A/N: Alas, I still don't own Ashes to Ashes, but I want Gene for Christmas!
I'm so terribly sorry for the long silence. I've been away a lot and I've had to give priority to a long series of music reviews with tight deadlines. In and around them, I've managed to finish the first two chapters of my Christmas fic for this year, although the second still needs some polishing. I'll post the second chapter when I've tidied it up and the third when it's been written.
In the meantime, a merry Christmas to all my readers - and reviews would be a wonderful Christmas present!
"Bols. Into the car. We're off to see a snout."
"Which one, Guv?"
"Tell you on the way."
It was December 22nd, and greatly to CID's disgust the criminal scum of London were showing no inclination to give themselves or their pursuers a seasonal holiday just yet. As Alex leapt into the Quattro and it took off like Santa's sleigh, she reflected that any tipoff which might help them reduce their pre-Christmas caseload would be welcome.
"So, who's the snout, Guv?" she demanded, while the Quattro tore along Paul Street. "Tony Daniels again?"
"No. One you 'aven't met before."
The Quattro touched down outside a venerable building in Great Guildford Street with a brass plaque by the door bearing the name St Mungo's. They got out and Gene pressed the doorbell. The door was answered by a young woman who looked completely overawed at the sight of him.
"Morning, love." He displayed his warrant card. "DCI Hunt an' DI Drake, CID. We're 'ere to see Lady Joan."
"Is that Mr Hunt, Carol?" a formidable female voice boomed from within the house. "Show him up, please."
"Yes, my Lady. Would you step this way, please?" The girl gestured to them to enter. Gene, who plainly knew his way about the place, strode along a narrow hallway and up a flight of stairs with Alex in his wake. At the top of the stairs he turned right and tapped at a door which stood ajar.
"That you, Gene?" From close at hand the female voice sounded distinctly fruity and the accent was so upper-class that it made Alex sound positively common. "Come in, dear boy."
They entered to find an imposing lady in her early sixties rising from a desk and advancing to greet them with hearty handshakes. She wore a tweed suit which, like her, was of top quality and built to last. Her face was devoid of makeup, but Alex would not vouch for the colour of her hair being genuine. She made Alex think of Lady Sybil Ramkin in the Discworld books.
"Gene, old boy, good to see you!" she boomed. "Been too long. Who's the lady friend?"
"Good to see you too, m'lady." Gene sounded unusually respectful. "This is DI Alex Drake. Drake, please meet Lady Joan Sheldon of St Mungo's, good angel of London's 'omeless."
"Fiddlesticks. Don't pay any attention to him, my dear."
"I very rarely do, my Lady," Alex said with meaning, while Gene seethed. "But I think I will, this time."
"Do make yourselves comfortable." Lady Joan gestured to a couple of upright wooden chairs facing her desk. "Tea, both of you?" Before they could answer, she moved over to an ancient but servicable urn which belched forth clouds of steam as soon as she touched the tap. "Bugger. Damn thing's overheated again. Care to kick it in the kidneys, Gene? Worked a treat the last time you were here."
"Coming up." Gene marched over to the urn and gave one of the knobs a vicious twist. The urn subsided with a sound like hotel plumbing in the final stages of despair.
"Good show. We'll be able to touch it in about five minutes' time. Jolly good job you've still got those driving gloves on. Taken the skin off your hands otherwise." Lady Joan sat at the desk. "Well, while we wait, I'd better tell you what I called you over here for." She looked at Alex. "As you may guess, m'dear, I'm one of Gene's more unusual snouts. Working for the homeless in this part of town, I get to see and hear all sorts of things the coppers don't."
"I can quite believe it." Alex was openly impressed.
"Anyway. Yesterday evening I was on the Silver Lady run on the Embankment."
"The mobile free soup kitchen an' caff for the 'omeless," Gene translated to Alex, who already knew of it. She nodded.
"I always keep copies of the mugshots you give me taped up on the inside of the serving hatch in case any of them show up. Last night, I couldn't absolutely swear to it because he had a flat cap pulled down well over his eyes, but I'm pretty damned sure that one of my customers was a fellow you're looking for."
