This story is set towards the end of Season 3/4 of due South. I hope you enjoy it. All comments welcome. Thank you kindly!
CHAPTER 1.
"Morning, Turnbull!" Detective Ray Kowalski grinned as he greeted the young Mountie standing guard outside the Canadian Consulate building. He knew that Constable Turnbull would not respond; the rules of sentry duty being, apparently, to act like a statue until the end of your shift. What the point of that was, Ray had never figured out. He contemplated tickling, or maybe even slapping Turnbull just to see if he could get a reaction, but in the end Turnbull benefitted from Ray's good mood as the only gesture Ray offered was a wave as he ran past him and up the steps.
"Hello, Ray," Fraser greeted him as he closed the door of the Consulate behind his friend.
"So what did Turnbull do this time?" asked Ray, still grinning. "The Ice Queen only ever puts you guys on sentry duty these days when she's mad at ya, right?"
Fraser sighed, wishing that Ray would refrain from referring to his superior officer in such a manner. True, the Inspector could, at times, emit a certain coldness, but Fraser knew, probably more than anyone, that underneath that harsh exterior was a woman who was anything but cold. On this occasion, however, Ray was spot on with his analysis of the situation.
"Unfortunately, the Inspector received some disappointing news this morning," Fraser explained.
"Nothing too serious, I hope?" asked Ray, his grin subsiding.
"No," replied Fraser, shaking his head. "Although the Inspector may disagree. She was under the impression that she had been nominated for an award, but it transpires that she had been misinformed."
"By Turnbull?"
"No, by Ottowa."
Ray frowned. "So why does Turnbull have to pay?"
"Constable Turnbull spilled some coffee on the Inspector's desk this morning, moments after she'd finished a rather awkward conversation with Head Office about the mix-up," Fraser explained. "As you can imagine, it was not appreciated."
"Jeez, is that it?" Ray shook his head. He actually felt sorry for Turnbull. "What award was it, anyway?" he asked with a wicked twinkle in his eye. "The Getting Cops To Fetch Your Dry Cleaning Award?"
Fraser frowned. "No, Ray," he replied. "This, I believe, was the Inspirational Leader of the Year Award."
A sudden noise escaped from Ray's mouth which sounded like half laugh and half snort. "What?" he exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. "She actually thought she could win an award like that?" Ray couldn't help himself as he descended into uncontrollable laughter.
"You know, Ray," Fraser responded, keeping his voice even, "Inspector Thatcher can be very…inspirational…at times." For a brief moment Fraser was on the roof of a runaway train…holding the Inspector in his arms…kissing her…
"Earth to Fraser," Ray's face was suddenly inches from his buddy's. "You OK? Lost ya there for a minute," he grinned. Ray had seen that look on the Mountie's face before and it often coincided with talk of Meg Thatcher. One day I'll figure out what it means…
"I'm…um, I'm sorry, Ray," replied Fraser, clearing his throat and tugging at the tight collar of his red tunic with embarrassment.
Ray shrugged and thought about asking Fraser a few uncomfortable questions about his relationship with Thatcher, but it seemed cruel to subject his buddy to that so early in the morning, and besides, before he could speak, the Inspector herself walked out of her office.
"Constable, I shall most likely be out all day," she said, sharply. "Oh, Detective, I didn't see you there," she added, scowling at Ray.
"Er, Inspector," he acknowledged, smiling his smarmiest smile.
"Constable Turnbull can return to his desk duties in two hours," continued Thatcher. "You're in charge until I return. I don't need any more screw ups today, understood?"
"Completely, Sir," replied Fraser, standing to attention.
"And for heaven's sake find something to get coffee stains out of antique oak," she added.
"Yes, Sir."
Ray shook his head and rolled his eyes in disgust. Very inspirational…
Inspector Thatcher opened the front door, then let out a growl of frustration and slammed it shut again. "Car keys," she muttered under her breath and stormed back towards her office.
