As she fell, the money scattered from her hand and fluttered to the floor.<br/>She cowered against the wall, scared and confused.<br/>How old could she be?  19? 20?<br/>So young to be mixed up in something so dangerous!<br/><br/>Her face stung from the slaps.<br/>Her blouse was ripped open to expose part of her black lacy underwear.<br/>Her hair was a mess and tears trickled down her cheeks.<br/><br/>All she could do now was protest her innocence...<br/><br/>The coroner entered the room.  A small man in a dark suit.  He had a sinister look about him, as if somehow all the violent death he had examined had corrupted him.<br/>His quick, darting eyes took in the scene at once. He leered at the woman by the wall.<br/>"It's a shame you didn't catch that bullet in your pretty heart my dear, I'd love to get you onto my table"<br/>his nasal chuckle echoed around the room.<br/><br/>Before it died away a second figure was stepping through the doorway, a figure that dwarfed the coroner and made even Dimitri look small.<br/>It was Valya.  A trooper from the station come to take the prisoner back for questioning.<br/><br/>He stood perhaps 8 inches over 6 feet in height with massive muscular shoulders that gave him a neck-less appearance.  He snapped his heels together smartly and saluted Dimitri.<br/>"Sir?" he said.  It was a question.<br/><br/>Valya was the kind of man Dimitri could trust.  Dependable, reliable, honest. Although not a great thinker, he was a powerful fighter (Armed forces boxing champion six years running)  and a genius with a switch, crop or whip.   He was in his early thirties and at the peak of his physical strength and power.<br/><br/>