Parallel lines: two lines in the same plane that, no matter how far they extend, never intersect
Chapter 1: Picture this
Gene Hunt slammed the Quattro to a halt in front of the sorting office, striding to the front door, leaving Alex to push back her seat to allow Chris and Ray to scramble out.
Gene pushed through the doors, briefing the team on the way. "Patrick Smith, postie. Found dead this morning by his boss, dumped behind the bins round the back of the sorting office. Apparently he'd been about to go off on his round."
Alex looked at him. Postman Pat? He had to be joking.
"Ray and Chris," Gene went on, "you go and make sure uniform aren't fouling up the crime scene. Drake, you're coming with me."
Rolling her eyes at Gene's back, Alex followed him as he made his way to an office with "Anthony Slade" inscribed on a plaque on the door. He entered without knocking, surprising the only occupant, a thirty-something man in a shiny grey suit and skinny red tie, who was sitting behind his desk, staring at an empty sheet of paper.
"Anthony Slade? I'm Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt, this is Detective Inspector Alex Drake. We understand you found the body of Patrick Smith this morning. We'd like to ask you some questions." Without waiting for an invite, Gene sat in the chair opposite Anthony, leaving Alex to observe from her position against a wall, out of his direct line of sight.
Anthony put down his pen and ran his fingers through his thinning brown hair. "To be honest, it's all been a bit of a shock. I told the other officers everything I know." His voice was reedy, the precise vowel sounds not quite disguising the south London origins of the speaker. "The postmen are usually gone by the time I get here. I wanted to get something from my car and the quickest way was out the back exit. I saw his feet poking out from behind the bins. Went to check what it was…" His voice died away and his fingers began drumming on his desk.
Gene leaned forward in a gesture that could have been mistaken for sympathy if Alex hadn't known better. "Can't have been easy, seeing your colleague like that. You were his manager, yes?"
"That's right. Can't believe someone would do that to Pat. Life and soul, he was."
"You don't know of any reason why he might have been killed then?"
Anthony shifted uneasily in his chair. "No, nothing at all."
Alex pushed herself away from the wall and moved towards the desk, unconvinced by his answer. "Are you sure?"
He reached for his pen and began tapping it nervously against the sheet of paper on his desk. His eyes flitted anxiously around the room, finally resting on Alex's, resignation pulling his features into a frown. "It's nothing, really," he began. "Probably completely irrelevant."
"Nothing's irrelevant in a murder enquiry," Gene replied shortly, ignoring the look Alex was sending him. She probably wanted him to be more sympathetic. Was always going on about how insensitive he was. Too bad. Anthony Slade had answers and he'd get them from him his own way.
"No. Of course not." Anthony sighed and looked to the ceiling. "But I hate to speak ill of Pat now he's – you know – oh, it's just so awful."
Alex jumped in before Gene could make some inappropriate comment about how Pat was hardly likely to complain. "Mr Slade, please, if there's anything you can tell that will help us, you really should let us know. I'm sure Pat would want you to help find out what happened to him."
Seemingly weighing things up in his mind, Anthony came to a decision and puffed out a breath. "Please, don't think badly of Pat. I know he was cut up about this. But the thing is, he was having an affair with someone here. My secretary, actually, Mary. I don't know whether Sheila – his wife – knew or not. But, like you said, I suppose it's the sort of thing that can get a man into trouble." He sent a wry smile at Gene, missing Alex's narrow stare.
"Quite right," Gene smiled back, pushing back his chair. "Mary here now?"
"No, I'm afraid I sent her home, she's taken this rather badly."
Gene stood, shrugging into his overcoat. "Well, I daresay we'll catch up with her soon."
Alex remained seated, sending a meaningful glance in Gene's direction. "Guv, I'm not sure we're completely finished here…"
Sticking out his bottom lip in an furious pout, Gene's look was icy. "Come along, Drake. Real work to do." He swept out of Anthony's office, leaving her trailing angrily in his wake.
He'd barely made it as far as the staff rest room at the end of the corridor before Alex began laying into him. "I think Slade knows more than he's saying," hissed Alex, grabbing Gene's arm. He turned towards her, recognising the blaze in her eyes and resigned to taking the flack. "You should've let me get more out of him."
"The man's an idiot," dismissed Gene. "Men like Pat get murdered for one of two reasons: money or women. Given what Slade said, my money's on women. Are you coming with me to question Sheila or are you going to stand there all day looking like I just stole your prefect badge?"