Fraser scratched at his eyebrow with his thumb. He really felt for Turnbull. The young Constable had only been trying to lift his superior officer's spirits after her disappointment, but as usual it went unappreciated. The humiliating punishment the Inspector had given him following what was, after all, just an accident was completely unnecessary in Fraser's opinion. Fraser's opinion however, as he was well aware, was unimportant to Inspector Thatcher. All of which just made his feelings for her even more confusing.
Fraser glanced up at Ray. "Shall we?" he said, indicating towards his office. He wanted to be out of the way before the Inspector reappeared.
"Sure," nodded Ray and took a step towards the door, but before he could take another one a noise penetrated the air and he momentarily froze in his tracks. He looked at Fraser. "Gunshot!" he exclaimed.
Fraser nodded and before Ray had even drawn his gun Fraser was half way to the door. The Mountie's heart was pounding; the shot had been close, very close. He opened the door and his heart sank as his worst fears were confirmed. "Turnbull!" he yelled, running down the steps as fast as he could to his fallen colleague.
Constable Turnbull lay slumped against the bottom step, his head to one side and his legs tangled underneath his body where he'd fallen. Blood had started to soak through his tunic just below the leather of his Sam Browne. He tried to lift his head as Fraser dropped to his knees beside him, but he didn't have the strength.
"Don't try to move," urged Fraser as he quickly unbuckled the brown leather belt. "You're going to be alright."
"Did I hear a…oh my god!" Inspector Thatcher had heard the noise too and come running to the door. She was shocked when she saw the scene. "I'll call 911," she said and hurried back inside.
Ray was at the gate looking around for any sign of the shooter, but there was no one to be seen. He aimed his weapon along the street, one way and then the other, but he saw no sign of anyone at all. "Nothing," he yelled in frustration and came running back to join the two Mounties.
Turnbull tried to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was a croaky grunt.
"Sshhh," said Fraser, clamping his hands tightly over Turnbull's abdomen in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding. "Save your energy."
Turnbull ignored the instruction; he had to say something, it was important. He slowly lifted one hand and pointed across the street. "W…w…window…" he breathed.
Fraser looked at Ray and then they both looked over at the building opposite. It was a three storey brick built townhouse with several windows. Ray glanced down at Turnbull hoping he could provide some more specific information, but the young Mountie's eyes had started to drift shut. "I'll go check it out," said Ray and with one last worried glance at Turnbull he ran across the road.
Thatcher reappeared at the doorway. "They're on their way," she said. "How is he? Is he alright?" She knelt beside her subordinates, concern etched across her face.
"He's been shot," replied Fraser curtly. It was the only answer he felt that particular question warranted at that time. He quickly turned his attentions back to Turnbull. "Try to keep your eyes open, the ambulance will be here soon," he encouraged. "Stay with me, Constable; that's an order."
Turnbull desperately tried to obey the order, but he was finding it hard to breathe. His legs felt cold, it was a strangely comforting feeling; it reminded him of home. "Home…" he whispered.
Inspector Thatcher was the most scared she'd been in a long time; Turnbull looked pale and grey, his breathing was becoming more and more laboured with every second that passed. She looked at Fraser with tears in her eyes, desperate for some sign of hope, but Fraser just looked away from her. She got up and ran to the gate. "Where is that goddam ambulance?" she shouted.
Fraser glanced up to see the ghost of his father standing on the steps of the Consulate. This was not a good sign, he thought. Turnbull was unconscious now, completely unresponsive; was the elder - dead - Fraser here to guide the young Mountie into the afterlife, or wherever it was his father currently inhabited? Fraser glared at the ghost and shook his head, his father did not respond. Fraser gingerly reached out to check the pulse in Turnbull's neck and the merest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. Turnbull hadn't given up, not yet.
xXxXx
"Hey."
The sound of Ray's voice startled Fraser.
That's not good, thought Ray. I've never seen him jump like that before, he can hear footsteps a mile away.
"I'm sorry, Ray," began Fraser quietly. "I didn't know you were there." He briefly glanced at his partner before returning his attentions to the view through the glass window of Turnbull's hospital room in the ICU.
