.

.

Chapter Twenty One

.

When you were young

.

Gene tripped over the postman on his way into his house the following morning.

'Night on the town?' the postman handed him a thin stack of letters.

'Working.' Gene said, shutting the door in the postman's face.

He ripped the letter in the brown envelope open and stood by the kitchen sink reading, not knowing whether to smile or frown. The letter informed him there was an 80% certainty that he was Christopher's father. He boiled the kettle and made himself some tea, standing at the worktop and thinking hard. They had told him at the clinic the only way they could be more accurate was to test other potential fathers and discount them. Gene knew he had to put aside any doubts he had left and concentrate on being the best father he could be. 'Sorry Claudia' he whispered.

Before he left for the station he popped in to Christopher's room. He was awake, happily flying an Eeyore above his head, 'Dard' he dazzled Gene with his smile.

'Hello.' Gene smiled back, 'Didn't know Eeyore could fly.'

Christopher nodded, 'Can'

'So I see' Gene said.

'Zoom.' Christopher explained, as Eeyore looked decidedly airsick.

Ann appeared at the door, 'Morning!'

'Morning' Gene replied.

'You look tired.' Ann said, and Gene was sure there was a little gleam in her eye.

'Hmm- yes' he shuffled awkwardly, 'Oh well, better get to the station.' he touched Christopher's cheek warily and the little boy giggled.

'Yes Christopher and I have a busy day planned too.' Ann said, 'Sainsbury's for a start- urgh.'

'Thanks' Gene told her, 'for keeping him in a routine. He seems happy.'

'He's a happy lad at the moment; it could all change' Ann said, 'Terrible twos? But hopefully not, and if it happens we'll deal with it.'

As Gene drove the battered Merc to Fenchurch he wondered why the thought of raising a son scared him more than the thought of tackling Keats.

.

Over the following week the officers of Fenchurch East noticed a change in the routine of their DCI. He would be there early in the morning, glaring at them from his office and reading through some seemingly fascinating paperwork that they never got to hear about. By mid afternoon he had always disappeared, returning just as they were about to leave off for the day, distracted but somehow driven, a hungry determined look in his eyes, to re-establish his position as their great leader, and prevent them all from leaving off at a decent time. Henrique at L'auberge was miserable when he considered at the amount of income he was missing out on now Gene no longer frequented the wine bar.

Jane and Andrew sat watching Henrique's glum face and chewing things over.

'He's not even bothered about that undercover job he had lined up for me.' Andrew told Jane, 'I'm nearly going insane with boredom, didn't fancy it to begin with but now I feel as though I'm itching for a bit of action.'

'I'll give you a bit of action.' Jane offered matter of factly. She laughed raucously as Fox looked terrified. 'Kidding, kidding, kidding, kid-ding!' she spluttered. 'I'm not into snapping spines. At the very least I need a prop forward.'

'I'm a cage fighter.' Fox boasted.

'Oh yeah, but I bet your opponents are teddy bears.' she teased.

'Thought you were gay.' Andrew admitted.

She stared at him, 'I bat and bowl. Don't look like that- Christ you've got hang ups.'

'I haven't' he said sulkily, 'Your personal life is of no interest to me. Are there many female prop forwards then?'

'Dunno, haven't come across many.' Jane said, leaning into Andrew, 'We could go and have a quick bonk, no strings; you could be the driver.'

Andrew stared at her muscular thighs and knew they were more than he could handle, 'Thanks for the offer, but no thanks.'

'Chinese then?' she didn't seem particularly offended by the knock back.

'Sounds good.' Andrew nodded.

oxxo

'Come on Page and Brin, get your arses into gear, I really need a search engine' muttered Alex as she hopped on a bus back to Fenchurch from the Public Archive building in Kew. Keats was laying low. There seemed to be absolutely zilch about him in the public domain. The man who never was, she thought as she gazed at the yellowing London Planes. She had scribbled realms of notes about him, trying to collate all the information that they did have into some kind of sense, and every day gave the carbon copy of her scribblings to Gene to read. But all she had really written was a rehashed account of the time he had spent at Fenchurch East in had to be something, she wracked her brains. As the bus groaned its way through the jammed up streets Alex became more and more frustrated, would a cab have been any faster? She knew Gene would be waiting for her at the flat and again she would have nothing for him. How could you build up a case against to commit someone to an institution for the criminally insane with no information?

