Let It Be
Chapter 1
The air itself was vibrating.
That in and of itself was startling enough, as the space this air occupied was in the middle of the detention center of Wessex's prison. What was even more so was the fact that no one- not the guards, nor even the inmates- even began to realize that something was happening. Constable Brian McBride was making his rounds down the corridors and paused where he stood when hearing a strange wheezing sound, unsure what could cause something like that. But just as he was preparing to walk around the corner of the hall he suddenly had the thought that it was more important to turn around and go back the way he came.
If Constable McBride had turned that corner he would have seen a large blue police box materialize out of nowhere, its wheezing and groaning signifying the arrival of one of the most unique people in the known universe. The police box had barely finished settling before the door was swung open and a grey-haired man with hawkish eyes and severe eyebrows peered around into view.
He smiled, looking almost terrifyingly devious. "Use the psychic paper," he scoffed. "Yeah, right." He looked around to make sure that he and his box were alone and then made his way out through the doorway.
"I don't know if this is a good idea, Doctor," a timid voice spoke from inside the box.
The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Of course you don't," he replied bitingly, "because you never do, Nardole. How are you supposed to live if you don't take risks now and again?" He began walking onwards, not even bothering to look behind him. "Stay in the Tardis if you want. I'm going to meet this Joe Miller."
The chameleon circuit on the Tardis was working quite well, and the Doctor was unafraid of potential witnesses. The cameras overlooking the corridors and jail cells were being quietly overwritten with his sonic so that they wouldn't pick up his presence. He knew exactly where he needed to go. He heard a quiet huff from behind him and then Nardole's footsteps followed behind him, sounding distinctly irritated.
The cell he was looking for was on the far right corner of the building, its heavy metal door locked tight. Through the small glass window he spied a small, bald-headed man sitting on the bed staring at nothing, his trembling hands twined together as he leaned forward.
The sonic took care of the locks on the door; a quick deft twist of his fingers and the alarm announcing a breach of security was taken care of before it had the chance to signal anybody.
"Joe Miller?"
The man moved from the bed, his blue eyes widening with fear as he backed away. "Wha-? Who are you? What're you doing here?" His voice was rough with little use and it trembled just the smallest bit, but it was telling enough that the Doctor nearly scoffed.
"Come now, Mr. Miller, if I wanted you dead I certainly wouldn't need to break into this tiny little room to do it. So stand up straight." He moved into the room and swung the door shut behind him, knowing that Nardole would keep a look out.
"What do you want?"
There. At least the trembling to his tone was gone. The silly man was trying to sound intimidating, but the Doctor was not the least bit frightened. He stood tall and straight for a long moment, his hands clasped in front of him like a stern school professor- and then he moved forward in one fluid motion, knowing that it would unnerve his audience. "I want you," he said quietly, reasonably, "to plead guilty to killing Daniel Latimer."
Joe's mouth worked, what little color remaining in his skin draining away. "Why should I?" he finally managed to demand.
The Doctor was still advancing; he smiled in response but it was not a nice one. "Because tomorrow morning there is going to be a plea hearing," he responded all the while with that quiet reasonable tone, "and there will be a family sitting there who needs to hear it in order to find some sort of closure."
Joe was backing away from him steadily, almost working himself into a corner in his desire to escape the Doctor's reach. "They don't have sufficient proof that I did it," he protested. "They never did. They never would've solved the case if I hadn't handed the phone in!"
The Doctor highly doubted that. He had seen enough of Alec's memories when he'd been in the latter's mind that he knew that Alec had been close to cracking the case wide open on his own. The only reason why he hadn't gone and arrested Joe Miller on the spot when he received confirmation for his suspicions was because he hadn't wanted Ellie there when he did it.
