A/N: Thanks everyone again for reading and commenting. It took a bit longer than usual to update – real life kept me busy. Thanks to hazelmist who was patient enough to point out a ton of silly mistakes. Once again, I'm not an expert in police matters, I try to research stuff, but it isn't that simple to find the information you need. I hope you enjoy the latest chapter regardless… oh and I meant to mention, if I could do fantasy casting… Hugh Laurie might be my choice for Baxter ;-)

CHAPTER 9

"So, what do we know so far? What did forensics give us? What's still outstanding? Any more information on that stalker? Have we reviewed all CCTV? What about the house to house? Have we identified the fingerprints in the house? What about the hair specimen? And the full autopsy report?"

Hardy paused to take a breath. His eyes drifted from one blank face to the next, until he found the DC who had given him the copies of Pippa's diary. She was squirming in her chair under his intense stare.

"You…," he racked his brain and a name popped up, "…Swenson, you were here over the weekend. What about the stalker? Anything?"

She actually paled, probably not sure if it was a good or bad thing, that he recalled her name. God, was he really that awful with his team?

She stuttered along. "We've got two more statements… from people living… living on the estate. Still asking more… nothing on the CCTV… same description, probably male, hooded sweatshirt, very generic."

He acknowledged the information with a nod and turned to the whiteboard, writing things down. Another officer chimed in, possibly encouraged by him not biting off Swenson's head, that forensics reported they had found no useful tire tracks or foot marks on the path leading from the lane to the river. They, however, had confirmed that the extra two sets of prints that frequently showed up at the Gillespie house were from Claire and Lee Ashworth. Dave Thompson delivered the answer to the outstanding questions. Final autopsy report was expected by noon and the hair analysis was under way as well.

Hardy stared at the whiteboard which still contained way too little information to actually get them anywhere. He resisted the urge to brush his hair out of his eyes, still hiding the bruise and cut. He didn't really feel like answering nosey questions about his weekend adventures. He gave Tess a quick glance and a nod, indicating she could take over the daily task distribution. She welcomed the new surge force members and efficiently brought everyone up to speed, followed by clear job descriptions. There was a moment of silence after she had finished, and all eyes turned to him.

"Go on then!" he barked at them, feeling rather exasperated that he still had to shoo them away like a bunch of frightened little children at the end of every briefing.

When he entered his office, he found Baxter on the sofa, waiting for him.

"Close the door and sit down, Alec." His boss' face was drawn into a frown. Hardy was confused. He had not yelled at anyone during the meeting and there were no major new developments to be talked about in private.

"What's going on?" Hardy asked, while he plopped into his chair.

"I would like to hear that from you," Baxter stated calmly, inspecting his fingernails. When Hardy didn't say anything, Baxter got up, walked around the desk and reached for Hardy's hair. Before Hardy could move, he had pulled the fringe aside exposing the now yellow bruise and the crusted wound on his forehead. Hardy turned away.

"I banged my head, so? Why is that any of your business?" he growled at his boss.

"Because I heard a rumor that you puked all over the office on the weekend and then disappeared until coming back this morning with your head bashed in. That's why. I think I should know if my SIO suffered a head injury during a major investigation. But maybe you forgot that, because of said head injury." Baxter's voice was dripping with sarcasm and both his eyebrows were raised.

"'S got nothing to do with the investigation. And I feel fine now," Hardy replied defiantly.

Baxter's temper was flaring. "What do you not understand about this, Hardy? Everything has to do with the investigation at this point. This Karen White woman is looking into you and your past, as well as anything else she can find to discredit us."

Hardy was taken aback. Why would this journalist be interested in his history? That had nothing to do with the case.

"You're right, I don't understand. Why would she do that? I'm not the story here."

Baxter sighed when he saw Hardy's annoyed and incredulous face. "If we don't find who did this, then you and the rest of the police force will quickly become the story. Trust me, I've been there. They're out for blood. And if they can't get it from the killer, they will come to the next best source, you."

"Let them dig around, I have nothing to hide," Hardy countered stubbornly.

"Alec, don't be like that. Everyone has something to hide. And if you don't tell me things, I can't protect you or help you. I'm not the one who is out to get you. Why does that not get into your hard head?"

