A/N: It's been a while since I read the Ruth Galloway books which are set at this time - some time in 2013 - so forgive me if there are some inconsistencies in my time line in this fic, especially in relation to what was occurring in canon in the RG books. Whilst this is an AU scenario, I have endeavoured to remain true to the characters, and to the place where this fic takes place. St David's Church is fictional.
The drive has passed quickly enough, and to Harry's relief, Ruth has slept for much of the journey. Having reached the outskirts of King's Lynn in Norfolk, he slows his car, and the change in momentum wakes Ruth, who lifts her head from where she's been resting it against the window, before looking around her.
"We're here?"
Harry nods, his eyes on the road. These past two years, since Sasha Gavrik had aimed his pistol at him, but shot Ruth in her side when she had (foolishly) stood between them, have been difficult ones for them, and he welcomes the opportunity to spend time away from London, far from the Grid, and (hopefully) far from their shared history. He suspects that even were they to travel together to some distant galaxy, their history would follow them, reminding them that no matter how hard they try, or how much they might both want it, they can never work as a couple.
"I've never been here," Ruth muses, her eyes absorbing the details. "It's beautiful."
All Harry sees are narrow streets and grey buildings, hardly beautiful in his eyes. He glances across the car's interior, enjoying watching her unseen as she takes in everything she sees. She is beautiful. The market town of King's Lynn is old and cold and trapped in another time, while she is warm and fresh and (remarkably) alive. Ruth will be absorbing the history of the place through her nostrils, while their own history often leaves his throat tight as he struggles with the memories of their past, a painful series of regrets and lost opportunities.
Harry parks his car down a side street beside the narrow façade of the King's Lynn police station. They sit for a moment, both staring ahead. "We're a little early," he says, just for something to say.
"Maybe they'll offer us a cup of tea," she suggests, smiling weakly at him.
There has always been so much between them, and now there is something more, and Ruth doesn't quite know how to face it. They were difficult before, never quite making it to leaving the service together (which they should have done), and now they simply stumble along, running into one another a couple of times a week, being achingly polite, neither mentioning that night only a month earlier. They have just spent two and a half solid hours alone in the car together, and the event-which-can-never-be-spoken-about has sat in the back seat all the way, never to be mentioned.
They are sitting in a small waiting room, just off the entrance to the police station, each juggling a cup of tea on their laps. The chairs are uncomfortable – hard seats with straight backs. They still haven't looked one another in the eye, which leaves Harry feeling deeply sad.
"The DCI's name is Harry Nelson," he says, feeling the need to break the silence which sits heavily between them.
"So you said. Two Harry's. That's almost two too many," Ruth says.
Harry has no idea how to reply to that, so he says nothing. Is she joking, and if not, how will they manage to put aside their messy recent history while appearing professional?
"I already know who it is," Ruth continues quietly, her voice barely reaching his ears.
"The body beneath the church?" So does Harry, but he'd rather not talk about that now.
Ruth is prevented from answering by the sudden presence of a tall, dark haired man in the doorway. He quickly glances from one to the other, and then steps towards Harry, his hand outstretched. "DCI Harry Nelson," he says. "You can call me Nelson. Almost everyone does."
Ruth smiles into the man's eyes, noticing a warm intelligence in their depths. He is the opposite of Harry Pearce. He is direct, he has a full head of hair, he is tall, although not slim, and he appears cheerful, while the man beside her, who is now on his feet, rarely cracks a smile. Ruth decides that she likes this other Harry.
"Dr Galloway is already at the site. She was the one in charge when the skeletal remains were discovered."
"She?" The DCI is leading them through the front doors of the police station, directly to a battered Mercedes, which appears to have taken part in one of those road tests devised by the crew from Top Gear for their own entertainment: From what height must a Mercedes be dropped before it falls apart?
"Dr Ruth Galloway. She teaches archaeology at the University of North Norfolk. She's a forensics expert," Nelson says quickly, as he opens the back door of his car, indicating they should both sit in the back seat together. "You might be safer in the back," he says.
Ruth is still reeling from the news that the archaeologist is a woman called Ruth, while Harry is hoping that they are safe in the hands of this man. "I could have taken my car," he says, as Nelson starts the car, and then bursts away from the kerb, ignoring all other traffic on the road.
"No need," Nelson replies, negotiating a roundabout at speed.
