Twenty Two
This was by far the tensest car ride that Jakes had ever been in in his life.
Or.
Well.
You know.
After the 'shovel talk drive home' with Thursday, of course.
Abby had been in tears on the phone, babbling almost incoherently about the bad man who had her dad, and trying desperately to describe the place that she was, which, given that she was 5-years-old, pretty much meant a description of trees and clouds and other not-so-useful things.
He'd eventually gotten out of her that it was a payphone she was calling from, using up hard-earned pocket money that he promised he'd pay back, and that there was a bed and breakfast nearby. That, combined with a vague yet familiar description of the area she was in, had Jakes realising her location.
A smart criminal never revisits the scene of the crime.
Luckily for them, Gull was turning out to be more insane than smart.
And so, it was without no sense of irony that had the four men piling into the black car and racing towards the village he and Morse had questioned only a few weeks before. The payphone that Gull had used himself to call in the anonymous tip, was now finally helping them, as Jakes remembered exactly where it was and gave Strange directions from the passenger seat. In the back, sat a nervous-but-brave-faced Thursday, and a more-than-a-little-miffed Doctor DeBryn. He hadn't been joking about assigning Jakes to desk duty, but given that Abby would only speak to him and no one else, a bit of field work was necessary. So, he decided to come along for the ride and ensure that Jakes didn't collapse. Or so he said.
His hands were shaking, and he clasped them tightly together to try and hide it.
They were almost there, they almost had Abby, and if she could remember where she'd been kept, then they'd soon find her father too.
He tried to ignore the little voice that told him it was too easy.
That little voice sounded suspiciously like Morse.
And Morse was usually right.
"There!" Thursday exclaimed, suddenly leaning forward in his seat and giving them all a fright.
The streets were busy this time of day, people returning from late lunch, going home early, or taking the afternoon off. But between the dismal mass of bodies, was a glass box. And inside the door, stood a brightly-dressed girl clutching a phone.
Jakes jumped out of the car before it had even stopped moving, ignoring the dizziness and concerned shout from DeBryn, and unceremoniously shoving his way through the crowds to reach her.
When Abby saw him, her blue eyes widened, and a great big heaving sob wracked her frame.
He flung open the door and she met him half way, flinging herself into his arms and sending them both to the cold damp pavement. She began crying in earnest, and he quickly shushed her, whispering soothing words he didn't even hear himself as he rocked back and forth on the ground with the mud-streaked girl half in his lap and half in his arms.
He didn't know if he was trying to calm down Abby, or his own racing heart.
Christ, was this was it felt like being a parent? Worrying and nervous and fretting? How the bloody hell did Morse do it?! How did Thursday do it?!
"It's okay, Abby, I'm here, it's okay, we'll get him back, your daddy will be fine, it's okay-"
An endless stream of reassurances tumbled from his lips, true or not, it didn't matter. What mattered, was calming her down and calming himself down and where on earth were the others?
It took a good few minutes before Abby could stop crying, and even more before her breathing turned back to normal. Jakes found it equally parts fascinating and terrifying how young children could breathe while wailing and not die from lack of oxygen, and it was an experience that he did not want to repeat.
Carefully pulling back, he met red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks.
"You're safe now".
"I know" She hiccupped, "But my daddy isn't".
He awkwardly sat up and she stood, putting them almost eye-level.
Abby shivered, and he frowned, wondering just how far she'd walked to find this payphone.
Shrugging out of his coat, he knelt and wrapped it around her, the ends of it brushing off the ground as it swapped her tiny frame.
"Mr Peters?"
"Yea?"
"You're going to get my daddy back, right?"
Jakes took a deep breath before standing, pausing for a moment as his head spun and not caring of the dirt and damp and now stained his trousers.
"'Course I am, kiddo".
She slowly nodded and shivered again.
"Mr Peters?"
"Yea?"
"... Can I stay with you until we find him?"
He stared at her and she stared back, the tears in her eyes making them almost look like the same colour as her father's.
"Why not?"
She smiled, small and hesitant, and he grinned back before holding out a hand, which she gladly took.
Turning, he found the three other men leaning back against the car a polite distance away. Thursday looked worried but far less tense, DeBryn was simply relieved, and Strange was gaping at him with wide eyes and an open mouth and-
Oh.