"Which one?" Gene was instantly on the alert.
"Michael Judd."
Gene relaxed slightly in his seat. "Judders, breaking cover at last. Ta, m'lady, that's very useful."
The urn emitted a shrill shriek. Lady Joan rose and grabbed three non-matching tea cups and saucers. "Ah, Boanerges is honouring us with some tea at last. I know how you like it, Gene. What about you, Alex?"
"Plenty of milk, no sugar, please."
"Coming up." Lady Joan busied herself with the milk jug and sugar bowl. "All I can say is, if he's coming out of hiding to get my soup, he really must be desperate."
"Was it for this that the mushrooms gave their little lives?" Gene muttered ironically.
"Yes. He is," Alex said seriously. "We know that much."
Lady Joan set tea in front of Gene and Alex and sat down with her own. "There you go. Would it be possible for one to know exactly what this bad boy has done?"
Gene sipped the scalding tea. "Judders was the book-keeper for Simon Neary, a gangster we nailed earlier this year. We rounded up most of 'is gang when we got their master, but Judders wasn't there when we pounced an' 'e slipped the net. A lot of people are looking for 'im, an' the others wouldn't be as nice to 'im as we would be."
"Why is that?"
"Because 'is approach to creative accounting'd give the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street a hangover. He's 'idden Neary's cash away in lots of different accounts across the country. We think it includes the proceeds from a number of major blags Simon was involved in, but without the bank details showin' when the money went in an' where, we've no evidence. Neary claims 'e doesn't know where a lot of it is, an' against all my usual instincts I actually believe the old fairy on this one. He trusted Judders absolutely, an' Mikey's proved 'imself a faithful servant."
"Must be, otherwise he'd have helped himself to a slice and headed for the airport," Lady Joan said sceptically.
"It isn't as easy as that," Alex explained. "He has a wife and daughter whom he worships. The daughter had a severe respiratory illness and he was desperate for money to pay the medical bills. We think that that was how he was recruited to Neary's gang. He's a banking genius. He was jailed for fraud, a scam to pay for his daughter's treatment, and one of Neary's boys recruited him while he was inside. The wife and daughter have gone into hiding since we took Neary down and we can't trace them. Judd won't want to leave the country without them, but he daren't contact them in case he endangers them as well as himself."
Lady Joan nodded her understanding. "Because there are others than the police who'd like to get their hands on the money."
"Correct." Gene slurped his tea noisily. "It's all over the underworld like a rash that Judders is the human key to Neary's bank vault, an' every gang in the country's looking for 'im. If they find 'im before we do, they'd torture 'im to get the cash."
"Or, worse, get his wife and daughter and use them as a lever to make him talk," Alex added.
"The word's been that e's been moving around London an' the 'Ome Counties, staying with anyone who'll take 'im in, but nobody'll keep 'im for longer than a night or two in case they're caught in possession. He's runnin' out of places to sleep. If your sighting last night's genuine, it looks like 'e's on the streets. The net's closing in. Only a matter of time before someone nails 'im. It's got to be us. Thanks very much, m'lady. If you or any of your team see 'im again, can you let us know when an' where?"
"With pleasure. The Silver Lady was up by Blackfriars Bridge when I spotted him, so he might be dossing down in that area."
"He hasn't been in any of the hostels for the homeless," Alex contributed. "They're all on the lookout for him, and he probably knows that."
"The Crisis at Christmas shelters open tomorrow," Lady Joan said thoughtfully. "Caring for the homeless and hungry on an industrial scale. They would be far easier to hide out in than a regular hostel. If he's run out of other options, he might try to lose himself in one of them. Especially with the weather so cold just now."
"Yeah. Thanks for the tip."
"I'm in charge of the shelter in Bermondsey, that's the nearest to Blackfriars where I saw him. It could be worth your while to pop your heads round the door sometime. I could give you cover to work for a day or two as volunteers, if you like. We're always glad of help."
"Oh, er..." Alex had never seen Gene look so awkward before. It was obviously very hard to say no to Lady Joan.
