Title: When they work together.
Author: Loz
E-Mail: loz06(at)yahoo(dot)com
Rating: T
Category: Neil/Andrea…All Neil/Andrea
Series: Story number eight, what follows are titles and story id numbers. (1) After he's at her door – 2486705. (2) When the mighty fall – 2506192. (3) While his wife's away – 2525486. (4) While they're away – 2543010. (5) When love's not working – 2543013. (6) Boundaries when broken up - 2562611. (7) What happens on the train – 2579012.
Spoilers: So minor I don't think anyone will be worried.
Archive (if applicable): www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net
Feedback: The good, the bad and the very ugly it's all appreciated.
Summary: Fate just keeps throwing them together and neither can resist.
Author's Notes: At the end.
Disclaimers: How about we work together and I join The Bill writing team…no I didn't think so.
"Well?" Andrea calls to Honey out the front of the station as both women head to work.
'Yeah, you get water from it." Honey replies sarcastically pushing through the front doors. PC Bainbridge buzzes them through, a shift on the front counter they each have to do while Marilyn is on her honeymoon.
"Did you sleep with him?" Yvonne asks joining them from a side corridor.
"What sort of a slapper do you both think I am?" Honey asks indignantly.
"She didn't mean it like that." Andrea apologises for Yvonne, Honey doesn't relent until they're inside the locker room where she pulls out her phone.
"Oooh, he's in her phone it must be love." Andrea teases.
"I wouldn't read anything into that, Fletch is still in there somewhere…" Honey replies dryly.
"Except it doesn't say Fletch above his number anymore." Andrea offers and Honey nods.
"Adrian." Yvonne reads the name. "So no action hey?"
"No, he was the perfect gentleman, saw me to my room, kissed me goodnight… someone in the berth next to me though."
"Excuse me?" Andrea questions thinking she misheard the last bit.
"You could hear them? They were that loud?" Yvonne confirms.
"Yeah, no, it's like this, Andrea was your bathroom on the front side of the train or the back?"
"The front," Andrea recalls.
That means the person in the berth one number higher than yours, their bathroom was next to yours and the person who was one down from yours – your beds shared a wall." Makes sense, Andrea remembers Neil's room was the reverse of hers.
"You mean every second room was the same layout." Yvonne corroborates.
"Yes and those walls that separated the bathrooms were paper thin. I could hear the toilet flush, footsteps and everything. I didn't have to listen hard to hear everything."
"So was it kinky?" Yvonne probes and Andrea lets the realisation that Honey could be talking about her and Neil past her barriers.
"No it was nice, like they'd been apart for ages, it was familiar." Honey says wistfully. "It's the best sex."
"How could you know that?" Yvonne counters.
"That it's the best…"
"No that they'd been apart." Andrea corrects, she now realises she has a vested interest in this conversation.
"The things they were saying to one another."
"You could hear what they were saying?" Yvonne says with disbelief.
"Do you know who it was?" Andrea asks the question she doesn't want to.
"No, their voices were muffled."
"Probably Reg and Marilyn," Yvonne brushes the conversation off.
"I don't think so, the double rooms were in the carriage marked second class." Honey recalls opening her locker to change. Andrea lets the silence run till she's finished changing.
"What berth were you in?"
"Seven." Honey's answer makes Andrea lurch. "What number were you?"
"Nine." She answers cautiously and then kicks herself for not lying.
"I'm talking about room eight, you didn't see who was in there?" Honey adds excitement to her voice.
"One of the bridesmaids I think." This time she lies and the conversation dies.
Throughout the briefing Andrea debates with herself whether or not to tell Neil, no damage done she decides not to.
"When are Marilyn and Reg coming back?" Andrea asks as Tony pulls their car up to the station.
"I don't know, they've been off what…?"
"Almost two months." Andrea does the calculations.
"Remember it is Reg we're talking about, he's probably got a years worth of leave saved up." The car glides into the angular parking spot.
"But surely Marilyn..."
"Is going to be a kept woman," Tony cuts her off and before Andrea has a chance to reply the radio crackles to life sending them back onto the streets.
