LoM Ficathon 2007 Fic: Day Trips
Title: Day Trips
Author: dak
Length/Word Count: 10,954 words
Rating: Green Cortina for swearing
Notes: mild Sam/Annie, spoilers for the entirety of 2.05, refs to 1.04, 1.05, 1.06, 2.04
-This is for
seal_girl who asked for 1) Set within 2.05 with tripping!Sam, 2) subplot with Sam helping out one of the others, 3) cars
-Huge, ginormous thanks to my beta readers
oliviasolar and
fanfic_whore who helped me reign in those wieldy commas, clarify confusion, and generally made everything better!
-Contains almost zero angst!
Summary: Chris gets some much needed help from an under-the-weather Sam during the Lamb Family kidnapping.
Three days.
It’d been three days of sweaty, feverish, hallucinatory torture. Unfortunately for Sam Tyler, none of those hallucinations were telling him why he was being forced to endure agony not suffered since he had the mumps at age four. An experience he relived only a few months ago when...
No. It probably wasn’t best to dwell on the paradox of almost meeting himself in a long past decade. Not when he was already hallucinating his Guv as an animated children’s program.
Gene Hunt. Somehow this was his fault. Yes, all his fault, thought Sam as he twisted in his damp sheets, for once not caring about the hygienic (or lack thereof) nature of his flat.
All Hunt’s shouting and spitting. Wiping his nose on the back of his hand, then shoving Sam up against the dusty shelves in Lost and Found. Couldn’t they get some cleaners in there once a week? At least once a month? Or maybe donate the unclaimed property to an orphanage or school or hospital?
A hospital. No. Course it wasn’t the Guv’s fault. Sure, getting beaten to a bloody pulp by unwashed hands on a daily basis didn’t help, but no. This was their fault. Something they did. In 2006.
What, Sam had no idea, but he’d never gotten this sick at home and he’d never yet been ill in 1973. Yes, it was the hospital’s fault. Some nurse or doctor did this to him, and as soon as he got back, got home, bloody hell were they going to hear about it. Yes, get home. Home. 2006. Almost there. Just get home, Sam...
"Wake up..." he mumbled as the fever spiked. He felt so close...If he could just...
But a sharp ringing brought him back. Back to 1973. Back to his flat. Back to his fever.
And as a febrile Sam struggled to answer the phone, he swore to God that someone better be dying.
*
"But I’m going to say this once and once only, Gene. Stay out of Camberwick Green!"
A volcanic crash broke off Sam’s incoherent train of thought as the table collapsed under Simon Lamb’s feet, leaving Sam watching in horror as the man swung from the fluorescent lights. With his hands still grasping Gene’s shirt time seemed to slow, as Sam could do nothing but stare at the crying man swaying back and forth.
He should be doing something. He’s here. He’s a police officer. A DC...DI. He should take charge. But the fever seemed to be controlling the part of his brain that usually maintained his reflexes, leaving sluggishness and a massive guilt complex in charge of his mind and body.
Luckily for Sam, Ray and Chris were faster than they looked, and took this moment to remind him they were coppers for a reason. Ray grabbed Mr. Lamb’s feet and with all the strength he could muster pushed the man up and loosened the tension on the noose. Annie had grabbed a chair and Chris quickly clambered on top of it, pulling out a pocket knife and cutting through the tough rope.
It all happened within seconds, but for Sam it seemed like hours, like the whole team was swimming through thick custard, trapped by the same heat that was wrapped around his addled brain.
The slow beep, beep, beep of hospital equipment filtered through his ears.
Are you finished, Doctor, or do you have to give Sam another test?
"What?"
"I said, are you finished, Dorothy, or am I goin’ ta have to give you a good-night kiss?"
The little strength he had snapped him back to the present, and Sam realized that he was still clutching to his DCI, now more out of fear than anger.
"Sorry, Guv," he replied meekly and released his hands.
"Right. Well, now that you’re..." Gene carefully wiped Sam’s sweat off his shirt, looking his DI up and down, "...partially amongst the living, see what you can do about sorting this mess."
Gene turned to leave and the imminent departure of the strong presence began to fill Sam with unwanted apprehension. "Where are you going?" Sam asked a little too eagerly, the anxiety seeping through. Damn overdoses.
"One minute you’re laying into me like I broke your favorite toy, next you’re beggin’ me to stay for tea! Me mum in menopause has less mood swings than you, Tyler. I’ll be in my office. You, act like my DI an’ sort this out!"
With that Gene pushed through the doors of the canteen, leaving Sam alone in the chaos. He still had no clue what was going on, what time it was, or what clothes he was wearing. Breathing heavily, he looked for help.
Annie had sat Mr. Lamb down in a chair and was now fetching him some water. Ray and Chris were arguing quietly in a corner and most everyone else was smoking. Smoking. Sam hated smoking. Smoking was bad. Smoking caused lung cancer. Emphysema. Bad breath. Sam wanted a cigarette.
His body shook and his right arm hurt something terrible. He grabbed it and massaged it, flexing and relaxing his elbow but nothing seemed to help. It felt like it was on fire. Like someone was injecting acid directly into his veins.
Then the beeping started again.
Bet it was drugs. Drugs to stop, whatever. Drugs that were doing nothing to help his situation.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Drugs that had caused all this to begin with.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Drugs from 2006. Where he was in a coma...
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Where...
"I’ll get it back to you, Ray, I swear. But don’t you think this is just a bit more important. Well, at least right now, y’know? Priorities ‘n all."
The increased volume of Chris and Ray’s conversation droned out the beeping.
"Yeah, yeah. Priorities. But soon’s this’s all settled, I expect to see her back here in one piece. Got that, you div?"
"She weren’t really in one piece to begin with," Chris mumbled but Ray clearly heard him and grabbed him by the collar.
"Oi! Watch it, Skelton, or that’ll be the last time I ‘elp you out with a bird."
"You always say that."
Ray let go of Chris. "This time I mean it. Better go check on the prints from that shoe, or the Guv’ll have me balls. You comin’?" Ray went for the exit, but Chris warily snuck a peek at his DI.
"Go ahead. I’ll be right there."
As soon as Ray was gone, Chris ran over to Sam. He needed his advice. Sure, DI Tyler might currently be sweating and twitching like an un-medicated spastic but the advice of a feverish Sam was still loads better than the advice of the rest of an entire, healthy A-Division.
"Uh, Boss? Could I have a word, like?"
Sam turned, almost surprised to see Chris. "Is it about the case?"
"Well, not exactly, see--"
"Then it’ll have to wait, DC Skelton." Sam cut him off. Annie was finally returning with Mr. Lamb’s water, and Sam hurried to join her.
"But..." Chris usually let himself be pushed aside. Let his problems and concerns take a backseat to the rest of A-Division’s. But he couldn’t on this. This was a matter of life or death and he wouldn’t be able to wait until the kidnapping was over. Wouldn’t be able to wait for Sam to be less...sweaty. No, he would stick to his guns on this.
So, grabbing a butty from Gwen, Chris stood resolutely in the corner and waited for Annie and Sam to finish their interview with Mr. Lamb.
"If you’re really serious about topping yourself, try one of our meat pies."
*
Plod escorted Mr. Lamb somewhere more private, away from the prying eyes of Manchester’s finest. Annie helped some of the WPC’s sort the tables and chairs in the canteen.
"Old habits," Sam smiled as he watched her, then quickly shook all thoughts of WDC Cartwright out of his mind.
There was a job at hand. A kidnapping to solve. A kidnapping involving a case he knew absolutely nothing about. Time to track down the Guv. Time to work. He wasn’t that ill. He could handle this. Handle doing some police officer...thingies.
"Ow," his arm was hurting again, worse this time, and he grabbed it and swept through the canteen doors, certain he could reach CID without fainting. As long as he concentrated hard enough...
"Boss?"
"Godsakes, Chris. Can’t you see we’re in a serious situation here?"
Chris followed behind Sam. "Just thought this might help." He cautiously handed Sam a packet of Juicy Fruit and a cup of water. "Me mum always gave me some when I was sick. Said it’d help take me mind off the pain. An’ it help keeps your mouth from gettin’ all dry and sticky."
Sam gratefully grabbed the gum and water. "Oh. Cheers, Chris. ‘S good advice. Wouldn’t find that on Wikipedia, would you?"
Chris stopped walking. "Is that, like, an Italian chemist’s or summat?"
Sam froze outside the doors of CID. "No, it’s a site that, where, well, in the future, uhm, see..."
"Is it another Hyde thing?"
"Yeah, yeah. Hyde. That’s it." Sam drifted off for a moment, eyes glazing over. When did it get so hot? It was only May. Did they have air conditioning? Wait, was air conditioning even invented yet? Could he invent it now, if it wasn’t?
"Uhm, Boss?" Ray appeared next to them at the doorway, obviously taking a great delight in Sam’s suffering.
"What?"
"You goin’ ta go in? Kidnapping ‘as a deadline an’ all."
Sam suddenly remembered where he was, and realized he was blocking the entrance. "Oh. Kidnapping. Right," and he burst through the creaking office doors.
Chris sighed and followed behind Sam and Ray. Watching as Sam thirstily downed his cup of water and paced CID like a cat in heat, Chris realized that perhaps this wasn’t the best time to get DI Tyler’s help.
"Guv, talk to me."
*
Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate.
Chris was right. The gum was helping. Every time the pain in his arm flared up, he chewed harder and faster. To the Guv he must look like one of those sheep Dickie Fingers was so fond of. Standing there, blank stare. Chewing, chewing, chewing. Sheep.
Sam liked sheep. He liked how, from a distance, they looked like fuzzy little cotton balls. As a kid, on train rides, he loved staring out the windows, always waiting, hoping to catch a glimpse of the furry, little animals. Wouldn’t that be great if they could genetically engineer sheep so that they were the size of cotton balls? They could sell them by the dozen in little, plastic baggies and kids could keep tiny, little sheep pens in their bedrooms...
