Back at the station, Jo tried to get her thoughts in some kind of rational order. Stu was fine, unharmed, and she had nothing to go on, but a feeling. Jack Meadows heard them both out in silence, and then insisted that Stu get himself checked out by the FME. Stu grumpily complied.

Jo sat down at her desk. One report coming up, free from all speculation, imagination and anything else fanciful The facts. No more, no less.

Stu leaned on the sink in the Gents, and stared at himself in the mirror. It was getting worse this feeling. He ran some cold water into the sink and splashed some on his burning cheeks. You can't run away forever... but there's nothing wrong with getting a good head start. He raked his wet hands through his short spiky black hair, making it even more unruly. Rather like the turmoil going on in his head. He couldn't control this for much longer. Best get his transfer request in before he made himself into a completely contemptible idiot, and everyone lost what respect they had for him.

At first he thought it was just because it was Jo, and she was the one person who'd bothered to look behind his carefully constructed distancing act. Or maybe it was because she was the kind of person who needed everyone to love them, and he was just caught up in that. But none of that was true. He'd let his guard down, she'd seen inside, she'd seen that he was lonely, she'd seen his need. But she hadn't exploited it. She'd given him an out, a trapdoor through which he could escape, his front intact.

Each time they worked together there was something, an incident of shared experience, which drew them closer together. He was her sergeant, but he felt junior to Jo, he should have felt resentful, but instead he felt grateful... no... more than grateful. He turned away from the sink, and the mirror, and leaned back against the wall, raking his damp hands through his hair again... it wasn't gratitude he felt for Jo, and it wasn't just about sex. He'd been so busy trying to armour plate himself against feeling too much, so busy trying to maintain some distance, he smiled humourlessly, that he hadn't noticed that she'd already sneaked into a corner of his heart.

But Stuart Turner doesn't have a heart, he's a Detective Sergeant, a good time party boy who is in it to climb the career ladder, personal relationships inside work are doomed, if you can't maintain some distance what have you got... He raked his hands through his hair again, squeezing them hard against his temples as though he could crush out the thoughts that were starting to consume him. He was in love with Joanne Masters. She would never see him that way. He was breaking his heart over a woman that he could never have, but the splash of his hot tears running down his face came as a surprise.

He couldn't chance one of the others seeing him like this. He moved into one of the stalls, and shut the door. Put the seat down on the loo, sat on it, put his head in his hands and cried his heart out. It all converged at once, everything that had been building, there was an enormous tight lump at the back of his throat, and he just fell apart.

Terry Perkins pushed the Gents' door open. And was just heading for the urinals, when he heard the sounds of someone's distress. Whoever it was, this was something clearly very painful. Terry hovered for a second, uncertain whether he should knock on the shut toilet door and enquire if he could help, or whether whoever it was would prefer to be left alone. He withdrew discreetly.

Jo typed slowly. Sometimes going back over what she had written. Changing it. Refining and re-defining it. She had to get someone to believe. None of what had happened since Stu had decided to go back for a second look at a photograph on a shelf had been a coincidence. Perhaps the photograph was no coincidence either. Perhaps it was a plant. It might not have been coincidence. But it was certainly nothing she could definitely put her finger on.

She stopped typing for a moment, running backwards through the events of the day. It was nearly the end of the shift and she still didn't have any leads or answers.

Stu slowly calmed down. He had to get a grip. Whatever happened in the future, here and now he and Jo were caught up in something. She needed him to hold himself together. He dried his face, and struggled to order his breathing which was still coming in heaving snatches. He steadied his nerve, Jo needed him and he was going to come through for her. He straightened himself up. He splashed cold water on his face, rumpled his hair up, straightening himself out. He squared his shoulders and looked at himself in the mirror, he would just about pass muster without inspiring any comment, his eyes looked a little bloodshot, but that could be put down to what he'd just been through. He headed back to CID.

Jo looked up as the swing door opened and Stuart made his way back to his desk. "Where have you been?" She said as he passed and slipped into his seat next to her.

"Just visiting the bathroom." He didn't quite meet her eyes, and Jo sighed. There was more to it than that. His eyes looked a bit blood shot, and his long black lashes were stuck together in spiky clumps, something wasn't right, his body language and expression screamed distress. Yet he hadn't been particularly distressed when she'd found him.

Jo dragged her mind back to their present problem. Speculating on what was up with Stu emotionally would not solve their riddle and she had a very bad feeling about it. Hours of work, with absolutely nothing to show for it. The empty house, the photograph that had caught Stu's eye, the fact that the house had been shut up for over six months. There was nothing about the location, yet... Jo almost put her head in her hands and howled with frustration. There was something there, what had happened when Stu had gone back to the house proved it. But what exactly was going on. This was supposed to be a routine hit and run. The victim was alive, several broken bones, but alive nonetheless. The car had led to the house, which had led to the photograph, which had led to Stu being kidnapped, which...

None of the above made sense. It was like an endless game of consequences...

Consequences...

That struck a chord... But why.

She looked across at her partner, he was slumped sideways in his seat, one elbow hooked over the back, the way he often did, but something told her this was a studied attempt at casual.

"We need to put our heads together, go back over our files."

He turned his head to look at her, his expression sombre. "Why?"

"Because it's something we've both worked on. I know it."

He hesitated. "Okay... I believe you. Go on?"

"Some thing we've been involved in, someone we've overlooked."