Author's Note: My apologies for my slowness. Real life's been busy and this story's been going a little slower than I'd expected. So here's chapter one! I made it nice an long to tide you over. Thank you guys for your reviews! They really do keep me typing! Cheers guys!
Chapter 1: Visitors
The next several hours were spent with Sam pacing fiercely around his cell. What usually helped Sam to focus was to sit down with some white noise in the background. Traffic, people chatting, static on the tv or radio, it didn't really matter as long as it wasn't overbearing. But here in this small, soft, white room where time was indeterminable, silence was a most overbearing and oppressing sound and the DI/DCI found he couldn't sit still.
"How did I get here? Think!"
Sam knew talking to himself would certainly look bad for the whole 'am I crazy or not' situation with his supposed doctor (if he was watching somewhere), but he needed some kind of noise, even if it was just the sound of his own voice, to help him figure this all out. …And even if it was the hundredth time he'd asked that very question.
He remembered waking up at five in the morning in his tiny flat in 1973 after one of those awful nightmares with the little girl and her clown.
"Couldn't go back to sleep so I made breakfast…"
Just a simple omelet and toast with good old orange juice and coffee he'd made a little too bitter.
"Then-"
A jog. An early morning run to keep himself fit. He'd just done his normal routine- around back behind his flat, down the backstreet towards the old factories, up through the small desolate park- he could remember it all so vividly!- back up the main avenue and back to his… flat…
"Wait…"
Everything up to that last bit he had recalled with absolute clarity, but after he got half way up Main Street, he found he wasn't quite so sure. The details blurred and became fuzzy. Had he gone straight home? He usually did, but he had the impression that that run might have gone differently. Had he taken a longer trip? Had he encountered somebody?
He didn't recall anything particularly violent, so it was likely that he hadn't been attacked or kidnapped at that point…
Sam rubbed his temples unhappily then took yet another peek out the small window of his padded prison. Still nothing of note. He sighed angrily and went back to his attempted recollections.
"I do remember being at work…"
Though he couldn't mentally trace his steps from his jog to his flat and down to C-Division, he did remember an intense discussion with Gene –though about what he couldn't say-, talking to Annie –with an overwhelming feeling of apology –and…
And then he could swear he remembered being grabbed. He remembered rough hands grabbing his arms and he remembered this strange feeling of satisfaction that went with it. Not satisfied about being snatched, surely. So about what then? Something he'd done before being grabbed.
Suddenly a voice spoke.
"Tyler!" Sam jumped, startled by the before unnoticed presence of another person. In the doorway, now wide open, stood a tall burly man dressed in a nurse's scrubs. "You've got a visitor."
Sam blinked at the man blankly for a minute. "Who is it?"
"Hell if I know. Now are you comin' peaceful-like or are things gonna get hairy?"
Sam frowned at the orderly. This guy had definitely wanted to be a cowboy when he was young. Probably still did. Sam followed quickly, however. If there was a visitor, Sam knew he'd be able to at the very least pick out which year he was in. At most he could get the entire story concerning why he was in the nuthouse.
The walk was a long one and through the entire ordeal, the orderly glared at him. Sam was surprised he hadn't been clapped in irons or suited up with a straight jacket. Grateful, but surprised. Finally they reached a white metal door with a large glass window. The orderly ushered Sam through and the man found himself in a common room of sorts. There were circular tables scattered around the room and a row of cushioned chairs lined against the wall.
Sam's immediate reaction was that this had to be 2006. He must've had some kind of fit while in his coma. Maybe he'd been sleep talking with his eyes open to people no one else could see and they'd thought he'd lost it and put him away?
'Has to be,' he thought with both excitement and, surprisingly enough, disappointment. He didn't think they had common rooms where inmates could gather and socialize back in '73. Did they?
Then again, he didn't see any other inmates. Maybe this was just a waiting area? They had those in both times. And maybe it didn't matter. God, his head felt so foggy.
"Where's my visitor?" Sam asked, eager for some real defining proof.
The orderly pointed to an empty table with two empty chars sitting across from each other. Sam rolled his eyes at the burly man.
"Look. Maybe this is how you people entertain yourselves during the long dull hours, mate, but don't screw with me. I'm not crazy. There's no one there," Sam growled.
The big orderly's nostrils flared a bit and he grabbed Sam roughly by his arm and dragged him to the table.
"Sit down, Tyler. He hasn't come in yet," the man sneered. "And you're definitely crazy."
