A/N. Hi all, thought I'd share my latest ramblings. Heading back in time to just after 2.7 because it all got a bit complicated after that didn't it? Anyway, not much to say, usual disclaimer, yada yada, I do love it when people R&R! X
INTERJECTION
1. The Office.
"Tango, Alpha, Romeo, Tango. Do you read me?"
"Shut up, Hunt. Yes, I can hear you."
"Good. What's the deal?"
"These things take time, Guv. Difficult to psychoanalyse the bastard or get him to talk about anything at all actually when you call in every bloody ten minutes."
"Didn't ask you to psycho-anything Bolls. You've got an hour. Get us some evidence."
"What do you think I'm-"
"Bolls."
"Yes?"
"Watch yourself."
"Guv."
-o0X0o-
At first this case had simply been inconvenient in Alex's eyes. Still reeling from her encounter at the construction site, and finding it difficult to put her energy into anything fresh without a heavy heart, she'd actually been on her way to Gene's office to spill the secrets from the last forty eight hours.
The theory was a solid one. Every time she closes her eyes the darkness is overwhelmed by the morbid scene, lit up in tungsten and haunted by the clinking of chains and the feel of the mud, the blood on her icy fingertips. What's odd, though, the strangest part, is that the remorse she feels for the man whose face had been blown off simply pales in comparison to the stomach churning dreadful ache in her chest that manifests itself every time she thinks of how she's keeping all this from Gene. It had taken an hour and almost an entire bottle of Merlot; Self analysis in the form of tape upon tape. She'd spilled her guts on every possible angle concerning Gene Hunt, then she'd played it back again and again until her own voice was spilling out of her mind like confetti. Eventually she'd settled on the only possible conclusion; Gene Hunt is the lynchpin within this riddle. To get home she must get to the bottom of him. Whether friend or foe it hardly matters to speculate, the only way to find out the answers is to ask for them.
Understandably her palms were clammy and eyes wide in anticipation of facing the Guv with the awful truth of PC Summers' fate. However, in her mind there's a sense of freedom as she stalks towards his office door. It's almost as if the chains of her nightmares are falling from her person and whoever she is, whoever he lets her be after this corrupt bullshit is over, it will make a lot more sense than the plague of questions that are whirring around so quickly they're giving her a headache.
She's interrupted before she even gets a chance to open her mouth, and struck dumb by her missed opportunity.
"Bolls, good. Here." He tosses her a file which she struggles to grasp, caught off guard, and gestures for her to shut the door. "No time to breathe around 'ere these days, we've got another case." He leaves her for a moment to ponder the irony of this opening gambit as he takes the time to pour them both a whisky before elaborating further. "What's the matter with you?" The comment follows a double take as he hands her the glass.
"Nothing Guv. Nothing." She smiles so falsely that he must see through it in an instant, but he at least has the decency to take her word.
"Blimey. First for everything. Right," he nods towards the case file, "String of shootings just south of London Fields." Alex sighs, settling herself upon his desk and attempting to appear engrossed in the file she's holding as he continues to share the details of the case.
-o0X0o-
It's early afternoon by the time the pair leave his office. An uncharacteristically small period of the morning had been lost to bickering, as Gene had found his DI surprisingly cooperative in her distracted state. Nevertheless, he stands back to admire her arse as she struts over to the whiteboard and whistles for the attention of the room. He'll never get used to that sight. Damn, after two years it still gives him groin ache.
"Okay, listen up. As you know we're investigating three incidents occurring over the past forty eight hours. Therefore time is of the essence and I need every one of you to turn your full attention to this case. As yet we have no significant leads and no idea if the perpetrator is planning anything else. We can, however, assume that if he is intending to strike again then it will be soon. Let's not let that happen." She pauses for effect, and takes a pointed glance around the room.
"Right, now lets concentrate on what we do have. Victim one, Daniel Betts." She skirts to the other side of the whiteboard as she speaks, tapping her marker pen next to the image of the man's face; a menacing old mugshot where he's sporting a spectacular black eye.
"Dead." Ray Carling adds helpfully.
"Indeed. Shot from close range and killed on impact. This happened on Westgate Road at around 1am two nights ago, directly opposite the park itself. There's no evidence to show the victim had been taken to the location against his will, and as for the incident itself; An execution if you will." She reaches for a handful of scene photos strewn across Chris' desk, illustrating her point. A clean, clear single shot to the chest. Calculated and decisive. "Now, lets consider the subsequent attacks; Robert Christie around midnight last night and Vince Smith just three hours later. This is where the alarm bells start ringing. Christie was shot just metres from the spot where Daniel Betts was killed, but the attack was different." The poignant pause she leaves after this sentence snaps a few heads into action. Wary of the silence, many start wracking their brains for an interjection.
"Messier." This comes from across the room, where the Guv is still leaning against his office door frame and surveying the scene.
"Exactly. Signs of a struggle, a single shot still close range but not on target. The victim was still breathing when a local resident found him and called an ambulance. Our third man was even luckier. Vince Smith received two shots to the left shoulder, so we can assume they occurred in close succession, a panic move, and he's currently lying comatose in Hospital. So; Aside from the similar circumstances of the attacks what links these men?"
"Charlie." Ray again.
"Who's Charlie?"
"Cocaine, Christopher. Betts and Christie were gutter-bred thugs known for supplying crap to East London's loopy layabout crowd. Smith's just a yuppie dealer."
"So we can conclude that this is drugs related, fine, but we need more than that to secure a lead that's actually going somewhere, short of dragging in the entire Saturday night population of Brick Lane." Up until this point Alex had been covering the whiteboard in a web of illegible scrawl, but as she speaks she sounds unusually exasperated and Ray has to dodge the black marker as it flies from her grasp.
"The Trappers Arms." This time it's Shaz who breaks into the brainstorm. "Christie was a local, in there once or twice a week according to his mate, and all three men drank there within twelve hours of being shot."
Alex listens to the input but remains facing the board, standing far too close to read it even if her own handwriting wasn't swimming in front of her eyes. When she replies she sounds just as frustrated as she had a few moments ago, "It's just a pub, Shaz. Chances are most blokes would stop at the nearest boozer the evening before keeping an appointment with whoever might be about to shoot them."
"That's just it though, Ma'am. The Trappers is in Aldgate, not too far from St Kat's and round near all that new development. Nowhere near London Fields really." At this she spins on her heel, flashing the young copper a deserved smile, but it's the Guv who speaks first as he finally joins the rest of the team by the board.
"Nice work, Granger. Right, Bolly Kecks has a point here about speed being of the sodding essence. We need to get stuck into this quickly and the best way to do that, boys and girls, is from the inside. So," Ignoring the rest of the team he concentrates on a penetrating eye contact with Alex, "Spot of moonlighting?"
-o0X0o-