The Inspector Lynley Mysteries

Call Me Daddy

note: some harsh facts when the investigation begins.

PART 13

Lynley was in his office, staring blankly at the wall before him. Given the volume of paperwork that was still pending, he would probably be decommissioned before seeing the light of day again. With no sign of Havers he did not seem to find a way to have the work done and was crumbling under weeks of back files; he was glad that Assistant Commissioner Evans was someone easy to work with or he might have asked for a transfer.

It had been a week today since he had returned from his estate and nearly a year since he and Havers had solved their last case together, the Sarah Middleton case. That reminded him how dangerously close they had been to clashing in the course of this investigation. Not only because of their professional differences while dealing with the case but on very intimate points of view as well. Just like in Howenstow.

For the first time in his line of work, Chief Inspector Lynley had felt totally in control probably on account of the terrifying layout and consequences of these hideous crimes. And as a matter of fact, for the first time as well, he had felt that working with Havers meant working with an equal who did not want to be bossed around any more. Their opposite assessments at the rapes had oddly brought to the fore how conflicting were their interpretations when it came to progressing in life.

Though they eventually reconciled professionally, a lot of issues were left unsolved, way too many words unsaid, and he knew that he had experienced a level of discomfort he had never felt before when working with Havers and that it would not be easy to get around it. The peculiar nature of the crimes and her bond she forged with one of the suspects had taken its toll on her and though she was still tough and a first grade officer, she had had trouble bouncing back to her normal confident self.

She decided to 'leave' him to partner again with DI Fiona Knight, finally back from her 18 month maternal leave. This was the course of things. They had been a team for a long time, longer than most of their colleagues at the Met. Fi was a good cop and moreover she kept encouraging Barbara to be strong and speak up for herself. Accordingly, she had taken her inspector exams and even given a thought at passing the board.

As for the minefield of their personal relationship, he must admit that it had been a disaster ever since, leading to the eventual fireworks in Howenstow last week. Though looking forward to a time when he won't be Havers' boss any more, he couldn't bring himself to making social calls and go to her place uninvited. For no valid reason and despite the fact that he considered her his best friend, he could not trespass on this unknown territory. At some point, he had been considering buying new clothes and a 'normal' car – as Havers would have put it - just to be able to pay a visit to his down-at-heel friend but had discarded the idea as utterly offensive. Toning down his appearance won't do any good to the uncertain balance of their friendship. Not to mention that dressing down could prove to be extremely difficult for him to handle. Anyhow, before he knew it, she was gone overseas, taking him at his word for this one time that this training was worth a try and her best move at achieving professional promotion.

He checked his mobile for the umpteenth time and sighed. He had spent the last ten minutes reading the same page and still had no idea what it was about. He could not get her out of his head and kept re-playing their last moments together in Acton.

When he had told her that he will ring her eventually, he could not believe that he had come up with such a trite remark when leaving her on her footstep. It was something he could have told a vague acquaintance at the end of a charity dinner or after a romp at the Opera with friends of friends. Not to Barbara. As a result, he was the one expecting her call and he bloody well knew that she would not call him first.

The ride back from Cornwall had been pure torture. Letting once again his upbringing have the upper hand, he had been unable to come up with something to do or say apart from the most abysmal list of truisms and platitudes ever known to mankind. He was dying to ask her if she actually remembered anything that happened the night before but eventually never mustered the courage to ask her directly – or not.

For it was the whole point. He did not want to confront her. He did not want to be upfront either. He wanted to stay polite and light-hearted, enough to turn his question into a poor joke in the -expected - event she will choose to deny. The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that this relationship was worth the fight despite the obvious mismatch. Was he trying to persuade himself? Was he so lonely? His circle of friends had shrunk to a handful and he could not even remember the last time he had barged in at the Saint James while uncalled for. Maybe he was. Maybe he was simply deluding himself in a desperate search for happiness.