Feeling a little foolish, but in no way apologetic to the bully in a nurse's uniform, Sam sat himself down in one of the two empty chairs and began drumming impatiently on the table. The orderly had said the visitor was a 'he'. That ruled out Maya and his mother who would visit him in the future. Well… maybe not Maya…
It also ruled out Annie in the past. She would visit him, he thought.
A door on the far side of the room opened and a man with scraggly white hair was ushered in. Sam frowned, hoping that this person was not his visitor, but his hopes were dashed when, upon noting Sam, the man hurried over and sat down across from him with a toothy grin. Sam had never seen this man before. Not only had he never seen the man before, he had somehow found it in his power to wear clothing that was timeless. His long black overcoat was ratty and undistinguished and oversized hiding anything significant about the white collar shirt that he wore. His pants were a straight legged black. He wore boots that were heavy and worn, but styled in no particular fashion Sam could ID from any particular time period.
His distress must have been plain on his face for the old stranger leaned in a bit and gave that toothy smile again. Perhaps it was supposed to be comforting. It wasn't.
"What's wrong, son? Not happy to see me?" the stranger asked in the craggy voice of a smoker.
Now they were really pushing it, Sam thought. "You're not my father!" Sam snapped.
"It's an expression, Sammy-boy," the older man replied after a surprised pause.
Sam winced. Strike two for Sam Tyler, he thought. Maybe he was being a little too twitchy. Then again there was definitely something strange in the visitor's chuckle as Sam watched him. He seemed almost uncomfortable.
Another tense silence. Sam had a zillion questions, but he held his tongue. Since joining the police force that long time ago (or a long time from now) Sam had interrogated many suspects and questioned many civilians. Sometimes you took a back seat and allowed the other person to speak. When used correctly this approach often provided information more useful than if you'd asked a question to them directly. His mind was racing in a hundred different directions, but he was pretty sure this was the right direction to choose. The visitor had come to see him ergo he likely had things he wanted to say.
The visitor pursed his lips and watched Sam watch him a moment, then motioned to the orderly.
"Could you give us a minute, lad?" he asked.
Sam tensed. Private conversations were always a good sign of fruitful intel, so he was quite disappointed when the orderly shook his shaggy head of hair.
"Sorry, mate. Can't. Not with a case like his."
The visitor nodded and fiddled with his jackets sleeve.
"Understandable." He turned his attention back to Sam. "So, how've you been? Had any luck? With your treatment?"
Sam lifted an eyebrow. There was something odd about the way that question had been asked, in two separate parts with the second bit almost like an afterthought.
"Well… if my treatment's results are supposed to cause amnesia," Sam replied slowly. "Then I suppose so."
"Amnesia, huh?" the visitor repeated curiously.
Sam frowned and forced himself to be patient a little longer. The visitor watched Sam as if expecting him to do something, but since Sam couldn't imagine what that might be, he was disappointed. The man pursed his lips then gave little sigh.
"Ok then, I guess I'll go."
Sam's jaw dropped. That was it? Never had he been more wrong about a strategy. As the other man stood, Sam followed suit angrily. The orderly appeared behind Sam without a sound, but Sam didn't back down.
"That's all? You come down here to ask me about luck with my treatment?" His voice had risen a few notches and out of the corner of his eye, he noted the orderly edge even closer. He didn't care. "Who are you? What's going on? What are you really here? And for that matter, what the bloody hell am I doing here?"
The visitor stepped back at Sam's outburst, nearly tripping over his chair in bewilderment.
"I-I'm just a friend, Sam. I just came for a visit! Wanted to know how they were treatin' you-"
"That's no answer!"
The orderly's heavy hand landed on Sam's shoulder. "Calm down, Tyler."
"All I want is information!" Sam cried. "Why can't anyone just give me a straight answer?"
The stranger seemed quite perturbed. "I should go," he said as he headed for the door.
"No!" cried Sam, both commandingly and pleadingly. He made to follow, but the strong hand of the orderly kept him still.
"Yes," the orderly countered.
Sam briefly considered ripping it off and going for a more forceful approach when the visitor's eyes lit up and he stopped his backpedaling departure.
"Wait!" the visitor exclaimed. He reached into his overcoat's inside pocket and pulled out a crumpled envelope. The orderly wrinkled his nose but didn't stop the visitor from approaching them and tossing the letter on the table. Sam leaned in and picked it up almost warily.