A note was shoved into his hands. Oh, that’s right. The kidnapping. Shit. He asked Gene some basic questions. Who? What? Where? But the Guv’s aftershave made it terribly hard to breathe.
The pain was coming back. He chewed harder.
As Gene relayed the story of the previous day’s events, Sam was engrossed. Not that Gene was gifted with exceptional storytelling abilities, but the more he spoke, the more Sam could actually see the story, rather than hear it.
He could see Simon Lamb enter the station. Feel Charley Witham’s distraught parents. Hear Mrs. Bathurst’s angry shouts.
It was intoxicating. It was exhilarating. It was gone. Sam needed to sit down.
"Chris even made a tape. He knows how much you like ’em."
Chris. Poor Chris. Sam had only been in the office for a half hour and he’d already yelled at Chris three times. Well, he deserved it. No. He didn’t. Well, maybe for leaving that Bond girl junk on his desk. But that first time...hadn’t Chris just been asking for help? Was Ursula Andress really that bad? He should...
Wait. The Guv’s still talking. Oh right. Kidnapping. Again, shit. He really needed to remember that. Focus. Focus. Focus.
"So why would someone target Simon Lamb’s family?"
"That’s the big question, isn’t it? Also why I asked Chris to get you down here in the first place. Thought we could use a little extra brain power. But by the looks of you, seems we might as well of phoned up the great detective Britt Eklund. Least she would’ve been a better site to stare at."
Gene sniffed the air.
"When’s the last time you showered?"
Sam quickly rose from his seat. I can handle this, he thought.
"I can handle this."
I’ll figure it out, he thought.
"I’ll figure it out."
I really need a piss.
"I really need a piss, he thought."
"You thought what?"
Gene stared at Sam. Sam stared back at Gene.
Sheep, he thought. No. Shit. Shit. He meant shit.
"You sure..."
"I’m going to grab Annie and have another sit down with Mr. Lamb. Maybe there’s some connection he didn’t think of or thought wasn’t important."
Sam left the office before Gene could question his sanity.
He glanced around CID and saw that Annie had returned from the canteen. Before she could reach her desk, Sam intercepted her, lightly grabbing her elbow.
She felt warm. Nice warm. Not Sahara Desert warm like Sam’s body. He could feel the soft flesh under her thin, flowered shirt. What would it feel like without the cloth there? To run his hand up and down her...
"Sam?" She got his attention, but didn’t remove her arm from his touch. Damn the woman. She was sending those warm, soft signals directly to his...
"GetMrLambanmeetmeinlockerroomtenminutes."
"Sorry?"
Her arm was still there. He needs to move his hand. Just move his...
"Get Mr. Lamb and meet me in the locker room in ten minutes."
"Okay," she smiled. That smile shouldn’t be so intoxicating. It wasn’t fair. It was like a drug. Drug. Overdose. Shit. That’s right. Focus.
Sam finally removed his arm and nervously rubbed his right hand.
"Ten minutes. Locker room," he repeated, mostly for his own benefit.
"Yes, sir." She smiled again and went off. Damn that smile. Damn her. Damn...
Sam’s pants suddenly felt incredibly tight. He grabbed a folder.
"Chris!" He yelled, in an unusually high voice. Immediately his attempt at a protégé was by his side.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Go to the loo with me." Sam hurried to the doors.
"Uhm, sure Boss." Chris looked back and shrugged at Ray who just mouthed "perv" and went back to studying a file. At the office doors Chris whispered to Sam.
"Is that folder necessary, sir? To go to the bogs, I mean."
Sam peeked behind the folder.
"Yes. Yes it is." Damn drugs. Sam hated drugs.
In the toilets Sam shoved the folder into Chris’ hands before running into a stall. Chris stood obediently by the sinks trying not to listen to his superior officer pissing.
"You said you wanted to talk to me, Chris?"
"About the case? Well, I--"
"No, it was something else. Something you said in the canteen."
Chris found it odd he was having this conversation through a stall door but was still glad to be having it nonetheless. "Oh, right. Well, I’m sorta in a bit of a pickle, Boss."
Sam had flushed the toilet but was still in the stall. Chris wondered what he possibly could be doing in there, but then realized he didn’t want to know.
Sam had flushed the toilet and realized with delight that if he was in Australia, the water would be circling the other way. This thought had occurred to him before, but for some reason he had never found the subject so fascinating. He decided he would flush the toilet again, just to see if the water would magically go the opposite direction.
He flushed.
It didn’t.
Sam was thoroughly disappointed.
"So why don’t you ask Ray?"
"Well I would, see, but it, well, the whole thing sorta involves Ray."
Sam popped his head over the stall wall. He decided standing on the toilet was the best way to discipline it for refusing to flush a different direction.
"Oh, God. You didn’t sleep with him, did you?"
"Sorry, sir?" Chris asked in horror.
"Na. Didn’t think so. Just taking the piss."
Sam thought that was awfully funny. Wasn’t he supposed to be doing something?
"That’s, uh, good one."
Sam finally emerged from the stall. Chris wondered why he was pouting. Sam wondered why the toilet wouldn’t listen to him.
"But, okay, here’s the thing. I had a date with me bird the other night."
"The one from the ice rink," Sam stated, surprised he could form a coherent thought. He did feel a bit cooler, but his mental argument with the toilet had left him mentally exhausted. Well, either that or it was the drugs again.
"Yeah. Well, we got in this fight. Real stupid. I got bladdered ‘n mentioned she reminded me a bit of me mum. But she’d seen pictures of me mum, an’ she’s not the most gorgeous woman, you know. Me mum, not me bird. So she thought--"
Sam felt his arm burn again. He popped in another piece of gum, but it didn’t help. He felt sick, weak, tired. The sweat dripped off his nose. The beeping returned. He leaned on the sink for support.
"Get on with it, Chris."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Sorry. Right. So anyway I promised I’d do anything, just to make it up to her. I-I really like this one, Boss."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Sam’s breathing became more labored.
"Anyway, she says she wants to drive out to the country. Spend a night under the stars. Thing is she don’t know I don’t have a car."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Chew. Breathe. Chew. Breathe. Focus, Sam. Focus. Pain. Arm. Pain.
"So I asked Ray if I could borrow his. An’ he says yes, bein’ a good mate an’ all. That an’ I promised I’d get downstairs inside an’ tell ’im ‘bout it."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
It got louder and stronger. Sam clutched the sink so hard his knuckles turned white.
"Point. Chris?"
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Well, turns out she’s a bit more of a hippie bird than I realized, an’ asked if she could paint the car."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Paint. Hippies. Sam nicked hippies the other night, didn’t he?
"I was already pissed, so I says yes, like the nonce I am, an’ next thing I know Ray’s car’s covered in flowers an’ happy faces an’ peace signs an’ stuff.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Pain. Pain. Paint. Ray’s car. Painted.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Boss?"
Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.
"What should I do?"
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
"You alright, Boss?"
Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain.
"DI Tyler?"
Chris gently grabbed Sam by the shoulders and pulled him away from the sink. He helped Sam lean back against the cold stall wall. The sounds finally faded. He closed his eyes. Took deep breaths.
"Maybe you should go home, sir. You look paler than Yoko at a McCartney fan club meetin’."
" ‘M fine, Chris. Just, just need a minute."
Chris looked skeptical, but backed off slightly. "So, what should I do about Ray’s car? I can’t give it back to him covered in all those hippie drawings. He’d have me balls in a sling."
Ray’s car? What...oh, paint.
"Paint it."
"Paint it?"
"Yeah, just get some paint and paint over it. Ray’ll never know the difference."
"I guess."
"Chris, you still in there?" Ray poked his head through the door causing the young DC to jump. "Guv needs us."
"Comin’. Cheers, Boss."
Sam was now left on his own. He turned on the sink and splashed cool water over his face. What was he supposed to be doing? "The kidnapping." Damn it. He’d forgotten again. He checked his watch. It was time to meet Annie.
But he had to pee again.
"Bloody Lucozade," sighed Sam as he dragged himself back into the stall. As he flushed for the third time Sam couldn’t possibly remember why he had been so engrossed in a toilet.
*
"Do you want me to fetch you some water? Might help you get your strength back."
Sam smiled at Annie as they left the locker room.
"You don’t have to fetch me anything, Annie. You’re not a WPC anymore, remember."
"Well I wouldn’t be doing it as your officer, sir. I’d be doing it as your friend. Now, do you want some water or not?" She looked at him with concern.
"I’ll be fine Annie. Thanks." Sam leaned against the wall across from CID and closed his eyes. When did he get so tired? All he’d been doing the past few days was sleeping anyway. It just didn’t make sense...
"Sam?"
His eyes snapped open.
"Thought you were going to doze off for a minute there," she rubbed his arm gently.
"Sorry. Just trying to collect some strength before I go deal with that lot," he nodded towards the office.
"Well, come on then. This kidnapping won’t solve itself, you know."
"Yeah. I do."
Annie, more exhausted than she let on, turned to enter CID. As she pushed open the door Sam could see Chris sitting at a desk. Chris. What had Chris asked him? In the bathroom? Something about a car and paint...
"Hey, Annie? Do you know anything about Chris borrowing Ray’s car?"
"Well it’s only what they’ve been arguing ‘bout the past two days." She backed up next to Sam and together they watched as Ray and Chris seemed to purposely avoid each other. "Apparently Chris got Ray drunk, took his car, then convinced him the next day that he’d agreed to let him borrow it."
"That’s awfully devious for Chris, isn’t it?"
"You wouldn’t believe half the stuff he pulls over on Ray. Now, it wouldn’t have bothered Ray so much except he promised his mum he’d drive her to Liverpool this weekend, only Chris’s been refusing to give ’im his car back. Ray said that if he doesn’t have it by tonight he’s going to hang Chris over a lamp post in Canal Street in nowt but his Y-fronts."
Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise, proud of Annie’s observational skills.
"You seem to know a great deal about this situation, WDC Cartwright."
"Surveillance, sir. Got to pay attention to the details." She flashed a grin.
"Well, God is in the detail."
Details. That’s it. Sam had it.
"Come on. I’ve got the perfect job for you." With renewed strength, he pushed through the office doors, Annie following behind.
"Annie, sort all these 1972 reports from the Witham case..."
*
"...and it means me interviewing you lot about Charley Witham. Or, you could just have another pint of coffee and we’ll wait for the bodies to float down the canal."
Sam waved his hand in emphasis and in an effort to keep himself awake. But mostly it was for emphasis. Whatever it was, it did the trick.
"Fine. Tyler, Carling, Skelton. Arses in my office. Let’s watch Sammy-boy here do his best impression of an omnipotent being and solve all our problems with his magical woman’s intuition."
The Guv stormed into his lair leaving Ray and Chris to shuffle behind. The latter, however, was more interested in watching his shoes rather than where he was going and instantly collided into the very man he was trying to avoid.
"Oi, div head! You better drive a shit load better than you walk."
" ‘M sorry, Ray."
"Sorry ‘bout what? Bumpin’ into me, or bumpin’ me car into a pole?"
"I told you I didn’t crash it or nothing."
"Then were the bloody hell is it?"
Sam saw Chris crumbling and disaster looming. Thank God he was now coherent enough to do something about it. Quickly he stepped between the two men.
"Whoa. Slow down." The DI raised his hands. "Look, we’re all tired, we’re all frustrated. Let’s not take it out on each other. Ray, I’ve seen Chris behind the wheel and he drives more carefully than I do which, according to the Guv, is worse than his Aunt Mabel. So I’m sure that your car’s fine. Right, Chris?"
Ray glared at Chris, who kept his eyes on the floor.
"Chris?"
"Sorry, Boss. Yes, Boss," Chris looked Ray straight in the eyes, "I woulda told you."
Ray just stormed into Gene’s office as Chris heaved a huge sigh of relief.
"Cheers, Boss." Chris was about to follow Ray, when Sam grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Chris, I hope for your sake your girlfriend used washable paint."
"You already told me to paint over it!"
"I did?"
"Let’s go girls!" Gene bellowed.
"It’s parked out back, under a sheet. Me mate brought over some paint."
"Gladys!"
Sam ushered Chris through the doors.
"Well this is nice..."
*
"Which schoolmate Chris?"
Chris looked down at the file, then back at his DI, but came up with nothing. "I just can’t remember, sir. It was a long time ago."
Chris saw Ray eyeing him from the corner and froze.
"You know what might help DC Skelton? Some fresh air. Out by the car park..."
Chris finally cottoned on. "Yeah, yeah. That’d be brilliant, sir."
"Come on then. Lead the way."
Sam followed Chris out of CID, and away from the prying eyes of DS Carling. He was feeling much better now though his hand still twinged a bit. Maybe those poor excuses for 21st century doctors managed to do something right. Dry mouth was still a problem though and he also realized he hadn’t brushed his teeth in at least two days. Sam popped the last piece of Chris’ Juicy Fruit in his mouth as they entered the lift.
Chris couldn’t help notice the chewing. "That helpin’?"
"More than you know. So where exactly is Ray’s car?"
"I drove it over last night when the Guv made me pick up dinner at the Taj Mahal."
"I keep telling him that’s no place to get a good curry."
"My stomach agrees with you, Boss."
The lift landed on the first floor and Sam followed Chris out.
"Anyway, it was dark, so I figured no one’d notice. Parked it out back an’ threw an old bed sheet over it. God I hope it’s still there. The bedsheet. An’ the car. Ray’s goin’ to kill me."
They hurried past Phyllis.
"And where are you two off to? You’ve only got a few hours left on that deadline."
"Just need a bit of fresh air, Phyllis. You know, get the lungs pumping, the mind churning. Bet you don’t remember fresh air, do you?"
"Not since you clogged it up with your poncey girl aftershave. Boss."
"I didn’t think you needed to shave," Chris told Sam. "Sir. Sorry. Sir. I-I meant it as a compliment, like."
Sam shoved Chris through the door noticing his hand was aching again. Maybe fresh air wasn’t exactly the greatest idea. "To the car. And while we walk, maybe you can rack that brain of yours and tell me who that schoolmate was."
They headed down the stairs.
"Boss, I’m sorry, but me mind’s a blank."
"Just relax. We’ll take a run up. Jus’ talk us through that day from the beginning."
Sam stopped walking. How could Chris not remember something so vital? Or at least not write it down. Sam could remember any detail of any case he ever worked. Probably because in his old life he would spend hours memorizing case notes and witness statements. That was also how he had forgotten Maya’s birthday.
But anything he didn’t memorize he could find in his excellently detailed notes. Back home he had boxes and boxes of moleskin notebooks, all labeled and numbered. Each one with a typed transcript of its contents.
Maya had once asked why he kept everything. Why he needed the notebooks if he had the transcripts. She didn’t understand the importance of the original written word. How the feel of the notebook could trigger forgotten memories.
It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember one time when he actually went back to the notebooks. He needed to keep them. Needed to keep everything. Every note, e-mail, text message. Text messages on his mobile. His mobile. He wondered where it was now. How many unread texts and unheard voice mails waited for him in 2006...
Chewing harder he tried to concentrate on Chris’ words. Once again it was like he was experiencing his colleagues’ memories rather than just hearing them. But it wasn’t as strong this time, like the effect was wearing off.
Sam certainly hoped he was imagining that moustache. It just didn’t suit Chris, he thought.
And there it was. The connection Sam was looking for. "Stella Lamb gave you Graham Bathurst’s name?"
"I just couldn’t remember. I was flustered. I couldn’t, uh, sorry Boss."
"What’s going on here then? Kiss and a cuddle?" Gene quietly questioned.
"Stella was the first one to point the finger at Bathurst. That’s why her and her mum have been targeted."
Sam felt smug. It had worked, his plan. He hoped he didn’t look smug. Just because he was ill didn’t mean Gene was above taking a swing at him. Sam made the effort to appear less smug.
"Then let’s stop pussy footing round out here and see where this lead takes us."
Sam started to follow Gene, but Chris quietly stopped him.
"But what about the car?"
Gene beat Sam to the chase. "What car?" He asked, as his eyes immediately darted to the bronze Cortina parked carefully out front.
"Ray’s car," Chris mumbled.
Gene’s interest piqued, he strolled down the steps.
"You mean the car you wrecked? You actually brought it round here? Where Ray could see it at any moment?"
"I didn’t wreck it, Guv."
"Then what the bleedin’ hell is wrong with it?"
Sam finally stepped in. "I don’t think you wanna know, Guv."
Gene pushed past them down the steps, lighting a cigarette along the way. Wow. Multitasking, Sam thought.
"Actually DI Dorothy, I think it’s just the laugh I need."
As the men stood at the back of the station staring at what was presumably Ray Carling’s pride and joy, Sam waited for the beeping to begin. He was absolutely convinced his drug induced hallucinations had returned and that he was once again tripping the light fantastic.
That is, until Gene spoke first. "You great, noncey, flower pickin’, daisy chainin’ sod. You should’ve wrecked the car!"
The ‘72 Hillman Avenger Estate was virtually unrecognizable. Painted on the bonnet was a giant, yellow happy face wearing a wreath of flowers. Chains of flowers continued down the sides, intertwined with peace signs, more happy faces and some figures Sam could only assume were meant to be naked, dancing people. Men and women.
"It was me bird, Guv."
"Well I hope you at least got upstairs inside."
They both turned to Sam, waiting for his take on the situation. All Sam could do however was laugh. Laugh hysterically. Wiping the tears from his eyes he finally realized Gene and Chris were staring at him. "Actually, I think it’s quite good."
"Ray’s gonna murder me, ain’t he?"
Sam moved closer to further examine the psychedelic machinery while Gene gave Chris’ back a comforting pat.
"Just make sure you lemme know who’ll get your pension, Skelton."
Sam examined the details. Chris’ girlfriend had certainly taken her time. He wondered how drunk Chris had actually been when he allowed her to do this. She had even painted some slogans along the bottom...
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Hang in there, Sam.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
It couldn’t be. Sam crouched down on his hands and knees and crawled closer to the car.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Rough hands grabbed him by the collar, hoisting him in the air but still he couldn’t tear his eyes from the paint.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Suddenly, Sam found himself getting a slap in the face.
"Oi! Tyler! Snap out of it. Thought you were feeling better," Gene asked, the faintest trace of concern visible in his voice.
"Yeah, Guv, I am. It’s, I jus’..." Sam blinked the stars from his eyes.
Gene held Sam by the collar and started to pull him away, leaving Chris scratching his head. "Then let’s go solve a..."
"Kidnapping. Yeah. I remember."
As Sam was dragged away from the scene, he noticed the tins of paint by Chris’ feet. "Chris, is that the paint your mate brought?"
"Yeah, I think it’s the right color."
"You can’t use it. It’s house paint."
"What?"
Gene continued to pull him away but Sam managed to shout back, "Try washing it first!"
"Then make a go for Spain," Gene called back.
*
Sam nestled into the passenger side of the Cortina. Leaning his head back against the soft, leather seat he relished the occasional perks of being a DI. While the rest of the squad was running around CID he could take a moment to sit. Sit in a chair that wasn’t made of wood and surplus WWII material.
"Comfy, Gladys?"
"Just enjoying the fine leather interior of your impeccable classic car, Guv."
Gene turned a sharp corner, and Sam hit his head on the window. Without even looking at his DCI Sam knew he’d done it on purpose.
"You must be fit again, back to sounding like a thesaurus an’ all. But this car is not a classic. Just came out this year. First off the lot."
Sam readjusted his position, attempting to save his head from further injury. "Impressive. Especially on only a copper’s salary."
