God only knows
Pairing: Grace/Boyd
Rating: T
Summary: After Boyd rescues a woman, he can't get the terrified look on her face out of his mind. He and the team try to find out why. Set sometime after season 5.
Author's notes: Special thanks to shadowsamurai83 for the beta
Disclaimer: Waking the Dead belongs to the BBC. I'm taking them for a kick and a giggle but promise to be back before the main game.
CHAPTER 10
Boyd glanced at his watch for the third time. It was 0845.
Eve had nothing really to report. The PCR machine still hadn't finished its run so there wasn't an ID for the DNA samples yet, assuming that the murdered woman's or the other samples' profiles were even in the database. The only bright spot was that her clothes had been from a well known designer and quiet expensive. Stella had just finished a detailed history of the warehouse and surrounding businesses in the area. Most of the warehouses in the area had also been derelict for just as long a time that anyone could have buried in there without being detected. Spence had come up with list of nearly a hundred over thirty-five year old women that had disappeared between 1993 and 1998 that may have had the means to dress in expensive designer clothing. The next step would be to find a photo and details of the dress. The team would then start telephoning NOKs to find out if their missing relative had ever worn clothes from that particular designer in an attempt to identity the woman.
Boyd knew it was all going to take time. Despite all that was going on, his mind drifted back to Helen Chandler. She would be coming in soon and hopefully Grace could unlock whatever barriers there were to find out why she'd been so scared.
He didn't have to wait all that long. They were early.
A young DC escorted both a tired looking Helen Chandler and Mary Carr down into the bullpen.
Helen walked straight over to Boyd. "Mr Boyd, I just wanted to say thank you for the other day. I don't remember much but Mary says that you saved my life."
Slightly embarrassed, Boyd smiled weakly. He wasn't sure how to respond. As far as he was concerned, he'd done what anyone else would've done.
Helen was relieved that the modest policeman didn't appear to be badly injured. "Are you okay?"
"Just a few minor bumps and bruises."
"I'm glad."
"Thank you for coming in. Grace will take you through to her office."
Boyd watched as the three women settled into Grace's office. The team were busy tracing the dress while he retired to his office to observe via the webcam link.
Losing track of time, Boyd watched as Grace skilfully put both young women at ease; allowing Helen to feel relaxed enough to start probing deeper. The profiler had made them teas and offered biscuits, while they'd chatted about everything else but what had happened to Helen. They'd talked about the latest soaps and even Liverpool's great win the other night. It was all designed to gain the trust of Helen and to allow her to feel as comfortable as possible.
Boyd's phone rang.
Angry, he thought this had better be important. He told the team not to interrupt him unless it was very important. "Boyd."
"It's Eve."
He'd forgotten about Eve. She'd been in her lab.
Eve immediately recognized Boyd's curt response. This was no time for idle chit chat. He wanted whatever she had quickly. "The woman was Chantelle Hassell. She was forty three years old and from Kensington. Her husband is very rich. Stella is getting together the bio."
"Thanks. Tell Spence and Stella to handle the NOK."
"Sorry?" Eve was stunned. Boyd usually liked to be hands on. The Hassells were not only rich, they were more than likely well connected people. And that meant they only wanted to speak to senior officers.
"You heard. Tell Spence to handle it." Boyd hung up. He was far more interested in what Helen Chandler was about to say.
Grace started to talk Helen through what had happened. She'd been slowly and carefully moving backwards in time, gently teasing the story out of the young woman.
Boyd was on the edge of his seat as Helen described her flashbacks and the events of the crash. Grace somehow got her to talk, delving ever deeper into the recesses of the terrified woman's mind, unblocking the barriers to find the truth. And that truth was shocking. She'd been kidnapped and repeatedly raped. Shaking his head, Boyd wondered if she'd known that she was probably going to be killed at the end of it all. It had been torture, but it had been worse than that. It seemed that she was the prize in a game of cards. It was unbelievable the depths that men could sink. It was no wonder that Helen Chandler had completely repressed the memory of what had happened to her all those years ago.
Grace had read his mind. Peter knew that the key to Helen remembering was one of the seven men that she'd turned to face in the intersection. Helen couldn't visually identify her attackers as she'd been blindfolded the entire time, but she'd heard at least two of them speak and she'd described one of them as having a strange accent. But now she had the chance to put a face to that voice.
Slowly, Grace laid the photos of the seven men, one after the other, until Helen stopped Grace at a man in a dark blue suit that had been talking on his mobile. Helen's hand flew to her mouth but she was unable to stop an anguish cry and she begun to cry uncontrollably.
Boyd knew it had to be one of the men.
Watching Grace and Mary console Helen, Boyd took the photo of the man from his file that was the same as Helen had picked out. Uniform had come up with an ID for only three of the males in the intersection, but this man wasn't one of those. Facial recognition proved useless. The man had not been convicted of a crime in the UK. He just looked ordinary with neatly trimmed black hair, clean shaven and dressed in an expensive suit. Over thirty years in the police force had left him in no doubt that ordinary men can and did do horrific things.
After Grace had set up a counsellor for Helen, she ushered her and Mary out of CCU and then returned to flop down opposite Boyd, totally exhausted emotionally. They didn't say anything for a few minutes. They didn't need to. Both wondered if Helen Chandler would ever recover completely. If she did, they both knew it would take a long time. But they could help by finding the men who'd done this to her.
"How are you?" Grace asked.
Peter had been staring at the man's photo. "Me? Okay." He knew she had to be just as tired as he was. "You?"
"Fine."