She noticed a passenger take something from an inner pocket in his coat and pass it to another man- grubby video probably- she thought, and gave a tiny gasp. The video, the evidence! Gene had said that Keats showed him a video of their lives together. How they were linked. But Gene had never said what actually happened to the tape. She couldn't understand why she hadn't thought of it before. With a couple of stops to go she got off the bus and began hurrying to the flat.

Gene was asleep on the sofa. She baulked at waking him; he looked so peaceful. But he opened his eyes as she dithered.

'Bolls'

She kneeled down and kissed him. His arm moved up under her hair and around her neck, pulling her in. Every time his lips latched onto hers it was a shock of the loveliest kind. 'Find anything?' he whispered when they'd finally stopped kissing.

'Sorry' she frowned, 'But…you know the tape? The video he showed you when he abducted you? What happened to it?'

His eyes shot open and he sat up, 'I can't remember. I don't remember him taking it from the loft apartment, and if he went back for it- the estate agent changed the locks- he would have had to break in.'

'And Danny's buying the building' Alex smiled.

'But Fenchurch West went over it with a fine toothcomb- well, probably a yard broom knowing them, but still.' Gene sighed.

Alex felt a chill cut through the balmy September afternoon, 'but you told them you didn't have a clue who abducted you, and if they found the tape why haven't they been in touch with you about it? They know you know Keats. It's been almost a month now, you'd think they would have worked it out.'

'The tape wasn't there then….unless….' Gene shook his head.

'Unless what?' Alex asked.

'Unless he got to them, Fenchurch West; he may have some hold over someone there.' Gene said, 'Captain Hook for instance.'

'DCI Hook does everything by the book.' Alex said.

'Anyone's corruptible Bolls, you know that- except maybe you.' Gene pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. 'You're doing too much' he told her, 'Maybe we can't see the wood for the trees.'

'I know if we don't get him we'll always be looking over our shoulders wondering what his next move is going to be.' Alex said into his chest, 'I don't want us to live like that.'

'Well, we're at a dead end.' Gene said. 'Guess we have to wait for him to stir his turgid arse'

'Or you could make the next move.' Alex said tentatively, moving away from him slightly, 'Tell everyone- tell the world- go to the Commissioner, tell Fenchurch West, tell the newspapers that it was Keats who abducted you and beat you almost senseless, flush him out…..'

'No' Gene said firmly.

'But….' Alex frowned.

'No!' Gene repeated, 'I don't want all the shit brought out of the woodwork. Think about it, think about my….my grave-'

'But no-one will know it's you up there at Farringfield Green, not for a long time anyway' Alex reasoned, 'We took all the Id, the warrant card and the epaulette. They'll just know that Keats has been murdering people for years and getting away with it…'

'And not aging…' Gene said, he sat back down on the sofa, 'How would that be explained? I just want that bit of history left out. We know he pushed that poor cow under the train at Marylebone, and God knows how many others he's disposed of. Recent history Alex, we have to get him on that, trouble is he's as slippery as KY Jelly, think- Viv, Louise Gardiner, you can't link them to him but he took them, killed them…or nudged them along to their deaths …we have to do the right thing in the right way, like that note said, or give up and hope he's gone away.'

Alex slid onto Gene's lap and grabbed a notepad from the coffee table, 'I'm not giving up.' she said, 'Right!' she began jotting, 'First we ask Danny if we can go back to the loft apartment to see if the tape's still there, even if we don't use it as evidence you need to dispose of it don't you? Then we go and see Francis 'Slimy' Morgan, then we go to Manchester….'

'Manchester?' Gene grabbed her knee.

'Keats is- was- is? a copper-according to the tape he was there in Manchester when you were. Was he a copper then? We need to check through records and try to find out. Maybe that nice Derek will help us.' Alex wriggled on his lap, entrenching herself into him.

'Litton? He might I guess. Never done police work like this before- have to say I like it' he groped her.

'Yes, I can feel you do' Alex moved over his erection, 'but we don't have time, I've got to get ready for work in a few minutes.'

Gene gave a huge yawn, 'Ring Moneybags and tell him you've got a headache, then we can nip off to bed for an hour or two. It could be inspirational'

Alex shook her head but leaned against him, 'You've got such awful double standards you know. I can imagine what you'd have said if I'd called in sick with a headache when I was your DI .'