It was a bit of a low blow and Sam knew it, even before Gene abruptly turned the car left and suddenly braked, resulting in a close meeting between Sam’s face and the dash. Before he could recover, Gene was off again.
"For your information, not that you deserve it Tyler, was a gift from the missus. Knows how to save her pennies. She’s not jus’ a pretty face you know."
Sam rubbed his head. "Actually, I wouldn’t. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting your wife. I’m inclined to believe she doesn’t exist."
"Ray’s seen her. Ask ‘im."
"Oh yes. Because in my precious free time I love to sit down and have little chats with Ray Carling."
"If I didn’t know better, Sammy, I’d say you painted Carling’s car yourself during that so-called sickie of yours."
"As much as it pains me to say it, I had nothing to do with that little fiasco. I’m not that good of an artist. And besides, it does hurt me to see a car disgraced like that, even if it is Ray’s."
"Glad to know you have some respect for the important things. What’d you drive in Hyde, anyway?"
Sam froze. Of course he remembered his old car. A beautiful Jeep with iPod docking station. Two cup holders. One for his venti cup of slow roasted Starbuck’s coffee and another that was the perfect resting place for his Nokia mobile...
"Don’t even remember. Just some heap the station landed me with."
"That’s a shame. It’s amazing how much a car can say ‘bout a man. Jus’ look at James Bond. Always has them prissy Aston Martins. Look pretty, but don’ think they do much. Then...bang! Takes your head clean off."
"True. Though they did take it a little far with the whole invisibility thing."
"What?"
"Nothing."
Gene turned another corner, barely missing a congregation of stray cats. Sam turned his head to check for any casualties and found himself wondering what Ivanhoe was up to...
"So, what car would a girl like you want, Tyler? You seem like the Aston Martin type."
"I’m not prissy."
"Right."
Sam hesitated.
"So?"
"I’m thinking."
"Well hurry it up, we’re almost there."
But Sam didn’t really need to think. He knew exactly what car he wanted. He’d known ever since he’d seen that horrible Gone in 60 Seconds film, back when he made DI. The first time. A bunch of mates from work were going, mainly hoping to wank off to Angelina Jolie. Despite the extra paperwork that came with his new position Sam had agreed to go along. Though he was mostly interested in seeing Christopher Eccleston. That man could act. But when he saw the car, he fell in love.
Gene pulled to a stop in front of the Bathurst home.
"A ‘67 Shelby GT 500."
Gene turned off the car. "Hm." He leapt out of the driver’s seat, and Sam followed close behind. "I could see that."
Sam didn’t know why but the comment made him smile as they stood together in front of the house. "Jesus. It looks exactly how I saw it."
"You been here before?"
"No, I meant the way I pictured it, in my mind, when you so eloquently described your previous encounters with the Bathurst family."
"So, how you wanna do this? Softly, softly," Gene mocked.
"Don’t think we have the time, Guv."
"For once, DI Tyler, I’m inclined to agree with you." And with that Gene kicked in the front door.
*
The Guv and DI Tyler had dragged in Mitch Bathurst and of course Ray was asked to join the interrogation. Ray was usually the one let in on the talks in Lost and Found, even after Billy Kemble. The Guv always seemed to need an extra pair of hands. DI Tyler never seemed to need an extra brain.
Chris sighed as he watched the three detectives force Mitch into the crowded room and slam the door behind them. Mitch seemed like the perfect suspect. Case would be solved any minute now. Chris was glad he convinced the Guv to let him call Sam, not that Gene would see it that way.
With everything apparently under control for the first time in over 36 hours and Ray well out of sight, Chris spotted the perfect opportunity to sort his other problem. He caught Annie as she left CID.
"Hey Annie..."
"They bring in Mitch Bathurst?"
"Yeah, he’s bein’ interrogated right now."
They both heard a smack emanate from Lost and Found.
"Sounds like they have it all in hand," she lamented.
"Uhm, Annie, seeing’s how there’s nowt we can do now, think you could help me with something?"
"I don’t know Chris. Do you think it could wait til we’re sure this is all over?"
Chris shuffled his feet. Annie sighed.
"What is it."
*
"Are you sure you wanna do this? I think it suits Ray fine," Annie giggled.
"You say that now, but soon as Ray’s chopped me up in little pieces an’ strewn me through the canal, then you’ll feel guilty."
"Alright, alright. Let’s hurry this up before they finish with the suspect."
Chris had filled two buckets with hot, soapy water and together he and Annie began scrubbing down the car. To Chris’ great relief the paint seemed to be coming off. Annie dipped her hands in the soothing water. "This is the closest I’ve come to a shower in two days. Isn’t that sad?"
Chris tried not to think of WDC Cartwright in the shower. "You’re not alone, Annie. Whole CID smells like the inside of me granddad’s armpits. ‘Specially Ray."
The thought of Ray in the shower quickly cooled any images Chris might’ve had of Annie in the same situation.
"Didn’t know we were runnin’ a car wash now, too." Phyllis stomped over to the pair.
"Looks like we’ve been caught wet-handed," Chris sighed and Annie rolled her eyes.
"Guv wants ya. They’ve finished with Bathurst but it doesn’t look like he’s your man."
Annie threw down her rag. "You’ve got to be kidding me. Why not?"
"Don’t know. Apparently it’s ‘ccording to DI Tyler’s opinion."
"Figures," Chris mumbled.
"They can’t need both of us right away. Why don’t you stay here an’ finish up. I’ll cover for you."
"You sure?" Chris brightened slightly.
"It’s no problem, Chris," Annie smiled and walked off with Phyllis.
"Cheers, Annie!" He called out, then turned his attention back to the car, "Where’s me mum when I need her," he huffed as we went back to scrubbing down the smooth metal.
*
Chris hurried back into the station. If Mitch Bathurst wasn’t their man he knew what would happen next. The Guv would get angry, probably beat the suspect down to a pulp anyway, then Ray would follow the Guv’s lead and probably beat down on Chris. DI Tyler would sulk in a corner until he got himself beat up by the Guv.
In these situations Chris made sure to stay near Annie. There wasn’t a copper in the station would dare hit a bird, not even when they were this stressed.
As the lift doors opened Chris immediately wished they would slam shut. Here he was, shirt and pants obviously damp, carrying two large buckets and right in front of him was Ray Carling.
"Where ya been, you nonce? What you doin’ with those buckets?"
"Uhm," he frantically wracked his brain, "Favor for Annie. So what’s goin’ on with Mitch?" Please change the subject, thought Chris. Please, please, please.
"Ugh. Looks like Tyler’s grand overview did us nowt."
Yes, Chris smiled as Ray took the bait.
"Now he’s got the Guv settin’ up some radio appeal thing. Thinks Lamb’s cryin’ will draw out the kidnappers or some shit."
Chris deposited the buckets in Lost and Found, then followed Ray into CID. "So what we supposed to do now?"
Ray plopped down at his desk. "Tyler wants us to go back through all the case notes. Again. Don’t know what he ‘spects us to find. I’ve been through those files more times than he’s looked up Cartwright’s skirt."
Ray’s phone rang and he gladly answered it, happy for the interruption. "DS Carling. A-Division...Hiya, Mum," Ray turned and glared at Chris, remembering he was supposed to be angry at him. "No, Mum. This weekend should be jus’ fine...Yup the car’s in tip top shape...Yeah...No...We’re jus’ in the middle of tough case is all. Look Mum, I’ve gotta go. See ya on Saturday...One o’clock. Ta."
As Ray hung up the phone, Chris pretended to be distracted by what must have been the most interesting carbon copy in the world. He could feel Ray’s eyes burning a whole in his neck.
"That was me mum."
Chris kept reading the paper. "Uh-huh. Kinda figured that." Please let the world swallow me now, Chris silently begged.
"Aren’t you a right little detective." Ray got out of his chair and slowly walked towards Chris. "Well, I told her we were all set for this weekend. That me car was all ready to go."
"I heard."
Ray leaned on Chris’ desk. Chris audibly gulped. "Now I wouldn’t have jus’ lied to her, would I?"
Chris must have had some sort of cosmic power on his side that day as at that very moment Gene and Sam decided to burst into CID with Annie, Mr. Lamb and the rest of the squad in tow.
"We have," Sam checked his watch, "precisely seven minutes until the appeal is broadcast. Hopefully the kidnappers will hear it and feel the urge to contact us. So pay attention to the phones. There’s also the chance that we will get some nutters calling in, pretending to be involved. That’s why we’ll also need to screen each call carefully before we jump on any information. We don’t have time to waste following up false leads."
He checked his watch again. "Alright, six minutes now. Everyone get ready."
Chris was relieved to see Ray had glued himself to the Guv’s side. With Annie comforting Mr. Lamb, Sam was by himself. "How ya feeling, Boss?"
"Good, Chris. Considering. Hey," Sam pulled him to the side and whispered conspiratorially, "Annie told me you tried washing the car. Did it work? Is it all off, or do I still need to arrange you some witness protection?"
Chris looked back at Ray who was still in deep conversation with Gene while Sam continued to obsessively check his watch. "Well, I got all the girly paint off but it took some of the car paint with it."
"How bad?"
"There’s still flowers and the naked people an’ stuff, it’s just like they’re not colored in anymore."
Sam checked his watch. "Well, it’s a start. Your mate who brought over the house paint, you think he could get you some actual car paint this time?"
"Don’ know, Boss. Maybe. But there’s no way I’d have time to paint the whole thing by meself. Not before Ray needs it anyway."
Sam checked his watch. "Don’t worry about that. You call your mate, get the right paint, and soon as this is over we’ll paint it together."
Mr. Lamb’s voice crackled over the radio, "Uhm, you want justice..."
"Really, Boss?"
Sam moved closer to Annie and Mr. Lamb, "Sure thing Chris." Sam checked his watch. "They’re early."
"My wife and daughter, Bea and Stella, they’re innocent, too..."