They both lied and they both knew it.
"I'll call Uniform to canvass the area again with the man's photo." Peter returned to the task at hand. It was much easier than trying to make sense of why the men had done what they'd done to Helen. He'd organize another door to door from St James' Park to Victoria Street. It was a big area, but they had very little else to go on.
"I'll go and write up my notes." Wearily, Grace stood up, not relishing the prospect of going over it all again, but it was a necessary evil should the case ever come to court
"Grace, you did a great job today with Helen." Peter meant every word of it.
Official praise? He must be knackered. Grace quirked up an eyebrow and was about to reply when his phone rang.
"Boyd."
"It's Spence. Big trouble. Chantelle Hassell's husband, Mark Hassell, called the Commissioner. And he wants to know why you aren't here."
"What?"
"They're friends, apparently. Same school."
Boyd scoffed. Damned old school tie shit.
Boyd's landline rang.
"Hold on, Spence." He picked up the phone. "Boyd."
Right on cue, it was the Commissioner. It was almost funny to Boyd that it was only the other day that Havering had recommended him for a bar to his QPM and now he was giving Boyd a right bollicking, wanting to know what he was playing at. He ordered the DSI to get down to Kensington ASAP. All Boyd could do was say 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir'.
After Sir Martin hung up on him, he returned to Spence. "That was Havering. Give me a run down on what you've got."
Spence briefly gave an overview of the background on Chantelle Hassell and the husband, Mark, which Stella had put together. Mark Hassell was a very wealthy entrepreneur and obviously had a lot of influence.
Sighing, Boyd slowly stood up. "Tell Hassell I'll be there in thirty minutes."
"Okay, boss."
It never rains but it pours, he thought. Did a DSI really need to there to confirm that Mrs Hassell's body had been found? He didn't think so. Spencer was more than capable to break the bad news to Mark Hassell. It was about the abuse of power through funny handshakes and silly coloured ties. He'd much prefer to find out how the search for the man in the dark suit and strange accent was proceeding.
Grabbing his coat, and although he could move his sore left arm a little more, he knew he shouldn't drive. He opened Grace's door. "Grace, I need a lift to Kensington."
"Kensington?"
"The woman in the warehouse. Her name was Chantelle Hassell and she lived there."
"Oh right. Sorry." Grace had been engrossed in the Helen Chandler case, she'd forgotten about that poor woman buried alive. "Fill me in while I drive."
- - -
"Christ!" Boyd got out of the car and was gobsmacked. They'd driven passed a formerly landscaped garden up to a large Georgian style mansion. It all looked very expensive and there was no way Boyd could live here. He much preferred the small house he shared with Grace. He had no idea what he'd do with all those extra rooms and anything more than one bathroom was extravagant. And he cringed at the thought of doing all the cleaning and dusting. It was hard enough doing their two bedroom house.
Grace was thinking the same thing.
An annoyed Spence came up to the car as they parked. "Sir, I don't think they think I'm a policeman." The groundsman had been very suspicious when he'd first pulled up. The DI didn't think they saw very many black men in this leafy suburb. Wankers, he thought angrily.
"Have you spoken to Mark Hassell?"
"Briefly. We didn't get passed the front door. I just told him we've positively IDed his wife. He looked shocked and then called Havering. He wouldn't answer any questions until the senior officer turned up."
"You and Stella go back to base. Collate what you've got with Eve. Dig deep."
"Sir." Spence and Stella nodded.
"Right. Better go in."
A maid ushered them into the reading room.
"Mr Hassell." Boyd introduced himself to Mark Hassell.
Grace took notes of their interview. Mark Hassell reported his wife missing thirteen years ago. On the 2nd of March 1996, she'd gone shopping in Chelsea and had never returned. She'd been reported missing that night to the local police station. The standard searches and appeals had been made but to no avail. No one had seen her or her Mercedes convertible since. Mark hadn't been home at the time, but confirmed that the suit she'd been found in was from her favourite designer. After two years, Mark had applied to have her listed as presumed dead and then he'd married Dianne Hunter.
Mark Hassell's upper class tone of voice immediately grated on Boyd. Peter disliked toffee twits. He was a man who got what he wanted, when he wanted. Somehow he'd managed to get far more than the normal amount of resources usually allocated to a misspers.
Grace's suspicions grew as soon as she saw Dianne Hunter, when she brought in some tea. She wrote in big letters to find out how soon after declaring that Chantelle was dead had he married Dianne.
Boyd listened to Mark go through his story and straight away he knew that it was exactly that. A fabrication. His instincts screamed at him and he believed them. He couldn't explain it. He just knew it. Hassell's shock at them finding Chantelle was genuine. It wasn't the fact that she was dead, it was because they'd found the body when he'd thought it would never be found.
One look at the photo of Chantelle and he could understand why she had to go. The house was beautifully furnished with art and nice nic nacs but Chantelle had been a overweight middle aged woman. Although she'd dressed in designer clothes, they had not been suited to her larger figure. But Dianne Hunter was younger and beautiful. Hassell had found himself a trophy wife and Boyd wondered when exactly did their relationship actually start.
Boyd had had enough. His headache returned with a vengeance. "All right. Mr Hassell, that's enough for today. We'll see ourselves out."
As they drove back to CCHQ, Boyd rang Spence to get the paperwork started to record all Hassell's phones. If it was up to him, he would have brought them both in then and there, but he needed a little more background and not to mention evidence before he could arrest either of them. It was a pity he couldn't arrest them just for being knobs, he smirked.
- - -
TBC