"How's he doin'?" asked Ray. From the look of all the machines surrounding Turnbull's bed and the army of nurses in attendance it was probably a silly question.
"It's a miracle he made it through the surgery," replied Fraser. "At this juncture the doctors are unable to give an accurate prognosis. We'll just have to wait and see; the next few hours will be crucial."
Ray gently placed a supportive had on his buddy's shoulder. "Jeez," he said, letting out a slow breath. "You OK?"
Fraser tried to respond, but the lump in his throat prevented him from speaking.
"He's a Mountie," said Ray, as if that very fact alone would be enough to guarantee Turnbull's recovery. "You just watch, he'll be back on his feet singing those, er, those dumb Clint Black songs in no time."
Fraser envied his partner's ability to sound so positive. He squinted slightly and read the digital display on the one monitor that was facing the window and wished that Turnbull's vital signs had improved since the last time he'd checked.
Ray was very concerned for his buddy. Fraser looked pale and drawn and Ray assumed he hadn't eaten or drunk anything all day. "Why don't ya come and get somethin' to eat with me?" he suggested.
Fraser's head snapped round and he glared at his partner. Why was Ray talking about eating? "I'm not hungry, Ray." He wanted to stay here in case there was any news.
"C'mon," urged Ray, starting to get really worried now. Then he saw something in Fraser's eyes that he rarely saw. Anger. It was so unusual that Ray was taken aback. "What…what is it?" he asked.
"He should not have been out there in the first place," spat Fraser. He immediately turned away and hung his head, ashamed at what felt to him like an uncontrollable outburst.
Ray didn't know how to respond. Of course Fraser was right, but finding someone to blame was really not a good thing to do at this moment in time. Besides, both Turnbull and Fraser had pulled hundreds of hours of sentry duty between them and this was the first time anything like this had ever happened. Maybe Inspector Thatcher shouldn't have sent him out there, thought Ray, but she couldn't really be blamed for Turnbull ending up in the ICU fighting for his life. Not really.
Fraser let out a slow sigh and looked around for his father who had, so far, not appeared at the hospital. In a way that he couldn't really explain, Fraser was relieved.
"So, er, where's the Ice Queen now anyway?" asked Ray eventually breaking the silence.
"She is attempting to contact Constable Turnbull's parents," explained Fraser, some normality returning to his voice.
"We've got people searching the area," explained Ray. "Er, no leads yet."
Fraser nodded solemnly. It had only been a few hours since the shooting, but he and Ray were all too aware that the more time passed the less likely they were to catch whoever was responsible for the attempt on Turnbull's life.
"Did you mention something about eating?" asked Fraser, suddenly with the merest hint of a sparkle in his eyes.
Ray smiled with relief. "Yeah," he replied. He knew all too well what his buddy was going through – there was nothing worse than seeing a fellow cop with his life hanging in the balance – but he also knew that you had to stay strong and carry on, it was the only way. He was going to be there to help Fraser as much as he could.
Survivor's guilt. Been there, done that…
They were about to head to the hospital café when Inspector Thatcher came around the corner, walking briskly. She almost bumped into Ray, although fortunately Fraser had regained enough of his senses to be able to avoid a direct collision. "Detective, what are you doing here?" Thatcher exclaimed.
"Er, I came to check on Turnbull," replied Ray with a sneer, not that it was any of her business. "And to see how you guys were holdin' up," he added, glancing at Fraser.
"We're doing just fine," snapped Thatcher. "However, one of my officers is lying in a hospital bed and I expect you to be out there looking for whoever put him there!"
It took all of Ray's self-restraint not to kick her in the head. "The Chicago PD has everyone on this case," he replied, keeping his voice as calm as possible. "We've got forensics people all over it and I've just spent two hours knocking on doors gettin' statements. No one shoots a cop on my watch and gets away with it."