Part 2
Author: dak
Length/Word Count: 10,954 words
Rating: Green Cortina for swearing
Notes: mild Sam/Annie, spoilers for the entirety of 2.05, refs to 1.04, 1.05, 1.06, 2.04
-This is for
seal_girl who asked for 1) Set within 2.05 with tripping!Sam, 2) subplot with Sam helping out one of the others, 3) cars
-Huge, ginormous thanks to my beta readers
oliviasolar and
fanfic_whore who helped me reign in those wieldy commas, clarify confusion, and generally made everything better!
-Contains almost zero angst!
Summary: Chris gets some much needed help from an under-the-weather Sam during the Lamb Family kidnapping.
Three days.
It’d been three days of sweaty, feverish, hallucinatory torture. Unfortunately for Sam Tyler, none of those hallucinations were telling him why he was being forced to endure agony not suffered since he had the mumps at age four. An experience he relived only a few months ago when...
No. It probably wasn’t best to dwell on the paradox of almost meeting himself in a long past decade. Not when he was already hallucinating his Guv as an animated children’s program.
Gene Hunt. Somehow this was his fault. Yes, all his fault, thought Sam as he twisted in his damp sheets, for once not caring about the hygienic (or lack thereof) nature of his flat.
All Hunt’s shouting and spitting. Wiping his nose on the back of his hand, then shoving Sam up against the dusty shelves in Lost and Found. Couldn’t they get some cleaners in there once a week? At least once a month? Or maybe donate the unclaimed property to an orphanage or school or hospital?
A hospital. No. Course it wasn’t the Guv’s fault. Sure, getting beaten to a bloody pulp by unwashed hands on a daily basis didn’t help, but no. This was their fault. Something they did. In 2006.
What, Sam had no idea, but he’d never gotten this sick at home and he’d never yet been ill in 1973. Yes, it was the hospital’s fault. Some nurse or doctor did this to him, and as soon as he got back, got home, bloody hell were they going to hear about it. Yes, get home. Home. 2006. Almost there. Just get home, Sam...
"Wake up..." he mumbled as the fever spiked. He felt so close...If he could just...
But a sharp ringing brought him back. Back to 1973. Back to his flat. Back to his fever.
And as a febrile Sam struggled to answer the phone, he swore to God that someone better be dying.
*
"But I’m going to say this once and once only, Gene. Stay out of Camberwick Green!"
A volcanic crash broke off Sam’s incoherent train of thought as the table collapsed under Simon Lamb’s feet, leaving Sam watching in horror as the man swung from the fluorescent lights. With his hands still grasping Gene’s shirt time seemed to slow, as Sam could do nothing but stare at the crying man swaying back and forth.
He should be doing something. He’s here. He’s a police officer. A DC...DI. He should take charge. But the fever seemed to be controlling the part of his brain that usually maintained his reflexes, leaving sluggishness and a massive guilt complex in charge of his mind and body.
Luckily for Sam, Ray and Chris were faster than they looked, and took this moment to remind him they were coppers for a reason. Ray grabbed Mr. Lamb’s feet and with all the strength he could muster pushed the man up and loosened the tension on the noose. Annie had grabbed a chair and Chris quickly clambered on top of it, pulling out a pocket knife and cutting through the tough rope.
It all happened within seconds, but for Sam it seemed like hours, like the whole team was swimming through thick custard, trapped by the same heat that was wrapped around his addled brain.
The slow beep, beep, beep of hospital equipment filtered through his ears.
Are you finished, Doctor, or do you have to give Sam another test?
"What?"
"I said, are you finished, Dorothy, or am I goin’ ta have to give you a good-night kiss?"
The little strength he had snapped him back to the present, and Sam realized that he was still clutching to his DCI, now more out of fear than anger.
"Sorry, Guv," he replied meekly and released his hands.
"Right. Well, now that you’re..." Gene carefully wiped Sam’s sweat off his shirt, looking his DI up and down, "...partially amongst the living, see what you can do about sorting this mess."
Gene turned to leave and the imminent departure of the strong presence began to fill Sam with unwanted apprehension. "Where are you going?" Sam asked a little too eagerly, the anxiety seeping through. Damn overdoses.
"One minute you’re laying into me like I broke your favorite toy, next you’re beggin’ me to stay for tea! Me mum in menopause has less mood swings than you, Tyler. I’ll be in my office. You, act like my DI an’ sort this out!"
With that Gene pushed through the doors of the canteen, leaving Sam alone in the chaos. He still had no clue what was going on, what time it was, or what clothes he was wearing. Breathing heavily, he looked for help.
Annie had sat Mr. Lamb down in a chair and was now fetching him some water. Ray and Chris were arguing quietly in a corner and most everyone else was smoking. Smoking. Sam hated smoking. Smoking was bad. Smoking caused lung cancer. Emphysema. Bad breath. Sam wanted a cigarette.
His body shook and his right arm hurt something terrible. He grabbed it and massaged it, flexing and relaxing his elbow but nothing seemed to help. It felt like it was on fire. Like someone was injecting acid directly into his veins.
Then the beeping started again.
Bet it was drugs. Drugs to stop, whatever. Drugs that were doing nothing to help his situation.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Drugs that had caused all this to begin with.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Drugs from 2006. Where he was in a coma...
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Where...
"I’ll get it back to you, Ray, I swear. But don’t you think this is just a bit more important. Well, at least right now, y’know? Priorities ‘n all."
The increased volume of Chris and Ray’s conversation droned out the beeping.
"Yeah, yeah. Priorities. But soon’s this’s all settled, I expect to see her back here in one piece. Got that, you div?"
"She weren’t really in one piece to begin with," Chris mumbled but Ray clearly heard him and grabbed him by the collar.
"Oi! Watch it, Skelton, or that’ll be the last time I ‘elp you out with a bird."
"You always say that."
Ray let go of Chris. "This time I mean it. Better go check on the prints from that shoe, or the Guv’ll have me balls. You comin’?" Ray went for the exit, but Chris warily snuck a peek at his DI.
"Go ahead. I’ll be right there."
As soon as Ray was gone, Chris ran over to Sam. He needed his advice. Sure, DI Tyler might currently be sweating and twitching like an un-medicated spastic but the advice of a feverish Sam was still loads better than the advice of the rest of an entire, healthy A-Division.
"Uh, Boss? Could I have a word, like?"
Sam turned, almost surprised to see Chris. "Is it about the case?"
"Well, not exactly, see--"
"Then it’ll have to wait, DC Skelton." Sam cut him off. Annie was finally returning with Mr. Lamb’s water, and Sam hurried to join her.
"But..." Chris usually let himself be pushed aside. Let his problems and concerns take a backseat to the rest of A-Division’s. But he couldn’t on this. This was a matter of life or death and he wouldn’t be able to wait until the kidnapping was over. Wouldn’t be able to wait for Sam to be less...sweaty. No, he would stick to his guns on this.
So, grabbing a butty from Gwen, Chris stood resolutely in the corner and waited for Annie and Sam to finish their interview with Mr. Lamb.
"If you’re really serious about topping yourself, try one of our meat pies."
*
Plod escorted Mr. Lamb somewhere more private, away from the prying eyes of Manchester’s finest. Annie helped some of the WPC’s sort the tables and chairs in the canteen.
"Old habits," Sam smiled as he watched her, then quickly shook all thoughts of WDC Cartwright out of his mind.
There was a job at hand. A kidnapping to solve. A kidnapping involving a case he knew absolutely nothing about. Time to track down the Guv. Time to work. He wasn’t that ill. He could handle this. Handle doing some police officer...thingies.
"Ow," his arm was hurting again, worse this time, and he grabbed it and swept through the canteen doors, certain he could reach CID without fainting. As long as he concentrated hard enough...
"Boss?"
"Godsakes, Chris. Can’t you see we’re in a serious situation here?"
Chris followed behind Sam. "Just thought this might help." He cautiously handed Sam a packet of Juicy Fruit and a cup of water. "Me mum always gave me some when I was sick. Said it’d help take me mind off the pain. An’ it help keeps your mouth from gettin’ all dry and sticky."
Sam gratefully grabbed the gum and water. "Oh. Cheers, Chris. ‘S good advice. Wouldn’t find that on Wikipedia, would you?"
Chris stopped walking. "Is that, like, an Italian chemist’s or summat?"
Sam froze outside the doors of CID. "No, it’s a site that, where, well, in the future, uhm, see..."
"Is it another Hyde thing?"
"Yeah, yeah. Hyde. That’s it." Sam drifted off for a moment, eyes glazing over. When did it get so hot? It was only May. Did they have air conditioning? Wait, was air conditioning even invented yet? Could he invent it now, if it wasn’t?
"Uhm, Boss?" Ray appeared next to them at the doorway, obviously taking a great delight in Sam’s suffering.
"What?"
"You goin’ ta go in? Kidnapping ‘as a deadline an’ all."
Sam suddenly remembered where he was, and realized he was blocking the entrance. "Oh. Kidnapping. Right," and he burst through the creaking office doors.
Chris sighed and followed behind Sam and Ray. Watching as Sam thirstily downed his cup of water and paced CID like a cat in heat, Chris realized that perhaps this wasn’t the best time to get DI Tyler’s help.
"Guv, talk to me."
*
Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate.
Chris was right. The gum was helping. Every time the pain in his arm flared up, he chewed harder and faster. To the Guv he must look like one of those sheep Dickie Fingers was so fond of. Standing there, blank stare. Chewing, chewing, chewing. Sheep.
Sam liked sheep. He liked how, from a distance, they looked like fuzzy little cotton balls. As a kid, on train rides, he loved staring out the windows, always waiting, hoping to catch a glimpse of the furry, little animals. Wouldn’t that be great if they could genetically engineer sheep so that they were the size of cotton balls? They could sell them by the dozen in little, plastic baggies and kids could keep tiny, little sheep pens in their bedrooms...