Baxter stared at him, face less angry than it had been a moment ago. "So, is there anything that I should know?" he asked, quietly and sincerely.

Hardy chewed on his lower lip. If his boss was already terrified of a minor head wound, how would he react, if he found out that his leading detective could have a fatal attack of heart arrhythmia any moment? Best bet, not favorably. He felt awful about holding the truth back, but there was no way he'd let Baxter take him off the case.

"I was stupid and tripped over my own feet in the dark. Smashed into the coffee table and banged my head rather badly. Probably had a mild concussion."

He saw Baxter's face reddening and added quickly, "But I went home when I didn't feel well and rested all weekend. As I said, I'm fine now. Missed Daisy's birthday party though."

"That doesn't make me feel better. If it's any indication, that just means that you were really not well," Baxter scoffed.

Hardy sighed, feeling deflated by the memories of the weekend. "I forgot her party, Ed. I had promised her something special for it and I didn't even remember it was happening. She was so mad at me. First time I've broken a promise to her. Feels awful." Hardy's voice had grown barely audible by the end of his words.

"But you didn't forget her birthday, right?" Baxter tried to comfort him. Hardy shook his head, not feeling like talking.

"Emma told me about the present. Sounds like it's going to be rather pretty." His voice was encouraging.

"I sure hope so, I've got a lot riding on it," Hardy admitted despondently.

Baxter took in a breath and let it out. "I'm sure she'll love it." His face sported a mischievous grin. "After all, it's my daughter who's making it."

He stood up, ready to leave, but not without patting Hardy on the shoulder. His face was serious again. "Think about what I said. If there is anything you think I should be aware of, now or in the past, talk to me."

Hardy nodded, mouth open. "I will, sir." In an afterthought he added, "And thanks, Ed."

"Don't mention it." And he was out the door, swiftly as usual.

Hardy turned to the pile of paperwork on his desk. Frustrated, he read a note that was left on his desk – the hair forensics specialist's report wasn't going to be in until the next day. Hardy felt this was all moving along at a snail's pace.

There was a complete list of Pippa's belongings now that the autopsy was done. Nothing stood out besides that the pendant that her mother said she was wearing that day wasn't amongst the things found on her body. Maybe the water had washed it away? The divers who had searched the river for anything suspicious and any traces of Lisa had not found it. But then it was small and easy to overlook. Or it wasn't on her when she was placed in the water.

The final autopsy report only confirmed what they already knew. Pippa didn't drown, although she most likely suffocated. No ligature marks were found that would indicate strangulation. As far as the decomposed state of the body let them make conclusions, there were no other wounds or signs of violence. They could not tell if there was any sexual abuse, the water had washed away all potential evidence. The toxicology report was useless, too much time had passed and whatever could have been found was contaminated by the fact that she had been in the river for what looked like three days.

Hardy tossed the file and his glasses on the desk. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, fighting a strong feeling of nausea and a headache. He wasn't even sure if this was still because of the concussion or if staring at all the rather graphic photographs that came with the report were to blame. In the end, it didn't matter, whatever the reason was, he was feeling miserable. And his heart certainly didn't appreciate that. It had been acting up on and off the whole morning, making it even harder to focus. He forced down his pills despite the nausea.

He stared out the window and let his thoughts drift, facts and images tumbling through his mind. It bothered him that they still had no idea where the murder had taken place. They assumed it must have been the Gillespie house or possibly yard, but then that was all speculation. And they still hadn't found any trace of Lisa Newbery. Neither alive nor dead. After reading Pippa's diary, a nagging feeling had settled in that they didn't focus enough on Lisa. They had so little to go by, and even less for the older girl.

He pushed himself away from his desk, stood up and grabbed his coat on the way out. There was nothing else for him to do at the moment and he felt cooped up in his office. Maybe talking to Lisa's mother would give him more ideas. This time, he went by himself as Tess and Thompson were working on getting official warrants to get the Ashworths in to make a statement about that night and to finally collect their DNA samples. They should have more grounds, now that their fingerprints were found all over the Gillespie house.

On the way to the car he noted he had three missed calls and a new voice mail. All from Emily Abbott. Bollocks. He had yet again forgotten to keep his appointment. He listened to her angry message, threatening him to talk to his superiors, if he didn't do what he had said and show his face in her practice. He was sure she would, so he called and rescheduled for in a couple of days. The receptionist offered to call him with a reminder, indicating that Dr. Abbott had strongly suggested so. He begrudgingly agreed.

