Epilogue
So how can you tell me you're lonely
and say that for you the sun don't shine
Let me take you by the hand
and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something
to make you change your mind
"The Streets of London" - Sinéad O'Connor
INVESTMENT MILLIONAIRE SENTENCED TO LIFE IN PRISON FOR MURDERS, THEFT
23 March 2000 – Colin Maxwell, Assoc. Press
After a legal battle that has ensued for nearly three and a half months, Julian Arthur Westward, former Vice-President of the prestigious Hawkesworth Brokerage Firm, was sentenced yesterday to life imprisonment in Her Majesty's Pittenham Prison in London, having been tried and convicted on five counts of murder and five counts of grand theft.
"James Butler Hickok! Are you sitting on your bum reading the paper when you should be getting ready?"
Jimmy lowered the newspaper down to find Nan standing in front of him, hands on her hips, the indignant expression of a woman wronged clear on her face. Her cheeks were pink with temper, her eyes blazing. She looked glorious. Furious and ready to skin him alive, but glorious.
"Hi, honey," he responded pleasantly.
"Don't 'hi, honey' me," she retorted. "Jimmy, you know we've got to be out of the flat by noon if we're going to make it!"
"I'm ready when you are," he said, with a pointed glance that managed to underline the fact that he was fully dressed, from his jacket down to his shoes, while she stood there in nothing but a pair of slacks and a camisole.
Nan straightened herself and glared haughtily at him. "I'll be ready in a minute."
"Fine. I'll time you. You've got sixty seconds."
She narrowed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him, turning to flounce back down the hallway to the loo. Jimmy chuckled at her retreating figure before following her, the paper in hand. He paused in the doorway as she stood before the sink, attacking her hair with a brush, trying to tame it into normality.
"Listen to this," he said proudly, reading from the article as he leaned against the doorframe, "'Detective Superintendent Emma Shannon, of the London Metropolitan Police Force's Area Major Incident Team, was quoted as saying Westward's conviction was a great victory for the LMPF. "After months of hard work," Shannon stated, "it is immensely rewarding to know that Mr Westward is at last being made to pay for his crimes. Our only regret is that we were not able to see that it was done sooner.'"
Nan grinned as she gave up and began to twist her hair into a knot at the back of her head. "'Immensely rewarding,'" she laughed. "Sounds like Emma using her 'official' voice, doesn't it?"
Jimmy skimmed on through the article, past paragraphs detailing Westward's chain of murder and theft, and the weeks and weeks of work done by AMIT and the other LMPF teams. The article went on at great length about Westward's assault on Nan, describing her capture and the many injuries she had sustained. Jimmy couldn't bring himself to read that part.
"Oh, now this is interesting," he continued. "'Today Julian Westward will be taken to Pittenham Prison in North London. Pittenham, known colloquially as "The Pit," is home to many of Britain's most hardened criminals and has a reputation for violent outbreaks amongst its inhabitants.'" Jimmy snorted. "He won't last two days. They'll eat him alive."
Nan patted her hair into place, feeling like a teenage girl as she primped. She glanced at Jimmy's reflection in the mirror. "Do we have to hear about this now?"
"I just thought you might be interested now that it's all over."
"Well, you were wrong," she replied lightly, with just a hint of trepidation in her voice.
Since the trial of Julian Westward had begun, Nan had steadfastly refused to hear anything about the case. She left the newspapers to Jimmy and turned off the telly whenever any mention of it was made on the news. Apart from the testimony she had given, she was the only one of the AMIT officers who did not attend a moment of Westward's trial.
Jimmy had accused her once of avoiding what had happened to her, but far from avoiding, Nan was doing her best to meet her fears head on. She still saw an LMPF psychiatrist once a week and she had slowly but surely opened up more and more to her friends and family. "I'm trying not to be afraid of him, Jimmy," she had told him, "and I'm getting better. But that doesn't mean I have to immerse myself in all things Julian Westward."
Jimmy set the newspaper on the table in the hall and walked back to Nan, who was now in the bedroom searching frantically through the closet, shoving clothes aside with a loud screech of the hangers.
"What are you doing, woman?"
"Looking for a shirt!" Her voice was muffled as she thrust her head inside the closet.