A note was shoved into his hands. Oh, that’s right. The kidnapping. Shit. He asked Gene some basic questions. Who? What? Where? But the Guv’s aftershave made it terribly hard to breathe.
The pain was coming back. He chewed harder.
As Gene relayed the story of the previous day’s events, Sam was engrossed. Not that Gene was gifted with exceptional storytelling abilities, but the more he spoke, the more Sam could actually see the story, rather than hear it.
He could see Simon Lamb enter the station. Feel Charley Witham’s distraught parents. Hear Mrs. Bathurst’s angry shouts.
It was intoxicating. It was exhilarating. It was gone. Sam needed to sit down.
"Chris even made a tape. He knows how much you like ’em."
Chris. Poor Chris. Sam had only been in the office for a half hour and he’d already yelled at Chris three times. Well, he deserved it. No. He didn’t. Well, maybe for leaving that Bond girl junk on his desk. But that first time...hadn’t Chris just been asking for help? Was Ursula Andress really that bad? He should...
Wait. The Guv’s still talking. Oh right. Kidnapping. Again, shit. He really needed to remember that. Focus. Focus. Focus.
"So why would someone target Simon Lamb’s family?"
"That’s the big question, isn’t it? Also why I asked Chris to get you down here in the first place. Thought we could use a little extra brain power. But by the looks of you, seems we might as well of phoned up the great detective Britt Eklund. Least she would’ve been a better site to stare at."
Gene sniffed the air.
"When’s the last time you showered?"
Sam quickly rose from his seat. I can handle this, he thought.
"I can handle this."
I’ll figure it out, he thought.
"I’ll figure it out."
I really need a piss.
"I really need a piss, he thought."
"You thought what?"
Gene stared at Sam. Sam stared back at Gene.
Sheep, he thought. No. Shit. Shit. He meant shit.
"You sure..."
"I’m going to grab Annie and have another sit down with Mr. Lamb. Maybe there’s some connection he didn’t think of or thought wasn’t important."
Sam left the office before Gene could question his sanity.
He glanced around CID and saw that Annie had returned from the canteen. Before she could reach her desk, Sam intercepted her, lightly grabbing her elbow.
She felt warm. Nice warm. Not Sahara Desert warm like Sam’s body. He could feel the soft flesh under her thin, flowered shirt. What would it feel like without the cloth there? To run his hand up and down her...
"Sam?" She got his attention, but didn’t remove her arm from his touch. Damn the woman. She was sending those warm, soft signals directly to his...
"GetMrLambanmeetmeinlockerroomtenminutes."
"Sorry?"
Her arm was still there. He needs to move his hand. Just move his...
"Get Mr. Lamb and meet me in the locker room in ten minutes."
"Okay," she smiled. That smile shouldn’t be so intoxicating. It wasn’t fair. It was like a drug. Drug. Overdose. Shit. That’s right. Focus.
Sam finally removed his arm and nervously rubbed his right hand.
"Ten minutes. Locker room," he repeated, mostly for his own benefit.
"Yes, sir." She smiled again and went off. Damn that smile. Damn her. Damn...
Sam’s pants suddenly felt incredibly tight. He grabbed a folder.
"Chris!" He yelled, in an unusually high voice. Immediately his attempt at a protégé was by his side.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Go to the loo with me." Sam hurried to the doors.
"Uhm, sure Boss." Chris looked back and shrugged at Ray who just mouthed "perv" and went back to studying a file. At the office doors Chris whispered to Sam.
"Is that folder necessary, sir? To go to the bogs, I mean."
Sam peeked behind the folder.
"Yes. Yes it is." Damn drugs. Sam hated drugs.
In the toilets Sam shoved the folder into Chris’ hands before running into a stall. Chris stood obediently by the sinks trying not to listen to his superior officer pissing.
"You said you wanted to talk to me, Chris?"
"About the case? Well, I--"
"No, it was something else. Something you said in the canteen."
Chris found it odd he was having this conversation through a stall door but was still glad to be having it nonetheless. "Oh, right. Well, I’m sorta in a bit of a pickle, Boss."
Sam had flushed the toilet but was still in the stall. Chris wondered what he possibly could be doing in there, but then realized he didn’t want to know.
Sam had flushed the toilet and realized with delight that if he was in Australia, the water would be circling the other way. This thought had occurred to him before, but for some reason he had never found the subject so fascinating. He decided he would flush the toilet again, just to see if the water would magically go the opposite direction.
He flushed.
It didn’t.
Sam was thoroughly disappointed.
"So why don’t you ask Ray?"
"Well I would, see, but it, well, the whole thing sorta involves Ray."
Sam popped his head over the stall wall. He decided standing on the toilet was the best way to discipline it for refusing to flush a different direction.
"Oh, God. You didn’t sleep with him, did you?"
"Sorry, sir?" Chris asked in horror.
"Na. Didn’t think so. Just taking the piss."
Sam thought that was awfully funny. Wasn’t he supposed to be doing something?
"That’s, uh, good one."
Sam finally emerged from the stall. Chris wondered why he was pouting. Sam wondered why the toilet wouldn’t listen to him.
"But, okay, here’s the thing. I had a date with me bird the other night."
"The one from the ice rink," Sam stated, surprised he could form a coherent thought. He did feel a bit cooler, but his mental argument with the toilet had left him mentally exhausted. Well, either that or it was the drugs again.
"Yeah. Well, we got in this fight. Real stupid. I got bladdered ‘n mentioned she reminded me a bit of me mum. But she’d seen pictures of me mum, an’ she’s not the most gorgeous woman, you know. Me mum, not me bird. So she thought--"
Sam felt his arm burn again. He popped in another piece of gum, but it didn’t help. He felt sick, weak, tired. The sweat dripped off his nose. The beeping returned. He leaned on the sink for support.
"Get on with it, Chris."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Sorry. Right. So anyway I promised I’d do anything, just to make it up to her. I-I really like this one, Boss."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Sam’s breathing became more labored.
"Anyway, she says she wants to drive out to the country. Spend a night under the stars. Thing is she don’t know I don’t have a car."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Chew. Breathe. Chew. Breathe. Focus, Sam. Focus. Pain. Arm. Pain.
"So I asked Ray if I could borrow his. An’ he says yes, bein’ a good mate an’ all. That an’ I promised I’d get downstairs inside an’ tell ’im ‘bout it."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
It got louder and stronger. Sam clutched the sink so hard his knuckles turned white.
"Point. Chris?"
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Well, turns out she’s a bit more of a hippie bird than I realized, an’ asked if she could paint the car."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Paint. Hippies. Sam nicked hippies the other night, didn’t he?
"I was already pissed, so I says yes, like the nonce I am, an’ next thing I know Ray’s car’s covered in flowers an’ happy faces an’ peace signs an’ stuff.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Pain. Pain. Paint. Ray’s car. Painted.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Boss?"
Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.
"What should I do?"
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
"You alright, Boss?"
Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain.
"DI Tyler?"
Chris gently grabbed Sam by the shoulders and pulled him away from the sink. He helped Sam lean back against the cold stall wall. The sounds finally faded. He closed his eyes. Took deep breaths.
"Maybe you should go home, sir. You look paler than Yoko at a McCartney fan club meetin’."
" ‘M fine, Chris. Just, just need a minute."
Chris looked skeptical, but backed off slightly. "So, what should I do about Ray’s car? I can’t give it back to him covered in all those hippie drawings. He’d have me balls in a sling."
Ray’s car? What...oh, paint.
"Paint it."
"Paint it?"
"Yeah, just get some paint and paint over it. Ray’ll never know the difference."
"I guess."
"Chris, you still in there?" Ray poked his head through the door causing the young DC to jump. "Guv needs us."
"Comin’. Cheers, Boss."
Sam was now left on his own. He turned on the sink and splashed cool water over his face. What was he supposed to be doing? "The kidnapping." Damn it. He’d forgotten again. He checked his watch. It was time to meet Annie.
But he had to pee again.
"Bloody Lucozade," sighed Sam as he dragged himself back into the stall. As he flushed for the third time Sam couldn’t possibly remember why he had been so engrossed in a toilet.
*
"Do you want me to fetch you some water? Might help you get your strength back."
Sam smiled at Annie as they left the locker room.
"You don’t have to fetch me anything, Annie. You’re not a WPC anymore, remember."
"Well I wouldn’t be doing it as your officer, sir. I’d be doing it as your friend. Now, do you want some water or not?" She looked at him with concern.
"I’ll be fine Annie. Thanks." Sam leaned against the wall across from CID and closed his eyes. When did he get so tired? All he’d been doing the past few days was sleeping anyway. It just didn’t make sense...
"Sam?"
His eyes snapped open.
"Thought you were going to doze off for a minute there," she rubbed his arm gently.
"Sorry. Just trying to collect some strength before I go deal with that lot," he nodded towards the office.
"Well, come on then. This kidnapping won’t solve itself, you know."
"Yeah. I do."
Annie, more exhausted than she let on, turned to enter CID. As she pushed open the door Sam could see Chris sitting at a desk. Chris. What had Chris asked him? In the bathroom? Something about a car and paint...
"Hey, Annie? Do you know anything about Chris borrowing Ray’s car?"
"Well it’s only what they’ve been arguing ‘bout the past two days." She backed up next to Sam and together they watched as Ray and Chris seemed to purposely avoid each other. "Apparently Chris got Ray drunk, took his car, then convinced him the next day that he’d agreed to let him borrow it."
"That’s awfully devious for Chris, isn’t it?"
"You wouldn’t believe half the stuff he pulls over on Ray. Now, it wouldn’t have bothered Ray so much except he promised his mum he’d drive her to Liverpool this weekend, only Chris’s been refusing to give ’im his car back. Ray said that if he doesn’t have it by tonight he’s going to hang Chris over a lamp post in Canal Street in nowt but his Y-fronts."
Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise, proud of Annie’s observational skills.