"Ah, well, um…" the Inspector trailed off, suddenly aware that she should not have spoken to him so rudely. Of course he was doing everything he could and of course he would have wanted to see how Turnbull was, not to mention Fraser. She turned to stare through the window at Turnbull. She was racked with guilt, not only for sending him outside this morning, but for the way she treated him all the time. Suddenly, faced with the very real possibility that they might lose him, she realised how much she relied on him at the Consulate and, bizarre personality traits aside, what a good policeman he was. She turned back to Fraser with tears in her eyes.
All the anger suddenly drained from Fraser and instead he wanted to pull her into a comforting hug, but that would have to wait, he realised. Their eyes met and he knew she understood. "Were you able to contact Turnbull's parents?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"Unfortunately not," replied Thatcher. "Their last known location was a small Inuit settlement on the banks of the Mackenzie River. I've sent a message, but it could be days before it reaches them, if indeed it reaches them at all. By all accounts they travel around a lot, they're naturalists."
"Isn't it, er, y'know, a little cold up there in the Northwest Yukon for that?" asked Ray, puzzled.
"Naturalists, Ray," stated Fraser. "Not naturists. They're experts in the study of wildlife, botany, conservation and the like."
"Oh," nodded Ray, somewhat relieved. Although for some reason he could well imagine Turnbull's parents to be the type of people who ran around naked in the snow.
"And I've told you before, it's the Northwest Territories, or the Yukon," added Fraser. Why Americans found it so hard to get that correct he would never understand.
"I did speak to a Sargent Beaumont of the Fort Norman Detachment and he believes they have a second offspring," explained the Inspector.
"So Turnbull has a sibling," noted Fraser.
"Apparently so. Mr and Mrs Turnbull are not known to be travelling with anyone else, so Beaumont is attempting to track him, or her, down," replied Thatcher. Then she added quietly, "Turnbull needs his family here."
xXxXx
"I wish you'd come stay at my place tonight," sighed Ray. He looked around the reception room at the Consulate. It seemed eerily quiet without Turnbull. Usually he could be heard singing, or breaking things in the kitchen, but this evening there was just the ticking of the antique wall clock and Diefenbaker's gentle snoring to break the silences between Ray and Fraser's stilted conversation.
"Thank you kindly, but I'll be fine here," replied Fraser. "Just as I was fine last night."
The day after the shooting had flown by so quickly Fraser couldn't believe it was evening again. Turnbull had survived for over thirty six hours now, somewhat remarkably, according to medical opinion. Now there was a strong chance he would make a good recovery. He was still on life support, but had shown some tiny signs of improvement today.
The investigation was in full swing, but had so far proved fruitless. Fraser had offered to help, but there were so many Chicago PD officers crawling all over the place there was actually very little he could do, so he had spent most of the day at the hospital. This evening he had pulled Turnbull's personnel file, with Inspector Thatcher's permission of course, and had been scouring it for anything that might give them a clue as to how to contact Turnbull's family.
"But what if the shooter comes back here?" asked Ray.
"We have absolutely nothing to indicate that he would do such a thing," noted Fraser.
"But that's just it, buddy," sighed Ray in frustration. "We got nothing." He got to his feet and started pacing up and down. The investigation had so far drawn a complete blank. The only clue they had was Turnbull's indication that the shot had been fired from the window of one of the buildings on the other side of the road, but given his condition at the time it was not unfeasible that even that was incorrect. Turnbull didn't have any enemies to speak of, so their only theory for now was that it was a random act. Perhaps Turnbull was simply the unlucky recipient of a stray bullet? There were a number of possibilities, but no evidence to back any of them up.
"What if you were the real target?" asked Ray. "You guys look pretty much the same in your red gear, from a distance."
"That possibility is already being looked into, as you are aware," replied Fraser. "Francesca is working through a list of malfeasants who may harbour resentment toward me."
"I still figure you'd be better off staying with me tonight," replied Ray.
Before Fraser had a chance to respond, there was a knock at the door and he got up to answer it.
"Maybe I should open that?" suggested Ray. "Just in case."
"In case of what?" asked Fraser.