"Don't bother; I like you in that little thing," he said wickedly, indicating her lacy camisole.
She paused only long enough to shoot him a contemptuous glance. Jimmy checked his watch. "If you want to catch the tube we've got about ten minutes."
"What if I want to catch a taxi?"
"Thirty."
"Ta da!" She emerged again a moment later, fully dressed, and twirled around in front of him.
Jimmy grabbed her by the hand and began to pull her out of the bedroom and into the living room. "Beautiful. Perfect. Well worth the wait. Now let's get to the station." He tossed her jacket at her.
"You're so chivalrous," she said as he ushered her out the door.
Her sarcasm no longer had much effect on him. He could breeze over it quite easily. "You're the one who likes to be on time."
"We could have taken a taxi. What's with you and this obsession with the tube anyway?"
Jimmy shrugged. He could hardly explain it to himself, let alone anyone else, but he was completely enamoured of the London Underground. He loved standing on its dirty platforms waiting with the other passengers. He loved that loud whooshing sound the train made as it pulled to a stop in front of him, and then the hissing noise of the doors opening. He still got a thrill out of knowing he was riding underneath the streets above him, and he didn't doubt that he always would. The New York subway system had nothing on the Underground.
As he and Nan walked to the station, Jimmy drew her hand into his. They walked in companionable silence. It was an utterly gorgeous, unseasonably warm spring day. The sun was shining generously and everyone in London seemed to be out enjoying it.
This was one of the many things he liked best about being with Nan: little moments like this, the two of them walking together hand in hand. He sneaked a peek over at her as she smiled to herself. She was looking lovely in her peach-coloured blouse, her hair drawn up to expose her slim neck, that delicious smile on her lips. And she seemed remarkably unselfconscious for once.
Despite the amazing leaps her recovery had taken, and despite the fact that the visible reminders of what Westward had done to her were few, Nan still had difficulty walking with her old confidence. When she looked into the mirror she did not see the great lengths she had come, she saw only the white scar that slashed across her temple, the healing gash scarring her full bottom lip, the haunted look in her dark blue eyes. She walked with caution now, acutely aware of the awkward limp her gait had acquired. The doctor had told her that with more time and physical therapy, it could grow less noticeable, and in truth it was insignificant, but to Nan it was an embarrassing reminder that she was no longer the woman she had once been.
Jimmy, on the other, still saw only beauty and worth, just as he had from the moment he had fallen in love with her. He had tried to argue this point more than any other—that she was still an amazing woman, that there was still so much to be admired—and after a lengthy, stubborn battle, Nan seemed to be at last seeing reason. Now that she was back in the office, working hard at the job she adored, she felt her old self returning to her. But she still had a ways to go; her poise and self-assurance had suffered a terrible blow.
They were happy, he thought, as they pushed through the turnstiles in the tube station, slipping their tickets into the automatic feeder. They worked and ate and slept, they had dinner at Will and Jamie's, bought new furniture, and argued over which program to watch on any given evening. They were content, and blissfully, unremarkably normal, the same as thousands of couples all over London. They were lucky to have each other.
And yet Jimmy knew that no other man could be as lucky as he was; there was only one Nan Kenworthy in the world, after all, and she was his.
It was difficult not to evaluate these things as he and Nan were whisked speedily along the Underground, toward the going-away luncheon that was being held for those heading back to the States. It was difficult, he reflected, to say goodbye to his friends and not remember that, but for circumstances utterly beyond his control, he would be flying back to New York with them today.
'If Emma hadn't lectured me on being nicer to Nan, I never would have bought her that drink in the pub. And if I hadn't bought her that drink we never would have had that incredible night. And if we hadn't had that night,' he realised, 'I might never have fallen in love with her.' And of course the worst thought of all, 'If Nan hadn't lived, I wouldn't be staying. I would be going back to New York. I couldn't bear to be here without her; not when everywhere I turn reminds me of her and how much she loves it here.'
He glanced over at Nan. She was standing next to him, clinging to a pole for support, her head resting against it. She was staring dreamily at an advert for toothpaste that was plastered above the window opposite her. Jimmy grinned to himself. He loved her so much, from the messy bits of hair escaping the twist at the nape of her neck, right on down to the sturdy toes of her Doc Marten boots. He loved everything from her overwhelmingly generous heart, to the way she wrinkled her nose when she laughed, to her incredibly annoying habit of hogging all the covers at night.