"You seem to know a great deal about this situation, WDC Cartwright."
"Surveillance, sir. Got to pay attention to the details." She flashed a grin.
"Well, God is in the detail."
Details. That’s it. Sam had it.
"Come on. I’ve got the perfect job for you." With renewed strength, he pushed through the office doors, Annie following behind.
"Annie, sort all these 1972 reports from the Witham case..."
*
"...and it means me interviewing you lot about Charley Witham. Or, you could just have another pint of coffee and we’ll wait for the bodies to float down the canal."
Sam waved his hand in emphasis and in an effort to keep himself awake. But mostly it was for emphasis. Whatever it was, it did the trick.
"Fine. Tyler, Carling, Skelton. Arses in my office. Let’s watch Sammy-boy here do his best impression of an omnipotent being and solve all our problems with his magical woman’s intuition."
The Guv stormed into his lair leaving Ray and Chris to shuffle behind. The latter, however, was more interested in watching his shoes rather than where he was going and instantly collided into the very man he was trying to avoid.
"Oi, div head! You better drive a shit load better than you walk."
" ‘M sorry, Ray."
"Sorry ‘bout what? Bumpin’ into me, or bumpin’ me car into a pole?"
"I told you I didn’t crash it or nothing."
"Then were the bloody hell is it?"
Sam saw Chris crumbling and disaster looming. Thank God he was now coherent enough to do something about it. Quickly he stepped between the two men.
"Whoa. Slow down." The DI raised his hands. "Look, we’re all tired, we’re all frustrated. Let’s not take it out on each other. Ray, I’ve seen Chris behind the wheel and he drives more carefully than I do which, according to the Guv, is worse than his Aunt Mabel. So I’m sure that your car’s fine. Right, Chris?"
Ray glared at Chris, who kept his eyes on the floor.
"Chris?"
"Sorry, Boss. Yes, Boss," Chris looked Ray straight in the eyes, "I woulda told you."
Ray just stormed into Gene’s office as Chris heaved a huge sigh of relief.
"Cheers, Boss." Chris was about to follow Ray, when Sam grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Chris, I hope for your sake your girlfriend used washable paint."
"You already told me to paint over it!"
"I did?"
"Let’s go girls!" Gene bellowed.
"It’s parked out back, under a sheet. Me mate brought over some paint."
"Gladys!"
Sam ushered Chris through the doors.
"Well this is nice..."
*
"Which schoolmate Chris?"
Chris looked down at the file, then back at his DI, but came up with nothing. "I just can’t remember, sir. It was a long time ago."
Chris saw Ray eyeing him from the corner and froze.
"You know what might help DC Skelton? Some fresh air. Out by the car park..."
Chris finally cottoned on. "Yeah, yeah. That’d be brilliant, sir."
"Come on then. Lead the way."
Sam followed Chris out of CID, and away from the prying eyes of DS Carling. He was feeling much better now though his hand still twinged a bit. Maybe those poor excuses for 21st century doctors managed to do something right. Dry mouth was still a problem though and he also realized he hadn’t brushed his teeth in at least two days. Sam popped the last piece of Chris’ Juicy Fruit in his mouth as they entered the lift.
Chris couldn’t help notice the chewing. "That helpin’?"
"More than you know. So where exactly is Ray’s car?"
"I drove it over last night when the Guv made me pick up dinner at the Taj Mahal."
"I keep telling him that’s no place to get a good curry."
"My stomach agrees with you, Boss."
The lift landed on the first floor and Sam followed Chris out.
"Anyway, it was dark, so I figured no one’d notice. Parked it out back an’ threw an old bed sheet over it. God I hope it’s still there. The bedsheet. An’ the car. Ray’s goin’ to kill me."
They hurried past Phyllis.
"And where are you two off to? You’ve only got a few hours left on that deadline."
"Just need a bit of fresh air, Phyllis. You know, get the lungs pumping, the mind churning. Bet you don’t remember fresh air, do you?"
"Not since you clogged it up with your poncey girl aftershave. Boss."
"I didn’t think you needed to shave," Chris told Sam. "Sir. Sorry. Sir. I-I meant it as a compliment, like."
Sam shoved Chris through the door noticing his hand was aching again. Maybe fresh air wasn’t exactly the greatest idea. "To the car. And while we walk, maybe you can rack that brain of yours and tell me who that schoolmate was."
They headed down the stairs.
"Boss, I’m sorry, but me mind’s a blank."
"Just relax. We’ll take a run up. Jus’ talk us through that day from the beginning."
Sam stopped walking. How could Chris not remember something so vital? Or at least not write it down. Sam could remember any detail of any case he ever worked. Probably because in his old life he would spend hours memorizing case notes and witness statements. That was also how he had forgotten Maya’s birthday.
But anything he didn’t memorize he could find in his excellently detailed notes. Back home he had boxes and boxes of moleskin notebooks, all labeled and numbered. Each one with a typed transcript of its contents.
Maya had once asked why he kept everything. Why he needed the notebooks if he had the transcripts. She didn’t understand the importance of the original written word. How the feel of the notebook could trigger forgotten memories.
It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember one time when he actually went back to the notebooks. He needed to keep them. Needed to keep everything. Every note, e-mail, text message. Text messages on his mobile. His mobile. He wondered where it was now. How many unread texts and unheard voice mails waited for him in 2006...
Chewing harder he tried to concentrate on Chris’ words. Once again it was like he was experiencing his colleagues’ memories rather than just hearing them. But it wasn’t as strong this time, like the effect was wearing off.
Sam certainly hoped he was imagining that moustache. It just didn’t suit Chris, he thought.
And there it was. The connection Sam was looking for. "Stella Lamb gave you Graham Bathurst’s name?"
"I just couldn’t remember. I was flustered. I couldn’t, uh, sorry Boss."
"What’s going on here then? Kiss and a cuddle?" Gene quietly questioned.
"Stella was the first one to point the finger at Bathurst. That’s why her and her mum have been targeted."
Sam felt smug. It had worked, his plan. He hoped he didn’t look smug. Just because he was ill didn’t mean Gene was above taking a swing at him. Sam made the effort to appear less smug.
"Then let’s stop pussy footing round out here and see where this lead takes us."
Sam started to follow Gene, but Chris quietly stopped him.
"But what about the car?"
Gene beat Sam to the chase. "What car?" He asked, as his eyes immediately darted to the bronze Cortina parked carefully out front.
"Ray’s car," Chris mumbled.
Gene’s interest piqued, he strolled down the steps.
"You mean the car you wrecked? You actually brought it round here? Where Ray could see it at any moment?"
"I didn’t wreck it, Guv."
"Then what the bleedin’ hell is wrong with it?"
Sam finally stepped in. "I don’t think you wanna know, Guv."
Gene pushed past them down the steps, lighting a cigarette along the way. Wow. Multitasking, Sam thought.
"Actually DI Dorothy, I think it’s just the laugh I need."
As the men stood at the back of the station staring at what was presumably Ray Carling’s pride and joy, Sam waited for the beeping to begin. He was absolutely convinced his drug induced hallucinations had returned and that he was once again tripping the light fantastic.
That is, until Gene spoke first. "You great, noncey, flower pickin’, daisy chainin’ sod. You should’ve wrecked the car!"
The ‘72 Hillman Avenger Estate was virtually unrecognizable. Painted on the bonnet was a giant, yellow happy face wearing a wreath of flowers. Chains of flowers continued down the sides, intertwined with peace signs, more happy faces and some figures Sam could only assume were meant to be naked, dancing people. Men and women.
"It was me bird, Guv."
"Well I hope you at least got upstairs inside."
They both turned to Sam, waiting for his take on the situation. All Sam could do however was laugh. Laugh hysterically. Wiping the tears from his eyes he finally realized Gene and Chris were staring at him. "Actually, I think it’s quite good."
"Ray’s gonna murder me, ain’t he?"
Sam moved closer to further examine the psychedelic machinery while Gene gave Chris’ back a comforting pat.
"Just make sure you lemme know who’ll get your pension, Skelton."
Sam examined the details. Chris’ girlfriend had certainly taken her time. He wondered how drunk Chris had actually been when he allowed her to do this. She had even painted some slogans along the bottom...
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Hang in there, Sam.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
It couldn’t be. Sam crouched down on his hands and knees and crawled closer to the car.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Rough hands grabbed him by the collar, hoisting him in the air but still he couldn’t tear his eyes from the paint.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Suddenly, Sam found himself getting a slap in the face.
"Oi! Tyler! Snap out of it. Thought you were feeling better," Gene asked, the faintest trace of concern visible in his voice.
"Yeah, Guv, I am. It’s, I jus’..." Sam blinked the stars from his eyes.
Gene held Sam by the collar and started to pull him away, leaving Chris scratching his head. "Then let’s go solve a..."
"Kidnapping. Yeah. I remember."
As Sam was dragged away from the scene, he noticed the tins of paint by Chris’ feet. "Chris, is that the paint your mate brought?"
"Yeah, I think it’s the right color."
"You can’t use it. It’s house paint."
"What?"
Gene continued to pull him away but Sam managed to shout back, "Try washing it first!"
"Then make a go for Spain," Gene called back.
*
Sam nestled into the passenger side of the Cortina. Leaning his head back against the soft, leather seat he relished the occasional perks of being a DI. While the rest of the squad was running around CID he could take a moment to sit. Sit in a chair that wasn’t made of wood and surplus WWII material.
"Comfy, Gladys?"
"Just enjoying the fine leather interior of your impeccable classic car, Guv."
Gene turned a sharp corner, and Sam hit his head on the window. Without even looking at his DCI Sam knew he’d done it on purpose.
"You must be fit again, back to sounding like a thesaurus an’ all. But this car is not a classic. Just came out this year. First off the lot."
Sam readjusted his position, attempting to save his head from further injury. "Impressive. Especially on only a copper’s salary."
