Fic: The Art of Being Lost and Found (31/?), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Art of Being Lost and Found (31/?)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1312 (this part); (44,570 in total, so far)
Rating: blue cortina
Warnings: references to abortion
Summary: Post 2.08. When the Guv goes missing, CID is saddled with an inept "interim" DCI. To find Gene, and the truth, Ray must team up with a hated enemy.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15
Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30
“We need to go follow up a lead.”
“And what makes you think I’ll be going anywhere with you?” Annie snapped, slamming down a stack of reports.
“Cos it’s important.”
Annie turned and walked away. Ray had to hurry to catch up.
“It could lead us to the Guv.”
“Planning on taking more patients out of hospitals, are you?”
“Look, I know you’re angry.”
“Oh really? And what gave you the first clue, DS Carling? The part where I’m walking away or the part where I slam the door on your hand?”
“You haven’t slammed-- OW!” Ray shouted as Annie shut the locker room door on his fingers. He winced and shook out the pain, then followed her into the room where Annie was angrily going through the items in her locker. “Alright, Cartwright. I understand. You’re mad at yourself...”
“Mad at myself?” she laughed bitterly.
“Well, yeah. You screwed up with Tyler and can’t admit it, so...”
“Do you have any idea how to talk to another human being or do you just assume we’re all as crass as you?” She slammed her locker shut. “You have a lead. You follow it up. Yourself.”
“The Guv has a niece,” he finally blurted out, freezing Annie’s tirade in its tracks. “Real young, just a kiddie. She’s in trouble. Guv could be, too. That’s what Tyler knew. Why he wants to help. To save a kid. The woman I’m going to see, she could know the mother. But she won’t say owt if I come on me own. Hate me all you want. Hate Tyler all you want. But help us find this little girl.”
Annie paused a moment, then went back into her locker to gather her jacket.
“This doesn’t mean I’m not still angry,” she huffed as she shoved past him and out the door.
*
The Ferryman was a dank, little pub that tried hard for warmth, but achieved something closer to dread. The stone floor was scratched and chipped, the exposed wooden beams rotted and stained, the bar lumpy and uneven.
One lone barman leaned against the back bar chewing on his finger and spitting on the floor. He glanced at Ray and Annie as they entered, but they must have been uninteresting enough that they did not warrant his attention.
The two walked slowly down the length of the bar to where the man stood, keeping an eye on the drunken patrons that were dotted along the back of the pub, lost in their own misery.
“Wha’ d’yeh want?” the barman grumbled as they approached.
“We want to see Doreen,” Ray told him confidently but placidly.
The barman stared at Ray then Annie, and snorted, going back to his spit-covered thumbnail.
“Please,” Annie begged, using her best poor little girl voice.
The barman looked at them again, then disappeared into the back. Ray and Annie waited anxiously until he returned a minute later.
“Up the stairs,” he nodded to a staircase around the corner. “Room on the left.”
They nodded and followed his directions, sitting themselves in an unused, upstairs bar.
“Cozy, innit?” Ray remarked as they waited in the cold, dark room.
“Be serious,” Annie warned.
“Why?” he shrugged.
She was about to answer when an elderly woman - a grandmotherly lady with a sinister edge - entered and sat down across from them. She ignored Ray completely, staring only at Annie.
“Well then, ‘ow far along are you?” she asked, looking Annie up and down.
“Oh...I’m not...”
The woman, Doreen (Ray assumed), narrowed her eyes.
“We’re here about someone else,” Annie continued.
“Oh, aye. A friend, eh? Always a friend,” the woman folded her wrinkled hands on the table. “And ‘ow far along is your friend?”
“No. See, we’re trying to find someone.”
“What’s this about?” Doreen leaned back, finally glancing at Ray. “You coppers?”
“We’re trying to find a little girl. A girl whose mum is dead or abandoned her.”
“I don’t know any little girls. If that’s all you want...”
“We’re looking for the mum,” Ray finally spoke. “Now, she ain’t in any trouble...”
“So you are coppers,” Doreen sneered.
“We’re people who are concerned about the safety of a child,” Annie tried to persuade her. “This isn’t...we’re not here on any official enquiry. No files. No paperwork.”
“All under the table, like? Off the record?” Doreen visibly relaxed.
“If anyone knew we were here,” Annie made herself look nervous. “Please, we’re putting our careers on the line. We just need to find her.”
The woman took a deep breath, eyed Ray suspiciously, then crossed her arms.
“Make it quick. You,” she pointed at Annie. “Won’t listen to owt from ‘im.”
“Thank you.”
“Get on with it.”
“We don’t know much about the mother. We think her name is Linda. The girl is about six-years-old now. Maybe seven. That means Linda would have been to see you--”
“I know me gestation times,” Doreen snapped. “Now. Let me think.” She tilted back her head and closed her eyes. After a few minutes she looked back at Annie. “No. Don’t recall any Linda.”