"Who's it from?" he asked.
"From Mr. Callahan, kid," the visitor replied. "Read it and, uh, feel better, Sammy-boy."
And with that, the visitor turned and hurried for the door. Sam opened his mouth to question the visitor one last time, but the orderly's deterring hand tightened its hold on his shoulder. Sam didn't argue. One last question wasn't likely to make the visitor any less useless than he had been. As the old wooden door swung shut Sam turned his attention back to the envelope.
It hadn't been sealed, but the back flap had been folded inward to keep it closed. Ignoring the orderly behind him, Sam opened the envelope and slid out the note inside. The paper, torn from some larger piece, had been folded in half. In his frustration Sam nearly tore it again as he pulled it open. Surely the letter would be of some use.
He was disappointed. The semi-neat hand read:
Sam,
Hope you're feeling better. Sorry I couldn't come see you in person, but you know how things are at work. I know your mother wants to see you. Maybe on the 12th or 14th. Don't worry about all this, we'll make it right. You just worry about getting better and doing what the nurses tell you. Give them the old ten two!
-H. Callahan
Sam frowned. "Feel better? Ten two?" Wasn't the saying 'one two' anyway? "This can't be it," Sam muttered. He flipped the page over but found only a coffee stain.
"What? Not from your secret admirer?" the orderly jeered.
Sam just scowled, wondering how many times a perfect opportunity for information would wind up being worthless.
"Who's 'H. Callahan'?" he questioned aloud.
The hand on Sam's shoulder gave him a gentle push towards the door leading down to his cell.
"Don't know, don't care," the big man barked.
Sam looked over his shoulder to the door through which the uselessly mysterious visitor had vanished and suddenly felt very claustrophobic. He wanted out. He needed air. If he could just-
As if sensing Sam's tension, the orderly pushed him a little faster towards the opposite door.
"Come on, Tyler. I've got other things to be doing," the man growled.
The door slammed shut behind them, locking automatically behind them. The noise was surprisingly loud and Sam's hands went to his ears as they rang painfully. The orderly seemed unperturbed as he pushed Sam further along and the detective inspector had to wonder if the man had a hearing problem or if he was just extra sensitive from the meds. Shaking his head to clear it, Sam looked wearily to the man just behind him. All the fretting, annoyances, and confusion were taking their toll. He was tired and it was all giving him a headache.
"Please," he begged. "Just tell me something."
The bigger man sighed and pushed Sam forward again. "Fine. What?"
"Just tell me what year it is and... why I'm here."
The orderly snorted. "That's two somethings. But I give. I'll tell. You really are crazy aren't ya'? Sam Tyler, you brutally murdered three police officers and are too crazy for plain old normal jail. It is 2006 and that's why yer here."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
The double doors to the CID offices swung open violently giving way to a quartet of unhappy looking faces. The officers within, who'd been lounging quite lazily, straightened up sharply as they recognized Detective Superintendent Tannon at the head of the group. Tannon stopped by Chris and Ray, the former of whom got to his feet nervously, the latter of which remained seated on Chris's desk watching the four suspiciously.
"DI Carling, DS Skelton," the superior greeted, obviously showing off that he knew the names of his subordinates even in an office he didn't often visit. Ray wasn't impressed. Chris was unnerved. "Is DCI Hunt in?"
"In his office," Ray answered with a wave towards the back.
Tannon gave an appreciative nod and motioned to one of his followers and the pair moved off towards Gene's office, leaving the other two flunkies to stand aloof amongst the suspicious glances of the CID officers. Chris leaned closer to Ray, eyes on the newcomers that were headed Gene Hunt's way.
"Do you think we shoulda warned the Guv?" the young man asked.
"About what?" Ray asked, eyes looking in the same direction. "That the Super's here or that Derek Litton is with him?"
"They're here 'cause of the boss- um- Sam Tyler, right?"
"I'd bet a week's worth of drinks at the Railway Arms," Ray replied as he crossed his arms contemptuously. "They're gonna try to take the case from the guv. An' he's not gonna be happy."
-.-.-.-.-
At the sound of the sharp rap on the door, Gene straightened in his chair, but didn't get up. He couldn't tell who it was standing out there, but he had a pretty good idea. There weren't many things besides himself that could make the air of the CID go quite as still as it had. Gene flipped shut the folder he'd been reading, leaving visible only a few words on the outside; Case Number 20-06-1973 Triple Homicide, and shoved it into the top drawer of his desk.
