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This story is No. 10 in the series "Tails From The Slaughtered Lamb.". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: The very last ‘Tail from the Slaughtered Lamb’, xover with three UK cop shows, Yes Minister and one Genesis song. A slayer finds out the truth about her past just as a new girl appears on the scene.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Television > New Tricks(Recent Donor)DaveTurnerFR15923,8852263,44329 Jul 1014 Aug 10Yes

Chapter One

The very last ‘Tails from the Slaughtered Lamb’ story by Dave Turner.

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, New Tricks, Law and Order UK, The Bill, Yes Minister or indeed anything else you might recognise from the world of entertainment. I write these stories for fun not profit.

Crossover: New Tricks, Law and Order UK, The Bill and Yes Minister.

Spelling, Punctuation, and Grammar; Written in glorious English-English. Mainly English idioms are used throughout this fic.

Timeline: Takes place about a month after the events depicted in the previous Slaughtered Lambs story.

Words: Nine Chapters of 2500+ words.

Warnings: None.

Summary: The very last ‘Tail from the Slaughtered Lamb’, xover with three UK cop shows, Yes Minister and one Genesis song. A slayer finds out the truth about her past just as a new girl appears on the scene.


Soho, London, early summer 2009.

The woman in the black burka looked totally out of place standing on the corner of Brewer and Rupert Street in Soho, London’s red light district. Ignoring the curious glances given her by the passing tourists the woman stood her ground apparently waiting for something to happen. Eventually she was approached by two young women whose profession was obvious from the manner of their dress.

“Be gone, infidel whores!” spat the burka clad woman.

“That’s no way to talk to your friends,” admonished the shorter of the two hookers.

“I say, be gone, foul walkers of the night!” the burka clad woman made shooing gestures at the prostitutes.

“Tal?” the taller, blonde prostitute looked closely into the eyes of the Muslim woman, “Tal, that is you in there, isn’t it?”

“Och!” the young woman referred to as ‘Tal’ giggled quietly, “course it’s me,” her slight Scot’s accent was muffled by the veil across her face, “but the look on your faces…”

“Yeah, okay,” the shorter ‘prostitute’ stood with her hands on her hips and her head to one side, “like to see us squirm do ya?”

“Aye,” Tal nodded her head, “of course.”

“Whatever,” the blonde looked up and down the neon lit street, “there’s nothing much happening out here, it’s too busy. We’re gonna move into the back streets, see if we can drum up some trade.”

“Fine by me,” agreed Tal, “I was beginning to feel like an exhibit at the zoo standing here anyway, I’ll follow.”

“Hey darlin’!” a more than slightly drunk Glaswegian man lurched across the street and put his arm around the blonde’s neck, he said something in his own particular brand of English that translated loosely as; ‘I say, you are a particularly attractive young woman, how strange to find someone of your extreme beauty in a not too salubrious area like this’.

The blonde, who’s name was Tina, turned to look the man in the face. She smelt the beer and whiskey on his breath and saw the way his eye wandered to look down the front of her admittedly skimpy top.

“Piss off,” she told him and gave him a gentle shove.

The man stumbled a little but still managed to keep hold of his prize, he spoke again his words being totally incomprehensible to Tina, however the general gist of what he was saying came over in his tone of voice, he didn’t sound to happy about being rejected in this way.

“I said,” repeated Tina getting more annoyed by the second, “Piss off!” this time she gave the man a harder push.

The drunk staggered back across the narrow street and tripped over the curb stone on the opposite side of the road. He sat down heavily on the pavement with a surprised look on his face. Tina looked at her shorter friend and sniffed haughtily.

“Come along, Alice,” she linked arms with her companion and started to walk west along Brewer Street, “let’s go where the company is more refined!”

Climbing to his feet the drunk tried to follow the two young women but was blocked by the burka clad woman.

“She said, piss off,” Tal reminded him, “which part of that don’t you understand?”

Placing her hand on his chest she pushed, again the drunk found himself sitting on the pavement. A group of young, female, Japanese tourists walked by just at that point and giggled in that curious way Japanese girls have. Dismissing the drunk from her mind Tal turned and followed her friends along Brewer Street.


The Rose and Crown pub, Mile End, London

The evening was just warm enough to sit outside, as long as you kept your jacket on. Gerry Standing was sitting at a table by himself in the pub’s beer garden. He was reading the evening paper as a short, rat faced man came over and slid into the seat opposite Gerry’s.

“Detective Sergeant Standing?” the man spoke in a nervous whisper.

“Depends who’s asking,” Gerry glanced up from his paper, “and its ex-Detective Sergeant.”

The fact that Gerry had left the police under something of a cloud still rankled with the ex-detective. However his new job with the Unsolved Crimes and Open-case Squad went some way towards making him feel a lot better about it. Gerry glanced at the man who sat nervously looking around the beer garden as if he expected to be attacked at any minute.

“Okay,” Gerry sighed and folded away his paper, “wot d’you want?”

