Episode 29: "As Good As It Gets"

Summary: Amy and Nick battle to clear PJ's name when he is charged with murder, only to realise the case is more complex than they thought. Ringo's newfound relationship bliss is cut short.

Lyrics come from "Wonderwall" by Oasis.

Amy's ute was already sitting in the car park of the motor inn by the time Nick arrived. PJ had called him as soon as he had finished with Amy. He wasn't quite as subdued as he had been with Amy, but he wasn't alright. Nick knew even before he'd left his house that what he was going to see wasn't pretty.

He just wasn't quite prepared for the gore.

PJ was standing over the body when Nick let himself into the hotel room, while Amy stood about a metre back, her shoulders hunched and biting her bottom lip absentmindedly. Their expressions were blank and an uneasy silence hung in the air. It was almost as intolerable as the smell.

PJ spoke first. "It's John Maguire."

Nick pulled a face. "How can you tell?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

Amy's head suddenly snapped up as her emerald eyes met his. There was something about the look in Amy's eyes that worried Nick. The fire, the spark, the electricity had died. Her strength was fading and, somehow, Nick got the feeling that he had something to do with it.

Backbeat the word was on the street
That the fire in your heart is out

"It's him," she whispered and, burying her fists in the pockets of her coat, slipped past him to get some fresh air before the smell got to her. As soon as she was free of the hotel room, she ran her fingers back through her hair and drew in a deep breath to steady herself.

But she couldn't dismiss the feeling of dread that was growing in the pit of her stomach.


It was a couple of hours later that Amy found herself back at the police station, watching almost blindly as Nick brought Mark and Dash up to date. PJ was in the mess room, fixing their second coffees for the night. They'd all long worked out that they weren't going to get back to bed before daylight. They were waiting for Homicide to arrive. There wasn't much they could do for the moment, not with half the town asleep and no forensics results for at least another hour or two. All they could really do was wait.

She heard PJ return before she saw him. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before placing the blue Victoria Police mug down in front of her, the steam rising in wafting white clouds. She smiled in spite of herself as she closed her hands around it, letting the warmth run through her body. He paused, as though contemplating whether or not to kiss her, but sharply remembering her reaction to the nightmare, changed his mind and headed for his desk. Amy sighed a little. She hated what this was doing to them.

PJ had no sooner sat down at his desk then he heard the buzzer sound in the reception area. He frowned as Dash let the two figures through. As he recognised them, the frown became a very audible groan.

Confused, Amy looked up from her coffee. She didn't recognise the short man with the cropped blonde hair who was now pumping Mark's hand, but she did recognise the tall middle-aged blonde wearing a uniform. "Monica Draper," she mused, suddenly turning to PJ in confusion. "Why the hell are Ethical Standards involved?"

Realising what was going on, PJ pushed his coffee mug away. He suddenly felt very sick. He knew exactly what ESD wanted.

He and his colleagues had just become the prime suspects.


Mark ushered the two officers into his office, shooting Dash a warning look as he closed the door. He didn't think the look had made much difference. She was going to eavesdrop anyway. Doing his best to ignore the brunette crouched down below the windows to his office, he motioned for the visiting officers to take a seat. Monica sat, but the man remained standing.

"My name's Detective Sergeant Ken Olsen," he explained, tidying his suit absentmindedly. "Homicide Squad. I'm assuming you've already met Inspector Monica Draper."

Mark nodded as Monica offered him a half-smile. "Yes," he replied quietly as he sat down behind his desk. "We've met." He frowned at the pair as he let his hands rest on his desk. "So, what do we owe the pleasure of Ethical Standards' presence to?"

"Detective Sergeant Olsen phoned me," Monica explained, slipping her uniform jacket off and hanging it on the back of her chair. "I understand that John Maguire is Senior Detective Fox's uncle."

Mark drew in a deep breath. He didn't like this. "Yes," he admitted. "That's my understanding, but you'd have to ask her if you really want details."

An uneasy silence fell between them, which Olsen finally broke as he stepped forward. "I wanted Monica on this one," he explained. "The man sexually abused his niece, then he shows up dead when he moves to the same town. It'd be a miracle if a cop wasn't involved."

"You think Amy Fox had something to do with this?" Mark asked, leaning forward, protectiveness pulsing through him. He'd defended colleagues before – Falcon-Price and Alex Kirby came to mind – and been very disappointed, but he couldn't believe Amy had anything to do with it.

Olsen opened his mouth to speak, but Monica pre-empted him. "Perhaps not Amy Fox," she admitted. "It would have taken some very solid blows to completely obliterate the face. It probably wasn't the work of a woman." Monica hesitated, seemingly reluctant to continue. "But it is possible that another officer…"

"What? PJ Hasham?" Mark asked, eyes widening. He'd heard rumours about the antagonistic relationship between PJ and Monica, but he'd suspected that it had mellowed to the point that any residual bitterness was more out of habit than genuine dislike.

"Perhaps," Olsen replied with a shrug. He was beginning to pace the office. "Nick Schultz doesn't have a particularly glowing record as far as child molesters go, does he?"

Mark couldn't dignify that comment with an answer. Instead, he began to massage his temples furiously. Not again…

Recognising Mark's anxiety, Monica spoke up again, offering him a hint of a reassuring smile. "It's a line of inquiry, Mark," she explained. "Just routine."

Mark forced a smile for Monica's sake as she and Olsen left his office. But he didn't believe Monica one little bit. He knew what "just routine" was copper-speak for.


His mobile phone had been ringing almost constantly for the last half-hour, but Ringo wasn't answering. The man who'd attacked him had left and Chris had patched him up, but Ringo was still too angry. Which was precisely why he hadn't yet gone upstairs to talk to Emma.

Eventually, she came downstairs to him. She looked hesitant and uncomfortable and her eyes gave her away. Ringo looked away, lest she see the hurt in his eyes.

"I didn't know he was coming up here," she explained quietly. "I thought he was still in St. Davids."

"He's your boyfriend, isn't he?"

Emma didn't get a chance to answer. Chris had appeared, holding the pub cordless in her hand. She looked a little uneasy herself, recognising that she had just interrupted something horribly personal. "Sorry, Ringo," she apologised as she offered the phone to him. "It's Mark. You're needed at the station urgently."

Ringo waved it off. "Tell him I'll be there shortly," he replied. Chris looked as though she would have liked to inquire further but, seeing the expression on Ringo's face, thought better of it. As soon as Chris had gone, Ringo rounded on Emma. "You've already got a boyfriend."

She looked somewhat surprised at his reaction. "Wow," she mumbled quietly. "I didn't expect you to get so fuddy duddy about this."

He just stared. "You were having sex with me, and all the time you had a boyfriend in St. Davids?" He sighed and looked away momentarily before meeting her gaze. "Did you ever plan on telling me, or were you intending on keeping us both? Was I only ever going to be your weekday shag?"

He tried to stand up, only for Emma to grab his arm to stop him. "Ringo..."

He pulled away. "I've got to get to work."

As he headed up the stairs, he heard Emma's voice echoing up to him. "Fine! Have it your way! He's much more fun than you are, anyway!"


PJ felt uneasy as he sat down at the desk in the interview room. It felt wrong, seeing this room from this very different angle. Truth was, he was a little scared. Something about Olsen's demeanour told him that the detective was out for a quick resolution. And, as much as he had buried the hatchet with Monica Draper, he still didn't trust her as far as he could throw her.

Monica sat opposite him, unzipping her jacket as Olsen leant back against the far wall. When he spoke, it was in an almost casual voice, oddly cold in its apathy. "When did you first find out about your wife's abuse?"

He sighed, sitting back a little. He let his gaze drift to Monica. Her expression was something close to reassuring, which surprised him a little. "Several years ago," he replied finally, folding his arms across his chest. "We had a serial killer murdering victims of sexual abuse. Amy was abducted and that was when her ex told me."

"Her ex?" Monica asked, scribbling something on a piece of paper. "That would be Senior Detective Garth Henderson?"

PJ nodded. "Hmm, but don't bother chasing that lead up. He's been dead for more than a year. You ought to remember that."

Monica nodded. Her expression seemed to become reflective, even if only for half a second. Olsen's expression, however, did not change. "How much were you told?"

He hesitated before answering. "Not an awful lot. Garth didn't know much himself. I knew she'd been abused as a kid. Not when, not where, not who. I didn't learn the rest until later."

"How did it make you feel?" Monica asked, leaning forward a little.

He frowned, sorting back through the memories, trying to recall what exactly went through his mind in that instant after Garth had told him. Truth was, he couldn't quite remember. That case had been so testing, so hard, that most of his memories of it ran in together, becoming a little indistinct. Finally, he shrugged. "I don't really remember," he replied quietly. "I mean...sexual abuse is awful, no matter who it is...I just wanted to be there for her. Amy and I were just friends back then. I just wanted to be there to support her however I could."