"The emphasis is always on interaction between visitors and guests," Lady Joan continued, "but if you're worried that someone might recognise you, we could always give you a job behind the scenes, maybe sorting bedding or food donations. Give you a chance to watch everything without being seen."
"Erm, well, I suppose - "
Taking pity on him, Alex stepped into the breach. "I'd be delighted to volunteer for a few days," she said warmly. "I was going to spend Christmas on my own, so it would be good to do something that will help people."
"Oh, Alex, my dear, how kind of you!"
"Er, um, put me down too," Gene mumbled, his face the colour of a turkey which had only just noticed the date.
"Delighted, dear boy. Knew you'd step up to the mark."
Gene muttered something deliberately unintelligible.
"Right! When can I count on you two, then?"
"Christmas Eve is usually rather busy for us," Alex said apologetically, knowing that Gene would kill her if she took him away from CID's party at Luigi's. As it was, she expected an earblasting from him as soon as they were in the Quattro. "But I can do Christmas Eve and Boxing Day, if that's any help."
"It would be a wonderful help. For obvious reasons, those are the days when we find it hardest to get volunteers. Thank you so much."
"I'll be there with Drake," Gene growled. "On duty to catch scum. If we do find anyone we know there, Judders or any of the criminal search parties, we'll 'ave to arrest 'em on the premises."
"Understood," Lady Joan said airily. "The penalty of taking in the homeless is that someone will always try to take advantage of one's generosity. Last year I had to call the coppers to nick three chaps for dealing, one for pinching our food supplies and one for exposing himself. I don't expect any better this year."
"Right!" Gene finished his tea and set the cup down with unnecessary force. "We'll be off. Thanks again for the tipoff, m'lady." He reached into his pocket and produced a £10 note, twice his usual going rate for snouts. " 'Ere you are."
"Oh, no, you naughty boy!" If so formidable a woman could be said to tinkle, Lady Joan tinkled. "I don't need paying, like the rest of your snouts."
"I'm not payin'." Gene's face was unreadable. "Put it in the collection tin. Or get Boanerges repaired before 'e blows up in your face."
Lady Joan's face softened into a lovely smile. "Thank you. I will. I look forward to seeing both of you on Christmas Day. Here's the address of the shelter." She produced a Xeroxed leaflet, which Gene took and stowed into his pocket. "If you could be there by 9.30 in case we need help with the crowd control for breakfast, that would be wonderful."
"Yes, m'lady." Gene was curt, but Alex thought that he was on the point of knuckling his forehead. "I'll send a plod round later with more mugshots of Judders an' mugshots of the gangsters, 'itmen an' protection merchants most likely to be after 'im. If you or your team spot any of 'em before we arrive, don't approach 'em. They're dangerous an' likely to be armed."
"Roger that." Lady Joan's tone was joking, but her face was perfectly serious. "The shelter will be full of people, including children."
"Potential 'ostages if we 'ave a shootout," Gene said grimly.
"Of course, Judd may not turn up at all," Alex added.
"No," Gene agreed. "But if 'e does, we'll be ready for 'im." He rose, and Alex followed suit. "If any crims show up on your patch before we do, let me know."
"Of course. Goodbye, both of you. I'll be seeing you on Christmas Day, but in advance of that, merry Christmas."
"And to you, my Lady," Alex said warmly as they shook hands.
"Ta. We'll see ourselves out." Gene, clearly embarrassed, led the way down the stairs, out the door and into the Quattro in double quick time.
"I'm sorry, Guv," Alex said apologetically as soon as they were both in the car. "Have I ruined your plans for Christmas?"
"Wasn't meant to be on duty, but I don't 'ave anything else to do," he said gruffly. "If we can catch Judders, that'll be my Christmas present." The car took off and Alex held tight to the handle.
"How on earth did you get to know Lady Joan?" she demanded.