Ray rolled his eyes and followed Fraser out into the hall.
Fraser opened the door. "Good evening, miss," he greeted to visitor with a smile. "How may I be of assistance?"
"Oh," the young woman on the doorstep looked disappointed. She was wearing a thick, fur lined coat and knee high leather boots. The coat was undone revealing a short, pink, mini skirt. "Am I in the right place?" she asked.
"That would depend on which place in particular you anticipated being at this juncture," replied Fraser.
The young woman looked confused. She twirled her bleached blonde hair around her index finger. "Is this where the Mounties live?" she asked.
Fraser glanced at Ray; that was a strange way of putting it. "Well, as it happens, I do live here, but only on a temporary basis," he explained. "This is the Canadian Consulate. My name is Constable Benton Fraser."
"Oh thank god!" she exclaimed. She bent down and picked up a small, pink suitcase on wheels that had been standing just out of sight and barged past Fraser into the Consulate.
Ray and Fraser took a step back and stared at each other in surprise.
"I have had just the worst journey in the whole world," continued the woman. "It took me, like, forever just to get to Yellowknife and then the plane had some kind of engine thing, like, there was a problem, or whatever, so we got diverted to I don't know where – I can't remember – and then it was dark before we even got to Calgary and I wanted to buy a new lipstick - a pink one, like this one but kinda darker and I heard that the stores at the airport are, like, sooo cheap - but they wouldn't let me because the plane for Winnipeg was already boarding! Like, what difference would it have made to them?"
"Well, I…" began Fraser, but she was in full flow.
"So then the captain on the flight to Winnipeg was, like, some kind of psycho or something because I felt kinda sick and I never get sick on planes so I figure he was flying in a totally weird way on purpose just to get back at me," she continued, barely pausing for breath.
"I don't think that he..." Fraser attempted to get a word in edgeways again.
"So..." The young woman wasn't going to let him, or anyone, speak. "To cut a long story short, I finally got to Chicago and I was so excited because, like, I've never been to the U S of A before, I mean, not really, only in my head, y'know! Anyway, it's so cool here! The biggest city I've been to back home is probably, um, actually I don't know. I haven't really been to that many big cities, y'know. I mean, I want to, but, well, anyway no one at the airport here knows where the Mounties live. It's so dumb! You should tell someone because, y'know, it's, like, important, right? Eventually I found this super-hot cab driver who dropped me at the end of the street. Lucky, huh?"
"Indeed," agreed Fraser. He hesitated, expecting her to start up again, but it seemed that the young woman had finally paused for breath. "I'm sorry," he began, "but who are you, exactly?"
"Oh my god!" she exclaimed. "I'm, like, sooo sorry! I'm Dippy."
"Dippy?" Ray repeated, glancing at Fraser. What an appropriate name, he thought, stifling a snigger.
"Well, my actual, whole name is Serendipity," she explained, "but, like, everyone calls me Dippy. Or Ren, but that gets, like, totally confusing when my brother's around."
"Your brother?" queried Fraser, as he slowly began to piece things together.
"Yes," nodded Dippy. "Because, you know, everyone shortens Renfield to Ren."
"I see," nodded Fraser.
"So, where is my brother?" asked Dippy. "I got this weird message that he was, like, sick or something."
Ray was confused. He glanced at Fraser. "Do you know her?" he asked. With everything that had happened, Ray was very suspicious of this strange young woman. She'd forced her way into the Consulate and managed to distract them for several minutes now.
It could be some kinda trap…
"Not exactly," replied Fraser. Her odd hybrid Canadian/Californian accent had planted a seed of doubt in his mind to start with, but now he was certain that his initial thoughts had been correct. "Ray," he said tugging at his earlobe. "This is Constable Turnbull's sister."
Ray stared at her in disbelief. "Really?"
Dippy laughed. "Really!" she replied. "Now, where's my dork of a brother?"
Fraser glanced at Ray and then back to Dippy. This was not going to be an easy conversation. "I think you'd better sit down."