She closed the door behind her and headed to the small kitchen to make a desperately needed cup of tea. She smiled at the memory of Lucien's face when she remarked she had a sister. She never spoke about her family, well it never came up and it was a strange thing to start a conversation about with one's colleague. She supposed it was more surprise that she didn't actually know where Connie was, or what she was doing for that matter. She vaguely remembered something about her dating a bank teller, but that was years ago, wasn't it?

She took her mug of tea into the living room, along with the bundle of post she hadn't looked at and sat down, kicking her shoes off and curling up on the couch.

There were a couple of bills, a book she had ordered and an invitation to a school reunion, which went straight in the bin. Then she remembered her manners and put it aside to reply to, passing her regrets that she was unable to attend due to a prior engagement. Not that she had one, she just didn't fancy spending the evening with a lot of women who were only there to brag about their successful husbands and children and belittle those who remained single or raise their eyebrows at those who had chosen a career over family.

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Over her solitary meal she thought again about her sister. They weren't close, that much was true. Alice had been the more academic of the two girls, Connie was more artistic, Lucien would know if she was any good. She washed her plate and glass and retrieved her address book from the sideboard drawer. Flicking through it she found the last address she had for her sister, must have been when she moved. Connie was like that, not pushing to keep contact but letting her sister know she was there if she needed her.

'Dear Connie,'

She paused, tapping the end of her pen against her teeth as she thought.

'Sorry it's been so long since I wrote.' Was she? 'Years in fact and I'm not sure if this is the right address but it's the only one I have for you.

So, as you can see I now live in Ballarat, and am a pathologist at the hospital. It's interesting work and I do autopsies with the police surgeon, a bit of a renegade, but damn very good at his job.

I have no real news that you would be interested in but I just thought, after a chance remark today, about families, I would try to get in touch.

I hope you are well,

Alice.'

She folded the short note, slipped it in an envelope and, after addressing it to C Harvey, remembered that it might be a good idea to put her name and address on the reverse so she would at least know if Connie was at that place.

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Alice forgot all about her note to Connie, with the noise about Lucien's declaration that he was a drunk and cruel to get a divorce from Mei Lin, Munro back in town and his subsequent murder, Matthew having to sack Blake, there was no real time to think about family issues. She was just glad when it was all over, and Jean hadn't walked out on Lucien, though heaven knew she had cause. With Christmas Day approaching she was glad about that, Jean and Lucien were hosting Christmas lunch and had invited her, along with Matthew, Rose and Bill Hobart. She smiled to herself, this was her family, if she was going to get soft about such things.

She had sent out a few cards, mother, and a couple to acquaintances she only corresponded with at this time of year. The ones in Ballarat had been hand delivered. If she heard from Connie she had one ready for her.

The card from Connie was a nice one, not too fussy.

'Dear Alice,' she had written,

'Well that was a surprise, your letter. Short and to the point, but it was nice to hear from you. Not sure I could do what you do, but you were always more interested in things like that. I'm married, to Bernard Dawson, don't know if you remember him, anyway, coming on sixteen years now, one son, Alexander, fifteen and a daughter of thirteen, Katherine, and our last little surprise a little girl of five, Alice. You must come and see us one day, you would be most welcome.

Bernard is manager of the bank now and I still paint, a few shows in and around the town. Mother visits at Christmas. I would have invited you too, but it is a bit late and I am sure you have plans.

Write soon

Love

Connie and family.'

A photograph dropped to the floor and Alice studied the family group. Connie was still as she remembered her, Bernard she vaguely remembered, and the children were...children. Her nephew was tall and like his father, the girls, Katherine was like her mother and Alice, well she thought she looked a bit like her as a child. She wondered if Connie had named her youngest after her or just because she liked the name, or.. to annoy mother.

Alice gave a wry smile at the assumption she had plans for Christmas, but perhaps it was just as well, she wasn't sure how her mother would take her presence. She opened the card she had ready and added a note that she would try and visit in the new year, if that was acceptable, and yes, she had plans for Christmas. She was spending the day with friends. She slipped it into the envelope and put it ready to send.

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As the new year got underway, Alice found she could bear working with Dr Wallace, the new police surgeon. He was not as insightful as Lucien, not as driven. He did his job reasonably well, diligent in the morgue and his reports were detailed, which Matthew liked, but... there was something missing. She knew what it was... Lucien. No longer poking around the crime scenes, no gentle one-sided conversations with the corpses, both she and Matthew missed him. Solving the murders took a little longer and it was one of these that they noticed his absence more keenly.

A man had been found behind and old house on the outskirts of town. The body had been discovered by some boys, looking for an out of the way spot for a little evening drinking. Matthew was pleased they had reported it, and not a little surprised, given the reason they were there. He decided he's just suggest they didn't indulge in underage drinking, rather than charge them.