But for the time being, he was blaming himself for her losing control on their last evening in Howenstow and still taken aback it had exposed that his feelings were reciprocated. What he had misread as sudden lust for a woman he had spent the best part of the last seven years with, was turning into entirely something else. Evidence of Jack's presence at her flat had brought him close to make a scene. If this last jealous stunt at Havers' was admissible, what he was feeling for his former partner might even be love.

During any of their trips around Howenstow, it would have been easy to say something, anything for god's sake! Making a fool of oneself seemed always easier in the countryside, he said to himself with a scowl. In the keep of his secluded office, he could picture himself kneeling down before her in the middle of the narrow St Mary's Street with the Truro Cathedral towering over them. In retrospect, he could not believe he had not take advantage of their visit to the ruins of Tintagel either. The ghosts of King Arthur and Guinevere hovering over the cliffs, hundred yards of unleashed waves below and some Tennyson… Well, it was much too late to regret anyway.

He was bad at those things, always taking the wrong turn and stubbornly persevering until it was unbearable. It reminded him of that one night in the car with Havers, some time before Christmas. It was not her old mini but her third hand Lada. The back seat was filled up with months of trashed cardboards and empty beers and coffee cups from her favourite takeaways, her teetering laptop and her huge bag plonked on top of it.

"… and I'm sure once the baby's born, you're going to be totally mad about it."

"You think?"

"Yeah… you're going to be a great dad, I can tell."

She sounded a bit bored and artificially enthusiastic even to his ears. Probably it had been the only conversation he had provided her for the last week and poor Havers was getting tired of playing the part of the confidante. His marriage, Helen, her pregnancy, his fears. It was always about his life, always about him. Deep down, he knew that his marriage had been a mistake from the start. You just don't marry your best friend. That is the rule.

"I'm… I-I don't know. It scares me."

"Well, it's scary for everybody. Having a baby and all, it's kind of a big step, even for you, Sir, lots of changes and new responsibilities, but I'm sure you'll handle it perfectly. For god's sake, take a grip at yourself, can't you see you have it all! Lady Helen carrying your heir, it sounds like a fairy tale. Aren't you happy, for crying out loud?"

She was being true to herself, always the optimist, staring at him with her big green eyes glowing over her warm cup of tea, a cool mist coming out of her mouth slightly twitched on the side. She was looking at him her hands clasped on the hot cup, half turned to face the main suspect's house of this endless investigation.

"Well I guess I'm happy enough…"

She had rolled her eyes and gave him a light punch in the arm, slopping half of her cup on his sleeve.

"Is it the posh version of no?" she said and stopped, her eyes wide open. She bit her lip, her eyebrows rocketing to new levels of prickliness. "Sorry, sir, I didn't mean that. I mean – I-I… that was totally out of line. Please scratch this… Hey…. Sir? It looks like our guy is coming out. Duck!"

She had pushed his head down to the dashboard and the moment was over. What if it was the rule really? What if he was on the verge of making the same mistake all over again? What if he was falling for his best friend -- again?

Ultimately, he was afraid that she never chose to never mention Howenstow again.

"Lynley!" he said answering at the first ring, his heart taking a huge leap in his chest -- and immediately frowned. "Lafferty? Yes… right. I'm on my way."

-o-

Buchanan was enjoying his stay in London at full swing. He had expected Barbie to show him around but he was quite happy to do it on his own or with the boys. He loved his job, he loved the work and being an alien in London made it easier for him to put his grief for the loss of his family somewhere in a place it was not hurting so much any more.

He walked briskly to the embankment, spotting a well known silhouette among the police personnel busy with the two bodies now hidden under some tarp.

"Your Lordship!" he hailed, making Lynley turned back with a defying look on his face. "I'm amazed to find you here so far from Belgravia."

"Very funny Buchanan."

"I thought you were still on leave."

They shook hands.

"I've been back a week ago but paperwork seems to have kept me away from the field. What have we got?"

