Fic: The Art of Being Lost and Found (44/?), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Art of Being Lost and Found (44/?)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1537 (this part); (62,755 in total, so far)
Rating: blue cortina
Warnings: mentions of suicide
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 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41
Part 42 Part 43
After a breakfast that had even Ray’s stomach reeling, they grabbed what little they needed from the room (Ray shoving a bottle of Tyler’s sedatives into his pocket, just in case), and followed young Freddy to the flat.
The boy was quiet and aloof, not chatty and arrogant like some of the other rent boys Ray had met (on purely professional terms, of course.) He walked like a man used to being watched but not comfortable with it. He always seemed to be looking over his shoulder or peeking around the next corner.
Ray wondered what he had run away from that was so awful it had landed him in a mess like this. Ray’s upbringing certainly hadn’t been the happiest, but he’d made do and he’d turned out alright. He didn’t understand why someone else couldn’t do the same.
During the journey, Ray attempted to prod Freddy for information regarding the drugs job Gene was on. But, any mention of the job would turn the boy pale and he would refuse to divulge any information.
Tyler, on the other hand, had no problem approaching the boy and used the time to get other facts out of him.
“So who pays for the flat, now that Linda’s gone?” The ex-DI enquired nonchalantly, striding up to Freddy, hands in his pockets.
“Same’s who’s always paid it,” Freddy snorted, staring at the pavement as they walked along the empty street.
“Her pimp. Your pimp,” Sam confirmed.
“Aye.”
“Nice of him to let Dorothy stay there.”
“He’s not a bad bloke. Not like some others.”
“How did he react when Linda disappeared?”
“Don’t know what you mean.”
“Was he angry? Resigned? Happy?”
“Mr. Waller had nothing to do with it, alright?” Freddy snapped, becoming defensive.
“Mister, eh?” Ray cut in. He’d never heard a boy call his master mister. “They keep business real classy down South, don’t they Tyler?”
Sam shot him a warning glance at which Ray merely rolled his eyes.
“Freddy, do you know what happened to Linda?” Sam asked calmly.
“I told you I don’t.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” he gently chided him. Freddy sighed and stopped walking, leaning his weary body against a phone box.
“Look, it’s not the sort of thing you put in a letter, yeah? And Dorothy...she don’t know. And I don’t want you telling her.”
“We promise we won’t,” Sam nodded, using that same fake concern Ray remembered from the Lamb case, among others. Well, at least he thought it was fake. Tyler always seemed too damned sincere for his liking.
Freddy took a deep breath and kept his eyes to the ground while he spoke. Ray wondered the last time that boy looked a man in the eye.
“I said in the letter, Linda, she had debts. A lot. Owed money to all the wrong sorts. Mr. Waller, he tried to help her, best he could, but even he had to wash his hands of her.”
“Where did all the money go?” Sam asked.
“Up her nose. Up her arm. Me? Don’t understand it. Always thought customers prefer clean ‘uns. Mr. Waller does,” the boy blushed and tried to cover it with a cough. “Anyhow, got to be too much for her, I guess. Came home one night, Dorothy, she’s dead asleep on the sofa and there in the bathtub is old Linda, wrists slashed up to here,” Freddy shuddered and began padding his pockets. Ray handed him a cigarette from his own pack.
“Cheers,” he lit up, inhaled deeply, then continued. “I tried to do what I could. I did. But she were long gone by the time I got there. So, I took Dorothy to the flat next door. Young pair of coloreds. Not a word of English between ‘em, but nice enough. Then I rang up Mr. Waller and he took care of the rest. Next morning, I picked up Dorothy. Told her Mummy had to go away for a bit. I should have told her the truth, but...how do you tell a kiddie her mum’s copped it?” Freddy nervously finished his fag, then flicked the butt to the ground. “So, you still want to see her?”
Ray and Sam both nodded.
“C’mon, then,” he stepped away from the phone box and continued down the street.
“Think he’s telling the truth?” Ray whispered.
“Why would he lie about that?”
“Think he knows more about Gene than he’s saying.”
“Absolutely. Then again, so do I,” Sam sighed.