The autopsy showed the body had been found by some animals, he had been dead some time, but how long neither Wallace nor Alice could work out. He had died from a stab wound to the chest, and he had bled out.

'You must have been very frightened,' Alice whispered as she swabbed the wound.

'Do you always talk to the...'

'...patient? Quite often.' She hummed, and put the swab ready for testing. Truthfully it was something Lucien used to do and she had picked up.

'Ri i i ght.' Wallace raised his eyebrows.

They finished the autopsy, deciding that it was now up to Matthew and his department to find out who had killed him, indeed, who he was, and then bring the murderer to justice.

It didn't turn out to be that easy.

There was no ID on the body, the state of the face meant that a photograph in the paper was not a good idea, the eyes had gone and there was a bite mark on one cheek. There were no distinguishing marks anywhere.

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'I just don't know, Alice,' Matthew sighed. They were sitting in her living room, discussing the case over a whisky. 'Nobody has reported a missing person that could match our victim, and let's face it we can't ask anyone to identify him even if they do.'

'Hmm...' she sipped her drink. 'Matthew, I'm sorry, but I think I want to go out to the scene.'

'What? Why?' He looked at her, she never visited a crime scene, unless she was standing in for Blake, and never went back to poke around.

'Because the answer could well be out there.' She stood up, 'It's still light enough, come on.'

'Alice!' Matthew caught her arm, 'have you been talking to Blake?'

'Not today, no.' She reached for her coat off the peg and took her keys. She looked over her shoulder, 'what are you waiting for?'

He shook his head, and smiled. Grabbing his cap he followed her out to the car.

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The pool of blood had been absorbed into the dust and was now just a dark stain on the ground. The house was set apart enough to be a good place for activity to go unnoticed. It was abandoned, run down; nobody had lived there for years. Alice walked round the site, trying to picture what had happened, but with animal activity and young lads using the place for drinking there was not much real evidence. She squatted down and looked under the door step.

'Matthew, there's a torch in the glove box...'

'You carry a torch?' This evening was getting stranger.

'Doesn't everybody?'

He passed her the torch, vaguely wondering if it should be him kneeling in the dust, and watched her play the beam under the rotting wood.

'Stick, please.' She reached behind her, her hand open for his walking stick.

Sliding the hooked end into the void she slowly wiped it from right to left and brought out a wallet and a set of keys. He passed her a handkerchief which she wrapped around the objects, before taking his offered hand and pulling herself up, brushing the grit from her knees.

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She flicked the light on in the morgue and hung her coat up.

The wallet had suffered from nibbles from some rodent, she thought, damp from the early mornings, there was some mould round the edges, and it took some delicate work to extract his driving licence from the slot it was in. There was no money so robbery must have played some part in his downfall. Now they had a name for the man, one Reginald Dixon, they could see if he had any family and inform them of his passing. Matthew would have Charlie head out to the address and see who was there, if anyone.

He had passed few comments as he watched her. She was almost as bad as Blake, the way she had taken the lead in the investigation, using what she did know to find out what she didn't know. He was quietly grateful that she had done what she did, but it was the job of his department to investigate crimes, not hers. He would, however, not mention that.

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'Thanks, Alice.' He grinned as she waited for him to get out of the car and head into the Blake's house. 'I owe you.'

She hummed and half smiled. 'See you tomorrow.'

'Yeah, 'night.'

As she drove away she wondered how long he would lodge there, after all they may not want him around when they were married. He was well looked after, Lucien ensured he exercised his knee and Jean fed him well. He, in turn, was a chaperone to keep the gossip down, at least she hadn't noticed that much. There was more about Lucien's fitness to practice as a doctor, than the living arrangements, and more than once she had pointed out to a patient thinking about changing their GP that they should make up their own minds.

'Has he ever mistreated you, or misdiagnosed you?' She asked one woman loudly proclaiming about the article Edward had printed.

'Er...no.'

'Well then,' she huffed, 'perhaps you'd better think about the care he has given you rather than believing everything you read in the papers.' She strode off leaving a group of open mouthed, but silent, tattle tales.

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Charlie found nothing at the address on Dixon's driving licence. He used the keys to let himself in and found a neat, but slightly dusty, bungalow. The remains of a glass of whisky in the living room, dishes on the sink, washed and left to drain. Precious little in the fridge, but enough, one toothbrush in the bathroom, a neatly made single bed in the bedroom. The book on the bedside cabinet betrayed educated tastes, 'Shakespeare's Sonnets'. After the basic scan of Dixon's home, he set about searching for more detailed information in the sideboard drawers in the living room, evidence of a post at Wendouree Grammar, together with a letter of dismissal. He slipped everything into an envelope and went outside, locking up as he did so. He sighed before heading to the garage to see if he owned a car. On the floor was evidence of a small oil leak so he assumed that the car had been stolen, along with the cash out of his wallet. It had taken so long for them to get this far that Charlie sent a silent prayer up to the patron saint of coppers: could they have their regular police surgeon back, or failing that, could Dr Harvey have the post, please.