Monica nodded understandingly, while Olsen shifted his weight against the wall as though trying to get comfortable. "When did you find out that it was her uncle?"

"Not until a month or so later," he replied. He sighed thoughtfully. "Her cousin had been brought in and it kind of set off alarm bells. I worked it out from there." He looked at Olsen before continuing. "And no, that revelation did not make me want to kill him," he pointed out, bitterness underlying his tone. "I've never liked John Maguire, alright. He was a sad, pathetic little man who deluded himself into thinking he was in love with his niece. The world's probably better off without him. But I didn't kill him. I would never do that."


"You're his best mate."

Nick shrugged at Olsen's question. "So?"

Olsen approached the table, remaining standing while Monica sat, pen poised in her hand. "So, Sergeant, I would have thought you'd have a fairly good idea of Senior Detective Hasham's state of mind lately."

He shrugged again. "He's doing fine...considering."

Olsen sighed, becoming increasingly irritable. PJ had been defensive, but Nick was simply uncommunicative. He was lucky to achieve a five word sentence. He leant down over the table so that his face was close to Nick's. "Does the name Vincent Benedict Platt mean anything to you?"

Nick was sure his heart had skipped a beat. Of course he knew the name. He was hardly about to forget the paedophile he had nearly strangled in the cells all those years ago. "Yes, I know it."

"You lost your temper, didn't you?" Olsen asked with a shrug. "Punched him, nearly throttled the bloke to death. I'm sure Inspector Draper here remembers the case too."

Nick looked to Monica. Her head was down and she was peering up at him, studying him silently. He turned back to Olsen. "I had become too emotionally involved in that case," he replied. "I lost my temper. But I stopped."

"Did it happen again?" Olsen asked. "Did you lose your temper with John Maguire, bash his face in?"

He shook his head. "No."

"But you didn't like him, did you? You and Senior Detective Fox are very close, aren't you?"

"So?"

Olsen sighed, drawing himself up to his full height and moving so that he was standing beside Nick. "She must have been very upset when Maguire showed up in town, devastated, even. Her whole world crashing down around her...every bit of her stability crumbling into dust..."

"Shut up." Nick massaged his temple with his hand, trying to keep himself calm. His temper could be very volatile, especially when he was so tired and stressed. He was close to losing it, he could feel it.

"Are you sure you didn't decide to mete out a little justice on her behalf?" Olsen queried. "Didn't decide to eliminate her problem permanently..."

"Shut up!" Nick finally snapped, rising to his feet and towering over Olsen. Monica didn't say anything, just watched silently. "I didn't kill Maguire. I never touched the pathetic excuse for a human being."

"Why should I believe you?" Olsen asked, shrugged nonchalantly.

"I have an alibi. I was at the Imperial Hotel. Check with Chris Riley if you don't believe me."


Ringo was long gone by the time Olsen and Monica arrived at the Imperial. He'd headed into the station and been assigned to crime scene guarding duties, as far as Chris knew. Emma had disappeared upstairs, probably to pack. She hadn't said anything to her, but Chris had the feeling that Emma was smart enough to know that staying on in Mt. Thomas was not an option after this incident.

She was sitting at the bar, downing a glass of scotch when the two officers entered. She recognised Monica almost instantly. The other one she didn't know. "I hope you knew we're closed," she told them, heading behind the bar to put the glass and bottle away.

"Ken Olsen, Homicide Squad," Olsen declared with a flash of his badge. "This is Monica Draper of the Ethical Standards Department. We need to speak to you about a murder that took place sometime during the night."

"John Maguire?" Chris asked, without looking up.

Olsen seemed miffed. "How did you know?"

"Nick Schultz was here when he got the call. Senior Sergeant Jacobs just called another officer in. Doesn't take a genius to join the dots."

"So Sergeant Schultz has been here for the whole night?" Monica clarified, noting something down.

Chris nodded. "He's been in practically every night since he and his wife got back."

"Got back from where?"

"Sydney," she replied. "They were up visiting Nick's parents. Their sons died not long ago."

Monica looked away and made a quiet apology. Olsen, on the other hand, seemed less concerned. "You'd be prepared to make a statement, saying Nick Schultz was here? Be prepared to swear to it in court?"

Chris looked at him pointedly. "Nick Schultz was here. What more can I say?"

Olsen nodded and turned to leave. Monica offered Chris a half-smile. "Thanks for your time. If you think of anything at all, please let us know, okay?"

As they headed for the door, something began nagging at Chris. Before she could stop herself, she was calling them back. "Detective?"

Olsen stopped and turned back to her. "Ms. Riley?"

She hesitated, still not sure what to say. "This may be completely irrelevant, but..."

Olsen interrupted her. "Ms. Riley, typically when someone starts a sentence with 'this may be completely irrelevant', everything that follows is hugely relevant."

She nodded slowly. "The night before last, PJ Hasham was in here with Nick."

Olsen suddenly became interested. "Hasham? Go on."

"I overheard him saying something..." Chris paused and shook her head. "No, it's unimportant..."

"If you don't tell me, Ms. Riley, I will have you charged with obstruction," Olsen warned her. "What did Hasham say?"

"He said...he said that if John Maguire was in front of his car and the brakes failed, it wouldn't be his fault," she finally explained. At this, Olsen smiled, thanked her and left, with Monica Draper in tow. As soon as they were gone, Chris covered her eyes with her hands.

She'd just delivered PJ to them on a platter.


Olsen closed the door behind him as he entered the interview room. PJ was sitting at the table, staring at him in an almost daring kind of way. He was tired and stressed and had lost all patience with this farce. "You cannot seriously think that I killed him," he finally said, his gaze switching between Olsen and Monica as he spoke.

"Why not?" Olsen asked with a shrug. "The man sexually abused your wife. That is a very good motive for murder."

PJ shook his head. "I never touched him."

"Your prints are all over the crime scene," Olsen pointed out.

"I've already explained that..."

Olsen rolled his eyes. "Yes, you've explained that. But you haven't explained the threats you made against John Maguire. In fact, you haven't even mentioned them."

PJ's eyes narrowed in confusion. His gaze flashed to Monica momentarily, silently begging her for answers, before turning back to Olsen. "What...what threats? I never made any threats."

"Really? So you never told Sergeant Schultz that you would willingly commit vehicular homicide if John Maguire ended up in front of your car?"

PJ's face suddenly went blank. He felt winded. It was a few seconds before he could gather himself again. "That was not a serious threat. It was never a serious threat."

Olsen shrugged. "So what was it then?"

He shrugged, shaking his head. "I don't know...just...letting off some steam."

Olsen sighed before sitting down opposite PJ. "I don't know about you, Hasham, but generally when someone's been making threats like that, then someone else turns up dead, I look at the threatener for answers."

"I don't have any," PJ replied. "I didn't kill him."

"You know how he died, Hasham?" Olsen asked. "Someone bashed his skull in. The first blow killed him, but then the murderer decided to follow it up with more of the same. Bashed his face until it was just a bloodied pulp. Who do you think would want to do that?"

PJ shrugged. "Would you like that list alphabetically? The man had a vigilante group camped outside his hotel room. Half the town could have done it."

Olsen shook his head. "No. Maguire's face had been beaten in. Multiple, powerful blows to the face. His murderer didn't just want him dead. His face was obliterated. That means it's personal, that the killer is someone who truly hates him. As far as I can see, there is only one person John Maguire wronged that badly..."

"You leave Amy out of this..." PJ interjected.

"...and that person is married to a man who made threats," Olsen finished, as though he hadn't heard PJ. "He sexually abused her. Now, I don't know about you, but if someone had done that to my wife, I'd be seeing red too. Might contemplate murder myself."

"Alright." PJ finally said, sitting back in his chair. "You want to know the truth? Fine. I didn't like John Maguire. I thought he was a pathetic little man. I'm not sad he's dead and I think that whoever killed him probably did the world a favour. But it wasn't me. I really don't know how I can possibly dumb it down anymore for you. I. Didn't. Do. It." He paused, letting his words sink in.

Olsen thought for a few seconds before shrugging. "Is that all you're prepared to say?"

PJ shrugged. "It's all I can say. And I'm getting really sick of this, so I'm giving you two choices. Either you charge me right now, or you let me go. Because you can't continue to hold me."

"Fine," Olsen replied, glancing briefly to Monica Draper before rising to his feet. "Patrick Joseph Hasham, I am charging you with the murder of John Edward Maguire. Is there anything you would like to say in response to this charge?"

PJ drew in a deep breath. It wasn't the first time he'd been on the receiving end of a murder charge, but it was the first time he was terrified that it would stick. Truth was, in Olsen's shoes, he'd be suspecting himself. Finally, he sighed. "I want to see my wife."


PJ was in Mark's office by the time Amy saw him again, ushered in by Monica Draper. Her eyes immediately drifted down to the handcuffs around his wrists. Panic rushed through her. Now she understood why Monica had behaved so oddly when telling her she could see him.

