True Heelers

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to Southern Star and Channel Seven. The rest (including some characters) belong to me.

This is a series that I began in late 2006. Each storyline is divided up into separate "episodes" and these episodes will contain anything from four to six separate parts. I'm not sure how long this series may last, however at this point, the idea is that it will be an ongoing thing.

Episode 1: "After The Night"

Summary: Amy Fox returns to Mt. Thomas, now a Homicide detective, to investigate the murder of an old colleague. The Heelers struggle with the death of a good friend and colleague.

Part 1

Even before she reached the police station, Amy Fox could tell that something big had changed in Mt. Thomas in the two and a half years she had been away. People on the street seemed quieter; the usually happy and friendly country mood was sombre. Even the dogs seemed to be carrying their tails between their legs as they walked.

Amy sat behind the wheel of her new silver Vee Dub, trying to remain focused on the road ahead when her mind and eyes kept wandering. The warm November breeze licked her hair back from her face through the open window. She'd never say it, but she had missed this town while in Melbourne working for Homicide.

And now she was back, and definitely not on good terms. A colleague and old friend had been murdered just hours before, and she was already back in town to find the bastard and bring him to justice. As soon as she'd arranged a room at the Imperial Hotel with what she could only guess to be a devastated Chris, she'd go to the station and face what she knew would be a scene of total distress. Old colleagues falling to pieces over the death of someone they loved.

She pulled up out the front of the Imperial, immediately noticing the 'closed' sign hanging from the door. Amy climbed out of her car and – without locking it, an old country habit she thought she'd forgotten – approached the door. She tried the handle and, finding it unlocked, invited herself inside without bothering to knock.

Chris Riley sat on the office side of the public bar, drowning her tears in a half-empty bottle of scotch. She barely even looked up as Amy entered and approached her tentatively.

"Chris?" she asked quietly, her voice eerily weak. Chris finally looked up and gasped in relief at the familiar face. She suddenly couldn't get over to Amy's side of the bar fast enough, pulling her into a rough hug. Under any other circumstances, Amy may have pulled away, but instead she found herself hugging Chris back, letting the redheaded publican sob into her shoulder, slowly and surely soaking her suit. Amy squeezed Chris slightly as the older woman finally pulled away, using the back of her hand to brush away tears.

"News travels fast." Chris whispered as she headed back round to the other side of the bar. She held up the remainder of scotch. "You want some?"

Amy nodded as she pulled up a stool across from Chris, watching as Chris retrieved another glass and poured Amy a drink. She took it gratefully, not even having to ask if this was 'on the house'.

"Kelly told me a little while ago." Chris explained in an unusually quiet voice. "Poor thing was in tears. She wanted to come over here but I told her not to."

Amy lowered her gaze as she let her glass of scotch hang from her index and middle fingers. A silence fell between Chris and Amy as they sat on either sides of the bar, staring into their drinks and silently praying that the last few hours had been little more than an unpleasant dream. Two normally strong women had been reduced to shadows of their former selves, drowning their sorrows in an empty, silent pub.

"How did you find out?" Chris asked in a whisper, looking up to Amy, the tears still fresh on her cheeks. Amy looked up to Chris, trying unsuccessfully to keep the tears back.

"A homicide colleague told me," she replied as she once again hung her head, letting her usually meticulously tidy hair fall around her face, hiding her features from view. "I'm here to find the bastard who did this."

Chris reached over and gave Amy's right arm a gentle squeeze. Amy looked up to meet Chris' gaze, and saw that she had the weakest of smiles spread across her face.

"Catch the bastard," Chris said quietly, "nail his arse to the wall and make him pay for what he did."

Amy nodded and gulped down the remainder of her glass of scotch.

"Don't worry," Amy pointed out, "we'll get him if it's the last thing we do. Is it alright if I grab a room?"

Chris quickly scampered back into the office and grabbed a set of keys. She tossed them over to Amy, who fumbled them briefly. "You can have room seven," Chris explained, "I think there was a visiting footy team in there last, so I'm not sure how good it is."

Amy smiled weakly at Chris and headed back out to her car to grab her bags. Chris watched the detective go, the smile gradually fading back into her previous saddened expression. Sitting back behind the bar, she looked at her half-empty glass and topped it up with what was left in the bottle, although something told her that the glass would always be half-empty in Mt. Thomas for some time to come.