"Penny for your thoughts," she said with a smile, breaking his reverie.
Jimmy started back to reality, then relaxed into another grin. Another 'what if' thought had occurred to him. "I was just thinking," he said, lowering his voice so that only she could hear him, "that if you hadn't been late that day picking me up at the airport, I might not have gotten so irritated with you. And if I hadn't gotten so irritated with you, we never would have gotten off on the wrong foot, and we never would have-"
"Wasted all that time loathing each other?" supplied Nan, eyes sparkling as she followed his train of thought.
"I thought you were devastating the first time I saw you," he said. "Did I ever tell you that?"
"No," she replied, delighted.
"Yep. Gorgeous, devastating, the works. But I wanted strangle you. Do you have any idea how awful it is to wait in an airport for hours?"
She raised her eyebrow, baiting him. "Are you suggesting it was all my fault, Lieutenant, is that what you're saying?"
"Well," he drawled, "you were two hours late."
Nan narrowed her eyes and responded with a hiss of playful anger, "I'm human; I made a mistake. What's your excuse for having been such a rude, pompous git when I got there?"
The rotund older man next to them suddenly laughed in unabashed appreciation, not caring that he had been caught eavesdropping. "Too right, love," he chuckled. "You tell him. Give 'im what for."
Nan and Jimmy turned to the man and burst into laughter just as the train screeched to a halt at the Covent Garden station. The man waved cheerfully to them as they disembarked hand in hand.
"Guess we got a bit out of hand back there," commented Nan.
"When do we not?" Jimmy smirked.
They emerged into a Covent Garden bursting with people and energy. The gorgeous weather seemed to have brought out every inhabitant of London, and they all seemed to be congregating in one small area. The noise level was unbelievable, the crowds thick with men and women of every conceivable age and race. Buskers littered the streets, playing everything from violins and guitars to harps and tambourines. One group was performing an abridged version of 'Romeo and Juliet,' the four men and two women rushing madly about, changing costumes and accents as they melded one role into another. On the opposite corner a Peruvian band played their native instruments, the low, almost hollow sound of the wooden flutes rising beautifully above the crowds. Further on down the street an Aborigine, his hair matted and white, his face careworn, sat on the ground, an enormous wooden didgeridoo laying before him as he argued candidly with a Scotsman over who was invading whose turf.
"God, I love this city," remarked Jimmy, startling Nan with his fervour.
Nan smiled. She had grown used to this; Jimmy was completely enamoured of London, and was given to sudden bouts of vocal appreciation whenever the moment overtook him. He was as likely to burst into spasms of delight over the incredible mixture of smells in the air-the fog, the spicy Indian foods, the sea breeze-as he was over the fact that the barmaid down at their local pub knew him by name and never failed to greet him cheerfully. He by no means thought London to be perfect, and had his moments of complaint like anyone else, but his new home was firmly embedded in his heart. He had taken to it like a true Londoner.
They walked on toward the restaurant, and when they passed Nigel Atherton's pawnbroker's, now empty and desolate with a faded 'To Sell' sign in its window, neither of them gave it a second glance. But Nan's hand squeezed Jimmy's just a little bit tighter all the way to the restaurant.
The waitress escorted them back to the room that had been reserved for the officers. It was already half-full, appetisers on the table, laughter ringing from wall to wall. Nan and Jimmy's entrance made a small sensation.
"Well, if it isn't love's young dream," Iain Langley remarked with a wink.
"And love's other young dream right on their heels," laughed Ike as Kid and Lou came in, struggling with their suitcases and carry-on bags.
Within moments everyone had arrived and seated themselves at the enormous table. Teaspoon made a point of closing the door so that their boisterous party wouldn't disturb the restaurant's other clientele.
Lunch was ordered and for the next couple of hours the officers ate, drank, talked, and laughed. No one mentioned work-they were currently assigned in Shepherd's Bush following a drug trafficking ring-and talk focused instead on inconsequentials: the weather, what had been on telly last night, the funny remarks Langley's youngest daughter had made about the state of her father's moustache.