Exasperated, Alex waved him in front of her and they walked together to find Chris and Ray to let them know the plan. Leaving the boys to supervise the collection of the first batch of statements from Pat's colleagues, Gene and Alex reached the Quattro in silence.
Alex was still irritated when they pulled up at Sheila Smith's house. Alex had suggested to Gene that she be allowed to lead the interview, given that the woman had just lost her husband, and he'd reluctantly agreed. After being shown into the small front room by a WPC, they found Mrs Smith sitting sadly on the sofa, sniffing into a lacy handkerchief. She looked worn out, her lined face blotchy, dark hair hanging in limp tangles and eyes tinged with pink. The WPC had warned them that she'd been sobbing off and on since she'd found out about the death of her husband. Alex sat down next to her and began to question her gently. Gene sat opposite them, looking uncomfortable and hopelessly out of place on the chintz settee.
In the end, Sheila could give them very little information. Despite Alex's carefully worded questions and sensitive approach, Sheila was too upset to tell them anything other than that she hadn't been aware of any reason why anyone would want to harm her husband. She'd wailed in disbelief when Alex had questioned her about Pat's affair, denying any previous knowledge of it. By this stage she was too distressed to discuss anything further and Alex had pulled a reluctant Gene off his sofa and back out to the Quattro, leaving Sheila to be comforted by the WPC.
Next stop was the home of Mary Carter, the woman described by Gene as Pat's tits-on-the-side. Like Sheila, Mary was upset by Pat's death and sniffed and stumbled her way through Alex's questioning. Unlike Sheila, she wore her grief well, her sadness lending an air of fragility to her pretty, fair features. Mary told them that Pat had been torn about his feelings for her as he still cared for his wife and didn't want to hurt her. "He loved us both," she whispered, swiping at the tears on her cheeks, "he didn't know what to do for the best."
"Could anyone have wanted to hurt Pat?" Alex asked gently, but Mary could do little more than shake her head in denial. Alex persisted, "Was there anything unusual in his last few days? Anything you can think of would be useful."
Mary shook her head again, although hesitantly this time. Alex waited, hoping Mary would fill the gap and expand upon her answer. She was rewarded when Mary replied, "I suppose he did seem a bit stressed this last week. It was probably just his worry about me and Sheila. Don't know now, though. Wish I could ask him…" She broke off, swallowing down another sob, and Alex decided there was little to be gained by continuing with the interview. She and Gene left, warning her that they may need to return for more information, promising that they would do their level best to find Pat's killer.
Back at the squad room, Alex sat at her desk with a stack of statements in front of her, trying to make sense of what had happened to Postman Pat. Across the room, Alex saw Shaz sitting in front of her typewriter, completely still, a worried look on her face. Alex smiled as Chris wondered across to Shaz, trying to look casual as he asked her to join him for a drink over the road. Alex's smile disappeared, though, as Shaz snapped at Chris before grabbing her coat and rushing out of the door. Chris stared at her retreating back, looking bewildered, before trudging slowly back to his desk.
Alex was about to pick up the first of the statements when Gene barrelled out of his office, his coat flung over his shoulders, ordering his team to join him for a drink or a bottle. Sighing, Alex knew she should resist but she'd lost the battle on that front some time ago. She pushed away from her desk, gathering her coat and bag, and followed him into Luigi's.
Sitting together at their usual corner table, a nearly empty bottle of wine between them, Gene and Alex chewed over the facts of the Patrick Smith murder. "Well I, for one, can see why Pat was enjoying the attentions of the lovely Mary," smirked Gene.
Alex rolled her eyes; she'd known this was coming. "So, just because Sheila's showing her age, you think that gives Pat a license to throw away years of joint commitment and have a fling with some little blonde thing who catches his eye at the office?"
"Come off it Bolls, put aside your feminist bollocks for a moment and look at this through the eyes of Sheila Smith. Her husband of seven years develops an itch only pretty little Mary can scratch. He comes home, tells her he's made his mind up, that he's going to go off with young, attractive, blonde Mary and leave her home alone, nothing but her collection of china figurines and lace doilies for company. You can see how that might drive neurotic, neglected Sheila over the edge and into murder."
"That's what you'd do, is it Gene? The moment someone caught your eye you'd be off, wham bam thank you ma'am and bugger the consequences."
"Nah," Gene growled, looking at her pointedly. "Blonde's not my type."