"Come in," he called. Quite civilly too, he thought. He regretted his good manners immediately when the two men entered.
The tall thin Superintendent, or someone like him, Gene was expecting. The second man, well… Gene would have been happy if he'd never seen DCI 'Prick' Litton of the Regional Crime Squad ever again. According to Gene, Litton wasn't the least bit deserving of whatever manners Gene might possess. Catching Gene's glare, Litton gave an arrogant smirk that made Gene's blood boil. If only the Superintendent wasn't there he'd take Litton's ridiculous polka-dotted bow tie and-
"Good afternoon, DCI Hunt," Superintendent Tannon greeted cordially. You could tell the guy was new to his job, Gene thought. He still retained an energy and honest geniality that drained away after years that high up on the food chain. "I don't know if you remember me. I'm Superintendent Benjamin Tannon. And this is DCI Derek Litton, though I believe you're already acquainted."
"I remember you, Superintendent," Gene replied, pointedly ignoring Litton. "An' what brings you to my neck o' the woods?"
"That would be me, Gene-o," came Litton's nasal drawl. He took a half step forward and looked about to continue, but Gene interrupted.
"I do believe, Litton," Gene sneered, "That I was talkin' to Superintendent Tannon!"
Aggravated, Litton too raised his voice. "And I believe-"
"Gentlemen!" Tannon exclaimed before Litton could finish. Gene gave a disgruntled but acknowledging "hmph" and Litton stepped back to let his superior have the floor. "Thank you. Now, Gene, Derek here has made known to me an interesting matter of jurisdiction."
"Oh?" Gene asked innocently, but gruffly. The truth of it was that he knew exactly what Tannon was referring to, but he wasn't about to make this easy on Litton. He looked at the shorter of the pair and stood up, straightening his tie. "Ya' know, Litton, you coulda come to me about any problems you might have. You didn't have to bother the Superintendent."
Just as Gene had hoped he would, Tannon looked to Litton with annoyance and disappointment. For a happy moment the elder man down looked on Litton, obviously displeased that Litton was wasting his time. Then Litton, his usually calm though snooty demeanor broken by the slight flush of color in his cheeks from his superior's disapproving stare, responded.
"As DCI Hunt knows, I already came to him about this matter," Litton explained, his cool returned. The man motioned to himself. "I told him that the case was well within our jurisdiction and that it should be handed over to the Regional Crime Squad. He… colorfully refused to do so."
Tannon's stern eyes moved now to Gene. He didn't care. That moment had still been very worth it. Gene leaned forward on his desk.
"I'm still not sure what you mean, Litton. You have a horrible tendency to whine an' it all starts to sound the same."
"He's referring to the triple homicide, Gene. The cop killer," Tannon elaborated, already annoyed at Litton and Gene's childish rivalry.
There it was. Litton was trying to steal his case. To move in on Gene's territory and do his job. Gene put his attention back on Tannon, sizing the older man up.
"Homicide is CID jurisdiction," Gene replied evenly. "That case came to our attention after the first murder, one Police Constable Eames. We connected that murder and two others while the Regional Crime Squad was busy runnin' in circles with their 'eads up their asses and solved nothin'. I think it's obvious who deserves this case."
Litton looked more insulted than usual at Gene's small jab. "If we had been notified in the beginning-"
"It was a murder case! Clearly my territory!"
Tannon started softly. "Gentlemen-"
"You have no idea what this is, Gene-o!"
"It's a case that requires real police work! Not your-"
"Gentlemen!" Tannon's shout silenced them both. The older man sighed and fidgeted momentarily with his mustache as if trying to decide where best to start. Gene took the opportunity for one last point in his favor.
"Doesn't matter anymore anyway," Gene said more quietly. "We already got the bastard that did it."
That little bit of information set the pair aback.
"Oh?" questioned Tannon. Litton remained silently flabbergasted.
"Yup."
"Why haven't I heard about this?"
"The report's on its way up," Gene lied. He was a bit behind on that. However- "However the Detective Chief Superintendent was directly informed. We made the arrest two nights ago. As you know, the Chief Super was in all week updatin' protocols and the like so he knew soon after we did."
"I see," Tannon replied thoughtfully. Litton stepped past Tannon, the look in his eyes conveying that he clearly thought Gene was lying.