Gradually, though, everyone quieted. Glasses were drained dry, plates finally emptied, and conversation died away. They all seemed to be waiting for something, although they weren't sure what. The moment Teaspoon rose with his glass in his hand, however, they knew exactly what it was.
Teaspoon waited till all eyes were on him, flashing them his patented, crooked smile. He bestowed Rachel with a special wink before speaking. "I'd just like to take this opportunity," he said, "to say thank you to all you wonderful people for your hospitality to my officers and me these past six months. I sure didn't know what to expect when I flew over here, and I was...what's that expression you use here?…'dead chuffed,'" he supplied to everyone's amusement, "to find the nicest group of people we could ever have hoped to work with. So cheers to all of you."
"That's a first," Buck whispered to Ike. "I've never known Teaspoon to finish a speech in less time than it took to eat the meal."
"I heard that, Cross," growled Teaspoon. "Don't forget who you'll be sitting next to on that plane for over six hours."
Everyone laughed.
"And on that note," Rachel reminded him, "we'd better call a taxi now if we want to get to the airport on time."
"Not quite on that note, Rachel," Sam said, reaching behind him for a large bag decorated with a balloon print and overflowing with colourful tissue paper. He handed it to Teaspoon. "From all of us," he said, "to all of you."
Kid, Cody, Buck, and Lou huddled around Teaspoon as he withdrew the card and opened it, reading it with a laugh, glancing over each inscription from the officers who had signed it. Then he removed the object inside the bag, a large, old-fashioned wooden frame, beautifully carved and ornate, with a huge red ribbon around it. Bewildered, Teaspoon slid the ribbon down from around the frame.
And stared at it.
The officers behind him stared at it, too.
There, in all his 8-by-10 inch glory, in full colour, every black hair in place, the familiar sneer in order, was Julian Westward standing in the station, his face blackened by Jimmy's fists, prison number held in front of him as he glared defiantly at the camera. His mugshot.
The card was inscribed, in Emma's handwriting-'So you don't forget what we accomplished as a team, a pretty picture for the NYPD. With thanks, from AMIT.'
The room was silent. Kid, Cody, Lou, and Buck struggled to hold back their laughter. They all sneaked looks at Nan, well aware of her sensitivity on the subject of Julian Westward. Teaspoon marvelled for the hundredth time at this bizarre humour that seemed to carry the British through everything. He tried not to smile, and looked at Nan, too, gauging her reaction.
But she only grinned at them and winked. "Like the frame?" she asked cheekily. "I picked it out myself. I think it complements his eyes very well."
And then the room exploded into laughter once more.
Heathrow Airport was its usual manically busy self. Nasal voices echoed on the intercom, people rushed through the miles of halls to their planes. The air smelled stale and heavy with food and perfume.
The officers stood in a small group outside the security area: Kid, Cody, Buck, Lou, Jimmy, Ike, Nan, and Noah. The people around them pushed hastily past. Only passengers were allowed beyond the security gates.
Nan was holding on tightly to Kid, her hands cold and clammy. Lou had her arm looped through Jimmy's, eyes cast to the floor. No one was saying anything.
"Well," Cody began uncomfortably. "I guess this is it."
"Yeah," agreed Ike, "this is it."
They each dared to meet each other's eyes. Memories ran through them like electrical shocks, clusters of moments gathering in their minds, the inevitable outcome of working so closely together for so many months. No one knew just what to say. Should they pour out the thoughts they were now besieged with? Should they make do with a meaningful look and a hug?
"Kids?" ventured Teaspoon as he and Rachel joined them again, Styrofoam mugs of tea in their hands. "We should be going. Our flight boards in about thirty minutes."
In the end, they settled for somewhere in between. When there were words to be spoken, they did not hesitate to say them; and where a smile would do just as well, it was a smile that was given. And the hugs seemed to say it all.
"We'll keep in touch," Buck said, and then he smiled at Ike, waving his hand and disappearing through the doors.
"Don't forget me, now." With a wink, Cody was gone too.
Rachel gave each of them one last kiss and a lingering, affectionate look, before joining the two young men in security.
Teaspoon, at a loss for words, simply sighed and patted Ike and Noah on the face, in a gesture reminiscent of a father. He kissed Nan and hugged Jimmy hard, one last time. He said nothing as he vanished, finding no words adequate enough to relay his feelings.