Alex blinked, momentarily disconcerted. "But anyway, if Sheila was going to do him in in a jealous rage, she'd hardly wait until he got to work. She'd do it at home, when he confronted her. If he did confront her, that is. I thought she seemed genuinely surprised about Pat's affair."
Gene sniffed and took a healthy slug of red wine. "Women can fake anything."
Shaking her head at his cynicism, Alex couldn't help but wonder what had happened to give Gene such a blinkered view of women. Alex's instincts were as good as Gene's when it came to the job but he was always so reluctant to concede that she might have a point. It was as though acknowledging her ability would somehow diminish his own. She took a deep breath and launched into a lengthy defence of her theory that Sheila was unlikely to have been responsible for Pat's murder.
Gene stared into his wine glass, half listening to his DI's indignant tirade, half wondering yet again what she'd look like naked. She'd been challenging him a lot lately, about both work and his personal life, or lack of it. She seemed to have developed these hugely unrealistic expectations of him, and never hid her disappointment that he continually failed to meet them. Why should he care if she was disappointed in him? He'd never asked her to put him on any kind of pedestal. She'd have to take him as she found him, and if that wasn't good enough then too bad.
He looked across at her. She was still banging on, a bit tipsy but no worse than normal, something about female economic oppression, looking flushed and angry and completely bloody gorgeous. He was used to it now. Used to pushing away this awkward attraction he felt for her, to overlooking his uncomfortable desire when she accidentally found herself too close. It was fine. Not worth worrying about. He was used to it.
Alex drew to a close, finally noticing that her arguments weren't holding Gene's full attention. She sighed, resigned. Half the time she actually thought she might be able to bring him round, introduce him to some of the common civilities she'd been used to back in 2008. The other half she knew she was wasting her time. She'd never change him, he'd never be the man she wanted him to be. Didn't know why she bothered, why it bothered her. She should just let it lie but she couldn't. She kept at him, even when she knew it was hopeless and she knew it was winding him up. It was no wonder Gene had stopped listening to her half way through her latest rant.
"So," she finished. "We're no further along, then. Let's sleep on it."
"I can think of things I'd rather sleep on," Gene responded, eyes raking her up and down. She arched an eyebrow in response, knowing he wasn't serious, understanding that his casual flirtation was his way of dealing with having a woman in a senior position on his team. Closing the door on her mental pictures involving Gene and a bed, she rose to leave.
"We'll pick this up in the morning then, Guv. See you tomorrow." She was walking towards the steps to her flat, her back to Gene, so didn't see the thoughtful look he sent her as she left.
Reaching her flat, Alex didn't waste too much time before slipping into her black satin nightshirt and into her bed. She lay on the cool sheets, trying to stop her mind from turning over the day's events, seeking sleep but not finding it. Rolling to her side, she thumped her pillow and curled up her legs, replaying her arguments with Gene over and over in her head. Stupid bastard. Stupid stubborn arrogant chauvinistic bastard. Why did he dismiss her so easily? She hated that she still felt the need to prove herself to him. How could he be so bloody irritating and so bloody sexy at the same time?
She rolled onto her back, eyes closed, remembering an earlier scene in Gene's office as he stood close to her, staring down at her, breathing fire and passion even as he berated her for some insignificant misdemeanour. He'd poked her in the chest as he'd made his points and she'd spat back some reply, all the time mesmerised by the intensity in his eyes, by his power and strength, the indefinable quality that made him him.
Sighing at the inevitability, Alex slid her hand across her body, feeling her nipples pucker beneath her fingers as her body responded to the thoughts of Gene. She imagined him sweeping his desk clear and lifting her to sit on the edge, pulling down her knickers, parting her knees and pressing himself against her. Her hand moved lower and she gasped as she found her slick centre, her thumb sliding across the sensitive nub, imagining Gene bending before her, his mouth against her, sucking and licking and bringing her to the peak of pleasure.
Panting, squirming beneath her fingers, Alex arched her neck as her fantasy Gene nibbled a trail from her ear to her shoulder. She pinched at her nipple, picturing him taking it into his mouth and sucking hard, darts of pleasure shooting through her at the image. Her fingers worked rhythmically against her body, her hips bucking in time, and she called Gene's name as she thrust inside, remembering the feel of his strong arms around her, the thrill of his masculine smell. She cried out as she tightened around herself, splintering in delight, and as the heat and light coursed through her it was his face she pictured. Collapsing, exhausted, onto the bed, she curled onto her side and smiled wryly, catching her breath and wondering how on earth she'd found herself fantasising about her prehistoric DCI.