"Two Caucasian males, traces of paint and synthetic oil on their clothes and upper body. No pants, no shoes. Their fingers have been soaked into sulphuric acid…"

"Prints?" said Lynley, a deep crease on his frown.

Buchanan shook his head. "None, they've been erased. And wait for the rest. Their thumbs have been cut off and their… well… manhood…"

Lynley flinched. "It rings a bell."

"Yep, Russian mob, that was my first thought, I've seen that before too. I mean, one day you're a big gun and the next day they won't even let you the front door. I've seen those bad boys settle score and believe me, it's not pretty. But the penis work, man, it's quite another business. I'm thinking pimp retaliation on bad johns or a grudge between whoremongers gone wrong."

"Bad or wrong doesn't even begin to cover that," Lynley picked up the tarp and gave the first body a thorough look. "What about those cuts on the face? Same on the over one?"

"No - and not a clue. Maybe he tried to defend himself, I would have…"

"Lafferty rang me, have you seen him yet?"

"He called a while ago, problems with his bike or something. He's gonna be here any minute now. We managed to keep people away from the crime scene. A jogger found them. Well, her dog actually. She's with the PCSO."

"It's a she?"

"Yes, 25-28, unemployed. Found the bodies around 07:40 this morning."

"Did you get her statement?"

"Yes, first thing. Nothing fancy. It was still dark. Her dog drew her attention to the bodies. She's a CSI fan. She said she was careful 'not to contaminate the crime scene'… you got to love TV," he sighed.

"OK. It's your call. What's next?"

"Well, let's get this show on the road man!"

Two hours later, they were relaxing over a pint of ale at the Bull's Head, an old pub in Chiswick on the north bank of the Thames. Though very popular at weekends, they were glad it was now virtually empty. Sheltered from traffic, with its low ceilings, timber panel, wooden boards and flagstones, it was the epitome of hundred years of history in Buchanan's eyes. A subdued light was coming through small leaded windows and from his seat he had a perfect view on Oliver's Island and its thick woods.

"It's a haven for birds," commented Lynley, exhaustion reading on his face despite his usual poised attitude, "… herons, cormorants and Canada geese, I'm told." He paused, looking away from the scenery and back to Buchanan.

"Well, hard morning," said Buchanan. "I always wonder…"

"Say no more. I think I will never get used to seeing so many and so inventive crimes."

Silence was de rigueur.

"This pub is quite a find Lynley."

"Actually, I wanted to take you to the 'Barge', but it's newer, since the original fifteenth century pub called 'The Navigator Arms' was destroyed during the WWII bombings of London. I thought you might like the Bull's Head. The surrounding area had changed from a quaint village to a very posh riverside enclave though. It is not unheard of that former fishermen's cottages can fetch extravagant tags."

"Correct me if I'm wrong but Chiswick is in the London Borough of Hounslow?"

"Absolutely. And it means cheese farm in old English."

"Really? I had no idea," he winked. "I guess we're not far from Acton, huh? So what do you think? I'm calling Barbie? She could meet us here. Maybe she'd have some insight on the victims and the crimes…"

Lynley was saved by the passing of a train on the near steel bridge. He shrugged.

"She's still on temporary leave."

"Yes, I know, I live with her, remember?"

Lynley nodded, with a sense of being completely, utterly bereft.

"I've been feeding her with bits and pieces of my last cases since I have been back to London and I tell you man maybe she's lost her memory but she's still a first grade cop. Plain and simple, she's simply working wonders! I can't believe she's not made Inspector yet!"

"Excuse me I'm not sure I'm following you."

"I confess that's the fringe benefit of having a Blackberry paid for by the NYPD and a perfectly reliable broadband connection on my friend Barb's side."

"Really?" said Lynley, uncomfortable with the words 'friend' and 'benefit' used in the same sentence.

"Yes, look, I know I'm not allowed to do that, but you're not going to tell anyone huh? The deal is I send her videos and pics from the crime scenes and some scans of the forensics reports and she just chew around. She's got plenty of time on her hands apart from the shrink sessions and she's more willing to assist me."