He'd never gotten around to telling him about him and Morse, had he?
Well, now the cat was thoroughly out of the bag.
Or payphone box.
Whatever.
Walking over, he tried to keep his embarrassed flushing to a minimum, and instead focused on encouraging Abby to stay in front of him despite her shyness.
He doubted he would ever leave her out of his sight again.
Still nervous around Strange, she refused to look at him, but returned Thursday's small smile readily enough. When she saw DeBryn, however, she grinned, and letting go of Jakes' hand, ran forward to tackle him with a hug.
"Max!"
"Hello, Miss Abigail" He replied warmly, reaching down and lifting her with surprising ease, "I hear you've had quite the adventure".
As the five-year-old began rambling about the last few hours, Thursday gave a subtle nod to the side, and Jakes quickly stepped out of earshot with him.
"Well?!"
"She's alright" He said simply, "Or, at least as alright as she can be. Cold, wet, needs a change of clothes, but... she seems okay".
"And Morse?"
"Didn't mention him or Gull".
Thursday got a strange gleam in his eye, and looked back at the girl balanced on DeBryn's hip.
"We need to question her".
"We need to get her fed, washed, and dried" Jakes corrected, perhaps a tad too harshly, "The last thing we need is to rescue Morse and then have to explain why his daughter's in hospital".
His Inspector took a deep breath and released it slowly, "... I'll bring her back to mine. You and her both. We can swing by flats on the way to pick up a few things, but I want you to stay with Win and me for the time being".
He immediately opened his mouth to protest but got cut off by a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"No, Jakes. No arguments. Win will be delighted to have you, we have the space, and there's safety in numbers... I've already lost one member of my family today; I don't intend to lose anymore".
Morse slowly came to with the feeling of being stared at.
Keeping himself still, he carefully regulated his breathing and tried to remember just what the hell happened.
He remembered talking to Abby, telling her to run, and then watching as she left the house and disappeared out onto the road. Then he'd turned, intending to delay Gull on the off-chance he'd decided to re-kidnap her, only to find the man standing a lot closer than before. He'd said something, he couldn't remember what, and then the gun had flashed in the light as it was raised above his head and brought crashing down and-
Blackness.
"Playing possum, Morse? I'm surprised".
Fuck.
He carefully opened his eyes, adjusting to the dim light before straightening up.
He was sitting on a stained and filthy metal chair, hands tied behind his back and to the chair. Based on the metal clinking he heard as he tested them, he was being trapped by his own standard issue handcuffs. He was also missing his suit jacket and his shoes. In front of him on a similar chair, sat Gull, a familiar gun in one hand and a glass of what looked like whiskey in the other.
"Well, I do like surprising people".
"I know. You surprised me a lot the first time we met. Surprised me this time, too, when I found out you had a daughter" Gull replied, "But I wasn't the only one, was I?"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning dear ol' Fred's missed out on quite a few babysitting hours".
"I did it to protect her!"
"Mmm" He nodded, "And look how well that turned out".
Morse gritted his teeth but said nothing, instead focusing his attention on his surroundings.
He was somewhere damp and dark, a single lightbulb hanging from the peeling plastered ceiling above him. The ground was concrete, the walls were concrete, and even the door looked like some stone-metal hybrid, with no lock visible on the outside. Asides from their two chairs, there was no other furniture or, anything, in the room, including no windows or other doors.
If he didn't know any better, he'd say they were underground. But Rigsby's cottage didn't have a basement, so unless they'd moved...
He felt his eyes widen.
Of fucking course they'd moved.
Gull seemed to realise his thoughts, and grinned, revealing chipped and yellowing teeth.
"I see you noticed your new abode" He gestured carelessly with the gun and Morse flinched, "Yes, well, I couldn't have that brat of yours telling the pigs where you were, so as soon as she left... we left".
He swallowed thickly, shoving away the despair of nobody knowing where he was, and instead focusing on the pure relief of Abby genuinely being safe.
They still had to be in Oxford for Gull's game to play out, so there was no telling how long he'd been unconscious for, but hopefully it was long enough for her to have found a phone and rang Peter.
