He got up from his desk and looked out the window over the Belfast skyline towards Cave Hill.

‘Nothing changes.’  He just felt gut sick of it all.  Closing possibly Belfast’s most bizarre case ever, was at least something he’d be remembered for.  He could go out resting on those laurels at least.

The News Herald headlines of 29th November, 1999 read: TEEN RIPPER CAPTURED – PSYCHOLOGIST’S SHOCK CONFESSION.  They had printed a half page photo of Tony “Moondog” Gallagher being captured and Constable Smith falling to the ground stabbed.  Beneath it was the caption: UNDERCOVER SHOWDOWN.  On page 2 was a photo of the Wilson house, taken before the Forensic Team moved in, with the caption: HORROR HOUSE – TWO BODIES IN BIZARRE BASEMENT.

Weatherup’s boss was more than pleased with his scoop.  It didn’t mean a pay rise though.  A clap on the back and the offer of a pint he’d likely never get around to buying him, was about it.  Still!  He had no difficulty basking in his own reflected glory.  He was pretty pleased with himself.

6th December, 7.35pm.  The flight was delayed due to a bomb scare.  Millar phoned his son from the payphone, informing him that he would be arriving in Manchester a little later than scheduled. 

“Windy, me oul mucker.  How’s about ye!”  The typical Belfast greeting led to a predictably disapproving look.

“Still calling me Windy, I see!  How about dropping it?”

“Is that because you don’t want to be reminded how you got the nickname?” Weatherup asked.

“Loads of Millars are nicknamed Windy,” he replied, acting like he had forgotten the real reason.  “I still think it was you who did it, you git, “ he smirked.

“Guess it’s time I owned up then and packed it in.”  Weatherup grinned like the cat who got the cream. 

“What was it anyway?”

“Liver salts in the Creamola Foam.”

“You swine.  You had me farting and running to the toilet all day.  I nearly shit myself when Mrs Watson didn’t let me out right away.  Christ, wasn’t she a right cow?  Frosty faced old bag.  One teacher I never liked.”

“Who did mate?  Who did?,” Weatherup commiserated.  “Where are you heading anyway?”

“Going to live in Manchester.  Starting afresh, working for Greater Manchester Police.  And you?”

“Jeez!  You’re never going to believe this.  I’ve just landed myself a job over there on the Manchester Evening News.”

“Is there just no getting away from you?  I’m warning you now.  You’d better drop the ‘Windy’ bit.  New beginnings.  Eh?”

“Sure mate.  Hey.  Let me buy you a drink since we’re going to be neighbours.”

“Make it a Bushmills and I’ll tell you a secret.”

“Sure.  What is it?”

“Wilson cut off his Mother’s nipples.  He dried them out and glued them onto a bookmark.  He told me he kissed them every night before he went to bed and said ‘Goodnight Mummy.’”

“Shit!  He did not!”

Millar just nodded. 

“You sly old bugger!  You kept the juiciest bit from me!”  Weatherup shook his head.  “I won’t let you off with that when we get to Manchester.”

*    *    *    *    *