"You can leave the room, you know," PJ reassured Monica. "She's not going to help me escape."

Nodding, Monica slipped away silently. Still, Amy didn't have to look to know that they were being watched through the windows to Mark's office.

She stood, for a moment unable to speak. She was too scared she'd break down into tears. Finally, she raised her head and met PJ's eyes. "They've charged you?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded as he stepped uneasily towards her, raising his cuffed hands to brush at her cheek gently. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. "Olsen is having me remanded at St. Davids and Monica has had me suspended pending dismissal if I'm convicted."

Amy shook her head. "It can't get that far, surely," she protested. "You didn't do it, you're innocent. The charges can't stick."

PJ remained silent for a moment before shrugging. "Put yourself in their shoes. What would you be thinking?" Seeing the tears beginning to form in her eyes, he cupped her cheek in his hand and offered her a tender smile. It was a forced smile, but it was the best he could do. It all he could do to try to make her feel better. "It'll be okay," he told her softly. "You and me, we'll make it through this."

She stared at him, desperately trying to make herself trust in PJ's words. She knew what he was trying to do, and knew that it wasn't working. "I don't believe you," she replied in a shaky whisper.

He wanted to say something, anything to take Amy's pain away, but nothing came to mind. In the end, he pressed his lips gently against hers, letting the action speak for itself. They remained locked together until the door opened and Olsen appeared.

"Time to go," he told them.

PJ broke away from Amy, his heart breaking as he watched the tears roll silently down her cheeks. He brushed them away with the back of his hand before smiling at her once more. "I love you," he said, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear before pulling his hand away.

She forced a smile through her tears. "I love you too, Peej," she whispered. She kept her sobs silent until Olsen led PJ away into the muster room. Then, she covered her face with her hands, sinking into the swivel chair opposite Mark's desk.

The other officers were waiting for PJ in the muster room. They didn't speak, seemingly lost for words. It was only Nick who stepped forward, grabbing PJ's arm as he pulled him aside. "They won't make it stick, mate," he vowed. "Not if I have anything to do with it."

PJ didn't respond to Nick's comment. Instead, he nodded back to Mark's office as little tears brimmed in his eyes. "Look after Amy for me," he told him, looking up to meet Nick's gaze. "Just...look after her. Please."

Nick nodded. "Of course," he promised.

With that, Olsen grabbed PJ's shoulder and led him out of the station, with Monica following closely behind, still holding PJ's badge in her hand.


Nick stood alone in the mess room, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. He'd left the muster room as soon as he could. It was too much for him to deal with, listening to the others debate whether or not PJ had really crossed the line. He was barely in one piece as it was.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't hear Amy enter, or even realise that she was there until she reached across his line of sight to get her mug. "You okay, Foxtrot?" he asked, without thinking.

She rounded on him, looking completely exasperated. "Why does everyone have to keep asking me if I'm okay?" she demanded hotly. She glared at Nick for a moment, before the hurt expression on his face told her what she'd done. She pressed her fingers to her temples, massaging them furiously. "Sorry," she apologised quietly. "It's just...everyone keeps asking how I am and..." She trailed off, shrugging, completely lost for words.

He nodded in understanding. He held up the coffee tin. "You want a coffee?"

She nodded, slumping back against the bench. "I'd kill for a coffee," she replied. She played with her hair absentmindedly as she watched Nick heap spoonfuls into her mug. "PJ didn't kill him," she whispered, causing Nick to meet her gaze. "I know he didn't. No one else believes him."

"I do," Nick reassured her. "I know PJ had nothing to do with it. Patrick might be a stupid bloody idiot sometimes, but he wouldn't do this. Certainly not this."

Amy seemed relieved at this. She began biting her lip absentmindedly. "I just wish that Homicide and ESD knew that too."

"Make them." Nick answered simply. She looked to him in confusion and he elaborated. "Find the evidence, find the real killer..."

She smiled. "Would you help me?"

He nodded as he handed her the cup of coffee. "It would be a pleasure."


Mark sat alone at the desk, staring vacantly through the glass separating his side of the room from the other. He was at the remand centre, waiting for someone to bring PJ to him. He'd had to speak to him. He knew Amy had tried and failed to get through. She'd disappeared from the station just before he'd left, dragging Nick Schultz behind her. He had gotten the distinct impression that she was going to run her own investigation.

Finally, the door opened and PJ appeared, smiling weakly at him as he sat down opposite. "Hi, Boss."

"How are you holding up?" Mark asked, eyeing PJ worriedly. Truth was, he was concerned. A copper amongst criminals – never a good omen.

PJ shrugged. "Well, it could be worse," he commented.

"I tried to convince Olsen that having you remanded was pointless," Mark explained. "Monica agreed with me, said that bailing you was the better option. But he wouldn't listen. I think he's worried you'd do a runner."

PJ laughed weakly. "It's probably my best option at the moment," he pointed out. "Just about any jury would convict on Olsen's evidence."

"Just in case this does get to court..." Mark looked down and began digging through the pockets of his jacket. He finally pulled out a yellow post-it note with a name and phone number written on it. "...here's a lawyer you might want to get in touch with."

Reading the name, PJ let out a low whistle. "Only the best, eh?" he asked with a smile. "Hopefully his abilities are in proportion to his fees."

"He'll take the case pro bono," Mark assured him. "We were at school together. He still owes me a couple of favours. He's very good. If anyone can get you off, he can."

PJ nodded slowly, the smile fading from his face. He pulled a white envelope out of his pocket and set it down on the desk. "I wrote a letter for Amy," he explained. I want you to give it to her."

"You could give it to her yourself," Mark told him pointedly. "You should let her come."

PJ shook his head firmly. "No," he declared. "Give it to her. Please."

Mark went to argue further, only to change his mind. He nodded as PJ slipped the envelope under the glass barrier. "I'll make sure she gets it," he promised. He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "She and Nick are out there, I imagine they are trying to find evidence to clear you."

PJ smiled weakly. He wanted to say something to take that troubled look off Mark's face, but words failed him. He could only hope Amy and Nick could find the evidence to clear his name.


Amy drew in a deep breath to steady herself as she entered the motel room. It seemed to smell worse than before, with the stench of blood still lingering in the air. The image of John's body returned to her sharply. "Alright, Nick," she said, combing her fringe back from her face as she headed further inside. "You know the drill. We need something that might indicate who killed John Maguire."

Nick nodded as he headed into the kitchenette. He opened the cupboards, digging around inside. Not that there was much to dig around in.

Sighing, Amy padded down the hallway to the bedroom. Almost instantly, her autopilot kicked in and she began searching. She crouched down to look under the bed and, noticing something square and white, grabbed it. Kneeling, she turned it over in her hand.

"Nick!" she called, standing up slowly.

"Foxtrot?" he called back. "Where are you?"

"In here."

Nick appeared in the doorway, arms folded. "You find something?"

Amy held the object out to him. "It was under the bed."

Nick's eyes widened. It was a photograph of Amy from her wedding day.


"How the hell Homicide, ESD, Crime Scene, Forensics and everyone else missed that is totally beyond me…" Amy lamented, studying the photograph while Nick pulled his seatbelt on.

"Their incompetence is beside the point," he reminded her. "That, if anything, actually strengthens their case against PJ. It might be construed that it fell out of PJ's pocket while he was killing him."

She looked at him pointedly. "PJ doesn't carry a photo in his pocket. He has one in his wallet, he has one on his key ring, but not in his pocket."

Nick shrugged. "We could dust it for prints," he suggested. "But unless he's a copper or a crim, we'd have to fingerprint the entire population to work out who the killer is." He looked to her thoughtfully. "Who would have a wedding photo?"

Amy frowned. "A lot of people," she replied. "The wedding was hardly a secret. Just about anybody could get their hands on a photo if they wanted."

"It'd have to be someone who knew you," Nick mused. "The attack on his face means it's personal, the photo confirms it. Who else knows about the abuse?"

She forced a smile. "Aside from the whole town?" she asked, before sighing and becoming more serious. "Well, Tom Croydon, Susie Raynor and Garth Henderson all knew, but they didn't do it for obvious reasons…I told Kelly, but I didn't go into specifics…" Her brow furrowed. "There's Dash, Pat, my cousin, Bill Lapscott…"

Nick's eyes widened. "The name sounds familiar. Who's he?"

"A psychologist," Amy replied. "I met him while we were investigating a series of killings…"

Nick remembered now, listening as PJ had sat with him in the mine shaft, talking about how he had sought professional counselling at long last. "You had some sessions with Lapscott?"

She shrugged. "A couple. Then, it got way too complicated and he referred me on."

"Complicated how?"

Amy sighed. She remained silent for a moment before finally meeting Nick's curious eyes. "We'd…dated before I started seeing him about the abuse."

Nick suddenly looked more interested. "Dated?"