Lynley could not say a word. All this time, she'd been working with Buchanan, even when she was still in Howenstow. Hence the long talks over the phone. "I bet she misses work."

"You can tell! I pressed her into taking a break last night or she might have not slept at all! Can you believe that? And you're not going to recognize her when she's coming."

"She's coming?" Lynley forced a faint smile on his face.

"Only if I call her. What can it be? A half hour ride?"

"More or less. Why would… it-it… is she different?" He could not believe he was actually stuttering and in front of Buchanan of all people.

An annoying ringtone startled him.

"You'll see! She just texted me back. She's on her way."

-o-

Barbara retrieved the chirping phone from the kitchen counter and read. "FYI w/SW1 :p Bull Hd Cheesic come asap dw luv" (For your information, I am with Lynley at the Bull Head in Chiswick. Come as soon as you can. Don't worry. Love) That was Jack. He was with Lynley at the Bull's Head in Chiswick and he was asking her to come as fast as she could.

But why would she worry? Was it because of the investigation? The last thing she wanted right now was having an argument with Tommy about the fact that she was not supposed to be getting back to duty before she was given a go. She called a cab, grabbed her small purse, her keys and her coat and gave herself an appreciative look in the brand new full-length mirror Jack had just bought for her and ran outside to the corner of the street. Chiswick was not exactly next door. Jack would probably stall and make him wait as long as possible but she did not want to take any chances.

She had had ample time to think over her stay in Howenstow and its last dramatic evening. She had been angry with Tommy more than ever before. She could not recall the whole incident, but she had said things she regretted. On the other hand, she was glad they were off her chest even if she had needed a large quantity of fine whiskey, iced vodka, some gin and probably lemon, salt and tequila to finally speak her mind. Boy, had she been smashed!

And he will never dare to tackle her and bring it up for discussion. More likely, he will blame himself for her intoxication and give absolutely no credit to what she had said. Assuming that he will keep quiet, she had no means to find out what had truly happened after she had passed out in the reading room on his priceless rug.

Chucking away for good to oblivion the commotion of the first part of that evening, she concentrated on the rest. At some point, she had fallen out of her drowsiness to find herself on her bed back in her room. Had he needed Denton's help to bring her back upstairs? She doubted it. She was severely drunk but he had hardly touched anything. She was aware that he had carefully planned every step of that evening for her and she had ruined it. Too bad he had gone through all this trouble to send her away. A greasy pub, a pair of sausages and some pints would have done the trick.

To open her eyes had seemed like the most impossible task of all and there was no way she could succeed in going to the loo with this pounding headache and her churning stomach. She put her hands on her tummy to find out that someone had taken care of her dress and underwear and that she was naked under the sheet and duvet. From the unusual scent, the 'someone' she suspected had even used a steeply pricy skin lotion to take off her face her probably smudged make up. She knew how to make an outrageous expensive beauty product out of a cheap one. She had been collecting samples for ages. Not for her personal use. Just to know she had them handy. The lotion was probably his mum's, she smiled.

Extending her arms, she felt a resistance and information hit the fan. NAKED. She was naked. Tommy – it could NOT have been Denton - had undressed her, removed her make up, what else? Images of her heaving over the toilet bowl popped back in a flash. Did he bathe her? Her hair was a bit damp… and now he was asleep beside her, his breathing deep, his face relaxed… and he had his evening clothes on. Contemplating her options, she turned towards him and waited a minute for the room around her to settle down. She ran her finger on the outline of his face, the bone structure of his jaw and cheek. He mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over to her, put his arm on her waist and pulled her to him. She stopped breathing. His mouth was inches of hers. She wondered what it would feel like to kiss him and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, it was already 8 and Denton was gently knocking on her door for breakfast. The bed was cold and he was long gone.

And now she was going to see him again. She did not know what to make of that information yet. She was hoping that it will be fun to work with him again.

She sat in the cab and relaxed.

-o-

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