He was already in his office when Alex arrived at work. She heard him before she saw him.
"If you're putting that kettle on, mine's tea, white, one, Bolly," he called.
Gene Hunt was definitely real. She could see him, sitting at his desk, hopeful look on his face as he held out a mug towards her; she could smell him, or at least, she could smell the smoke from the cigarette he had dangling from his lips...but how could it be real? It didn't make sense.
"What happened yesterday, Gene?" she asked, wandering into his office.
"Yesterday, all my bloody troubles seemed so far away," he said, drawing heavily on the cigarette. He sighed, blowing the smoke towards the ceiling. "There was a bomb at an army barracks in Chelsea yesterday."
"A bomb?" Alex's mind was immediately alert, fresh from the horror of seeing her parents' car blown to pieces. "What sort of bomb?"
"A bloody dangerous one, Bolly, what other kind is there?" He stubbed the cigarette out into the overflowing ash tray. "Two people were killed. Add that to your friends the Prices, and that's four dead bodies in the space of 24 hours."
"So what are you doing about it?" asked Alex. Whatever space/time dimension she was in, she was a police woman and she had a duty to uphold the law and investigate crime.
"I've sent Raymondo out to bring in Arthur Layton. I feel an urge to beat something out of him."
Alex shivered involuntarily upon hearing that name. "Why Layton?"
"Questions, questions, questions," snapped Gene irritably. "It's too early for all your bloody questions woman, at least before my morning cuppa." He slammed the mug onto the desk. "Tea and then I'll bring you up to speed."
Alex raised an eyebrow but refused to be drawn into an argument with him. Instead she picked up the mug and left the office. As she waited for the kettle to boil, her mind again tried to fit all of the pieces together. Gene was here now and he had been there then. But then the same could be said of Arthur Layton. Was he the key? How could he be? What was his role in the whole messed-up situation she found herself in? Alex sighed. Gene was right; it was too early for so many questions. She made the tea and took two steaming mugs back through to Gene's office, where he was just finishing a phone call.
"Front desk," he said, dropping the receiver back into its rest. "Layton is the cells, squealing like a pig and shouting for a solicitor." He rubbed his hands together. "I love annoying scumbags, Bolly, it's my one pleasure when things are looking like a 40-year-old tart."
Alex frowned. "Sorry?" she asked, still not up to speed on some of Gene's phrases.
"Rough, DI Drake, 40-year-old tarts are always rough," he said, as Ray popped his head into the office. "And here's a man who knows all about rough women. Speak to me, Raymondo, tell me some good news."
"Layton's solicitor is on his way, Guv, so if you want to speak to him first, you'd better get down there now," he said.
"Excellent." Gene drained his mug and stood up. "After you, Drake, let's go and beat some answers out of Mr Layton."