Norman Miller used to be one of the Fleet Street's finest. Now in middle age, burned out, victim of a 'spiritual emergengy', he no longer gets the good stories. His beat is the railway embankment, the tower block entrance, the playing field perimeter and other scenes on the latest nail bomb or child snatch or brutal sex death. Seperated from his wife and children, his life, like his trade is premeated by decay and death. A soft toy, taken from a roadside memorial to a young child, is his only comfort and companion.