“‘Ere,” the rat faced man produced an A4 envelope from under his jacket and slid it across the table towards Gerry, “my employer thought you might be interested in this.”

Gerry picked up the envelope and broke the seal, without removing any of the contents he looked inside and found it was full of documents and what looked like photographs.

“Wot’s all this about?” Gerry gestured with the package before glancing up and finding the messenger gone.

He looked around the beer garden, there was no sign of the rat faced man, shrugging his shoulders Gerry pulled a photograph from the envelope.

“As I live an’ breath,” Gerry shook his head in bemusement, “Silvia Cochrane an’ old Albert.”

Smiling at the photograph, Gerry’s detective’s mind went to work. The photo had been taken a good few years ago; Silvia didn’t look as if she was much out of her twenty’s. When he’d last seen her Silvia Cochrane, now calling herself Silvia Fitzsimons, was in her early forties but still an attractive woman. Albert Cochrane was long dead; his remains had been found buried in the concrete support of a bridge out on the M11 motorway last year.

Wondering why someone would send him old photographs of a woman he didn’t know, and quite frankly didn’t want to know, all that well; Gerry slid some of the typed sheets from the envelope and started to read. Slowly the blood drained from his face. Looking around to check that no one was watching him Gerry put everything back into the envelope. Pulling his mobile phone from his pocket he pressed the button to speed dial his boss, Detective Chief Inspector Sandra Pullman. He put the phone to his ear and waited for it to be answered, eventually it was.


“Gerry?” Sandra sounded as if she’d just got out the shower to answer the call, that is, not best pleased. “What’s the idea of calling me…”

“Sandra,” Gerry glanced around the garden, no one was paying him any attention, “shut up and listen a minute.”

“This better be good,” Sandra was just about holding on to her temper, she was going out tonight, a rare event in itself, and didn’t want to be late.

“Two words,” Gerry glanced around once more, “Silvia Fitzsimons.”

“What about her,” all thoughts of an evening out fled from Sandra’s mind.

“I’ve been given some information,” explained Gerry, “that you might like to see.”

“Get your arse over her…now!” Sandra disconnected the call.

Standing up Gerry headed for is car, he’d only had half of his pint so he was good to drive. The last time UCOS had had any dealings with Silvia Fitzsimons was when they were re-investigating her husband’s murder. The case had ended unsatisfactorily, UCOS had not been able to solve the case and charge anyone. Then to add insult to injury Sandra and Gerry had been attacked by some sort of strange squid-like thing that had come up from the sewers. Next they’d been threatened by some ‘suit’ from the government and lastly they’d been threatened by Silvia Fitzsimons herself.

The woman had left Gerry and Sandra with the distinct impression that should they try to investigate her; it was they, not her, who would spend the rest of their lives in prison…if they were lucky. The final straw had been when Sandra had received a mysterious DVD of an interview between a member of the security services and some odd creature that called itself ‘Honest Arthur’ about how Silvia Fitzsimons had sent someone to nail his head to a coffee table.

It was all very strange.


The great demon lord, Lord Hasseldorf watched Gerry Standing leave from the cover of one of the Rose and Crown’s private rooms. He jerked his head in the direction of Gerry.

“Follow him,” he told the rat faced man, “find out where he’s going.”

“Sure thing, My Lord,” the rat faced man scurried off after Gerry.

Raising the beer glass to his lips, Hasseldorf smiled, he liked it when a plan started to come together. With any luck when he’d finished Britain’s defences against the forces of darkness would be in tatters. Gulping down the last of the blood in his glass Hasseldorf turned, stepped over the body of the teenage Polish girl he’d raped before draining her blood and drinking it. He laughed to himself as he turned into smoke and disappeared returning to his own infernal domain and leaving only a strong smell of sulphur in his wake.


Faith and Xander’s Flat, Vincent Square, Central London.

“Giles!” Xander opened the door to the flat where he lived with Faith, “Thank god,” he whispered, “you’ve got to get me out of here?”

“Out of here?” Giles frowned as he tried to look over Xander’s shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Xander hurriedly reached for his jacket that hung next to the door, he called over his shoulder. “Faith? I’m going out with Giles,” Xander pushed Giles back into the hallway, “I’ll be back in an hour or two, guy stuff, okay?”

“Mind you are,” came Faith’s voice from deeper in the flat, “and don’t drink too much I don’t want you going all limp on me.”

“Limp?” queried Giles.

“Like I say,” Xander hurried out into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind him, “I’ll tell you about it later.”


The Jugged Hare Pub, Victoria, London.

“Living with a nymphomaniac is fine in theory,” Xander lifted his glass in a shaking hand and sucked down half its contents in one go, “but when it actually happens…Giles you’ve got to help me!”

“Help you? Nymphomaniac?” Giles lifted his own glass and waited for the younger man to explain himself.

“You’ve got to get me away from her!” Xander pleaded, “Send me on a dangerous mission or something…I’ve got to get some rest!”

