He was the kind of cop who had deep problems: mental scars, troubled sleep, fundamental flaws, bouts of depression, occasional asthma attacks and heart burns. Fits of rage. A penchant for Vegemite sandwiches with ice chilled soya milk. That kind of thing. A history. A past. Something which was veiled in secrecy but perhaps hinted at an explanation of his relentless pursuit of all things evil. However, it gave no clue at all as to why young, beautiful women with longing eyes and gentle hands insisted on bedding him at every available opportunity.
Yep, he was that kind of cop.