Lisa's mother opened the door, looking just as small and lonely as she had the other day.

"Oh, DI Hardy. Didn't expect you to come around." Her face had the unspoken question written over it.

"Ms. Newbery, may I come in?"

She moved out of the doorway and let him in. They were sitting in the kitchen again, same chairs as last time. Marilyn was holding on to a mug of coffee for which he had declined her offer.

"So, any news?" He sensed the urgency behind the calm voice.

"No. We still haven't found her or any trace of her. I'm sorry," he said softly.

She nodded and some quiet tears were running down her cheeks. "I can feel she's not with us anymore. I know you can't go by that, but I just wanted to let you know."

"I hope you're wrong." They both knew she wasn't.

They sat in silence until she spoke again. "Do you think there is any truth to what the papers said? That it's her fault, that she was in on it?"

She looked at him with her watery big eyes and he was torn between being professionally non-committal, honest and lying to give her at least some consolation. Honesty won, because that's what he would have wanted.

"I don't know. Not finding any trace of her makes me believe that she might have been a victim just as Pippa, but one could argue that she could still be alive and on the run. We won't know for sure until we find her," he slowly shared his thoughts with her.

She nodded again, pressing her lips together. She took in a deep breath, finding composure.

"What can I do for you, detective? I'm sure you didn't just come here to comfort me." She gave him a small smile.

"I've read Pippa's diary. We didn't find one in Lisa's room, so I was wondering if I could ask a few more questions about her life, friends, and such. Might help us to piece things together." Especially as they had nothing else. He kept his cynical thought to himself.

Marilyn sighed and shifted in her chair. She took a few moments before she started talking about her daughter. She had finished school and was looking into becoming a preschool teacher. She loved little children. Her social life was rather typical, going out with friends on the weekend, movies, food, those kind of things. No history of drugs or excessive alcohol use. Marilyn felt confident enough that she would have known.

When Hardy asked about romantic relationships, Marilyn seemed rather uncomfortable. She had no boyfriend, but there were a few young men who had been interested. She vehemently denied that she could have ever been pregnant. Hardy knew these questions were tough on the mother, but he needed to know.

Marilyn was moving the coffee mug, making it go in a circle. There was something she wanted to say, for sure, but Hardy hadn't hit the right question yet. He squinted at her, racking his brain what it could be. A passage of Pippa's diary popped up in his memory.

"Did Lisa ever mention the Gillespie neighbors, Claire and Lee Ashworth?"

Her head snapped up. Ah, he had finally found his way in. He leaned forward, indicating his interest. He waited patiently until she was ready to talk.

"Lisa liked them, especially Lee. She said they were much more approachable than her uncle and aunt. She didn't really like Cate so much and she didn't have many dealings with Ricky. But Lee and Claire, that was different. Seemed to me that they were hanging out a lot together, Ricky and Cate and them. BBQs, field trips, dinners." She looked away. "Dunno, seemed Ricky and Cate were more interested in hanging out with them than with their family."

Hardy could sense the sore spot. He debated if he should pry further, but decided against it for now. He was more interested in hearing more about Lee's and Claire's involvement with the girls.

"Did Lisa ever mention anything specific?"

"No, not really. Just on various occasions that she had a good time with them. I think she might have liked Lee because he was flattering her a lot and being a little too flirtatious for my taste. She's a teenager after all and he's a grown man." Her disapproval was clear. He couldn't quite blame her but kept his thoughts to himself.

"Did she ever say that he was doing something that she didn't like or felt forced to do?"

She shook her head. "No. I had asked her actually, because I was worried, but she denied anything inappropriate."

Hardy took in a deep breath. He felt satisfied with the information he had gained. His urge to get the Ashworths in for questioning was only getting bigger.

"We might have to ask you to come in and make an official statement at the station. I hope you don't mind?" he said when he got to his feet.

She looked up at him, eyes still watery and big. "Why would I mind? If it helps finding the killer, I'd do anything." Her voice was harsh and for once he got a glimpse at her anger that she had hidden so well thus far.

She showed him out. He was already walking down the steps, when she asked, "What happens if you don't find her?"