He didn't bother trying to explain that to this man, though- he had no wish to implicate either Alec or Ellie in this visit just in case it didn't sufficiently frighten him. "Just because you think there isn't evidence doesn't make your actions untrue. Danny will still be dead. His parents are still without their child. And it was your hands that murdered him. And you want to know something, Mr. Miller?" Joe had gone as far as he could; the Doctor leaned in very close, close enough he could see the way the human's pupils dilated in fear. His voice was a harsh whisper as he continued, allowing the barest hint of the Oncoming Storm to show through. "If there's one thing I hate it's murderers."
"I didn't mean to!" the pathetic man squeaked, looking desperate and frightened. "I only wanted him to love me! He would've gone to Mark and Beth, he would've painted the wrong picture about us. I didn't want to kill him!"
God, how had Ellie managed to stay with this man for so long? But of course he was a very fine actor; Joe Miller would have found it easy to play the dutiful loving husband to a tee in order to keep her by his side. The Doctor knew a master manipulator when he saw one- he stared at one in the mirror every morning, after all. But when faced with the absolute bare bald-faced truth, humans had the rather annoying- but sometimes helpful- habit of crumbling beneath the weight of stripped away lies.
"But you did. And now you're too much of a coward to take responsibility."
"They'll kill me in jail. You don't understand-"
The Doctor laughed, low and biting. Joe flinched away. "Don't I?" He straightened up again, looking down at the man quivering in the corner. "I think it's better to be kind, Mr. Miller. In this universe there isn't enough of that. But in this case I don't think I'd have it in me to be kind. If you think that a prison cell here would be bad, just imagine what could happen if you plead not guilty tomorrow. And I will come back, and I'll make sure you pay for that response for the rest of eternity. Which, as just a point of interest, I can do."
His voice hadn't changed in either pitch or tone until those last three words, which were accompanied by a genial smile. It made him the perfect image of danger; this was the sight that made Daleks pause and so long ago sent a shiver down the Family of Blood's spines.
Joe looked like he was going to keel over realizing that what he had just heard was not an idle threat; whatever else, the Doctor thought, most humans had a tenacious streak of self-preservation.
"So the question you have to ask yourself, Mr. Miller," he continued after a long moment, "is whether you find the idea of prison better, or if you want me to come back to visit you." He straightened up and turned back to the door.
"Did Ellie send you to try and bully me into confessing?"
There it was, the stubbornness. The child within Joe Miller was bellowing the unfairness of his situation and automatically lashing out and blaming the closest people to him. The Doctor nearly laughed at the idea; of course it wasn't Ellie. It wasn't even Alec who had encouraged him.
"I have no idea of who you're talking about, Mr. Miller. I need no one to tell me what to do anyway- there is no higher authority than me. Good day to you. Do let me know how the trial goes tomorrow."
Nardole was waiting impatiently by the door, looking worried. "I don't like this, sir," he said. "How do you know that this man is going to plead guilty at the trial, even with your threats?"
"Make a threat dour enough and anyone will believe it, Nardole. Or haven't you figured that out yet?"
~/~/~/~/~
Joe Miller pleaded guilty.
Sitting in the gallery with every muscle tense where she sat, Beth Latimer let out the breath held in her lungs in one large sigh of relief. She could feel Mark's fingers digging painfully into her own but that was okay because she felt like she was suddenly untethered and floating free and only his contact kept her grounded. The courtroom, seeming so small just moments ago now appeared to her like the entire world.
Her little boy finally had some sort of justice. It would never be enough for her but just hearing him admit to his actions allowed her to breathe a little easier.
She followed Mark out of the room, her fingers still entwined with his, allowing him to lead her onwards. Abruptly Beth was feeling lost- she had been wanting her son's killer to be sentenced, and he was.
So what was she going to do now?
her worries were interrupted when a man, walking along hurriedly, accidentally ran into Beth, knocking her arm and her stomach. Trying to steady herself before she fell over she grabbed onto Mark's arm and dimly heard her husband's call.
"Hey, watch it there, mate!"
