Note: this story is non-canon as I don't know how the final episode of IGG will pan out: it is set after the events of Son of a Gun in early 1970.
Chapter One
When Guv decided to stay with the cars rather than join in with the chase, I knew that something was wrong. "Guv, you alright?"
He was leaning against the car, teeth gritted. The rain was coming down in sheets around us, soaking us through to the bone. He waved his hand and snapped breathlessly, "What are you waiting for, John? Get after 'im!"
We did even though the rain was driving horizontally and the temperature was plummeting down and, eventually, it was sleet we were being pelted with. We stumbled around in the gathering darkness, cursing and growling in frustration. Tom Raleigh seemed to have melted into rain.
At first, I didn't hear my radio squawking, but Rachel grabbed it off my hip and shouted, "Yes? Have you caught him?"
"No!" a mouthful of rain spluttered on the other end, "No! Sergeant Bacchus' car is gone – and so is DCI Gently!"
"What?" I snatched the radio, "Gone? Gone where?"
"I think it was Raleigh. I 'eard a scuffle, but when I got there the car were already gone!"
Rachel stared at me. Everyone stared at me. The radio dropped from my numb fingers, "Shit." I murmured. Then the full force of what I'd just heard hit like a tonne of bricks. "Shit. Shit! Everybody, get back to the cars! Now!"
Then I was running, sliding down the hill, slipping in the mud. Scrambling really, not caring that everyone else was taking the slope more slowly, not caring that I wasn't being closely backed up. We hadn't known if Raleigh had had a weapon or where exactly he was trying to run to, but now it the impossible seemed to have happened. I splashed through the puddles and reached the remaining cars. My tire tracks were already almost filled with water and a young policeman – Elderton – was crouched down and pulling on a pair of rubber gloves.
He looked up as I approached and shook his head. "I'm sorry, man – sir," he amended quietly, "I weren't quick enough. I thought I 'eard something in them bushes there," he pointed to the left of me, down another hillock, "But there were nothing there and then – I was really deep in there – I 'eard raised voices and it sounded like a fight then I got out 'ere an' 'e were gone and the car was gone an' –"
"Just shut up." I know I was lashing out irrationally, but there was still the creeping fury in my gut. The pieces were coming together to form a nasty picture. "What's that?" I demanded, pointing.
Elderton looked at me.
"You can talk, sorry," I muttered.
Elderton showed me. Through his trembling white-gloved fingers, I saw the I.D card: Chief Inspector George Gently. There was blood dotting the corner of it.
Then I realised that we weren't standing on mud; we were standing on Guv's trampled anorak.
I wanted to be sick.
I organised the search parties personally and I would have been on them myself, only Rachel and Taylor pointed out that I was now the highest ranked officer in the station. I was in charge of the case. One armed man on the run assumed with, when our extensive patrols failed to turn up a body, one hostage – white male in his sixties with health problems. Knew his kidnapper. High risk of violence towards the captive.
I felt like there was a time bomb about to go off and I'd forgotten the steps to defuse it. I was in charge, but I was a mess: yelling at my officers, trying to do too much at once. Too prideful and too scared to ask Rachel or Taylor for help, but they pitched in anyway… did a better job than I did.
I didn't go home the following night. I wanted to be close by a telephone if anything happened. I wanted to be the first to know. Rachel left around midnight with the logically sound reason that she wanted to be rested and ready if we did see action. Taylor attempted to get me to join her, but I shook my head adamantly. Gently wouldn't have left if it was me.
He did bring me a blanket and a pillow, though, before he left.
I got changed in the bathroom into my sports kit. It was more comfortable than my shirtsleeves and tie. Looking in the mirror, I reflected how quickly stress shows on the face, I looked so worn and tired.
God, had it only been this morning?
I felt thin and stretched. "It should be you, Guv," I muttered to my reflection, "You know how to handle this better than me."
Unsurprisingly, I didn't get an answer.
The sun slanting through the curtain woke me. I rolled over, cursing and blinking. The light hurt my eyes, my head. I had a headache trying to burst out through my temples and for a moment I was confused; where had I been drinking? Why was I asleep in my office?
Then reality came crashing down. "Guv?"
"He's still missing, John."
Shocked, I scrambled backwards, tangling myself in my blanket. Rachel was standing over me, a steaming mug of tea in her hand. She looked tired, like she hadn't slept much either.
"Did anything 'appen?" I asked.
She shook her head and took my hand, pressing the mug into it. I took a slip; it was hot and sweet with plenty of sugar. "Whoever made this needs to be demoted," I muttered, trying to lighten the mood.
"No thanks, man. Those exams were stressful enough once," Rachel replied, but her voice wasn't as cold as it usually would be. "There's no news. Nothing's come through. Your car hadn't been found an' no one's seen Raleigh or the Chief Inspector."
"Jesus." I rubbed my eyes.
"No news is good news, isn't it, John?" she asked. The question was optimistic, but I saw her clasp her hands like a schoolgirl being told off by the teacher.
"No," the fury spilt over and I snarled, "No news is bad! No news means that Raleigh's already put a bullet in Guv's brain because he's of no further use to him –" My voice broke. "If we don't hear anything then Gently is dead, Rachel. Dead. Murdered." Furiously, I wiped my face, forcing my eyes to stop watering.
Rachel watched me. "You need to calm down," she said firmly.
"I am calm!"
"If that's calm, I don't want to see what you call tense!"
"That's no way to speak to your superior officer!"
"Oh, that old chestnut again?" Rachel practically spat at me, "Jesus, John, grow a spine. You spoke to Gently like this all the time."
"Well, I'm not Gently," I retorted, "And –"
I halted. A crashing wave of fear crushed my bones. Rachel tilted her head and I slumped into my chair, the tea spilling on the desk. "I'm… I'm not Gently, Rachel. I'm not… I'm not good enough."
"You are."
"No, I'm not. I've already made a cock-up of this. I'm sorry, Rachel." I covered my face with my hands, I was trembling and I didn't want to be.
She walked around and squeezed my shoulder, "Come on, John. We'll find him. He'll be OK."
I laughed bitterly, just as Taylor shoved his way through the door, a telephone hanging from his hand. "Inspector! Raleigh's just got in contact."
