Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Bill'. I am merely a crazy fan!
A/N: This is a super old idea. If anyone remembers the explosion at Sun Hill then you'll remember this, if not, well, I'll try and make it as simple to understand as I can.
Sam Harker took a swig from the whisky bottle before the room was plunged into blackness.
Ben Hayward laughed beside him. "Wonder who it was this time?" He grinned into the darkness, his boyish features barely crinkling under the weight of his smile. Of everyone in the room, Ben looked the youngest. And, he was the youngest, even if only by a matter of two years. With brown hair that hung over large brown eyes, he was the most child-like cop at Sun Hill and it was these features and trusting expressions that made him a hit with victims.
"Probably that bloody cleaner." Sam joked, referring to the man that had been re-decorating Sun Hill for the past few days. A surly and rude man, the relief had tried hard to avoid him as much as possible. He didn't make it hard, giving the impression he disliked the police as much as they disliked him and his distant smell of vodka.
Outside there came a barrage of noises and Sam cocked an eyebrow as Kate Spears, having just returned from god-knows-where, smiled up at the emergency back-up lights. They turned the room a strange shade of dark orange, a shade that mixed with the light coming through the windows.
"I'm taking a look outside." Sam stated, turning his attention to the CID balcony that overlooked the back yard.
"Don't do anything stupid." Ben grinned. Paul Riley, a man they had all heard described as the world's most incompetent detective, laughed.
Sam pointed to his chest. "Who? Me?"
Diana Worrell, Sun Hill's sweetheart PC who had stayed behind to clean up the mess created primarily by CID and/or Sam's excessive mope-drinking (he'd worked through half a bottle of vodka and three mouthfuls of whisky so far), joined in the laughter.
Ignoring their taunting Sam backed out onto the balcony and looked down out onto the grounds. Youths with petrol bombs were running everywhere and Sam watched Des Taviner, who hadn't even been at the station party that night, tackle a boy coming over a wall. He grinned and, had he not been so unsteady of his feet, probably would've cheered. Instead he just gripped the railing, drink in his other hand, watching Des kick butt.
As sirens and flashing lights lit up the corner of his eye, Sam turned his attention to the front of the station where SO10 had turned up and were dragging kids away from the building and confiscating petrol bombs out of their bags. The bombs, little more than rags soaked in oil and shoved into a beer bottle, were smashed to the ground harmlessly or taken away for evidence. As the police began to win the war, Sam looked back at Des just as Des started smashing at Monroe's office window.
"What the?" He frowned, unsure what he was seeing. His narrowed his fuzzy eyes, sobering up at what he'd see next. One second there was Des in full cop mode, tackling delinquents and enforcing what they called 'Taviner Law', then the next he'd whipped out his own patrol bomb and lit it, throwing it through the open window of Monroe's smashed office. Sam leant closer to ensure his eyes weren't looking him and it was then that he drew the attention of Des, the bald-headed figure glancing between Sam and the room. He stepped out of sight just as an ominous boom, like something cracking, sounded from below. The balcony shook a little. Then, reality and fear struck both Sam and Des.
"Get out, go go." Des yelled, catching Sam completely off guard.
Dropping the cup in his left hand, Sam turned back towards the door of the balcony just in time to catch the frightened expression on Di's face.
The next moment the whole top floor exploded into flames...
POINTING FINGERS
Sam Harker was a good cop.
He worked hard, he was honest and everyone loved his mild sense of humour.
When the station exploded, he became one of its victims.
Sam died with a secret on his lips; he knew who'd thrown the petrol bomb that killed 6 officers and injured a few more.
What if Sam hadn't died though?
What if he'd made it through the days in his hospital bed and was able to carry on just as before with a single image scarred in his mind?
The face of the man who threw the bomb...
Would he tell who did it?
Would he point fingers?
A/N 2: I call this 'Pointing Fingers' version 2. The original was a lot more novice than this. I like to think it was because it was written when I was 15, but probably more because I was such a novice back then. Hopefully this paints the picture a little better for you and helps you appreciate just how much I loved Sam Harker. *tear* RIP Sam!