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'Right, Davies, up to the Grammar and see the Head,' Lawson grunted, 'find out why he was dismissed, how long he had worked there, you know the drill.'

'Boss,' Charlie nodded and headed off on the next part of the investigation.

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The Headmaster was more than happy to tell Sergeant Davies about Dixon. He was a good teacher of English, passionate about Shakespeare, but he was accused by a parent of sending his daughter unacceptable notes. He had demanded Dixon's removal from the staff, even though his daughter said there was nothing to bother about. No, he hadn't seen the notes, the father had burnt them in disgust, a lot of flowery nonsense, he'd snapped. She said it was part of the work they were studying, her father told her she should be learning something useful. Charlie asked if he could speak to the girl, perhaps ask what was in the notes.

'It was just some lines from some of the sonnets to study. We all had them, but my stupid dad, who never read a book in his life, decided they were love letters. Honestly,' she thought for a moment 'Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, how is that a love letter? Better if it was 'Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day...'

'Did you like Mr Dixon?' Charlie asked not being particularly well versed in the bard.

'He was a good teacher, helped us understand some of the language Shakespeare used. He was nice, but in no way did he write love letters to me, or any of the other students. Blind ignorance, on dad's part, that's all it was.' She sniffed.

Charlie turned to the Headmaster, 'Did you have any other complaints?'

'No, but Sarah's father has donated quite a large sum for the updating of the building.'

Charlie left with Sarah's home address and went to report back to Matthew. He wondered, on the way, if the doc had a copy of Shakespeare's work. Probably. He made a quick detour on the way to the station.

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Mr Johnstone looked at Charlie as he asked questions about Dixon. The boss had told him to get straight to the point, the case had being going on long enough. This was the best and only lead they had, it would have been sorted sooner if Lucien was police surgeon, a thought which only served to annoy Matthew at Blake's rash behaviour.

'Nothing to do with me, the prick deserved whatever he got.' A comment which surprised Charlie, as he had said nothing about the teacher's fate, just asked if he knew him.

'What do you mean by that?' Charlie asked, innocently.

'Well, he was writing stuff to my Sarah, and probably others,' Johnstone huffed, 'got his comeuppance.'

'What kind of stuff?'

'Soppy love poetry. How's she supposed to get work knowing that?'

'Do you mean...' Charlie opened the small copy of Shakespeare's sonnets he had borrowed from Lucien. ' Love is not love, Which alters when it alteration finds...?'

'Summat like that.' He sneered.

'Actually it's from Shakespeare's sonnet one hundred and sixteen' Charlie held the book up, 'it was her homework. What comeuppance are you talking about?'

'I er... it was in the papers. He was killed, weren't he?'

'There's been nothing in the papers.' Charlie moved his hands round to his handcuffs, 'Mr Johnstone I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Reginald Dixon.' He clicked the cuffs closed with a satisfied grin. Good old Alice.

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'I can't believe he murdered someone over Shakespeare.' Alice sipped her wine. Matthew had persuaded her he owed her dinner for her contribution to solving the case. 'I feel sorry for Sarah, to have a father who couldn't see further than his own ignorance.'

'She had tried to tell him it was her schoolwork, and not a love letter.' Matthew sighed, 'I don't know any Shakespeare, it wasn't taught, apart from the odd quote, but it's not exactly the language a man would use to a lass as young as Sarah, is it?'

'Well, no. I don't suppose she would actually understand it.' Alice smiled. 'I've seen some Shakespeare, in the theatre, but I wouldn't call myself an aficionado.'

'Did you like it, what you saw?'

'I liked The Taming of the Shrew,' Alice admitted, 'Romeo and Juliet, not really, a bit insipid in my view.'

'Right,' Matthew mused, making a mental note to do something about his literary knowledge, at least know the difference between those two plays.

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Matthew pulled up on Alice's drive.

'Thank you, Matthew,' Alice made to get out of the car, 'it was a lovely evening.'

'You're welcome.' He smiled.

'Care for a nightcap?'

'If you're offering.'

She just looked at him, honestly, she thought.

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A couple of hours later Matthew stood at the open doorway.

'Right...er...' he blushed, 'I'll ...er... see you tomorrow, I suppose.'

Alice reached over and wiped a smudge of her lipstick off his mouth,

'I suppose you will.' She smirked.

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I haven't seen the telemovie, yet, hoping that at least these two survive, along with Lucien and Jean.