It was a bit of a low blow and Sam knew it, even before Gene abruptly turned the car left and suddenly braked, resulting in a close meeting between Sam’s face and the dash. Before he could recover, Gene was off again.
"For your information, not that you deserve it Tyler, was a gift from the missus. Knows how to save her pennies. She’s not jus’ a pretty face you know."
Sam rubbed his head. "Actually, I wouldn’t. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting your wife. I’m inclined to believe she doesn’t exist."
"Ray’s seen her. Ask ‘im."
"Oh yes. Because in my precious free time I love to sit down and have little chats with Ray Carling."
"If I didn’t know better, Sammy, I’d say you painted Carling’s car yourself during that so-called sickie of yours."
"As much as it pains me to say it, I had nothing to do with that little fiasco. I’m not that good of an artist. And besides, it does hurt me to see a car disgraced like that, even if it is Ray’s."
"Glad to know you have some respect for the important things. What’d you drive in Hyde, anyway?"
Sam froze. Of course he remembered his old car. A beautiful Jeep with iPod docking station. Two cup holders. One for his venti cup of slow roasted Starbuck’s coffee and another that was the perfect resting place for his Nokia mobile...
"Don’t even remember. Just some heap the station landed me with."
"That’s a shame. It’s amazing how much a car can say ‘bout a man. Jus’ look at James Bond. Always has them prissy Aston Martins. Look pretty, but don’ think they do much. Then...bang! Takes your head clean off."
"True. Though they did take it a little far with the whole invisibility thing."
"What?"
"Nothing."
Gene turned another corner, barely missing a congregation of stray cats. Sam turned his head to check for any casualties and found himself wondering what Ivanhoe was up to...
"So, what car would a girl like you want, Tyler? You seem like the Aston Martin type."
"I’m not prissy."
"Right."
Sam hesitated.
"So?"
"I’m thinking."
"Well hurry it up, we’re almost there."
But Sam didn’t really need to think. He knew exactly what car he wanted. He’d known ever since he’d seen that horrible Gone in 60 Seconds film, back when he made DI. The first time. A bunch of mates from work were going, mainly hoping to wank off to Angelina Jolie. Despite the extra paperwork that came with his new position Sam had agreed to go along. Though he was mostly interested in seeing Christopher Eccleston. That man could act. But when he saw the car, he fell in love.
Gene pulled to a stop in front of the Bathurst home.
"A ‘67 Shelby GT 500."
Gene turned off the car. "Hm." He leapt out of the driver’s seat, and Sam followed close behind. "I could see that."
Sam didn’t know why but the comment made him smile as they stood together in front of the house. "Jesus. It looks exactly how I saw it."
"You been here before?"
"No, I meant the way I pictured it, in my mind, when you so eloquently described your previous encounters with the Bathurst family."
"So, how you wanna do this? Softly, softly," Gene mocked.
"Don’t think we have the time, Guv."
"For once, DI Tyler, I’m inclined to agree with you." And with that Gene kicked in the front door.
*
The Guv and DI Tyler had dragged in Mitch Bathurst and of course Ray was asked to join the interrogation. Ray was usually the one let in on the talks in Lost and Found, even after Billy Kemble. The Guv always seemed to need an extra pair of hands. DI Tyler never seemed to need an extra brain.
Chris sighed as he watched the three detectives force Mitch into the crowded room and slam the door behind them. Mitch seemed like the perfect suspect. Case would be solved any minute now. Chris was glad he convinced the Guv to let him call Sam, not that Gene would see it that way.
With everything apparently under control for the first time in over 36 hours and Ray well out of sight, Chris spotted the perfect opportunity to sort his other problem. He caught Annie as she left CID.
"Hey Annie..."
"They bring in Mitch Bathurst?"
"Yeah, he’s bein’ interrogated right now."
They both heard a smack emanate from Lost and Found.
"Sounds like they have it all in hand," she lamented.
"Uhm, Annie, seeing’s how there’s nowt we can do now, think you could help me with something?"
"I don’t know Chris. Do you think it could wait til we’re sure this is all over?"
Chris shuffled his feet. Annie sighed.
"What is it."
*
"Are you sure you wanna do this? I think it suits Ray fine," Annie giggled.
"You say that now, but soon as Ray’s chopped me up in little pieces an’ strewn me through the canal, then you’ll feel guilty."
"Alright, alright. Let’s hurry this up before they finish with the suspect."
Chris had filled two buckets with hot, soapy water and together he and Annie began scrubbing down the car. To Chris’ great relief the paint seemed to be coming off. Annie dipped her hands in the soothing water. "This is the closest I’ve come to a shower in two days. Isn’t that sad?"
Chris tried not to think of WDC Cartwright in the shower. "You’re not alone, Annie. Whole CID smells like the inside of me granddad’s armpits. ‘Specially Ray."
The thought of Ray in the shower quickly cooled any images Chris might’ve had of Annie in the same situation.
"Didn’t know we were runnin’ a car wash now, too." Phyllis stomped over to the pair.
"Looks like we’ve been caught wet-handed," Chris sighed and Annie rolled her eyes.
"Guv wants ya. They’ve finished with Bathurst but it doesn’t look like he’s your man."
Annie threw down her rag. "You’ve got to be kidding me. Why not?"
"Don’t know. Apparently it’s ‘ccording to DI Tyler’s opinion."
"Figures," Chris mumbled.
"They can’t need both of us right away. Why don’t you stay here an’ finish up. I’ll cover for you."
"You sure?" Chris brightened slightly.
"It’s no problem, Chris," Annie smiled and walked off with Phyllis.
"Cheers, Annie!" He called out, then turned his attention back to the car, "Where’s me mum when I need her," he huffed as we went back to scrubbing down the smooth metal.
*
Chris hurried back into the station. If Mitch Bathurst wasn’t their man he knew what would happen next. The Guv would get angry, probably beat the suspect down to a pulp anyway, then Ray would follow the Guv’s lead and probably beat down on Chris. DI Tyler would sulk in a corner until he got himself beat up by the Guv.
In these situations Chris made sure to stay near Annie. There wasn’t a copper in the station would dare hit a bird, not even when they were this stressed.
As the lift doors opened Chris immediately wished they would slam shut. Here he was, shirt and pants obviously damp, carrying two large buckets and right in front of him was Ray Carling.
"Where ya been, you nonce? What you doin’ with those buckets?"
"Uhm," he frantically wracked his brain, "Favor for Annie. So what’s goin’ on with Mitch?" Please change the subject, thought Chris. Please, please, please.
"Ugh. Looks like Tyler’s grand overview did us nowt."
Yes, Chris smiled as Ray took the bait.
"Now he’s got the Guv settin’ up some radio appeal thing. Thinks Lamb’s cryin’ will draw out the kidnappers or some shit."
Chris deposited the buckets in Lost and Found, then followed Ray into CID. "So what we supposed to do now?"
Ray plopped down at his desk. "Tyler wants us to go back through all the case notes. Again. Don’t know what he ‘spects us to find. I’ve been through those files more times than he’s looked up Cartwright’s skirt."
Ray’s phone rang and he gladly answered it, happy for the interruption. "DS Carling. A-Division...Hiya, Mum," Ray turned and glared at Chris, remembering he was supposed to be angry at him. "No, Mum. This weekend should be jus’ fine...Yup the car’s in tip top shape...Yeah...No...We’re jus’ in the middle of tough case is all. Look Mum, I’ve gotta go. See ya on Saturday...One o’clock. Ta."
As Ray hung up the phone, Chris pretended to be distracted by what must have been the most interesting carbon copy in the world. He could feel Ray’s eyes burning a whole in his neck.
"That was me mum."
Chris kept reading the paper. "Uh-huh. Kinda figured that." Please let the world swallow me now, Chris silently begged.
"Aren’t you a right little detective." Ray got out of his chair and slowly walked towards Chris. "Well, I told her we were all set for this weekend. That me car was all ready to go."
"I heard."
Ray leaned on Chris’ desk. Chris audibly gulped. "Now I wouldn’t have jus’ lied to her, would I?"
Chris must have had some sort of cosmic power on his side that day as at that very moment Gene and Sam decided to burst into CID with Annie, Mr. Lamb and the rest of the squad in tow.
"We have," Sam checked his watch, "precisely seven minutes until the appeal is broadcast. Hopefully the kidnappers will hear it and feel the urge to contact us. So pay attention to the phones. There’s also the chance that we will get some nutters calling in, pretending to be involved. That’s why we’ll also need to screen each call carefully before we jump on any information. We don’t have time to waste following up false leads."
He checked his watch again. "Alright, six minutes now. Everyone get ready."
Chris was relieved to see Ray had glued himself to the Guv’s side. With Annie comforting Mr. Lamb, Sam was by himself. "How ya feeling, Boss?"
"Good, Chris. Considering. Hey," Sam pulled him to the side and whispered conspiratorially, "Annie told me you tried washing the car. Did it work? Is it all off, or do I still need to arrange you some witness protection?"
Chris looked back at Ray who was still in deep conversation with Gene while Sam continued to obsessively check his watch. "Well, I got all the girly paint off but it took some of the car paint with it."
"How bad?"
"There’s still flowers and the naked people an’ stuff, it’s just like they’re not colored in anymore."
Sam checked his watch. "Well, it’s a start. Your mate who brought over the house paint, you think he could get you some actual car paint this time?"
"Don’ know, Boss. Maybe. But there’s no way I’d have time to paint the whole thing by meself. Not before Ray needs it anyway."
Sam checked his watch. "Don’t worry about that. You call your mate, get the right paint, and soon as this is over we’ll paint it together."
Mr. Lamb’s voice crackled over the radio, "Uhm, you want justice..."
"Really, Boss?"
Sam moved closer to Annie and Mr. Lamb, "Sure thing Chris." Sam checked his watch. "They’re early."
"My wife and daughter, Bea and Stella, they’re innocent, too..."
Part 2