"Once," she replied curtly. When Nick seemed unsatisfied, she continued. "We spend half the night sitting in the public bar of the Imperial Hotel, talking about the case, before Chris kicked us out when she wanted to go to bed. That's it. We did nothing."

"Was he happy to leave it at that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. He was even happy for me that I'd decided to seek counselling." She sighed thoughtfully. "For the first time in my life, I felt completely and totally understood. But it could never have gone anywhere. Probably wouldn't have. At that point in my life, I needed a psychologist more than a love interest."

Nick frowned. "If you two were close…" he mused.

She turned to him sharply. "What are you trying to say, Nick?"

One look in his eyes said it all. Nick had found his suspect.


"Do you want to know just how completely ludicrous this whole idea is?" Amy demanded, glaring at Nick as he drove. They were headed for Bill Lapscott's clinic, in spite of her protests of Bill's innocence. "He's a psychologist, he works with victims of sexual abuse for a living. I'm sure even we would have worked it out by now if he started bumping the abusers off."

Nick pulled the car to a stop. "But you weren't just a patient, were you?" he reminded her. "He was interested enough to have dinner with you. Maybe he would have liked to see that go further and, when it couldn't, figured that killing your uncle was the best way he could help you."

She looked to him doubtfully. "I haven't even seen him in years, Nick," she pointed out.

Nick shrugged as he undid his seatbelt. He said nothing as he climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. Sighing in frustration, Amy followed him.

It took a few rings of the doorbell before Bill appeared; wearing what appeared to be that day's clothes, albeit very crumpled. Amy couldn't help a smile at the sight of him. He smiled back, recognising her instantly. "Senior Detective Fox," he said fondly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You always sleep at your clinic?" Nick asked.

Bill shrugged. "I'd been writing up some notes. By the time I was finished, I was too tired to drive home. I didn't realise being a workaholic was a crime."

Nick waved the photo at him. "That yours?"

He studied it, before shaking his head. "No."

"Did you know John Maguire was back in Mt. Thomas?" Nick asked.

Bill sighed, meeting Amy's gaze momentarily before nodding. "I did hear about that, yes. It became something of a talking point in one of my sessions." He looked to Nick coolly. "But I didn't kill him, if that is what you're trying to get at."

Nick frowned. "How did you know he'd been murdered?"

He shrugged. "Police showing up on my doorstep in the middle of the night, the general atmosphere in this town lately…the news story on the radio…"

Amy groaned inwardly. It seemed Tony Timms would get an even better story now.

"Where have you been during the last few hours?" Nick asked.

Bill folded his arms and sighed. "I don't have an alibi, Sergeant. I've been writing notes. I don't tend to do that in front of an audience."

Nick shrugged. "Can we see them?"

He shrugged back. "Can I see a warrant?" He paused, looking to Amy curiously. "Why is it you two, anyway? Shouldn't someone from Homicide be grilling me?"

Amy looked away, folding her arms against her chest and sighing, clearly irritated.

Bill rounded on Nick. "Are you going on anything more than a hunch, Sergeant?" At Nick's silence, he nodded, understanding. "In which case, I'm asking you to leave. Come back if you find something more solid than your insubstantial guesswork."

With that, Bill closed the door. Nick fumed silently as he stormed back to the car, while Amy found herself staring thoughtfully at the closed door for a moment before following after him.


Mark was staring at the envelope PJ had given him when Nick and Amy returned. He stuffed it in his pocket and went out into the muster room to meet them. "Did you find anything?"

Nick offered Mark the evidence bag containing the photograph. "It was at the crime scene," he explained.

Mark turned it over in his hand, frowning. "Is it PJ's?"

"No," Amy replied, not giving Nick a chance to answer. "It'd belong to the killer."

"We'll get it dusted," Nick added, sitting it on his desk, "but don't hold your breath."

Mark said nothing. He dug into his pocket and offered the envelope to Amy. She stared at it in confusion for a moment before taking it. "I went to visit PJ," he explained. "He told me to give that to you."

Amy nodded in understanding and thanked Mark. He headed back to his office and she began tearing at it.

"Lapscott was frosty, wasn't he?" Nick mused, sitting back in his swivel chair.

"Well, you were accusing him of murder," Amy reminded him as she unfolded PJ's letter. "Not everyone responds politely to that."

Nick sighed. "I suppose he is a psychologist," he admitted with a shrug. "He's used to getting inside peoples' heads." Amy didn't respond. She was staring at the letter, wide-eyed. "Foxtrot? You right there?"

Again, she remained silent. Nick gently pried the letter from her hands and immediately knew what the problem was.

"Amez..."

She didn't look up. "He said that he wants me to leave him if the trial goes badly," she explained. She tried to continue, but words failed her.

Nick tried to say something to reassure her, but it was too late. Amy was gone.

At a time when she felt so alone and frightened, it was all she could do to head for one other person besides PJ who had ever made her feel completely understood, comfortable and, above all, safe.


Bill Lapscott had scarcely dozed off again on the couch at his clinic when the doorbell rang. Groaning, he climbed up to answer the door. His eyes widened as he recognised the woman standing on the doorstep, her hair windblown and her eyes red. "Amy?"

"Can I come in?"

He nodded, stepping aside and ushering her in. "Of course," he replied, closing the door behind her. He led her through to his couch and motioned for her to sit down beside him. "What's wrong?"

She looked to him for a moment before sighing dimly. "Everything," she answered. "Homicide and ESD think PJ killed my uncle."

Bill initially looked surprised, before understanding and realisation spread across his face. "That would explain Sergeant Schultz's determination to charge me, then," he mused. "I suppose as far as suspects go, I must look pretty good." He frowned thoughtfully. "But if PJ's innocent, surely they can't have any evidence?"

"They have plenty," she replied angrily. "Most of it's circumstantial, but it's enough for them to charge him and have him remanded and would be enough to convince a jury." She dug through her jacket pocket until she found the photograph. "Nick and I tried to find some evidence to clear him and we found this. Nick thought it might have been yours, I think he still believes you might have been lying."

"What you do believe?"

Amy stuffed the photo away and shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is that the photo isn't PJ's and that PJ didn't do it. And now PJ's asked me to divorce him if the trial doesn't go our way." She looked away; unable to bear the expression on Bill's face a second longer. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, catching a glimpse of his soft, concerned expression through her dark curtain of hair. It was that same caring expression that had first encouraged her to open up to him nearly five years ago. Suddenly, the words tumbled out before she could coordinate herself to stop them. "I just...don't feel like I'm entirely solid..."

Bill nodded thoughtfully. "With everything that has been going on lately, that is an understandable feeling."

She stared at him, swallowing hard as she continued. "It's like...I'm losing my grip on everything and the harder I try to hold on, the faster it's slipping out of my hands..."

He remained silent for a moment, contemplating Amy's words.

She finally looked away, shaking her head in disbelief at herself. "I'm sorry, Bill," she apologised quietly. "I'll...I'll go..."

Without thinking, he grabbed her wrist as she got up to leave. She looked down at him in surprise. "How long has it been since you've seen somebody?" he asked, meeting her gaze.

"Seen somebody?" she asked dumbly.

"A psychologist, a counsellor...at this point, I'd almost settle for Lucy van Pelt with her psychiatrist's booth," Bill replied. Amy remained silent and it spoke more than words could have. "You're trying to cope with so much. You're holding it in, trying to deal with it all on your own..."

She shook her head. "I'm fine," she said, but even she knew she was lying. The response had been too quick out of her mouth, too automatic, too uncertain.

"Amy..." Bill began, gently sitting her down once again, "no one can be expected to cope on their own, and especially not with everything you've had to cope with. The abuse, the attack, your friend's son drowning...you don't just get over those things and you'd be a fool to think you can."

Amy met his gaze for a moment before shrugging and looking away.

He thought for a moment before continuing. "Everyone has a weight that they carry around with them. Something from their past, a part of themselves that they don't necessarily like, responsibilities that they may or may not have imagined for themselves...at the moment, you're trying to carry them all, and it's becoming a very heavy burden." Amy stared at him silently as he gently squeezed her hand. "But everyone can choose to unburden themselves, even if only temporarily. You can choose to set that weight down, and that is when you see the way things really are."

She sighed as she bit her lip. "I just...don't quite know what to do...how to let go..."

"You don't have to take responsibility for everything," he reassured her. "And you certainly do not have to cope with everything on your own or blame yourself for things beyond your control."

She nodded slowly. "I feel so alone sometimes, Bill," she admitted finally. "All these years...I've been preaching about being grateful for surviving and just moving on and suddenly...it's all just stopped working. I don't quite know what to do."

"What about PJ?" Bill asked. Amy remained silent. He sighed. "I think what you're getting at is that you haven't been confiding in PJ as much lately. You miss that."

She shrugged sadly. "It's just that there's been so much going on...I just don't know if I can burden him with that as well..."