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Amy unlocked the door to room seven at the Imperial Hotel and let herself in, surveying the small, somewhat stale-smelling room dismally. She sighed as she dumped her big black bag down on the hastily-made single bed and flopped down beside it, playing with the keys in her hands absentmindedly.

The room wasn't much. There was a heater that Amy knew she'd never use at this time of year, a TV that Chris couldn't remember if it worked or not and an old alarm clock from the 1990s that hadn't been updated to daylight savings yet. She rolled over onto her side to reach it and changed the time. It was probably still a good ten minutes off – like most motel and hotel room alarm clocks – but at least it now stood some chance of waking her up on time.

Amy climbed to her feet, using her hands to iron out the creases that had formed in her skirt after sitting down driving to Mt. Thomas for the last few hours. She moved over to an old mirror and checked herself over. She still looked reasonably okay, she supposed, for someone who had just learned of the death of an old friend and colleague. Her hair and makeup left a lot to be desired, but it'd do. She didn't imagine that the Mt. Thomas coppers would be fairing any better.

She went to unzip her bag, only to change her mind. Every minute she spent hiding in room seven was another minute that the case was cooling. Sooner or later she'd have to head over to the station and face her old colleagues, now grieving for the loss of one of their own. It was about time she joined them.

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Amy walked around to the back entrance of the Mt. Thomas police station, relieved to find it unlocked. Although she probably should have gone through the reception area, it just didn't feel natural. As long as she had been gone, the back entrance was still her doorway of choice.

She entered the code into the keypad, smiling to herself weakly as she realised that they hadn't changed it since she left, and opened the door, exposing the familiar corridors of her old station.

As she walked through the halls towards the muster room, she couldn't help but notice the silence that seemed to echo through the station. Even during the early mornings or late nights, Amy couldn't remember the station ever becoming this eerily quiet. It was like a part of the station's soul had disappeared, leaving an empty space.

She reached the doorway to the muster room and simply stood there silently, watching her old colleagues sit at their desks, each one looking more dismal and upset than the one before. Finally, the familiar blonde that was Kelly looked up and raced over to Amy, throwing her arms around Amy's neck. Amy stood there, quite taken aback by this gesture for some time, before finally relenting as she had earlier with Chris and hugging her back.

Amy closed her eyes and squeezed Kelly tightly, knowing that this must be hitting her the hardest. When they finally pulled away from each other, Amy could taste warm salty tears on her cheeks.

She turned to survey each of her old colleagues in turn – Mark, Alex, Susie, Joss and of course Kelly – before noticing a figure sitting at a messy desk in the CI office with his head in his hands. Amy gently pushed Kelly aside as she invited herself into the office and wrapped her arms around PJ's neck at the same moment he jumped to his feet and wrapped his arms around her waist. She let him hold her tightly, swaying her side to side as they stood in the CI office, the eyes of the uniforms fixed firmly upon them, but neither caring. Someone important was missing, they both knew that, and now nothing was ever going to be the same again.

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Amy sat on the corner of the lone desk in her old office, smiling appreciatively at PJ as he handed her a hot, steaming coffee. He sat beside her, just holding his in his hands, letting the heat run through his body. Amy took a mouthful of it, taking pleasure in the taste of a good old-fashioned coffee instead of the fancy, foreign stuff that seemed to fill every Homicide tea room.

"We still have to I.D. the body," PJ explained, his voice shaky and about to break at any second, "but there's no doubt." He paused, staring into his coffee mug as if it held the answers to his problems. Finally, he turned to Amy and shrugged, tears filling his eyes. "He was shot in his own home, Amy," he said weakly, "thirty-five years in the job and it all amounted to being gunned down in his own home."

Amy nodded sadly and met PJ's gaze. She remembered what Chris had told her.

"We'll catch the bastard," she began, "nail his arse to the wall and make him pay for what he did, even if it's the last thing we do." She reached over and rubbed PJ's hand gently on the coffee mug. He looked away, the slightest trace of a smile spreading across his face. "We'll put that low-life cop killer behind bars for the Boss," Amy smiled weakly, "and we'll keep on fighting for justice. For Tom Croydon."

PJ nodded to himself and met Amy's gaze weakly. "For Tom Croydon."