was not unaware of.
    Problem was, he didn’t know where the hell Uren was.
    Henry picked up a copy of Lancashire Constabulary’s intelligence bulletin, known as ‘The Informer’. He looked at the black and white photograph and into the hard eyes of George Uren and then the bold headline underneath: ‘Dangerous High Risk Sex Offender at Large’. The text went on to say that some eighteen months previously, Uren was released on licence from Wymott Prison, near Leyland, to a probation hostel in Accrington. Uren had been sentenced to four years imprisonment for the rape of a six-year-old girl when he had been lodging with the girl’s family. ‘Uren,’ it went on, ‘has many convictions across the board and has warning markers for weapons and violence and drugs. He is extremely violent, especially towards police officers, and has previously stabbed an arresting officer in the chest.’ In large, black letters were the words, ‘HE SHOULD BE APPROACHED WITH EXTREME CAUTION.’
    After a month at the hostel, he was reported missing and was therefore in breach of his curfew and consequently the conditions of his licence, and was subject to a prison recall.
    It went on to describe his clothing and the man himself: six foot two, thirty-eight years old, usually clean-shaven but with a ponytail, with a dagger tattooed on his right forearm and the word ‘CUNT’ across the knuckles of his left hand.
    He had not been seen since he absconded from the hostel.
    Further warnings detailed that Uren, as well as being a threat to police officers, had also harassed police officers and their families following a previous investigation. He was on the sex offenders register for life.
    Henry put the bulletin down and looked at Debbie Black. It had just turned eight a.m. and he felt, once again, as though he had been up for days. He picked up the sausage sandwich Debbie had brought him from the canteen and took a bite of what, at that moment, was the best meal he’d ever tasted in his life. He washed it down with strong, wonderful tea and energy surged through him, better than a shot of methadone.
    â€˜We were just scraping the barrel with this one,’ he admitted, tapping Uren’s face with his index finger. ‘Nothing’s been heard of him for months and it was assumed he’d gone south, or abroad or something. Maybe he had … but then a sex offender was arrested a few days ago on an unrelated matter and during an Intel gathering interview, he mentioned he thought he’d seen Uren in Fleetwood recently, in a pub. That’s why we were in town last night … you look puzzled.’
    Debbie’s brow was deeply furrowed. She sighed. ‘You said you’d never had