"No rest for the wicked." Tony quips.
"Or the unattached," Andrea adds wondering about the address they've been asked to attend. The wealthier sections of their patch with multi story homes and high security gates don't have much contact with the police.
"What is this we're going to?" Andrea can't remember the call.
"Theft, I know I'm thinking it too, how does someone get past all that security."
"I'm Moira, Moira Richardson." The woman who answers their knock looks to Andrea to be about sixty, she's dressed appropriately for her age, her clothes designed without being gaudy, her hair twisted into an elaborate top knot secured with pins, her face wears a fine layer of makeup she could go without as she has aged gracefully without the signs of artificial youth that come with plastic surgery. "Please come in."
Andrea and Tony elbow each other as they follow Mrs. Richardson through the tastefully decorated house; Andrea estimates it's five times the size of her flat.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Andrea feels more like a guest and Mrs. Richardson doesn't seem to be upset about anything. "No thank you," Andrea answers for them both.
"Thank you for coming."
"It's our job." Tony says trying to expedite things "You called about a theft?"
"Yes, over there." She points to where four hooks jut out of the wall without paintings hanging off them. Tony takes closer look checking for any sign on the paintwork that paintings had not so long ago hung on the wall.
"Where did they break in?" Andrea asks opening her notebook.
"I can show you where the door was forced open but the person who took the paintings didn't need to break in." Both officers stare at the woman.
"I know her son." Tony tells Andrea when they're back in the privacy of their car. "Met him when I worked a home invasion about a year back, his company designed the security system for the house and he swore it was an inside job because no one could get past his system."
"So you believe her – was he responsible for the home invasion?" Andrea asks taking one last look at the house.
"No it was an inside job, husband hired some thugs told them how to get past security, they trashed the place, tied its occupants up and took some valuables and left. Husband collects the insurance and saves his fledgling business, pays those who did the dirty work and gets his valuables back."
"Cleaver," Andrea says unconvincingly. "Most crims would be tempted to take the money and the goods and run. What's the son like?"
"I wouldn't put the theft past him." Tony affirms.
"Let's see what we can dig up on him back at the station."
"This guy was twenty eight and worth five million pounds." Andrea says amazed, reading from a newspaper article.
"And here's Mrs. Millionaire." Tony says indicating she's known to them.
"She was a naughty girl in her teens." Andrea tuts shaking her head, "but there's no up-to-date information."
"I bet forensics doesn't turn up anything either." Tony sighs.
"And any fingerprints that are his he'll argue were put there when he was living with his mother." Andrea adds.
"He's going to get away with it again." Tony says sounding disgusted. "He's gone to ground, only knows where the goods are."
"Unless…" Andrea begins.
"You're not thinking about an obbo are you…the DI will never go for it."
"He will if the headlines could read Sun Hill DI recovers millions of dollars in stolen goods." Andrea's eye sparkle.
"You'll have to sell it yourself because I can't be involved, he'll recognise me."
"Done," Andrea says confidently.
"Hi." Andrea says softly standing in the doorway to Neil's office. He looks strained, his brow crinkled, the burden of the job seems to radiate from his face.
"Hello." His features lift as if just seeing her has made his day better. His eyes search hers for a moment. "You want something from me." Although he's still smiling, Andrea doesn't miss the fatigue in his voice.
"Is that a problem?" She asks cautiously.
"No, it's just that everyone wants something from me today." He drops his pen that clatters across the work he's abandoned. "There are bits of me all over the station."
"Is that a no then?" Andrea smiles back at him. She watches as his face softens and looks down to his desk, his lips press together like they do when he's running what he wants to say out loud through his head.
"The thing is...I don't think I can say no to you." There's a pause and a look that transfers more feeling and emotion between the two of them than ever could be put into words.
"Have you saved the best of you for me?" She asks her eyes twinkling with a wide smile on her face.
"Sit down and tell me." He says getting up to close the door and close out the rest of the world.
"Timothy Richardson was worth five million pounds by the age of twenty eight. He owned a successful security system design business till a year ago…"
"I'm familiar with the systems, they fill the room with a water vapour type smoke, makes it impossible for the thief to see anything let alone what they want to steal." Andrea wonders if the familiarity comes from having a system in his house.