"Shortly after I transferred 'ere, a blagger made the mistake of trying to nick collecting tins from the charity offices. She was working late doin' the accounts. Floored 'im with a rabbit punch an' sat on 'im while she called the cops. She came to the station next day to give 'er statement an' we got talkin'. She volunteered to be a snout. All sorts pass through 'er shelters an' she picks up no end of information. Amazing old bird. Presented as a deb in '38, married the man of 'er dreams in '39, 'e was in the RAF an' was blown out of the sky in '41. She threw 'erself into working for Londoners made 'omeless by the Blitz an' she's been working for the 'omeless ever since."
"And there was I, thinking I was the only posh bird you knew," Alex said lightly.
"Only thing that's posh about Lady Joan's 'er title." In spite of himself, Gene grinned. "I've 'eard 'er use language that'd melt Johnny Rotten's safety pins when she's whipping the inmates in 'er shelters into line, an' she's as free with 'er fists as you are."
"Will we take any backup with us into the shelter? A few plods undercover as inmates or helpers?" Alex asked.
"Might not be able to get 'em, specially as we'll be off duty. Very few on duty on Christmas Day an' Boxing Day, an' they'll want double-bubble. I'll ask the Super."
"Do you think he'll agree?"
Gene scowled. "Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye."
-oO0Oo-
The following afternoon, Gene was not a happy man. He had had a blistering interview with SuperMac, larded with sarcastic references to "wild goose chase", "public accountability", "proper use of taxpayers' money" and "police resources". The upshot was that he and Alex would have no backup. Mac had even flatly refused to countenance the idea of keeping a squad car with radio contact parked a few streets away to summon aid.
"Really, Gene, if you insist on ruining DI Drake's Christmas and yours by picking around a shelter on the say-so of one charity worker who couldn't swear to the ID, you can only expect to net the odd pickpocket and three-card merchant. The end hardly justifies the means, does it?"
"But, Sir, if we do manage to nail Judd, the information we'd get from 'im would be invaluable at Neary's trial, an' we'd stop any other criminal networks getting the money."
"A very big if, don't you think? The answer's no, Gene. The expenditure can't be justified. And I can't allow you and DI Drake to waste your time. Enjoy your Christmases and leave policing the shelter to Lady Joan. I understand she's very efficient. That's an order."
It was one which Gene had no intention of obeying. He had carefully omitted to mention to Mac that as they would be off duty and were ostensibly volunteering at the shelter for purely charitable purposes, he had no way to stop Alex going - and even if I had, it'd be a first if she obeyed me - and he'd be boiled along with the pudding rather than let her go on her own. Leave that soft-hearted, soft-headed tart in sole charge of a platoon of homeless and hungry? They'd rob her of everything but her warrant card before the carol singers arrive.
He stumped into his office, poured himself a shot of whisky, and slammed the glass onto his desk with unnecessary force. Blast Mac. The man's a hero, but since he became a senior suit he's turned into a bloody bean counter.
He looked up to see Alex standing in the doorway. "Guv?"
"Did I request your presence?" he snarled.
Not for the first time, she decided to ignore his rudeness. "Did the Super authorise backup?"
"No, Drake. No, 'e did not. If 'e 'ad, I'd be my usual bright, cheery, Christmassy self. Instead of which, I am one angry detective."
"Make that two angry detectives." She sat on the edge of his desk. "Do we go ahead, then?"
"I do. You're off duty, so it's your call."
"I'm working at the shelter as a volunteer, off duty. If you happen along, on or off duty, I'll lend a hand."
It was the answer he had been hoping for, and it warmed him to the tips of his toes. "Right. He might not 'ave authorised backup, but there'll be plod on patrol, an' I'll make it my business to find out in advance where they'll be. We'll take our guns an' radios. Won't switch the radios on unless we need 'em in case they give us away, I learned that lesson from bloody Tyler. Ray, Chris an' Shaz are all off duty, so we won't 'ave them. It'll be just you an' me, Bolly."
TBC
A/N: St Mungo's, Crisis at Christmas and the Silver Lady Fund continue to do their wonderful work for London's homeless in 2013, but the Silver Lady Travelling Van, which provided sustenance to the homeless and needy, was discontinued in 2008.