DCI Harry Nelson likes to drive, and his preferred speed is flat out. He enjoys the feeling of the vehicle being in his hands only, racing along at speeds well beyond the official limits. He lifts his eyes to the rear view mirror to see both his passengers with their eyes closed. Neither of them appear to him to be the praying type, although he knows looks can be deceptive. Nor do the spies in the back of his car seem like new-agers. Cathbad, a friend of Ruth Galloway's, is one of those odd types who worships the henge and the trees and the nature spirits, or whatever the hell they are. Cathbad claims to be a druid, and Nelson only tolerates him because he's good with Kate, his three-year-old daughter, who adores the man, strange as he is. Cathbad's real name is Michael, and he wears a purple cloak, for God's sake. The couple in the back seat of his car are dressed smartly in black coats. City folk! Mi5 or not, city folk are soft. He smiles, then plants his foot to the floor as he heads the car along the A17 towards Sutton Bridge.
Noticing Ruth's fingers hooked around the fabric of her coat, her knuckles white, Harry reaches out to take her hand in his. She doesn't pull away, so he grips her hand tighter, sliding his fingers between hers, before relaxing against the seat while this unhinged DCI takes them closer to the God in which he doesn't believe. If they are to die today, at least they'll die together.
Just before Sutton Bridge, Nelson turns the Mercedes off the A17, and noses the car towards the sea, slowing down on the uneven surface of the unsealed road. St David's Church stands alone, a stark shell with a spire pointing towards Heaven, reminding Ruth that in all probability, people once lived around here, trudging to this church each Sunday morning, their children straggling behind them. For a moment she stands alone, her eyes taking in the church, behind which the marsh leads to the sea in the distance. She shudders, imagining cold days and nights when the parishioners sat on bare pews, listening to their priest as he spoke kind words to lift their spirits during hard times; or perhaps he was one of those fire and brimstone preachers who warned the parishioners of a punishing God. When Harry turns to see what has become of her, she hurries to join him.
Nelson stands beside a rather bedraggled, mid-forties woman. She is not remarkable in any way, not until Ruth notices her eyes, sharp and intelligent. "This is Dr Ruth Galloway," Nelson says, turning towards Harry and Ruth, hoping they'll introduce themselves.
"Harry Pearce," Harry says gruffly, offering his hand to the woman who appears small beside the imposing presence of Harry Nelson. "And this is Ruth Evershed. Ruth is an intelligence analyst working at the Home Office."
Ruth Evershed is impressed with Ruth Galloway. They are around the same height, and Dr Galloway shakes hands with each of them in turn, looking them in the eye, her gaze direct and steady. She reminds Ruth of many of the female academics she has known – confident in her field, passionate about her area of expertise, and not given to spending a lot of time or effort on her appearance, which is not to say that Ruth Galloway isn't attractive. Below the mop of brown wavy hair, blown about by the wind, Ruth Galloway's skin is smooth, and her grey eyes are soft and kind. Ruth also notices that as she speaks to each of her and Harry, the Other Harry watches the Other Ruth closely. In his eyes Ruth sees admiration, and … something else which she finds hard to define. Are these two involved? She wouldn't be surprised. Working in close proximity throws people together in unexpected ways. She should know, although just lately, she and Harry have drifted apart, unable to find their way back to one another.
"Fortunately, the soil underground is dry, so wellies won't be necessary, but you'll need to wear these." Ruth Galloway hands a pair of disposable gloves to each of Harry and Ruth, and then she takes another pair from her pocket, shoving them towards Nelson.
"Keep them," he says. "I promise to not touch anything."
"You'll wear them, or stay above ground." Her words are a direct order, which Ruth notices Nelson obeys without question. Interesting. It's clear that here, on a site, Dr Galloway is in charge.
The church is a few miles from Sutton Bridge, away from the main roads, between the A17 and the sea. As she leads them through the remains of the church, Ruth Galloway tells them a little of the church's history. Beside her, Ruth can feel Harry becoming impatient. She knows he's keen to be getting underground, to the scene where the body was found. She lifts her eyes to his, and very slowly shakes her head. He nods his agreement. He will behave himself.
"Given the church is only a little over three hundred years old," the Other Ruth continues, "the presence of the crypt beneath where the vestry had been was common knowledge among the locals. Unfortunately it's been plundered numerous times, so nothing is left of the slate floor. Just a month or so ago a group of students from UNN – that's my university, the University Of North Norfolk -" Ruth Galloway smiles apologetically towards each of Ruth and Harry, since neither have heard of this new university. Ruth glances up at Nelson, to see him watching the Other Ruth, admiration in his eyes. Well, she is knowledgeable, but Ruth is sure that it is more than just her mind that he admires. "- chose the crypt for their next dig." She hesitates. "It's dark below ground, but I have a torch." Ruth Galloway smiles, lifting a torch which Ruth thinks is large enough to fell a man of Nelson's size, were it well aimed. She carefully opens the only door still intact within the shell of the church. "Stay close to me, and you'll be fine."
