Stuart Turner peered inside his wallet, checking to see that everything was still there. The gloomy-looking receptionist-cum-guard emptied the rest of his belongings onto the desk. The doctor hovering nervously to one side, Stuart scooped up his loose change, shoved it into his left trouser pocket and his keys into the other. That accomplished, he turned smartly on his heel and walked away without even acknowledging the presence of the doctor. The guard on the gate opened it, and Stuart stepped through.
Freedom. That was something he had taken for granted. He was a police officer, sworn to uphold the law, protect the public... yada, yada, yada...
The last three weeks had taken everything Stuart thought he had known, everything he'd believed in, and thrown it all on its head. And the consequences to himself had been a nightmare.
He had one constant, one tiny shred of hope. One friend he could trust. Everything else was shot to hell, and he was struggling. The instant they'd let him near a phone, he called her, and asked her to pick him up. He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the sun. There had been points during his nightmare when he doubted he would ever stand outside in the sun again.
Tyres crunched over the potholed surface of the car park, and at the sound he opened his eyes and glanced in the direction of the car. The car stopped, and Superintendent Heaton got out.
Stuart eyed him warily. When Jack Meadows got out of the driver's door, Stuart backed away. Shaking his head.
"I'm sorry, Stuart," Heaton said.
But Stuart wasn't listening. "No." He shook his head again.
Jack Meadows came round the front of the car and moved towards Stuart. "Stuart, we had no choice."
"Choice?" Stuart's snort was bitter. "There was a choice. But I wasn't it."
"Full reinstatement, compensation for what you've suffered." Heaton took another few steps forward. "The records expunged from your file."
Stuart again shook his head, still backing away. "Compensation? Reinstatement?" He spread his hands wide. "How do you restore what's broken, when it's TRUST?" He almost spat the word, then spun round and ran. Heedless of the two voices calling his name.
"STUART!" A different voice, a woman, and he veered towards her car. As Stuart scrambled into the passenger seat, Jo looked back at her bosses, and shook her head slightly.
She drove him back to his flat in silence. As they pulled up outside his place, she turned to him. "Stu..."
"Jo...please don't ask."
She put an arm round his neck and hugged him to her. "I know, hun."
His arms closed round her and he hugged her back fiercely. "I don't mean to dump on you, but I need some space to decide what I want to do."
"I know."
She followed him up to his flat, carrying the bag of shopping she'd hastily put together. Stu being three weeks away, she reckoned on his freezer needing a bit of a clear-out.
"I need a shower." Grimacing, Stu ran his hand through his hair. "Make yourself at home."
"I'll start dinner then." She smiled at him. "Good to have you back, Stu."
"It's good to be back, because I thought at one point that I was gone forever." He caught her as she turned to go. "Jo...thanks."
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. They'd been through a lot together, as partners and as friends, and she trusted Stuart. So when he appeared with his wildly improbable tale, even though it seemed crazy, Jo was prepared to believe him. She knew for certain that Stuart Turner could not...would not...have ever harmed Stevie Moss. Stuart had a thing for Stevie. It went deeper than colleagues, and he was at pains to hide it. He was more than half in love with her; he would never have hurt her.
The two Home Office people, Jo had distrusted on sight. And when they'd dragged Stuart out of Sun Hill and had him committed to that place, Jo had been close to resigning in protest. She had held on to her temper, as the best way to help her best friend was from the inside, where she could possibly do some good. However crazy the story, it was far too improbable for Stu to have made up.
Three weeks later, Stevie Moss had reappeared. The brass had had no choice but to accept that Stuart hadn't harmed his colleague, and so they issued the order to let him go.
Jo turned her attention to dinner. He was probably starving; beyond that, he needed a decent meal. Remembering the past three weeks wouldn't help him right now. Just as she was pushing a casserole into the oven, there was a clatter on the stairs, and he appeared.
"Smells good!"
She turned round. He was showered and shaved. He still looked a little tense, but perhaps less tired and stressed than he'd seemed when she picked him up.
"Feeling better?"
"Yeah. A bit." He smiled, not the most convincing smile she had ever seen. There was a hint of pain behind it, and it was a world away from his usual cocky ear-to-ear grin, but it was a start.
Jo could be satisfied with that. He was free, and that was what counted.
He turned to the pan on the stove, lifted the lid and peered at the contents. "What's cooking?"
"Chicken chasseur!" She slung a companionable arm round his shoulders. "Half hour or so. Drink?"
"Thought you'd never ask." He grinned. "What do you fancy, red or white?"
She was just considering her answer when the doorbell went. Stuart froze.
Jo looked at her friend with concern. "Stu?"
"I don't want to see anybody, Jo." Stuart's tone was tense.