He turned and their eyes met. "I will do everything that I can to find her. Getting the person who did this is part of that. I won't rest until then, I promise." He could be utterly sincere about this promise, because he knew that Pippa's ghost would drive him until this case was solved. There was a flutter in his chest. Even if it was the last thing he ever did as a police officer, he would get the killer.

Before he went back to the station he stopped by the corner coffee shop to grab a cup of tea. He still hadn't brought some decaf to the station. He parked the car and climbed out, dragging his exhausted body along. He could have parked in the garage and walked the short way over but he felt too tired. His heart was still playing tricks on him and he dreaded even the smallest exertion, knowing it might make him feel even more miserable.

He was pulling out his wallet to pay, when someone put her hand on his arm.

"Let me pay for this," a familiar female voice said behind his back.

Hardy turned around and instantaneously regretted coming here. It was Karen White. He shook her hand off and growled, "No need. I'm perfectly able to do that myself."

He made sure the man behind the counter took his money and not hers. There was no way he'd let himself get invited to even something as simple as a cup of tea by some sleazy journalist.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Suit yourself. Just trying to be civil here."

"Oh, is that a new trick you've learned? 'Cause last I saw you, you sure weren't," he remarked snidely.

She let out a fake laugh. "Look at you, DI Hardy, trying to be witty. Just because I was asking the right questions, doesn't mean I wasn't being civil."

She was unbelievable and Hardy didn't even know why he was talking to her. His frustration got the better of him and he took her bait.

"Fear mongering and discrediting the police force just for the sake of it doesn't really qualify as civil in my opinion. I read your sorry excuse for a newspaper article and frankly it disgusted me how you would just throw out unfounded allegations. Did you ever think of what it would do to the parents of those girls if they read the horseshit you fabricated?" he spat at her.

Remembering Marilyn Newbery and how bothered she had been by the article, he was properly angry now. He realized too late, that that was what Karen White wanted.

"Why so upset, DI Hardy?" She was wearing a smug smile. "You could just clue me in on the investigation and then you wouldn't need to worry anymore about being discredited. Or is there anything you have to hide? Ricky Gillespie seems to think so." Her smile was growing wider.

Hardy glared at her. So she had talked to the families then or at least to Ricky.

"Ms. White, I don't know what game you're playing at, but by harassing the victims' parents and threatening me, you won't get anywhere, at least not under my watch. Leave the Gillespies alone, they've been through enough already." His tone of voice had softened, an image of Cate standing in the door of Pippa's room surfacing to his mind.

She tilted her head and scrutinized him. "This is your first child murder, isn't it, DI Hardy? How're you finding it? Must be hard being a parent yourself." Her expression and tone had changed, feigning empathy.

He snorted. "This is not about me. It's about getting justice for these families."

"A story always starts with being about everybody, DI Hardy, until you find who the real interesting person to talk about is. And sometimes, it's not who you'd expect it to be. Just like a murder investigation, don't you think so?" she replied quietly.

Hardy had nothing to say to that.

"I shouldn't keep you any longer. I'm sure you're very busy." The sarcasm was so obvious, it was almost too put on. "Enjoy your tea. I'll see you around." She gave him another smug smile and walked out the coffee shop.

On the way back to his car he couldn't help himself but to look around and make sure she wasn't following him. She was right. He did have something to hide, but it had nothing to do with the crime against these two girls. But that didn't matter, did it? Baxter's words of warning were ringing in his ears. He had been very much on the spot. If they were not able to get a story about the killer, they would get a story about whoever else was involved – the parents, the police, himself. She had tried to play on his emotions about being a parent and he knew that this might be a possible way in for her. He would have to keep his guard up around her and not get dragged into her game. Sighing, he climbed into his car. As if he had nothing better to do than tiptoe around a bloody journalist. He drove off tires squealing. He grinned. Maybe she could do an expose about the abuse of police power and traffic violations? He sure was guilty of that.

It was late in the day when he returned to the station. Most of the staff had left already. Tess was still there, finishing her paperwork for the day.

He stopped at her desk. They hadn't really talked since the birthday party on the previous day. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head, trying to find the right words. She pretended to ignore him until she couldn't handle it anymore.

"Bloody hell, Alec. Quit hovering over me. Can't you just act like a normal human being and ask your question?" she snapped at him.