“What?” Giles put down his glass, “I don’t understand, start from the beginning.”

“Ever since you and Faith got back from 1940,” Xander started to explain, “and she…you know?”

Rupert nodded his head sympathetically.

“You know, lost the baby;” Xander sucked down the other half of his beer, “she’s been trying to get pregnant again.”

“So?” Giles lifted his glass and took a swig.

“Its morning, noon and night, Giles!” Xander moaned, “I can’t take it anymore, I am, as the locals would put it, knackered!”

Trying not to choke on his beer, Giles studied Xander’s face for a moment; the boy did look tired, there where dark circles around his eyes and more than a hint of desperation in his voice.

“Couldn’t you send me to some nice quiet hell dimension or something?” Xander pleaded.

“I really don’t think…” began Giles only to be cut off by Xander as he clutched at his hand.

“You gotta help me G-man,” Xander was close to tears brought on by exhaustion, “she’s insatiable, I’ve got to get some sleep.”

“Yes, umm,” Giles pulled his hand from Xander’s grip, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do…”

The light of hope was rekindled in Xander’s eyes.

“I’ll get Silvia to have a quiet word with her,” Giles finished his beer, picked up Xander’s glass and stood up to go the bar. “I take it you can manage another?”

“Please,” Xander buried his face in his hands before replying, “I’ve got to keep my strength up some how.”


Soho, London.

“Weapons,” Tina the blonde haired girl looked over her shoulder to see the burka dressed woman hurry up behind her, “come on Tal!”

Ripping open her black robe Tal exposed the swords that were strapped to her body. The disguises worn by Tina and Alice, by necessity exposed a lot of Tina and Alice and didn’t leave many places for a slayer to hide her weapons. Tal on the other hand could walk around armed to the teeth with weapons safely hidden under a burka.

“Here,” the Asian girl passed Tina her Katana and Alice her twin Wakizashi swords; finally she drew her own heavy Tulwar blade.

The three slayers turned to face their foes. Flying Monkey Demons were unusual but not unheard of in Britain, their natural habitat being North America. Maybe these ones had come over to do some shopping or something. The monkey demons chattered excitedly and their wings made a sound like old leather settees. About a dozen of the foul creatures blocked the opposite end of the narrow, dark alley.

“What’s their problem?” Tal joined Tina and Alice as they formed a defensive triangle, “A girl can’t walk the streets at night without tripping over something demonic.”

Before Tina could answer her friend the demon monkeys attacked. Raising her sword to counter a clawed hand thrust at her head, Tina found the blade entangled by a length of chain with a wickedly sharp looking hook on the end. It wasn’t unusual for Flying Demon Monkeys to use weapons but it still came as a nasty surprise when they did. By twisting the blade and pulling hard she unbalanced her opponent and kicked him in the kneecap. Hearing the bone break under her foot she smiled and caved in the skull of her attacker with the pommel of her weapon. Shaking the chain from her blade she came back to her en garde position and awaited the next attack. To her surprise nothing happened, looking around in confusion she saw no sign of the demons.

“Where’d they go?” she asked as she lowered her blade and looked around.

“They just flew off,” Tal slipped her sword back into its scabbard, “but some of them won’t be coming back.”

Nodding to the five bodies on the ground Tal took off the remains of her burka and replaced it with a headscarf that enhanced rather than hid her attractive face.

“I don’t like this,” Alice squatted down and poked one of the bodies with the tip of her sword, “what’s the idea of attacking us then flying off after we’ve only killed a few of ‘em?”

“Aly’s right,” Tal started to collect weapons from the two other girls and wrap them in the remains of her burka, “I think we should get home and report this to Mr Giles, it’s a wee bit odd.”

“Yeah,” Tina got out her mobile and used it to take pictures of the fallen demons, “let’s get outta here.”

“What about the bodies?” Tal asked as they walked hurriedly away from the scene of the fight.

“Don’t worry,” Alice said from beside her, “the local council will clear them up with the rest of the trash!”


Watching from across the street Detective Sergeants Brooks and Devlin saw the three girls walk through the front door of the Slaughtered Lamb Tavern.

“Yeah,” Devlin nodded his head in agreement with his partner’s earlier assessment, “you’re right, they do look too young, especially the short girl.”

“Alice Springs?” Brooks didn’t need to consult his note book he’d all the girl’s names memorised.

“Now there’s a false name if ever I heard one,” smiled Devlin the younger of the two cops.

“The blonde’s Christine Tyler, and the Muslim girl’s Taliba Rohani,” explained Brooks as he reached under his raincoat for a boiled sweet.

The girls had disappeared inside the pub as the last customers were leaving.

“So,” Devlin turned away from the pub to look in the window of a shop, “you think that this Fitzsimons woman is running a brothel under the cover of her pub?”

“Looks that way,” Brooks agreed as the two men started to walk off towards Trafalgar Square.

“Okay,” Devlin nodded his head slowly, “we’ll see what the DI wants us to do about it in the morning.”

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