He paused before he continued speaking. "Amy, you know about my history. Before I became I psychologist, part of my job was marrying people. I still remember the vows. Right now, you're denying PJ the privilege of living up to them."

She remained silent for a moment before looking to him with tears in her eyes. "I love him. I love him in a way I never imagined I could ever love anyone. And now he's in prison and talking about divorce. And then I think back to Christmas, before everything went wrong, back when we were all happy and...it just hurts."

Bill simply shrugged. "Let him in," he told her. "He loves you."

She nodded again and Bill decided to change the subject.

"On what grounds have they charged PJ?" Bill asked, shuffling on the couch a little to give Amy some space.

"His prints are on the murder weapon," she explained, "he...picked it up without thinking when he arrived on the scene. He was found standing over the body...he made a stupid threat when he thought no one was listening...John's face was bashed in so they think it was personal..."

Bill made a funny sound that caught Amy's attention and caused her to meet his gaze. "He's right," he mused. "Homicide's theory is right; they've just used it to reach the wrong conclusion." At Amy's silence, he continued. "The face is the symbol of our identity. The fact that it was completely obliterated indicates a deep hatred, a very personal motive. Not PJ, of course, but it is likely someone else who knows you and know about your abuse."

She began biting her bottom lip thoughtfully. "So it is about me."


Chris was standing behind the bar when Mark entered. A few patrons had started to trickle in. Not many, but a few. Evidently most of the vigilante mob had decided to disband following John Maguire's death.

He met Chris' gaze and smiled, motioned for her to follow him into the Parlour. She closed the door behind her, having no sooner done that when Mark pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips hard against hers. He had been craving her, the touch of her skin, the feel of her fiery red ringlets, the sound of her voice.

She kissed him back momentarily before breaking away. "Do you think this is such a good idea?" she asked. "Someone is going to see..."

He nodded. "I think it is a brilliant idea," he replied. "It has been hell, Chris."

She nodded in agreement, running her hands along his forearms. She felt guilty, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. She'd handed PJ to Homicide on a platter...

"What's wrong?" he asked, cupping her chin in his hand.

She pulled away. "It's my fault," she replied. "I was the one who told that Olsen character about the threat PJ made." Mark looked confused, so she continued. "PJ was here, with Nick. He made some stupid comment about it not being his fault if Maguire was in front of his car and his breaks failed...and stupid me told that cocky Homicide bastard!" She shook her head in disbelief at her own actions. "I must have temporarily gone mad...I mean, I don't think he did it. I don't think PJ's got it in him to kill someone like that...I should've just kept my mouth shut..."

Mark shook his head as he ran his hand along her cheekbone. "For what it's worth, I think you did the right thing," he told her.

"By dropping PJ in it?"

"They'd have found out sooner or later. They always do. PJ would have been a natural suspect from the get-go. Even without a threat, he was likely to end up arrested. If the threat had been found out and neither you nor Nick had come forward, the pair of you probably would have ended up facing claims of covering up," he pointed out.

She just stared at him. "And what about PJ?" she asked. "What do we do about him? Is there any way we can get him out on bail or clear him or something?"

"Amy and Nick are working on clearing him," Mark explained. "Between their determination, skills and backgrounds in Homicide, if anyone can clear PJ, it's those two. As for bail...Olsen believes he may be a flight risk."

"That's pathetic!" Chris exclaimed.

"I know, I know, and Monica Draper did agree with me, but Olsen managed to veto us both." Mark sighed. He opened his mouth to say something else, when a knock sounded on the Parlour door. It was one of Chris' barmen, wanting her to come out to handle someone wanting to rent a room. "I better let you get back to it," he told her.

Chris smiled weakly. As soon as the barman had left, she kissed his lips tenderly, before letting her hands linger on his cheeks. "Tell me as soon as anything happens," she instructed.

Mark nodded and slipped away. Chris remained in the Parlour for a few seconds, too drained emotionally to want to return to the public bar, before heading out herself, only to find herself confronted with a curly-haired stranger.

Yet, he didn't appear all that strange at all. His eyes seemed startlingly familiar, a find of shade of hazel that leant more towards an emerald green. A mop of curly brown hair covered most of the lines on his face, making him seem somewhat younger than the mid-thirties age range Chris placed in him.

"Chris Riley?" he asked, offering his hand. She took it, surprised by its strength.

"Yes?" she replied, still somewhat dazed from the events of the last few days, and still busy trying to work out just who this man reminded her of.

"I was wondering if I could rent a room. I'm not quite sure how long I'll be staying, a few days at least..."

She nodded, grabbing the book from her office. "Sure...could I just grab a name?"

He laughed. "Of course," he replied. "It's Damian Maguire."


The envelope seemed a heavy weight in Nick's pocket while he waited for PJ to emerge. When he finally did, he found his anger briefly tempered by concern. At least one criminal had decided to take advantage of a police officer in prison, leaving PJ with a rather nasty black right eye and a bruise on the back of his head.

PJ forced a smile in spite of himself as he sat down on his side of the glass. "Hi, Nick."

Nick couldn't bring himself to respond in kind. "If we weren't separated by glass, I'd have a right mind to punch your face off, Patrick." He paused, reconsidering his comment. "Although it looks as though someone has already had a go at that."

He looked confused. "I don't understand..."

Nick pulled the letter out of his pocket and sat it down on the table in front of him. By the expression on PJ's face, he'd recognised it instantly. "What on earth were you thinking, getting the Boss to deliver that to Amy? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"What are you doing with that?" PJ asked, his voice deadpan.

"Funnily enough, your wife didn't put up too much of a fight for it after she found out that you want a divorce if the trial goes belly-up," he pointed out. "And by the way, did I thank you for completely upsetting her? She took off; I don't know where she went. She's not answering her mobile."

PJ buried his face in his hand. "I didn't mean to hurt her, Nick."

Nick stared at him for a moment. "Really? I can't imagine what you thought this was going to achieve."

PJ slowly lowered his hand before sitting back and sighing despondently. "You really want to know what my chances are, Nick?" he asked. "They are bad. Really, really bad. You don't have to be a lawyer to know that any jury will convict me based on this evidence. Mark recommended a lawyer, a really good one. I mean best of the best. I had a meeting with him, we went over the case." PJ leant in closer as Nick's anger began to dissolve a slightly. "You want to know what advice he gave me? Plead guilty, spin the judge a sob story, look remorseful and hopefully I'll be out before I'm seventy."

Nick couldn't keep the horror out of his face. He knew PJ could see it. "Mate..."

"Best case scenario," PJ continued, "I might get a non-parole period of ten years, maybe a bit less depending on whether or not I can get a bleeding heart judge on the day." He paused, the tears welling up in his eyes making it too difficult for him to continue speaking. "What sort of a life is that for Amy? Married to a man in prison, running her life around visiting hours...not to mention what it would do to her career, being married to a convicted murderer. By the time I'd be even a semi-free man again, I'd probably be in my sixties. She'd be in her forties, at least. I am not letting her waste those years of her life."

Nick just shook his head. "But surely that would be Amy's choice to make..."

PJ shook his head in reply as tears ran down his cheeks and he became choked up by sobs. "No," he answered. He paused for a moment. "You know, I never thought I'd ever love anyone the way I loved Maggie, but then I started loving Amy...Nick...what you have to understand is that I love her far too much to let her throw away her life for me." He drew in a deep breath to steady himself and his conviction. "And if that means hurting us both in the short term to protect her long-term happiness, then I will do it."

As PJ got up to go, Nick jumped up. "We won't let it get that far, mate," he vowed. "There is evidence out there and we will find it."

PJ didn't respond to Nick's words. Instead he simply forced a smile. "Just look after her for me, please," he begged, before letting himself be led away by a guard.


Nick was sitting in the public bar of the Imperial Hotel when Amy suddenly entered. He stared at her, for a moment unable to speak.

"Hey, Nick," she finally offered, pulling up a chair opposite him at the table. "Sorry for taking off like that."

"Where were you?"

She forced a smile. "Bill Lapscott's." As Nick pulled a face, she elaborated. "He didn't do it. He did, however, give me some ideas."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"He thinks Olsen had it right when he said that the attack on John's face means the face was personal," she explained. "The face is our identity. Its destruction indicates deep hatred. Besides, it's got to be personal if you're going to risk hanging around long enough after killing someone to do that to them."

He thought for a moment before shrugging. "So who do you think did it, if not Bill?"

"Well, it's got to be someone who knows about the abuse," she replied.

"I thought we went over this," Nick pointed out. "We decided none of them could have done it."

She frowned, biting her bottom lip absentmindedly. "Maybe it was one of the vigilante mob..."

Her train of thought was distracted as Chris emerged from upstairs. Her face lit up as she saw Amy. "You'll never guess who's staying here."

Amy frowned. "Who?"

"Your cousin," Chris replied.

"Brendan?" Amy asked, confused. "I thought he was still in Perth."