He was annoyed. He didn't think he deserved her snide remark. After all, it wasn't quite his fault being so spooked out over his nightmare that he fell and hit his head. And it wasn't his fault that his heart went to shit every time he got upset about something. A fact that he was still hiding from her. For fuck's sake, this was all too messed up by now. He moaned in frustration.

She misinterpreted his sound as a comment on her remark. "Oh, I see. Now you don't even grace me with words anymore. Really mature, Alec." She hit the off button on her computer and stormed away before he could even say anything.

Equally angry, he didn't go after her but retreated to his office, slamming the door. He plopped onto his chair and kicked at his desk. How would he ever be able to talk to her if all they did was argue?

His phone buzzed. It was a message from Tess.

Sorry I snapped at you. Too stressed out. Meant to tell you I spoke to Cate G today, really need to talk to the neighbors!

He stared at the message, unsure how to respond. He didn't feel quite satisfied with an apology via a text, but in lieu of something else he was willing to accept it. He decided to keep his answer to work.

Ok. Same here, need to talk to neighbors asap. Did you get the warrants?

His phone flashed: Should be in tomorrow. Are you coming home soon? Picking up Daisy now.

He sighed. He still had to finish all the paperwork for the day and go through the reports about the CCTV and house to house statements.

Don't wait with dinner. Too much paperwork. Sorry. Try to be home before she goes to bed. Tell her Dad misses her.

Her reply was short: OK, will do

He put down his phone and started typing his reports. By the time he was done, his neck and shoulders were aching and he decided to sit on the sofa to go through the reports. After being about halfway done, his eyes started falling shut. He tried to stay awake but his body won and soon he was snoring softly, head lolled back, files scattered all over the floor.

He was walking through a field of bluebells, the flowers overgrowing everything. They were getting thicker the closer he was coming to the river. He didn't want to go to the water, scared of what he would find. He knew she would be there, waiting for him, pale and blue. She for sure would pull him under as soon as he was close enough. The cold was chilling his bones and he was chattering his teeth. Something reached for him, a ghostly hand, and he slid and fell into the river, water crushing in on him. He gasped for air, suffocating, not being able to breathe. He tried to spit out the water and his whole body was aching with the effort. The pain in his chest exploded and his eyes jerked open.

He sat up abruptly, coughing, sputtering, catching his breath. His heart was racing and skipping beats. The pain in his chest was real and he doubled over, hugging his torso with his arms. He sucked in some air, desperately trying to free himself from her horrifying face and the panic coming with it.

"Sir? Are you alright? Do you need help?" There was a hand on his arm and he lifted his eyes. A member of the cleaning staff was stooped down in front of him, looking at him with a concerned face. They knew him as he often stayed late or even overnight. He always made a point of being friendly and kind with them, feeling like he needed to make up for them cleaning up after him.

The distraction of another human being around was soothing and the pain in his chest started to fade. Breathing became easier and his heart slowed down. Maybe it had been more of a panic attack than his heart? He couldn't tell anymore.

The man handed him a paper cup. "Here, have some water. You look like you could need it. Rough day, ey? Read about that poor girl in the paper. Awful. I'm glad they've got you on the case, you're a good guy." He grinned at him, revealing a big gap in his teeth.

Hardy didn't know what to say to the compliment he had just received. "Thank you. For the water and…" he swallowed, "… the vote of confidence." He shyly smiled back at the man.

The man was about to leave his office, when he turned around and looked him straight in the eyes. "You're welcome. You should go home sometime though, you know. I see you too often here at night." His face was sincere. Hardy stared after him until he had vanished to the far end of the large CID room. It was 4:47 am, no use in going home. He had missed another evening with his family.

He sighed and started picking up the files that were scattered all over the floor. He stacked up the papers in no particular order and placed them on his desk. He felt the need to clear his mind, but didn't dare to go for a drive considering what just happened. He settled for a walk instead.

The air was cool and refreshing. It was eerily quiet on the streets at these wee hours of the morning. He was the only one walking around. His feet carried him through Sandbrook while his thoughts were wandering. He ended up at the bridge over the river. He stopped and leaned on the balustrade, hands clasped, staring out on the water until the morning sun lit up the town. He wiped the tears off his face and turned back to the world, facing another day.