God, Peter.
If he wasn't irritably damaged from the hitting Morse had given him.
A red-hot flash across his face abruptly and painfully shook him from his thoughts, and a hand automatically rose to touch his smarting cheek, only to be deterred by the handcuffs.
Gull glared, then sighed, and then looked almost apologetic.
"I'm sorry for slapping you, Morse, but I need you to pay attention".
"... Why?"
His fingers twitched as if wanting to hit him again, but thankfully the man refrained, and sat the glass down on the floor instead.
"You're my England" He said instead, "My King Edward, my royalty, my... pièce de résistance, if you will".
"Honestly I'd rather not".
This time he took no such measures, and Morse accidently bit his tongue from the force of the blow, mouth filling with coppery-iron tasting resistance.
"I assure you, detective, this is going to be painful enough as it is" Gull said, voice deceptively mild, "There's no point in making it worse for yourself".
He spat blood on his face.
Abruptly standing, Gull seemed to struggle for control over his own actions, before just as suddenly sitting back down again. He carefully, purposefully, tucked the gun into his waistband, before using the corner of his already-grubby shirt to clean his cheek, and then picked back up the glass and downed the alcohol in one go.
"You shouldn't have done that".
Morse grinned, wild and feral, with nothing left to lose.
"I shouldn't do a lot of things. Leaving my child's custody to someone without informing that someone first, is probably top of the list, given recent circumstances... But I don't regret it. Just as I won't regret eventually killing you".
"Yes, you will. Murder changes a person, Endeavour".
"You would know".
"I don't think you have it in you" He continued, leaning forward until Morse could smell his repugnant breath, "I don't think you're capable of murder. Everyone you've ever been up against emerged alive".
"They have" He agreed, nodding, "But here's the thing; none of them ever threatened my daughter".
Gull paused, then took a step back.
"So, that's where the line is. And all along, I thought if I could just show you how- how brilliant it is, how... how fantastic your mind can make you... I should have just killed the brat when I had the chance".
Morse yelled wordlessly and threw himself forward, but the chair remained in place, likely bolted down, and Gull was at least smart enough to stay out of range.
He laughed, "You'll come around to my way thinking, detective, one way or another... After all, who's coming to save you?"
"They'll be looking for me. They're looking right now".
"Perhaps... But you're their mastermind, Morse. Do you honestly think any of them would have realised the Shakespearean play connection, if you weren't there?"
"No" He admitted, "Eventually, maybe, when it was too late. But I was there, Gull. And they know exactly what scene we're on".
"A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!" He recited dramatically, "The final line before Richard is slain in battle... So who's your Richmond?"
His mind automatically flashed to Peter, kind, caring, loving Peter, with his wit and hair and those small smirks of his and-
Peter would find him.
Peter would be his Richmond.
"Ah" Gull said, studying him closely, "So you do have a so-called saviour... Is he planning to kill me, detective?"
"Well, I'd be rather disappointed if he wasn't".
Another slap, this one hard enough to scatter his thoughts and send his head reeling.
"Your policemen may think they know what scene we're on, but I assure you, they're wrong" He growled, "It's not the first time I've gone off script".
"... The order" Morse said, once he could feel his face again, "Of the deaths, they were... skewed. Practicality over reality".
"Clever boy" He mocked, "So wise so young, they say, do never live long... Richard got one thing right".
Sitting back, he let out a great sigh, "But yes, you'll have to forgive me for going slightly out of order. Time was of the essence, after all, and it's surprisingly difficult to find a man willing to murder two children".
"The princes. We found them on time, they're safe".
"I know. How... irritating" He sneered, "But it's just another diversion from Shakespeare, and if you can make changes to the plot, then so can I. Namely, Richard will win this war".
"... And England?"
"Will burn to the ground".
"I look forward to it".
Gull snarled and jumped back to his feet, "I've thought about this for a long time, you know. Every single day in prison, the only thing on my mind was you".
"I'm flattered".
He spun around, raised the gun, and levelled it at his head. Morse couldn't help but flinch.
Gull laughed, and slowly lowered it.
"Make all the jokes you want, England" He said, "But now is the winter of your discontent... And I am determined to prove a villain".