"We should go," Ike said to Noah as they found themselves alone with Kid, Lou, Jimmy, and Nan. The air was suddenly heavy with emotion. He glanced at his watch. "We've got to be at that place."
"Right," Noah agreed, catching on. "That place we've gotta be."
"In Piccadilly," Ike said, at the same time Noah added, "In Russell Square."
They glanced at each other.
"Anyway, we've got to go," said Ike.
Lou and Nan watched them with amusement. With final goodbyes, Ike and Noah were gone, and the four were left alone.
Kid consulted the clock overhead. "We've really got to go, Lou. We've got less than twenty minutes, and you don't know Heathrow like I do. It's a flipping madhouse; we could be walking for miles before we ever get to our plane."
"Okay," whispered Lou. She fixed her brown eyes on Jimmy and reached for him again, hugging him with much more force than her tiny stature seemed to possess. "I'll miss you," she murmured. "So much, Jimmy. But I know you're happy here."
"And I know you'll be happy in New York with Kid." Jimmy drew back and brushed his lips across her forehead. "I expect to hear from you every week, Lou. I want to know what's going on in your life."
"It feels strange to think you won't be around to see it," she sniffed.
Jimmy smiled. "Not to worry, Lou. We'll be seeing each other again."
A few feet away, Kid and Nan were trading barbs, just as they had for years and just as they always would.
"Can I hug you?" asked Kid with a mock-sceptical smile. "Or do I dare in front of the great Mr Hickok?"
"The real question," retorted Nan, "is whether or not I want your spindly arms round me, Kidwell."
"Ah, go on. Of course you do," he laughed, and pulled her into an embrace. He bestowed her with a hearty kiss and said, "Take care of yourself, Nan, and for God's sake, let Jimmy take care of you, as well."
"Very funny." Kid and Lou went to each other then, picking up the bags that lay at their feet, slipping their arms around one another's waists. Kid and Jimmy reached out for one final handshake.
"Take care of her, Jimmy."
"If she'll let me. You do the same, Kid."
"If she'll let me," he agreed.
Nan and Lou shared a roll of the eyes.
"Write me," Nan said to her friend, "and call me. Tell me all about...you know." She wiggled her eyebrows up and down suggestively.
"Absolutely," winked Kid. "We'll see you again," he said as he and Lou made their way toward the doors. "We'll be back to visit, I know we will."
When they got to the doors, Kid and Lou stopped and turned around. They waved together, one last time, Lou blinking back tears, and then they were gone, leaving Jimmy and Nan standing alone.
After months of build-up, it was all over. Just like that.
Jimmy hugged Nan against his side and kissed the top of her head, thinking of the past six months and how life changed with every breath that was taken, every path that was chosen. He knew that falling in love with Nan Kenworthy was the best path he had ever walked down and he couldn't wait to see where it led him.
Nan was smiling faintly to herself, as if at some pleasant memory.
"Ready to go home?" he asked.
She turned to him, her beautiful blue eyes at level with his. "Yeah, let's go home."
And then they turned together, arms around one another, and walked out of the airport, past the harried travellers and tearful families, through the automatic doors that led them back outside; back onto the busy, bustling, exhilarating streets of London.
THE END
© 2000, 2007, 2013
Author's note: If anyone's at all interested, I did a bit of casting for my characters back in the day, for funsies. Here's who I had in mind (though, you are, of course, free to see whoever you wish).
DI Anna "Nan" Kenworthy...Claire Forlani
Julian Westward...Timothy Dalton
Will Kenworthy...Derek Jacobi
Jamie Kenworthy...Peter O'Toole
Paul "Paulie" Kenworthy...Jack Ryder
Victoria Westward...Cameron Diaz
DCS Seth Alcott...Alan Rickman
DI Iain Langley...Kenneth Branagh
DS Pete Binchy...Steven Mackintosh
Geoff Devanney...Jack Davenport
Rhees Carter...Robbie Coltrane
Drucilla "Dru" Garrison...Gwyneth Paltrow
DC Jason Albarn...Jason Flemyng
DS Roddy O'Hara...Aiden Gillen
DC Alan Emerson...Christopher Eccleston