“Yeah, well, you have an excuse. Medical one and all.”
They turned left onto a narrow street filled with tipped over bins, spoiled rubbish, and one particularly nasty stray cat. The cat arched his back and hissed at the intruders, but Freddy simply kicked an empty takeaway carton at it and continued to a door on their left.
“Home sweet home,” he muttered as he jostled open the door. “We’re on the third floor. This way.”
Ray and Sam were led up the steep, grimy stairs and onto the third floor landing. The corridor was eerily silent - no loud music, no crying babies, no yapping dogs - just the eerie air of despair. It was certainly no place for a child. Sam seemed to read his mind.
“At least she’s not on the streets,” he sighed.
“Here we are. You’ll have to make it quick. Don’t need Mr. Waller finding you here,” Freddy thrust a key into the lock and the door opened after a good shove with his shoulder. Ray and Sam followed him inside.
“Dorothy? Dorothy, it’s me,” Freddy called and hurried through the front room to what appeared to be the only bedroom.
The flat certainly wasn’t much, but it was warm. There was no telly, but an old radio sat in the corner near the kitchenette. Empty food cartons littered the floor and the ratty sofa held one flat pillow and a thin blanket.
“Home sweet home, indeed,” Sam commented, eyebrows raised.
“Better than your place.”
“Enough about my flat, alright? I was actually growing a bit fond of it.”
“Minus the wallpaper.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s alright, luv.” Their attention turned back to Freddy as he coaxed a small someone out of the bedroom. “They’re friends of your Uncle Gene’s. Come all the way from Manchester to help you and your mum. Come on.”
From the bedroom door, a little wisp of a girl shuffled forward. She wore a worn brown frock with a thick but thinning jumper. Her hair - light brown or dark blond, depending how the light hit it - was tied in two, loose pigtails. She looked nervous, but strong, as she clutched a newer teddy bear to her chest and walked to meet them.
Sam stood back warily as Ray crouched down to greet her, her green eyes shining bright.
“Hello sweetheart. My name’s Ray. Are you Dorothy?”
“Yes, sir. How do you do, sir?” she asked quietly.
“I’m very well. How are you, young lady?”
“Well, sir. Thank you, sir,” she clutched the toy tighter.
“That’s a wonderful bear you have there. What’s his name?”
“Stewie.”
“Did you name him after your daddy?”
“Do you know my daddy?” she asked hopefully.
“I did meet him once or twice, but it was a long time ago. Long before you were born. But, you know who I do know very well? Your Uncle Gene. You’ve met your Uncle Gene, haven’t you?”
“Yes, sir. He bought me Stewie,” she held up the bear, then pulled him back close. “He wanted to get me a doll, but I don’t like dolls very much. Mummy always gives me dolls, but their arms fall off. Or their heads. So he bought me Stewie instead. He let me pick him out in the toy shop all by myself.”
“How do you know Gene is your uncle?” Sam asked, still standing back.
Dorothy cocked her head to the side, then ran towards the sofa, where she picked up a book that was lying on the carpet. She opened the book and pulled out two photographs.
“He brought me these. This one’s mine. It’s my daddy,” she pointed to a photograph of one man Ray recognized as Stu Hunt. “And that’s my daddy and Uncle Gene. Uncle Gene gave it to me.” The other photograph was one of a younger looking, but still recognizable Gene and Stu. They did look quite alike, Ray realized, seeing them side by side. The family resemblance was uncanny.
“Uncle Gene is going to take me home he says, to Manchester. But he says he has to do something important before we can go. Then he says he’ll buy me all the teddy bears I want. He says I can name them all Stewie if I want to.”
“Did he say what? With who?” Tyler asked hurriedly. Ray sighed. Sam clearly had no experience interviewing children, or maybe he’d just forgotten how to do it properly.
Instead of answering Sam’s question, though, Dorothy posed one of her own.
“Are you Sammy?”
“Uhm...sorry?” Sam stuttered, clearly taken aback.
“Do you know him?” Ray asked, his breath also catching in his chest.
“He sounds like Sammy. That’s Uncle Gene’s friend. Sammy talks to me on the phone.”