"Well, Gene-o I've got to say I'm very impressed," he said, coming to a stop before Gene's desk. "So who was our perpetrator? Where is he? I'd very much like to have a word."
"I'm sure you would, Litton," Gene interrupted, his whole becoming more sour than it had been when Litton had first waltzed in. And why wouldn't it? This conversation was hitting a nerve now. "Unfortunately he aint here anymore."
"Any why not?" Tannon questioned, before Litton could get the words out himself.
Gene glowered at a lone pen on his desk top, pursing his lips as if what he was saying, or about to say, left a bad taste in his mouth.
"'Cause we did it by the book," Gene answered after a pause.
"Excuse me?" Tannon questioned, his thin brows creased in a frown.
"We accused the bastard an' once he figured out he was trapped, he pled insanity."
Litton scoffed. "So?"
"So," Gene repeated, voice rising. "The Super decided that this case had to be watertight. Three police killed by another is gonna shake us to the core. If he convinces a jury he wasn't in his right mind-"
"Who did it?" Tannon interrupted. But Gene continued.
"Then they might let him off easy. So we sent him to the loony bin to get a bill o' health from the quacks-"
"Gene-"
"'Cause there's no way in hell he's getting away with-"
"Gene!"
The DCI paused.
"Who did you find is behind the murders?" Tannon asked, his voice deadly serious. Litton stood off to the side now, waiting on tenterhooks for the information like a dog waiting for a steak.
Gene didn't like the way Tannon had said 'who did you find', almost as if there was some doubt cast upon his person to be able to find the real perpetrator. Gene put his own annoyance over that detail to the side for a moment as his focus returned to the entire question that had been put to him.
"The killer was Sam Tyler."
The moment of still that followed was most uncomfortable as the Super and Litton rolled the answer around in their heads. It was Litton that spoke first.
"Tyler? You don't mean that crazy new DI of yours."
"That's exactly who I mean and yeah, as it turns out he is crazy. The so called doctors are refusin' to write him up as sane," Gene explained.
"Well, that's unfortunate," Tannon replied, attitude surprisingly blasé, considering. "And yet most favorable that we now have him for questioning."
Gene frowned. "What for?"
"Good work on apprehending our murderer, Gene, but I'm recommending that this case now be handed over to the Regional Crime Squad for the duration of this investigation."
"Sir," Gene said, rounding the side of his desk. "The investigation is over."
"I'm afraid not, Gene. There is more going on than just the murder of a few cops and I believe it can best be handled by Litton's team."
Just a few cops? As if those cops meant nothing? Gene felt himself turning red with anger. "With all due-"
"No more about it," Tannon said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "As soon as possible, I want all pertinent information concerning this case and personnel files on this Tyler fellow given to DCI Litton. Good work, Gene. I'm sure the wives of our dead men will rest a little easier with this psychopath taken care of."
And with that the Superintendent left Gene to stare at his door in bewilderment. That was it? 'Good job, we'll take it from here'? No doubts to Sam Tyler's involvement as a murdering bastard or questions about the evidence that had led them to that knowledge?
"Sorry, Gene-o." Litton was still there, a smug smile on his face. "Guess the best man won after all, hm?"
"I'm surprised at you, Litton. Since when do you go crying to the Super instead o' handin' things on yer own? You afraid to fight like a man, now?" Gene questioned gruffly.
Litton sniffed, unperturbed by the taunt. "Well, you were being quite unreasonable," he replied with a little sneer as he headed to the door. "And I didn't go to him. He came to me first about the case. Seemed quite surprised to find that such an important case was in the hands of the CID."
Litton gave a little chuckle and swung open the door as Gene's brows creased once again.
"Hey." It was the strange lack of underlying hatred or sarcasm that made Litton pause in his exit. "We both know murder is my territory. What's really goin' on here, Litton?"
The other man stared hard at Gene for a minute as if considering, then gave a shrug. "I'm sorry, Gene-o. I really can't say." He looked about to leave, turned away even before turning back to face the now fuming Gene Hunt. "And it really is too bad about Sam Tyler. He was…different."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
To Be Continued...
PS: If you got to the end of this chapter: Cheers! It did turn out kinda long, didn't it. As thanks for your patience, I offer this!: the address to a fanfic vid I created a little while back! It started off as its own thing, but it warped into a trailer for this fanfiction. .com/watch?v=_Dbu7sTDcJk This is what happens when I'm LoM deprived! O.O
Let me know what you think about the chapter! Reviews are always appreciated.