“Please. The child, her name is Dorothy. The father, if the father was mentioned his name was Stu. Stu Hunt.”
The woman sighed with great annoyance, but closed her eyes again, her lips moving silently as she ran through a list of names.
“I don’t remember any Lindas ‘round that time,” she recounted, eyes still closed. “Though you’re assumin’ she told me her real name. Most girls don’t, ‘cept the nice ones. Too thick to say owt else. Linda...”
Ray struggled to remain patient as he waited for the old bird to come up with an answer.
“No. No Lindas, but there were a Lydia,” Doreen’s eyes snapped open. “Yes. Lydia. Came to me too late. No way I could ‘ave fixed it without killin’ ‘er. Cried up a storm. Begged me to try. Said ‘er dad ‘ad found out and she were bein’ kicked out of the ‘ouse. Same old story. But, she were too much of a risk. Told ‘er adoption were the only wait to get rid of it now.”
“Do you remember anything else about her? What she looked like? What she wore?”
“Ordinary, really. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Remember that cos her frock brought out the color.”
“Was it a nice dress?”
“Eh. Ordinary. Probably made it ‘erself. There were summat else,” Doreen tapped her finger on the wobbly table. “A hat. She were carryin’ a hat. ‘Ad it in ‘er hands. Fiddled with it the entire time. Not a dress hat. Like a work hat.”
Annie reached into her purse and pulled out a photo.
“Like this?” she asked, pointing to something Ray couldn’t see.
“Aye. That’s the one. Just like it.”
Annie rose from her chair and Ray followed suit.
“Thank you, ma’am. Thank you very much.”
“Aye,” the woman glared. “Now don’t ever come ‘ere again.”
Ray hurriedly followed Annie out of the pub, not receiving an explanation until they were back at the car. It was then Annie shoved the photo in his hands. It was a picture of Cartwright with one of her plonk mates - in uniform.
“If this Lydia is who we’re looking for, she was in the Women’s Department.”
“Now we know where to look. Nice one, Cartwright.”
Annie grabbed the photo back.
“I’m still mad at you,” she reminded him and climbed into the car.
*
Ray barrelled through the station doors, Annie trailing behind, and ran right up to Phyllis, who was sorting papers at the front desk. Sam sat behind her on a stool, a pile of duty logs in his lap.
“Phyllis, we need--”
“Carter’s looking for you,” she told him with a grimmer expression than the one she normally wore. “Litton’s with him.”
Ray felt his chest tighten.
“Well, that can’t be good,” Sam sighed.
Author: dak
Word Count: 1312 (this part); (44,570 in total, so far)
Rating: blue cortina
Warnings: references to abortion
Summary: Post 2.08. When the Guv goes missing, CID is saddled with an inept "interim" DCI. To find Gene, and the truth, Ray must team up with a hated enemy.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15
Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30
“We need to go follow up a lead.”
“And what makes you think I’ll be going anywhere with you?” Annie snapped, slamming down a stack of reports.
“Cos it’s important.”
Annie turned and walked away. Ray had to hurry to catch up.
“It could lead us to the Guv.”
“Planning on taking more patients out of hospitals, are you?”
“Look, I know you’re angry.”
“Oh really? And what gave you the first clue, DS Carling? The part where I’m walking away or the part where I slam the door on your hand?”
“You haven’t slammed-- OW!” Ray shouted as Annie shut the locker room door on his fingers. He winced and shook out the pain, then followed her into the room where Annie was angrily going through the items in her locker. “Alright, Cartwright. I understand. You’re mad at yourself...”
“Mad at myself?” she laughed bitterly.
“Well, yeah. You screwed up with Tyler and can’t admit it, so...”
“Do you have any idea how to talk to another human being or do you just assume we’re all as crass as you?” She slammed her locker shut. “You have a lead. You follow it up. Yourself.”
“The Guv has a niece,” he finally blurted out, freezing Annie’s tirade in its tracks. “Real young, just a kiddie. She’s in trouble. Guv could be, too. That’s what Tyler knew. Why he wants to help. To save a kid. The woman I’m going to see, she could know the mother. But she won’t say owt if I come on me own. Hate me all you want. Hate Tyler all you want. But help us find this little girl.”
Annie paused a moment, then went back into her locker to gather her jacket.
“This doesn’t mean I’m not still angry,” she huffed as she shoved past him and out the door.
*
The Ferryman was a dank, little pub that tried hard for warmth, but achieved something closer to dread. The stone floor was scratched and chipped, the exposed wooden beams rotted and stained, the bar lumpy and uneven.
One lone barman leaned against the back bar chewing on his finger and spitting on the floor. He glanced at Ray and Annie as they entered, but they must have been uninteresting enough that they did not warrant his attention.
The two walked slowly down the length of the bar to where the man stood, keeping an eye on the drunken patrons that were dotted along the back of the pub, lost in their own misery.
“Wha’ d’yeh want?” the barman grumbled as they approached.