Chris shook her head. "No, not Brendan. Damian. He checked in earlier. I think he's in the dining room if you want to see him." She waved a hand in that general direction. "He was a little shaken by the news about his father's death, but he seems keen to see you."

Chris lingered for a moment, waiting to see if Amy replied. When Amy instead remained silent, she forced a smile and slipped away.

Nick sat back, raising an eyebrow. "How long has it been since you've seen Damian?" he asked as he recognised the stunned expression on Amy's face.

"Years," she replied. "Not since...not since I was sixteen." As she spoke, she turned around and craned her neck to get a look at him. She recognised him almost instantly, with his mop of dark curls and hazel-green eyes. But even as she saw him, something sounded in the back of her mind. PJ recalling his efforts to find whoever had fed Comp and Richo the information, Mister Average...

Nick waved a hand in front of her face. "Foxtrot? You in there?"

She nodded, but didn't look away from Damian. "It's him."

"What?"

"Damian. He did it. He's the one who one killed John. I know it."

Nick went to reply, but didn't get the chance because Damian had left the dining room and was approaching them. He beamed at the sight of Amy. "Amy? Amy Fox? I thought that was you."

She feigned a smile. "Damian."

He looked as though he was about to hug her, only to change his mind and offer her a handshake instead. "Wow..." he laughed, running a hand back through his curls. "How long has it been...eighteen years?"

She looked to Nick briefly. He was sitting back, grinning stupidly. She cursed him silently. He wasn't helping. "Yeah, something like that," she replied as she looked back to her cousin.

He grabbed a chair from a nearby table and dragged it over to join Amy and Nick. "So who's this?" he asked, nodding as Nick. "Did I get your name wrong earlier? Should it be Amy..." he paused as he read Nick's name badge. "Schultz?"

Nick blushed bright red and downed his glass of water. Amy looked to him before turning back to Damian. "No, no," she answered. "This is Nick Schultz; he's a friend of mine. I am married, but to someone else." She didn't go into any further detail. There was no point in revealing her entire hand to Damian.

"So...Brendan told me you'd joined the coppers," Damian said. "You're a detective, right?"

She nodded. "You talk to Brendan much?"

He shook his head. "Not really," he replied. "We fell out a while ago. We were always a bit like chalk and cheese when we were kids, you and Mum were the only two who could keep the peace between us. After you left and Mum died...let's just say I wasn't too far behind you in getting out of there."

Amy had to bite her tongue to stop herself from saying too much. Meanwhile, her mind was ticking over. If Damian was in contact with Brendan, he had a source of wedding photos...

"What do you do for a crust?" Nick asked, kicking Amy under the table to snap her back to reality.

"I've got a little restaurant in Melbourne," he responded. "Nothing fancy, but I like it."

Amy nodded. "Are you married, or..."

He laughed weakly. "I was. Twice. Both train wrecks. No kids." He shrugged the topic off. "We have to catch up sometime. I'll shout you and the Sergeant here if you'd like..."

Amy shook her head as she jumped to her feet, kicking Nick hard under the table so that he would do the same thing. "Ah, we've actually got some stuff we've got to do at work, so..." she gestured vaguely.

Damian looked disappointed, but nodded understandingly all the same. "Some other time, then."

"Yeah, maybe," she replied, feigning a smile. But she couldn't quite keep the awkwardness from her face as she turned on her heel and dragged Nick out of the Imperial.


Nick leant back against the bonnet of the CI car, Amy beside him. They had headed back to the station, but hadn't yet gone back inside. Neither of them were really ready to face the others yet. Mark would have too many questions about the letter, Dash and Ringo would have too many questions about the case.

"What makes you think it's Damian?" Nick asked with a shrug. "He might have just heard you were here and that his father was dead and decided to come visit."

Amy began biting her bottom lip. "He fits the evidence, Nick," she replied. "He fits the description of the man who fed Compo and Richo the story."

"Mister Average?" Nick queried, eyebrow raised. "You'd have to do better than that, Foxtrot."

She sighed. "I think he assaulted John, too." At Nick's bewildered stare, she continued. "He sustained injuries to the front of his head. He wasn't attacked from behind. He had no excuse for not having at least a vague idea of who hit him. What if it wasn't about trying to keep the peace? What if he was protecting his son?"

Nick's expression became thoughtful. "I suppose that would explain why he was so desperate to not press charges," he mused. "After all, he'd probably feel partly responsible for Damian's actions."

She nodded slowly. "He admitted himself that he's been talking to Brendan," she pointed out. "He could have easily told him all about the abuse. Brendan may have even sent him wedding photos."

Nick frowned. "But he didn't know you were married," he reminded her. "He even thought you might have been married to me."

"Means nothing," she replied. She met Nick's gaze and upon seeing his doubtful stare, continued. "You think I want it to be Damian? We were close when we were kids. He's only a year old than I am, we had similar interests...I loved him. When Sally threw me out, he was the only one I really missed. But..." she paused as silent tears began to appear. "He's the only suspect we've got. Like it or not, we've got evidence pointing towards him. We have to investigate him."

He stared at her for a moment before nodding. "So where do you want me to start?"

She drew in a deep breath to steady herself. "He's only surfaced publicly now, but if I'm right, he's been lying low in town for a few days. We need to check out all the hotels, motels, pubs, whatever. Not just in Mt. Thomas either – we'll need to check St. Davids and Widgeree too."

Nick nodded. "I'll get started."


Ringo stared at his mobile, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to pick it up. He hadn't heard from Emma, didn't know whether he wanted to call her or not. She had done such a heel face turn on him, it was hard to believe that she was really the same girl he had so happily flirted with and jumped into bed with.

He finally sighed and stuffed his mobile back in his pocket. He'd deal with it later.


Amy stood alone in the mess room, staring into the depths of her coffee. Her mind had drifted away, becoming little more than a whir of thoughts and memories and fears and hopes. She didn't know what it was she wanted Nick to find. She already knew what he'd eventually discover, but she just didn't know if she wanted it confirmed or not.

Nick invited himself inside and offered her a half-smile. "You planning on drinking that coffee or divining the future?" he asked.

She pulled a face. "So did you find anything?"

He leant against the bench beside her. "Well, I drew a blank with all the likely places in Mt. Thomas. Same with St. Davids. I tried the Bushranger Hotel out at Widgeree and the owner didn't recognise the name, but he did identify Damian once I waved a photo in front of his face. He checked in five days ago under the name of Jack Bennett."

She smiled weakly. "A nice, non-descript name to use when you're up to no good," she mused. "Did you get anywhere at the Steam Packet?"

He nodded. "They didn't recognise Damian's name, but they did recognise the alias and the photo. I also had a word or two with Compo and Richo. They weren't too keen to talk at first, but they eventually caved and said that they think it was the man in the photo."

Her smile faded as she turned away. She sat the coffee down and braced herself on the bench of the mess room. The world felt as though it were spinning and she wanted it to slow down. She had been right. She had known she had been right. But to have concrete evidence...

"This doesn't necessarily mean anything," Nick reminded her. "Just because he's been around for a little while..."

"...using a fake name," she pointed out.

He didn't seem to have heard her. "...and fed Compo and Richo the info. Doesn't mean he had anything to do with the killing. In fact, on what we've got, it doesn't mean he had anything to do with it at all."

She stared at him. "If not him, then who?" she asked. "And don't say Bill Lapscott."

He shrugged and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Look, I'm prepared to accept Lapscott had nothing to do with it. Maybe it was one of the lynch mob."

She turned to him and shook her head thoughtfully. "The lynch mob would have been more likely to have just shot him or whacked him over the head and left him there. This is personal. That doesn't exactly leave us with a long list."

Nick sighed, before nodding. "Okay," he finally conceded. "I've got an idea."


Amy opened the door to the Parlour and knocked quietly. Damian looked up from where he was sitting in one of the lounge chairs, flipping through a copy of the Gazette. He grinned as he tossed the paper down. "Hey, Amez," he said. "Can you believe that load of garbage passes as journalism? You familiar with that Tony Timms' tripe?"

She chuckled in spite of herself. "We've had more than our fair share of run-ins over the years, believe me," she replied. She paused before continuing. "So, um...I gather you've heard about your father..."

Damian looked away as he nodded. "Yeah..." He let his gaze meet hers. "It was a bit hard to not find out."

She nodded. "I suppose so," she admitted. She paused, an awkward silence falling between them. "I suppose you'd also know what he did to me when we were teenagers."

He pressed his lips together and nodded, running his fingers through his hair. "Yeah," he finally answered. "Yeah. Even Brendan couldn't sit on that one." He frowned a little as he looked at her. "I'm sorry for what he did to you. And for Mum. You deserved better."

Amy couldn't help but agree with him. "Yeah, I did." She left her post by the door and sat down opposite him. "So you've been talking to Brendan?"

He nodded. "Yeah, like I said yesterday, we sort of keep in touch. Email, Facebook – for what that technophile can use of it – that sort of thing. He didn't tell me who you married, though, so spill..."