'In my mind you're still my DI.' Gene said.

'In my mind I'm still your DI' Alex replied softly. 'But I'm still not calling in sick.'

'I have to be home tonight anyway.' he looked torn, 'Ann wants a night off. Poor woman deserves one so I'm chief Daddy, what the hell do I do if he cries?'

'Well- don't tell him not to be such a Jessie and you'll be fine.' Alex saw how unsure Gene was, 'Just cuddle him.'

'Hmm' Gene looked doubtful.

'It'll be Ok' Alex said.

'Course it will,' he rested his forehead on hers. 'nothing to this single parenting lark.'

oxxo

'Alex?' Danny was on the phone.

'I need to see you.' Alex said, 'Any chance you could pop into Luigi's tonight?'

'All sounds very secretive and intriguing.' Danny replied, 'I was coming to see you anyway, you're off the hook, new manager is fit for duty and raring to go apparently.'

'That's good news.' Alex said, 'um, the flat?'

'Yours for as long as you want it.' Danny said generously.

'You're so kind.' Alex told him.

'Yes I suppose I am.' he laughed, 'I'll nip in around eleven.'

'Ok' Alex said.

oxxo

Keats smoked another cigarette as he loitered by a radiator in White Chapel CID. The DCI there wasn't nearly as much fun as Gene; a walkover, Keats could feel a massacre coming on. It was such an uneven match Keats felt almost sorry for the man. He walked back to the incident room where DCI John Bailey was squirming behind his desk.

'Well, I've thought it over and spoken to the powers that be, John old son.' he sucked his teeth and shook his head, 'No go I'm afraid. They're not prepared to shield you on this one. One step too far they said. The Met have to be seen to be squeaky clean these days, no leeway.'

'But I can't be expected to know what every one of my officers is doing 24 hours a day!' Bailey was waxy white and visibly trembling, 'I hadn't a clue what Lawson was up to.'

'Corruption and extortion' Keats sung the words, 'by your closest officer- your DI- it just doesn't wash. They don't believe you. Mentioned a trial. Between you and me I think they're looking to make an example of you. A good lawyer might be an idea.'

John Bailey looked as if he was about to vomit. 'I can't stand trial! They'd crucify me.'

Keats nodded, 'It doesn't look good for you I'm sorry to say. A DCI in prison- doesn't bear thinking about does it? As an old friend of mine used to remark quite often, you'll probably have to knit yourself a new arsehole.' he smiled sympathetically, 'I did try John.'

'Thanks' John Bailey placed his hands on the desk to stop them shaking.

Keats made a big thing of looking at his watch, 'Oh is that the time? I'd better be off.'

'B..b..but what will happen to me?' begged DCI Bailey.

'I would imagine you'll be relieved of duty tomorrow and things will go on from there. Not my department but I think that's the procedure . Like I said, I tried my best.' Keats peered out of the window and pulled the collar of his coat around his neck, 'Looks like rain, I hate this cold don't you? Summer is over I guess.'

'Thirty years service.' whispered John Bailey, 'My retirement, my pension.'

It was getting harder for Keats to keep the sympathetic nods coming.

'Sorry mate.' he said one last time, before sweeping out of Bailey's office. He walked purposefully through the deserted incident room and out of the double doors, but when he was through them and out of sight he slowed down and waited.

It had taken a long time and lots of research to find the most vulnerable high ranking officer in the Met. DCI Bailey wasn't actually in any danger of going to trial; he wouldn't even be stood down from duties. All that would have been asked of him was that he helped D&C further with their enquiry into the malpractices of DI Lawson. But Bailey was a man on the brink, he had a greedy ex-wife who was on his case all the time for more maintenance, and an even greedier new wife who had big ideas about the type of life a DCI'S wife should lead. Bailey was in debt up to his eyeballs but had still plodded a straight and narrow path. All he needed was a little shove over the edge.

Keats waited in the shadows, calm and still. A few minutes later he heard a single gunshot. He smiled, and headed back to CID, hurrying through the incident room to Bailey's office. Other officers had heard the shot and eventually arrived to see Keats cradling the head of DCI Bailey.

'He's gone' he told them as Bailey's sightless eyes remained firmly fixed on him, and the word 'Soul!' floated in the air.

oxxo