Author: dak
Word Count: 1537 (this part); (62,755 in total, so far)
Rating: blue cortina
Warnings: mentions of suicide
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 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41
Part 42 Part 43
After a breakfast that had even Ray’s stomach reeling, they grabbed what little they needed from the room (Ray shoving a bottle of Tyler’s sedatives into his pocket, just in case), and followed young Freddy to the flat.
The boy was quiet and aloof, not chatty and arrogant like some of the other rent boys Ray had met (on purely professional terms, of course.) He walked like a man used to being watched but not comfortable with it. He always seemed to be looking over his shoulder or peeking around the next corner.
Ray wondered what he had run away from that was so awful it had landed him in a mess like this. Ray’s upbringing certainly hadn’t been the happiest, but he’d made do and he’d turned out alright. He didn’t understand why someone else couldn’t do the same.
During the journey, Ray attempted to prod Freddy for information regarding the drugs job Gene was on. But, any mention of the job would turn the boy pale and he would refuse to divulge any information.
Tyler, on the other hand, had no problem approaching the boy and used the time to get other facts out of him.
“So who pays for the flat, now that Linda’s gone?” The ex-DI enquired nonchalantly, striding up to Freddy, hands in his pockets.
“Same’s who’s always paid it,” Freddy snorted, staring at the pavement as they walked along the empty street.
“Her pimp. Your pimp,” Sam confirmed.
“Aye.”
“Nice of him to let Dorothy stay there.”
“He’s not a bad bloke. Not like some others.”
“How did he react when Linda disappeared?”
“Don’t know what you mean.”
“Was he angry? Resigned? Happy?”
“Mr. Waller had nothing to do with it, alright?” Freddy snapped, becoming defensive.
“Mister, eh?” Ray cut in. He’d never heard a boy call his master mister. “They keep business real classy down South, don’t they Tyler?”
Sam shot him a warning glance at which Ray merely rolled his eyes.
“Freddy, do you know what happened to Linda?” Sam asked calmly.
“I told you I don’t.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” he gently chided him. Freddy sighed and stopped walking, leaning his weary body against a phone box.
“Look, it’s not the sort of thing you put in a letter, yeah? And Dorothy...she don’t know. And I don’t want you telling her.”
“We promise we won’t,” Sam nodded, using that same fake concern Ray remembered from the Lamb case, among others. Well, at least he thought it was fake. Tyler always seemed too damned sincere for his liking.
Freddy took a deep breath and kept his eyes to the ground while he spoke. Ray wondered the last time that boy looked a man in the eye.
“I said in the letter, Linda, she had debts. A lot. Owed money to all the wrong sorts. Mr. Waller, he tried to help her, best he could, but even he had to wash his hands of her.”
“Where did all the money go?” Sam asked.
“Up her nose. Up her arm. Me? Don’t understand it. Always thought customers prefer clean ‘uns. Mr. Waller does,” the boy blushed and tried to cover it with a cough. “Anyhow, got to be too much for her, I guess. Came home one night, Dorothy, she’s dead asleep on the sofa and there in the bathtub is old Linda, wrists slashed up to here,” Freddy shuddered and began padding his pockets. Ray handed him a cigarette from his own pack.
“Cheers,” he lit up, inhaled deeply, then continued. “I tried to do what I could. I did. But she were long gone by the time I got there. So, I took Dorothy to the flat next door. Young pair of coloreds. Not a word of English between ‘em, but nice enough. Then I rang up Mr. Waller and he took care of the rest. Next morning, I picked up Dorothy. Told her Mummy had to go away for a bit. I should have told her the truth, but...how do you tell a kiddie her mum’s copped it?” Freddy nervously finished his fag, then flicked the butt to the ground. “So, you still want to see her?”
Ray and Sam both nodded.
“C’mon, then,” he stepped away from the phone box and continued down the street.
“Think he’s telling the truth?” Ray whispered.
“Why would he lie about that?”
“Think he knows more about Gene than he’s saying.”
“Absolutely. Then again, so do I,” Sam sighed.