Amy frowned. "I thought he didn't tell you I was married at all."

Damian looked a little taken aback. "Did it sound like I was saying anything different?" he asked. "Because I didn't mean anything different..."

She dug into her coat pocket and pulled out the photo. "Recognise this?"

For half a second, she was sure she saw something flash through his face. But it was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. He took the photograph from her and shook his head. "Nup, but may I say, sis, that you make a stunning bride? Man, I wish I could have been there." He held the photo back out to her. "What's with the whole Sherlock Holmes routine, anyway? What have I done?"

"Fed two of the biggest gossips in town my life story, bashed your father, brutally killed him, disfigured his body and willingly let my husband take the blame." Amy replied, rising to her feet. "How's that for starters?"

He shook his head. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, waving his hands, "what the hell..."

"I spoke to Brendan," Amy continued. "He confirmed your story about your falling out and you running away from home. But he's told you more than you've said he has. In fact, he – or, more to the point, Chloe – emailed you a full collection of wedding photos." She waved the photograph at him. "Including this one."

Damian stared at her blankly. Finally, he shrugged. "Okay, okay, I lied," he admitted. "But Amez..."

She sat the photo on the coffee table and folded her arms. "We found that at the crime scene. We can apply for a warrant to get your prints. If we find yours anywhere on it, you're gone."

"This proves nothing!" Damian pleaded. "Nothing!"

She shrugged. "You're not satisfied with that?" she asked. "Fine. John Maguire was assaulted at the Mt. Thomas Motor Inn earlier. Despite sustaining injuries to the front of his head, he insisted that he had not seen his assailant."

He stared at her. "So what?"

"I'd say he was protecting his attacker. About the only person he'd have any reason to want to protect is you."

Damian shook his head. "I only got to town today!" he reminded her. "How could I have done any of this?"

Amy drew in a breath to steady herself. "Except you've been here for five days." At Damian's blank stare, she continued. "You checked into the Bushranger Hotel at Widgeree under the name Jack Bennett five days ago. The owner I.D.'d your photo. You were also identified at the Steampacket Hotel in Mt. Thomas, which is where you so considerately told everybody my life story. Thanks for that, by the way."

He shrugged. "Maybe there's just someone who looks..."

"...just like you, and knows everything about me and has a grudge against your father?" She stared at him. "You were always better at maths than I was, but even I know that the probability of that isn't very good." She sighed as silent tears, a mixture of exhaustion and devastation, filled her eyes. "I just want to know why, Damian. Why would you do all this?"

He stared at her. All the confidence that had been oozing from him earlier had disappeared, leaving this shell of a man. He looked very lost and frightened. Amy could understand why. You hardly got a slap on the wrist for murder.

"Do you...remember when you were fourteen?" he asked. She nodded slowly as she crept a little closer towards him. "You had this, um...geography assignment you didn't get. You wanted me to help you with it. I'd told you I didn't have time and would come and help you when I was ready..."

"You never came." Amy reminded him. "I failed."

He shook his head. "That's...that's not quite right. I did come. I came into your bedroom once, one Sunday afternoon. I was supposed to be at a friend's place, but I'd decided to cancel and help you out instead. I guess Dad had thought everyone was out of the house..." He paused, pressing his lips together desperately. Amy felt terrified, her eyes already beginning to sting as the tears welled up. She had the feeling she knew what came next. "You were in bed...with him. You were both under the blankets..."

Amy turned away, biting her bottom lip so hard she was surprised she hadn't managed to draw blood. She couldn't silence her sobs, or stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. She didn't want to arrest him anymore. She wanted to put her hands around his throat and throttle him to death. He'd known. He'd known all along. It wasn't like Brendan, Brendan she could forgive. No child on earth could have seen what Brendan had seen and possibly guess what had been behind it. She could even understand why he hadn't mentioned it when she had decided to have her uncle charged, after all, no son wants to believe that of their father. But Damian...who could have stopped it...who had known beyond all doubt...

"Amy..." Damian was reaching out to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Amez, I'm sorry..."

She flinched so badly she nearly hit the ceiling. "Don't touch me," she grumbled. "Don't you ever touch me again." She glared at him with the mother of all death glares. It was several minutes before she could compose herself sufficiently to speak. "Why the hell didn't you say something at the time?"

"I...I...guess I just...didn't want to believe what I'd seen..." he stammered. "I...I couldn't believe Dad would do something like that..."

She just shook her head. "So you just stayed quiet? Turned a blind eye to everything?" Damian looked away. "Why did...why did you think I left? How could you do that?" She felt her blood begin to boil and she found herself shouting. "How could you just ignore it and let me go through all of that?"

"I didn't know what to do..."

"How about tell your mother?" she suggested with a shrug. "In hindsight, that probably wouldn't have helped, but at that early stage, it might have achieved something. Or talk to a teacher? Or call the cops? You could have stopped it, Damian." She turned away, trying to wipe her tears away.

"You don't think I didn't feel bad?" he pointed out, jumping to his feet. "I realised that must have been why you left..."

She spun back towards him. "I didn't leave. Brendan told you the real reason why I left, so don't pretend you don't know."

He drew in a deep breath to steady himself. "I've never forgiven myself for not saying something. When I found out he was getting out...I just wanted to help. I thought I could get rid of him. I thought...the vigilante mob might be enough to make him go away. When that didn't work...I just lost it. I don't think I've ever been so angry before in my life. I just couldn't stop. He was dead and...I just wanted to make him pay for what he did to you...to all of us."

Her expression became one of horror.

"I just wanted to make things better for you, Amez," he continued, pleading. "I just wanted to make up for letting you down all those years ago. I thought I could help you by just...making him go away."

She stared at him in disbelief. "How was killing him going to make things better?" Before Damian could answer, she continued. "Oh, and here's the kicker. My husband's the one who's copped the blame for this. He's been charged with the murder."

A strange expression passed through Damian's face. "What?"

"Please come forward," she begged. "Homicide...they'll put in a good word for you if you come forward of your own accord. And the judge...they'll go easy on you."

He just shook his head. "You've got to be kidding me," he said, looking more stunned than anything else. "Why would I come forward now? I've gotten away with it."

"What?" She tried to shake the surprise from her mind, but it was difficult. After everything that had past, she had imagined – perhaps foolishly – that Damian would come forward on his own. But he seemed more than willing to let PJ cop the blame. "Please don't make me arrest you."

A look of betrayal passed through Damian's face. "You'd put me away just to free your husband?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "No, not just to free my husband. You killed your father. You purposely started a vigilante group, you attacked your father, and then when that wasn't enough, you killed him. And, if that's not enough, you're more than willing to let an innocent man go down for your crime. That is why I would put you away."

He grabbed her arms. "We are family, Amy," he told her. "That's meant to mean something."

She shook her head as she tried to jerk her arms away. "Don't pull this card on me..."

"We took you in! We put a roof over your head, food in your mouth, a roof over your head!"

She slapped him hard as she pulled away. "That is what you think a family is?" she demanded, stunned. "No bloody wonder your wives walked out on you. That, Damian, is what you do for a stray dog. Family is supposed to be about something a little bit more substantial than that."

He nodded slowly. "I wouldn't put too much trust in bringing me in," he told her as he backed away. His voice had attained a very different quality, one that made Amy a little uneasy. She could scarcely believe that this was the same man she had grown up with. "It's your husband on the line, you'd probably manufacture evidence against the Prime Minister if you thought it'd help matters."

She felt hot tears welling in her eyes. "D...Damian..."

"You've got no evidence that I ever said anything," he said. "It's your word against mine. The word of an upstanding restaurant owner against the word of a detective who is so personally involved that she can't see straight."

"Not quite."

Damian jumped as a voice came from just outside the Parlour door. It opened to reveal Nick Schultz. He held up a tape recorder. "It's more like your word against the word of two sworn members and an audio cassette."

"That's...that's entrapment," Damian argued, waving a hand at Nick.

Nick shrugged. "In the States, maybe. Here, we call it evidence." He turned to Amy. "You want to do the honours, or shall I?"

Amy turned to him and forced a half-smile. "I'll do it," she offered. She rounded on Damian. "Damian Maguire, you are under arrest for the murder of John Maguire. You are not obliged to say or do anything, but anything you do say may be taken down and given in evidence. Do you understand?"

Damian remained silent for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. I understand."


Olsen hit the stop button on the tape player. He turned to Mark. "This is borderline; you know that, don't you? A decent enough lawyer could have this laughed out of court so fast..."

Mark raised a hand to stop Olsen's tirade. "Damian Maguire has spent the last the last hour and a half in my interview room," he explained. "He has made a full confession to myself and Senior Constable McKinley, explaining his part in the formation of the vigilante group, the assault and the murder. Of course, you'll have to speak to him yourself, but I doubt he'll say anything else to you." He paused. "So this means PJ Hasham is innocent."