"He's your typical spoilt rich boy celebrity type from a wealthy family for whom the combination of boredom and too much money and time lead to him taking drugs."
"Not to mention all those parties." Neil adds.
"He killed the business by taking the profits…"
"Let me guess they went up his nose." Neil sighs.
"In his arm, he lost his house, everything from all accounts."
"As well as his wife and regular visitation with his daughter, this was all splashed across the paper." Neil hurries things along.
"He's been staying with various relatives since the business went under."
"When you've got money you always look after your own." Neil mumbles.
"Yeah but his sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles have all had thefts while he's been staying with them, art, jewellery, coins and antiques."
"Did they report them?"
"Yep, forensics turned up nothing and any fingerprints he argued are there because he lived in the house." Andrea explains.
"So of course he just got passed on to the next family member, can't have your dirty laundry being washed in public." Neil shakes his head.
"And there's always the insurance." Andrea adds. "He's been staying with his mother recently and she's just reported some art stolen."
"So you think it is fraud?"
"No I think it's him, it's all too clean, and whoever it is goes straight for the expensive items. If you're going to commit fraud made to look like a robbery you include everything of value, not just a few paintings, not many thief's know the value of a piece of artwork enough to just take those worth the most, they're more likely to grab everything and run. I've looked at the other incidences, he's always had a weak alibi that cannot be corroborated and his mother's fed up now – they've tried to help him. No it's time to be cruel to be kind, dirty laundry or not."
"Yeah by treating him with cotton wool," Neil says cynically.
"His mother knows he has money still, it was hidden from his creditors, he uses it to pay for a hotel room for his wife and daughter, he visits some nights to see his daughter, the money also feeds his habit but the money's running out."
"So what's a thirty year old doing living at home?"
"Lying low and not raising suspicion." Andrea answers confidently.
"How does all this fit into an obbo?"
"How did you know that's what I wanted?" Andrea asks smiling her head tipped to one side.
"I know you." Neil says simply and Andrea feels her breath taken away a little.
"The reason his wife is in a hotel room is because she's waiting for the contract on her new home to settle, she should be moved in by next week. The hotel room will then be empty and what better place to sell the stolen goods you've been hiding from your rich family, a hotel that caters for the rich and famous and provides the discretion they demand."
"Surely he burned a lot of bridges with his drug habit." Neil comments unconvinced.
"No he's too smart for that, according to his mother they think he's in the business of acquisitions now, he blamed the whole business failure on his partner."
"So he uses some business mates to spread the word he has goods to sell." Neil catches on. "And no one's going to say anything about it being illegal."
"People with money don't talk about their money, let alone how they got it." Andrea repeats.
"You don't know where he's keeping the stuff in the mean time?"
"By the time we go through friends and family and all the property they own these goods will be sold and gone." Andrea says slightly exasperated.
"We can get him at the buy and anyone who's there to make a purchase, who knows what's hanging on the walls of their homes."
"Who are you working on this with?" Neil asks leaning on his desk.
"Tony."
"Is he…?"
"He can't, Tony's met Timothy before when he was investigating another home invasion, Timothy designed the security system in the house."
"Was he involved?"
"No, it was an inside job." Andrea watches as he sighs and pushes back into his chair, she can see his mind working over the proposal.
"Just because they're wealthy doesn't mean they don't deserve our help." Andrea argues.
"It's not that." Neil says standing to look out his window. "I'm understaffed which is why I'm borrowing a uniform most days."
"It'd be great PR." Andrea suggests and the comment is ignored.
"I'm the only one spare." He turns locking her eyes with his; they both know what has happened in the past when they've worked in close proximity. "I'll run it past the DCI." He reads the willingness on her face.
"How do we find out the when and where?" Neil asks.
"Mother knows best and all." Andrea says standing out of her chair.
"So we have to look like a couple, a rich couple." He says gazing at her.
"I don't think any of that'll be a problem, except maybe the rich part for me." She joins his gaze, leaving with a small smile on her face.