Ruth wants to grab Harry's hand for support, but it's hardly professional to rely on him in such a personal way, so she ducks her head, and follows Ruth Galloway through the doorway, carefully treading the dozen or so steps down to the crypt. Behind her she hears Harry Nelson ask Harry Pearce whether he'd ever visited an archaeological dig. Harry's dry response is, "Not that I can remember."
They pass through a narrow tunnel, until it widens to reveal what appears to be a cave. Dr Galloway lights two lanterns, which once they reach full illumination, brighten the cave until it is fully visible, the light dancing on the ceiling. Close to one wall, a channel of around a metre and a half wide, and two and a half metres long reveals a gaping hole in the soil. Ruth Galloway stands beside the hole in the ground, which to Ruth, resembles a large grave. Nelson stands to one side, leaving room for Ruth and Harry to join the archaeologist by the graveside.
"This is where the body was found," she says, once they are both beside her, "and although my students were hoping to uncover historical objects from the seventeenth century, the discovery of a body, and the accompanying weaponry caused much excitement."
Ruth and Harry both peer into the hole to see a curved hollow where the body had been. "Where are they now?" Ruth asks, disappointed that all that is left is an empty hole.
"The body is in the morgue at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in King's Lynn. It's in a locked drawer." She smiles at the words, `locked drawer', and Ruth smiles back.
"The weapons?"
Ruth Galloway looks towards Nelson, who realises that this is his department. "They're under lock and key at the police station. Only two of them have been cleaned, for identification purposes only."
"And?" Ruth can detect the irritation in Harry's voice.
"They're Russian in origin, although any form of identification, such as serial numbers, has been removed."
Ruth feels Harry sighing beside her. She doesn't know what to do when he's like this. He is almost unreachable, and reluctant to engage with others.
Harry Nelson continues speaking, moving closer to Ruth Galloway. "My boss wanted you here to identify the weapons, but also to identify the body."
"C-14 testing showed me that the body was less that ten years in this grave. It's definitely male -" the Other Ruth continues.
"How can you be sure the body is male?" Harry says sharply.
"Pelvic bones are noticeably narrower in males than in females. In a female skeleton, it is even possible to determine whether a woman has given birth." Ruth Galloway turns, and kneels carefully at the edge of the grave, before leaning down and scraping the soil at the side of the grave, revealing the edges of what appears to be a candlestick. "We needed you to see where the body had been buried. My students are keen to return to this dig, but it can't be opened again until the body is identified."
"Were it a murder which took place locally," Nelson adds, "then that would be down to my team to discover what happened. If it's something else, then … that's why you're here."
"Is it all right if I take some pictures?" Ruth asks, grabbing her phone from within the deep pocket of her coat. When the Other Ruth nods, Ruth moves quickly around the grave, capturing images from every angle. Once she has finished, she turns once more to the archaeologist. "I'll need to see the body, and to take photos of him. Then," she says, turning towards Nelson, "the guns -"
"Sure," he says, brightening, "but you'll need to check the body first. Ruth thinks he's Russian. She had the bone mineral analysis done." In the four or more years he's worked closely with Ruth Galloway, Nelson has picked up a smattering of archaeological terminology. Perhaps he's showing off in front of her, but he also needs her to know that he pays attention when she speaks.
Ruth Evershed glances quickly at Harry, who lifts his eyebrows, and then nods. Interpreting his nod as permission for her to speak openly about her suspicions, she takes a breath, and then turns to the archaeologist and the policeman. Not for the first time, she wonders how likely is it that a policeman and an archaeologist would be attracted to one another. She concludes it's about as likely as a grouchy Mi5 section head and his former analyst.
"I have a theory about the identity of the body," she says carefully, glancing quickly towards Harry, who is staring moodily into the grave, perhaps contemplating leaping in feet first. "I suspect he's FSB."
"FSB?" Nelson asks, his dark eyebrows gathering like storm clouds over his eyes.
"It's the Russian secret service."
"Do you have a name for this Ruskie?" Nelson asks, glancing quickly at the Other Ruth, whose eyes are on Ruth.
"I do, but I'm reluctant to share that detail until a DNA match is made."
This time, when Ruth glances at Harry, he is looking at her, but he is not smiling with admiration. Were she a betting woman, she would be putting a bet each way on Harry contemplating how he'd once believed that this dead Russian was his son, and that when he'd shared that news with her, it had thrown them apart, like a live grenade had been lobbed between them. They are about to embark upon the archaeology, not only of the Norfolk coastal area, but also of their long and troubled relationship.