"Hun, what if it's Stevie?" Jo prompted gently. "She's been worried about you."
For a moment she thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he nodded. "Only if it's Stevie."
"I'll let her in then." Jo headed for his front door. As the doorbell went again. Irritated, she yanked the door open, about to lambast the person on the other side for their impatience.
It was Stevie. But she had come with reinforcements. Max. Jo glared at Stevie, who shrugged.
"Aren't you going to let us in, then?" Stevie asked, after an uncomfortable moment.
Sighing inwardly, Jo held open the door and stepped aside. Max's presence was not going to go down well, but Jo knew him well enough to know that he was going to come in whether she'd wanted him there or not. And whether or not Stu was happy about it.
In fact, there was a brief flare of something which almost looked like panic in Stu's eyes when he saw Max behind Jo and Stevie, which was quickly replaced by a cold, hard stare.
"Stevie." He nodded curtly. Once.
"Stuart." Stevie looked a bit lost at the frosty welcome. "I..." she began, but paused, as though the carefully-rehearsed script in her mind suddenly went blank. "I...I'm sorry."
"Sorry." Stu's flat tone didn't bode well for this interview. Jo eyed him warily.
"Please do come back," Stevie tried again. "They're going to give you back your job. It'll all be wiped away, and we can go back to where we all were." She was babbling, the words all falling out over one another.
"Where we all were?" The temperature in the room had all the warmth and charm of a meat locker. The silence stretched out for a few seconds, before Stu turned back to the table where he had set two glasses. "White?" he looked across at Jo, his tone softened. She nodded.
"Stu...." Stevie's voice was a little wail.
"I don't think so." He held the bottle in his hand, and Jo watched as he carefully sliced around the top with the corkscrew, removing the foil, and then applied the corkscrew to the cork. He pulled the cork in one smooth strong move. "Do you know what they accused me of, right before they dragged me out of Sun Hill?"
"Killing me." Stevie's voice was a choked whisper.
"Yes...but there was more to it than that. They actually accused me of not just killing you, but other things that..." Stu broke off, and turned away. "Things that...I could never do." He finished.
"Oh, come on, mate, that's hardly fair." Max's voice was harsh. "None of this was Stevie's fault, now. Why are you blaming her?"
"I know that, but...mate...with respect," Stu's tone lacked that quality, "Stevie hasn't spent the last three weeks doped up to the eyeballs and tied to the bed every night." He turned round to face them again. "They didn't believe me. I assume Jack Meadows sent you here, and what could I honestly conclude now? Eh?"
Max looked genuinely puzzled.
Stu's grin was savage. "Well, the fact that you two came together is the giveaway."
"You think that they still don't trust you." Stevie interjected, her face white. "Stu?"
"Bang on the money." Stu poured wine into two glasses and handed one to Jo. "So, if there's nothing else...?"
"Stuart...please." Stevie sounded like she was about to cry.
"Please...what?" Stu shrugged. "Three and a half years, Stevie. I worked there for three and a half years, and in that time it appears that my superiors and my colleagues didn't know me at all. Trust cuts both ways. And faith." He took a swig from the glass in his hand. "Right now, I don't have either. So your little plan has failed."
"Plan?" Max growled. "There isn't a ruddy plan."
Stu shrugged again. "There's the door. You know your way." It wasn't a question.
Max looked as though he wanted to say more, but Stevie put a hand on his arm and shook her head. "Stu... I'm sorry. We shouldn't have come."
"You got that right." Stu turned away again.
Jo ushered them out and turned back to Stuart.
"Stu, now that was a little unfair," she chided gently. She could understand why he'd lashed out, but it was still painful to see.
"Maybe it was." Stu raked a hand through his hair and screwed shut his eyes for a second. "But Jo, I just can't. Not now. Maybe in time...." He opened his eyes and gazed at her. "I need space, Jo. Everything I thought I knew and everything that I believed in has just been...wiped out."
She moved up close and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'll buy you the time." His arms wrapped around her fiercely tight. If only it could all be mended with a hug, she thought.
"Dinner," she muttered into the side of his neck.
"Thought you'd forgotten!"
She eased back and headed for the kitchen. "Set the table?" she called to him.
Grinning at her, Stu delved in the cutlery drawer. She was just serving the casserole when the front door bell went again.
Stuart scowled. "What do I have to do to be left alone?" he growled on his way towards the door.
Still fuming, he unlatched the chain and yanked open the front door in considerable annoyance. What did it take to get through to Sun Hill?...he needed his space...needed to get his head back into the right place.
"What?" he snapped at his visitor.
A sandy-blond man of about his own age stood there. "Detective Sergeant Stuart Turner?"
Stuart nodded slowly, warily.
"Professor Nick Cutter." The man held out his hand. "I think we should talk."