“We want to see Doreen,” Ray told him confidently but placidly.
The barman stared at Ray then Annie, and snorted, going back to his spit-covered thumbnail.
“Please,” Annie begged, using her best poor little girl voice.
The barman looked at them again, then disappeared into the back. Ray and Annie waited anxiously until he returned a minute later.
“Up the stairs,” he nodded to a staircase around the corner. “Room on the left.”
They nodded and followed his directions, sitting themselves in an unused, upstairs bar.
“Cozy, innit?” Ray remarked as they waited in the cold, dark room.
“Be serious,” Annie warned.
“Why?” he shrugged.
She was about to answer when an elderly woman - a grandmotherly lady with a sinister edge - entered and sat down across from them. She ignored Ray completely, staring only at Annie.
“Well then, ‘ow far along are you?” she asked, looking Annie up and down.
“Oh...I’m not...”
The woman, Doreen (Ray assumed), narrowed her eyes.
“We’re here about someone else,” Annie continued.
“Oh, aye. A friend, eh? Always a friend,” the woman folded her wrinkled hands on the table. “And ‘ow far along is your friend?”
“No. See, we’re trying to find someone.”
“What’s this about?” Doreen leaned back, finally glancing at Ray. “You coppers?”
“We’re trying to find a little girl. A girl whose mum is dead or abandoned her.”
“I don’t know any little girls. If that’s all you want...”
“We’re looking for the mum,” Ray finally spoke. “Now, she ain’t in any trouble...”
“So you are coppers,” Doreen sneered.
“We’re people who are concerned about the safety of a child,” Annie tried to persuade her. “This isn’t...we’re not here on any official enquiry. No files. No paperwork.”
“All under the table, like? Off the record?” Doreen visibly relaxed.
“If anyone knew we were here,” Annie made herself look nervous. “Please, we’re putting our careers on the line. We just need to find her.”
The woman took a deep breath, eyed Ray suspiciously, then crossed her arms.
“Make it quick. You,” she pointed at Annie. “Won’t listen to owt from ‘im.”
“Thank you.”
“Get on with it.”
“We don’t know much about the mother. We think her name is Linda. The girl is about six-years-old now. Maybe seven. That means Linda would have been to see you--”
“I know me gestation times,” Doreen snapped. “Now. Let me think.” She tilted back her head and closed her eyes. After a few minutes she looked back at Annie. “No. Don’t recall any Linda.”
“Please. The child, her name is Dorothy. The father, if the father was mentioned his name was Stu. Stu Hunt.”
The woman sighed with great annoyance, but closed her eyes again, her lips moving silently as she ran through a list of names.
“I don’t remember any Lindas ‘round that time,” she recounted, eyes still closed. “Though you’re assumin’ she told me her real name. Most girls don’t, ‘cept the nice ones. Too thick to say owt else. Linda...”
Ray struggled to remain patient as he waited for the old bird to come up with an answer.
“No. No Lindas, but there were a Lydia,” Doreen’s eyes snapped open. “Yes. Lydia. Came to me too late. No way I could ‘ave fixed it without killin’ ‘er. Cried up a storm. Begged me to try. Said ‘er dad ‘ad found out and she were bein’ kicked out of the ‘ouse. Same old story. But, she were too much of a risk. Told ‘er adoption were the only wait to get rid of it now.”
“Do you remember anything else about her? What she looked like? What she wore?”
“Ordinary, really. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Remember that cos her frock brought out the color.”
“Was it a nice dress?”
“Eh. Ordinary. Probably made it ‘erself. There were summat else,” Doreen tapped her finger on the wobbly table. “A hat. She were carryin’ a hat. ‘Ad it in ‘er hands. Fiddled with it the entire time. Not a dress hat. Like a work hat.”
Annie reached into her purse and pulled out a photo.
“Like this?” she asked, pointing to something Ray couldn’t see.
“Aye. That’s the one. Just like it.”
Annie rose from her chair and Ray followed suit.
“Thank you, ma’am. Thank you very much.”
“Aye,” the woman glared. “Now don’t ever come ‘ere again.”
Ray hurriedly followed Annie out of the pub, not receiving an explanation until they were back at the car. It was then Annie shoved the photo in his hands. It was a picture of Cartwright with one of her plonk mates - in uniform.
“If this Lydia is who we’re looking for, she was in the Women’s Department.”
“Now we know where to look. Nice one, Cartwright.”
Annie grabbed the photo back.
“I’m still mad at you,” she reminded him and climbed into the car.
*
Ray barrelled through the station doors, Annie trailing behind, and ran right up to Phyllis, who was sorting papers at the front desk. Sam sat behind her on a stool, a pile of duty logs in his lap.
“Phyllis, we need--”
“Carter’s looking for you,” she told him with a grimmer expression than the one she normally wore. “Litton’s with him.”
Ray felt his chest tighten.
“Well, that can’t be good,” Sam sighed.