Olsen nodded slowly. "Yes, I suppose it does," he conceded. "I'll make the necessary calls, have the charges withdrawn. PJ will be back from St. Davids within the hour."

With that, Olsen headed for the interview room, leaving the office door hanging open behind him.

Mark rolled his eyes. "Bloody Homicide," he grumbled.


Mark was still in his office when PJ walked in, grinning like some Cheshire cat. Mark immediately gasped at the sight of PJ's face. "What happened to you?" he asked.

PJ touched his black eye tentatively. "Some crook decided to take the chance to get his revenge," he explained. Mark opened his mouth to speak, but PJ pre-empted him. "Don't worry about charging him, Boss. It's not worth the time needed to make a statement, trust me. I'd prefer to just forget the last few days never happened."

Mark frowned for a minute before finally nodding. He opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out PJ's badge. He stood up as he held it out to him. "Monica Draper sent it back, with her apologies. I don't think she ever thought you were guilty."

PJ couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, I think she finally worked out that I'm not bent," he replied. "It only took her a little while." He took his badge from Mark and stared at it contemplatively. "Didn't think I was going to see this again."

"I knew you were coming back," Mark told him. "With Nick and Amy on the case, you couldn't go wrong."

"Thanks Boss," PJ grinned as he tucked his badge into his pocket and headed back out into the muster room.

Nick, Dash and Ringo were waiting, staring at him. PJ held his arms wide. "What? Nothing to say?"

Dash almost flew at him and enveloped him in a hug. "Oh, it's good to have you back," she declared. "We weren't fancying having to break in another detective."

PJ laughed as he ruffled Dash's hair. "You're a riot, Deidre." As Dash moved away, he clapped Ringo on the shoulder. "Good to see to again, too, mate." Finally, he moved onto Nick, who was leaning against the back wall. "I hear I've got you to thank for my newfound freedom."

"Hardly," Nick replied. At PJ's puzzled stare, he elaborated. "It was all Amy, mate. She came up with all the answers...and copped all the downside when the shit hit the fan."

PJ looked away, nodding thoughtfully as his smile began to fade. "Where is she?"


Amy leant back against the CI car, letting the cool June breeze lick at her hair. Jonesy and Joss were driving John over to St. Davids. She was transfixed by the sight. He'd been charged, he'd be remanded in custody in St. Davids until the court case, and the rest of them were left to pick up the pieces. So deep was her distraction that she didn't notice Susie emerge from the station, holding several sheets of paper in her hands. She didn't even bother to look at her until she spoke.

"He's made a full confession."

Amy jolted back to attention as she turned to Susie's sympathetic face. She took the paper from Susie's hands and flipped through them. She didn't really read what had been typed there. She'd already known that John would tell the whole truth now. His shock at what she had told him about the baby had been too profound. He clearly hadn't realised just what his princess had been through. Even though he now knew, Amy didn't think he'd ever understand.

She knew Susie was still looking at her, watching the distracted face, trying to work out what she was supposed to say. It seemed like an eternity before she finally spoke again. "I think what you did was really brave."

Amy looked up. She hadn't thought of going after John as brave and the suggestion seemed almost amusing. "Brave," she repeated, looking away from Susie again.

"Facing up to him," Susie added.

Sighing, Amy turned back to her. Susie was still looking at her with that sympathetic, kind expression that seemed to almost expect Amy to confide in her. And, almost to her surprise, Amy found herself confiding in her. "I thought everything would change when I confronted him, that I'd change."

This time it was Susie's turn to look away. Susie was doing her best to understand, Amy would give her that. When Susie looked back, she shrugged a little. "Nothing's going to change right away."

Amy almost found herself smiling. "Maybe nothing will change at all," she said dismally, turning once again to stare down the street that Jonesy and Joss had driven down, with John sitting silently in the back seat. "Maybe this is as good as it gets." With that, she slipped away, lowering her head as she headed back inside the station, her grasp tightening slightly on the confession that Susie had given her.

Standing outside the station, leaning back against the bonnet of her ute, Amy found her mind drifting involuntarily back to what she had told Susie all those years ago. She knew now that she had been wrong. Almost as soon as she had written life off as having given her all it could, things had begun to improve. She had found things in life she had never thought she would ever achieve, things like a loving husband and the best friends she could have ever asked for. She wished Susie was still alive to tell her that she had been right – time and action could change everything, even the parts of herself she had thought were set in stone.

She had become so lost in her own reflections that she didn't hear the footsteps, or realise that someone was there until they spoke. "Amy."

She looked up to him, her eyes becoming wide as PJ grinned. "Peej," she whispered. He approached her and leant back against the car beside her. She frowned as she noticed his black eye. "What happened?"

"It's nothing," he reassured her, waving it off. "Just some smartarse deciding to take advantage of the fact that I was on their turf. It's not even worth reporting." He sighed, reaching out to take her hand in his. "Nick told me that how hard you worked to get me out of there. Thank you. I...I don't know if I deserve it after what I wrote..."

Amy turned to him and shook her head. "I know why you said it," she told him quietly. "I don't hate you for it either. I mean...I did at the time, but...if our roles had been reversed, you'd have probably gotten a similar letter from me."

He smiled weakly. It faded as he noticed the tear stains on her cheeks. He reached out to wipe them away. "I'm sorry you had to do that. It...can't have been easy."

"He killed his father," Amy replied simply. "I'm a copper. I couldn't let him get away with that."

"He's your cousin," PJ reminded her.

She nodded slowly. Bill's words came back to her sharply, about confiding in PJ. "He knew."

PJ frowned. "What? About the abuse?"

Amy nodded. "He walked in one time when I was fourteen. He saw it. Not like Brendan did...Damian actually saw..." she trailed off, the sobs returning. "I just...can't understand how he could have stayed silent. Even if he hadn't reported it, even if he'd just talked to me about it at the time...it would have made such a difference, just to know I had someone – anyone – in my corner."

PJ closed his hands around hers. "You aren't alone now."

She smiled. "I know." She paused thoughtfully. "I can fight my own battles and make my own decisions, but...just knowing you're there...always at my side, at my back, ready to catch me and pick me up if I fall...it means the world to me." She found herself laughing as she saw PJ smiling. "Damian...said something about us being family, but he doesn't even know what the word means." Her smile faded. "I suppose I'm just one of those people who never gets to be part of a family."

He shook his head as he squeezed her hands tighter. "Nah," he replied. "There's more than one type of family. Me, Chris, all of our colleagues in there...we're your family."

Amy grinned. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him, tenderly and long.


As the officers trudged into the Imperial, Chris noticed that two of their number were missing. "Amy and PJ not coming?" she asked.

Mark shook his head. "They decided to give the pub a miss tonight," he explained. "Understandable enough, given the circumstances." Chris nodded and didn't say anything more on the subject.

Nick flopped down at their usual table. "So, when's this new Probationary Constable starting?" he asked.

Dash's interest was piqued. "What? We're getting a newbie? Since when?"

Mark forced a smile. "Well, that's actually something of a sore point," he began. Dash and Nick looked confused. Ringo just looked curious, almost intensely so. "Martin Barnes called earlier. Apparently he's decided not to send us one of his Probationary Constables after all."

Nick frowned. "Why not?"

"I don't know," Mark replied. "In any case, our little team won't be getting any new additions in the near future."

Ringo felt his heart lurch heavily. He couldn't believe that it was solely Martin Barnes' decision – Emma must have made a plea of some description. She didn't want him. Everything he had felt for her had been completely one-sided.

Seeing Ringo's downcast expression, Dash leant over to whisper in his ear. "Hey? What's up? You look like the sky's caved in."

Ringo looked at her for a moment before he found himself whispering back. "I slept with her."

Dash pulled a face. "With who? That Probationary Constable?"

He nodded. "But she was already in a relationship, and her boyfriend showed up in town. I thought it was the real deal, but she just thought I was old-fashioned and ordinary."

She pulled away a little, glancing to Mark and Nick to make sure they hadn't heard. They hadn't. They had been far too busy talking to Chris, filling her in on the tale of the Probationary Constable who never was. She turned back to Ringo. "Are you sure that this isn't more of a guy-guy kind of conversation?" she asked. As Ringo looked more crest-fallen, she rubbed his arm. "Hey, cheer up. You're far from ordinary. And the old-fashioned thing's kind of cute in a guy. You'll find someone who appreciates you one day. Trust me."

Ringo nodded as he sat back. He caught Chris' gaze briefly and noticed that she was smiling at him reassuringly. She knew precisely what had happened, typical Chris Riley. He returned her smile and nodded slightly. A secret acknowledgement that what had passed was to stay silent.

It was time to shake it off. Sighing, he climbed to his feet. "Anyone for darts?"


Next episode... "We All Fall Down"

Dash and Adam's worst nightmares become a reality when their young daughter is abducted. As tension continues to mount among the Heelers, more than one relationship will be pushed to breaking point and beyond.