“Yeah, well, you have an excuse. Medical one and all.”
They turned left onto a narrow street filled with tipped over bins, spoiled rubbish, and one particularly nasty stray cat. The cat arched his back and hissed at the intruders, but Freddy simply kicked an empty takeaway carton at it and continued to a door on their left.
“Home sweet home,” he muttered as he jostled open the door. “We’re on the third floor. This way.”
Ray and Sam were led up the steep, grimy stairs and onto the third floor landing. The corridor was eerily silent - no loud music, no crying babies, no yapping dogs - just the eerie air of despair. It was certainly no place for a child. Sam seemed to read his mind.
“At least she’s not on the streets,” he sighed.
“Here we are. You’ll have to make it quick. Don’t need Mr. Waller finding you here,” Freddy thrust a key into the lock and the door opened after a good shove with his shoulder. Ray and Sam followed him inside.
“Dorothy? Dorothy, it’s me,” Freddy called and hurried through the front room to what appeared to be the only bedroom.
The flat certainly wasn’t much, but it was warm. There was no telly, but an old radio sat in the corner near the kitchenette. Empty food cartons littered the floor and the ratty sofa held one flat pillow and a thin blanket.
“Home sweet home, indeed,” Sam commented, eyebrows raised.
“Better than your place.”
“Enough about my flat, alright? I was actually growing a bit fond of it.”
“Minus the wallpaper.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s alright, luv.” Their attention turned back to Freddy as he coaxed a small someone out of the bedroom. “They’re friends of your Uncle Gene’s. Come all the way from Manchester to help you and your mum. Come on.”
From the bedroom door, a little wisp of a girl shuffled forward. She wore a worn brown frock with a thick but thinning jumper. Her hair - light brown or dark blond, depending how the light hit it - was tied in two, loose pigtails. She looked nervous, but strong, as she clutched a newer teddy bear to her chest and walked to meet them.
Sam stood back warily as Ray crouched down to greet her, her green eyes shining bright.
“Hello sweetheart. My name’s Ray. Are you Dorothy?”
“Yes, sir. How do you do, sir?” she asked quietly.
“I’m very well. How are you, young lady?”
“Well, sir. Thank you, sir,” she clutched the toy tighter.
“That’s a wonderful bear you have there. What’s his name?”
“Stewie.”
“Did you name him after your daddy?”
“Do you know my daddy?” she asked hopefully.
“I did meet him once or twice, but it was a long time ago. Long before you were born. But, you know who I do know very well? Your Uncle Gene. You’ve met your Uncle Gene, haven’t you?”
“Yes, sir. He bought me Stewie,” she held up the bear, then pulled him back close. “He wanted to get me a doll, but I don’t like dolls very much. Mummy always gives me dolls, but their arms fall off. Or their heads. So he bought me Stewie instead. He let me pick him out in the toy shop all by myself.”
“How do you know Gene is your uncle?” Sam asked, still standing back.
Dorothy cocked her head to the side, then ran towards the sofa, where she picked up a book that was lying on the carpet. She opened the book and pulled out two photographs.
“He brought me these. This one’s mine. It’s my daddy,” she pointed to a photograph of one man Ray recognized as Stu Hunt. “And that’s my daddy and Uncle Gene. Uncle Gene gave it to me.” The other photograph was one of a younger looking, but still recognizable Gene and Stu. They did look quite alike, Ray realized, seeing them side by side. The family resemblance was uncanny.
“Uncle Gene is going to take me home he says, to Manchester. But he says he has to do something important before we can go. Then he says he’ll buy me all the teddy bears I want. He says I can name them all Stewie if I want to.”
“Did he say what? With who?” Tyler asked hurriedly. Ray sighed. Sam clearly had no experience interviewing children, or maybe he’d just forgotten how to do it properly.
Instead of answering Sam’s question, though, Dorothy posed one of her own.
“Are you Sammy?”
“Uhm...sorry?” Sam stuttered, clearly taken aback.
“Do you know him?” Ray asked, his breath also catching in his chest.
“He sounds like Sammy. That’s Uncle Gene’s friend. Sammy talks to me on the phone.”