But the man had gone, disappearing into the crowd surrounding them. Beth hadn't even truly seen him, catching a glimpse of dark clothes and grey hair, but she was sure that he was probably a right bastard with the way he hadn't even turned around to see if he had hurt anyone.
Mark was shaking his head. "Can't believe people these days," he was saying irritably, scowling. His hands were soft and gentle against her skin, one bracing her back as they continued on their way. His blue eyes were scanning her worriedly. Being nearly nine months pregnant, Beth didn't need any unfortunate accidents, but she merely shook her head.
"We're fine, Mark. Stop worryin'."
"He didn't even seem to notice you were there!" Their daughter Chloe was not as easy to persuade that everything was all right, her dimunitve stature seeming to grow several inches in her indignation. Beth knew that it was their worry for her and the baby that were making both of them to react this way but she found it bothersome.
"Let's not think about that man, alright?" she told both of them, climbing into the passenger seat of their car. "Today we're supposed to be thinkin' about Danny. Whoever he was, he wasn't important."
And she would have believed herself if only she hadn't realized that there was something in her pocket that hadn't been there before. She had to wait until they were back home in Broadchurch before she could manage to slip it out into view. Setting her purse on the kitchen countertop, hearing Chloe and Mark discuss what they could do for lunch to celebrate, she held up what appeared to be a note folded neatly in quarters. As she unfolded it uncertainly, her stomach suddenly flipping anxiously, movement from outside of the window caused her to look up.
The tall, thin figure walking across the field was one she recognized very well; during the investigation into Danny's murder DI Hardy had been a regular visitor to her household, letting them know of updates and anything that could have changed in the case. He had been he who had informed them of Danny's death, and it had been he who had told them weeks later who it was who had been responsible for it.
She hadn't seen him more than a few times since the close of the case, and even then it had always been in the last few months now spying him walking across the grassy field to Ellie Miller's house.
Beth hadn't seen reason to speak to or contact Ellie since Joe was arrested; the betrayal of her closest friend's husband was still too raw to process, and she still didn't understand how Ellie hadn't seen any sign of what was happening between Joe and Danny. It made her more than angry enough to ignore the pain in Ellie's eyes and instead focus on the blame.
What she didn't quite understand was the DI's relationship with Ellie was. She remembered her old friend complaining sometimes about how much of an arse Hardy was, how difficult it was to even hear a morning greeting from him on a good day, and God help you if you met him on a bad one. But watching him now Beth wondered.
The two detectives had disappeared for almost a week awhile back. It had been the talk of the town when it initially happened. First Steve Connelly's body was found, then an American man had been seen running around during the investigation. The docks down by the shore had been partially destroyed and then both Hardy and Ellie had disappeared.
Rumors had begun by the second day. The police had tried to cover up their absences by saying they had left for an out-of-town request for new eyes on a case, but the townspeople had been more than ready to come up with their own explanations. Some said that they had been killed by whoever it was by who had also murdered Connelly; still others stated it had to be because they had left town to continue a mad affair that had started all the way back to Danny's case.
Whatever it was, a week had gone by and then suddenly they were seen walking down the main road of Broadchurch together. The American man, dressed in a World War II coat, had bade them goodbye and kissed Ellie on the cheek as a farewell and then he'd gone just as quickly as he'd shown up.
That was when things had started to change. That was when Beth had occasionally seen the DI making his way to Ellie's house, and sometimes his visits ranged from a few minutes to a few hours. But he always headed back out again by the field, and his walk was quicker and livelier for every visit it seemed.
She leaned more towards the affair idea herself. Maybe not during Danny's case, unless Ellie really was that good of an actress, but Beth couldn't imagine what else it could possibly be.
The paper in her hands crinkled as she finished opening it, still watching as Hardy disappeared around the corner of the Millers' fence. As Mark passed by the doorway, having decided he was going to grill some steaks and hot dogs, she looked down at the note and froze. The writing was unfamiliar, bold and to the point, and written there were merely five words and a phone number:
Call me. I'm the Doctor.