‘Bloody right it was! Can’t thole all that mooning!’
Ken wisely didn’t comment on their own respective youthful romantic interludes. ‘Any road, summat came for you. Almost forgot.’ He handed Lorne a heavy manilla envelope.
‘What’s this?’
Ken shrugged, watching him like a Pit Bull waiting for leftovers. That is to say, Lorne had little choice but to share.
‘Bloody hell!’
In his hand was a stack of 8" by 10" pictures. One third were explicit child pornography photos. The other two thirds were the same pictures, doctored so that they were head portraits only of both the children and adults involved.
‘This wouldn’t have owt to do with the Big One?’ The Big One was, of course, the reason Lorne had been transferred to Mid-Yorkshire.
Lorne checked through the pile until he came to a piece of paper, upon which was typed a long list of names and numbers. Checking the backs of the pictures he found that they were indeed numbered. Other than that, there was nothing to identify who the contributor was. As usual.
‘Hold up, Lorne! Here, let me see that list a moment. I think I know that name . . .’
Lorne, too, had recognised the name, and was deep in thought, trying to recall to whom it belonged. Making an angry noise in the back of his throat, he muttered, ‘We’re getting daft in our old age, Kenny! The bugger’s picture’s in here some-’