"Quite frankly, Peter old son, I don't think you're coming across," Frank said, staring down the man in front of him. "I think you've been telling us porkies from the very start."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, you know more about what happened the other day than you're letting on. You've alluded to the fact that you had a bit of a fling with Brian Quinn's wife, but when my officers spoke to her earlier, she denied that."

"Yeah, well she would, wouldn't she?" Peter replied, shifting uncomfortably, "especially given he's just died."

"So that's the only reason the two of you fell out, is it?" Frank paused. "Or was there more to it?" Peter remained silent. "Come on Peter, as you rightly pointed out, Brian Quinn is dead. This is, essentially, a murder enquiry. You were pals once; don't you want to find out who topped him?" He waited whilst the other man continued to look around the room before he closed his eyes and slumped forwards.

"All right," Peter said. "All right, I'll tell you the truth. Me and Shirley did have a thing, but it was just a one-night stand after too much to drink. I don't even like her that much and, anyway, have you seen their house?"

"Yeah, I have. I've also seen yours. It's not exactly a one-bed box in Hackney, is it?"

"When Brian found out, he was pissed off, naturally, but he was ok about it. He'd been having it away for years so, he forgave me."

"That was generous of him."

"Six months ago, he said that he had this job on that he wanted to cut me in for. He said nothing bad would happen, but that the van would be robbed during transit. He said, all we had to do was just sit there with our hands up and let them take the money, that was all. He said, after it had all died down, we'd get a cut."

"Was this something that he had done before?" Jim asked.

"I don't know, maybe. I've no idea how he afforded that house. Anyway, I said yes but as it got closer, I lost my bottle. I didn't want to do it and I told Brian that. He went mad, said there was no-one else he could trust for the job apart from me. He tried to persuade me, even tried to threaten me, but when I still said no, that's when he stopped talking to me and asked for me to be replaced on his runs."

"And Nicky Dempsey took your place?"

Peter nodded. "I didn't know that Brian was still going ahead with it. I figured he wouldn't want to do it with Nicky, given that he didn't know him that well. The next thing I knew, Nicky disappeared off on holiday and James Grant told me that I had to do the run with Brian. Brian was furious, and I didn't know why until…well, until it happened."

"Why did the blaggers beat him up?" Frank asked.

"I don't know, really I don't. I would have thought, if he was behind it, that they might have done it to rough him up a bit, make it look real, but they really went at it. They wanted to kill him."

"And what about you? How come you only escaped with a few bumps and bruises?"

"They looked surprised to see me," Peter said. "I reckon they were expecting Nicky and, I don't know, panicked when I wasn't him."

Frank sat forwards, "Did anyone else at the company know about this? Anyone else on the inside?"

"I've no idea, really I don't. And I don't know who the men were. Even when I was down to do the job, I never met anyone or spoke to anyone. Honest. It's the truth."

"What do you think?" Frank asked, as he and Jim compared notes outside the room. "You think he's genuine?"

"He seems to be. Of course, he could have been in on it the whole time but…I don't see it. They would have shut him up too, surely and we know he was only put on the run at the last minute."

"Yeah…" Frank mused, feeling himself annoyed at the lack of leads. "All right, kick him out. We'll just have to see what other evidence we can scrape out of this. Tosh," he greeted the other man as he made his way down the corridor towards them. "Make me happy."

"Oh, I don't know about that," he replied. "We've just had a call to say that the van that we think was used in the robbery, has been found abandoned and burnt out on the edge of the ground. Forensics are on their way there now, but they don't hold out much hope of lifting any prints."

"Terrific," Frank grumbled. "Every possible lead we have is evaporating into thin air right in front of our noses! Have we got anything else?"

"Well, apart from knocking on a few doors and shaking down a few possible suspects to see if they might fit the bill…no."

"This is ridiculous! An audacious blag like this, in broad daylight, and we're running around like muppets."

"Oh, and the DCI wants to see you Guv."

Frank checked his watch. "He said he wanted a briefing at five. It's only three-thirty."

"Yeah, but he said he wanted to speak to you personally."

"Brilliant." He rolled his eyes. "Why does something tell me he isn't going to shake my hand and pat me on the shoulder?"

XXXX

"All the scans so far are encouraging," the doctor said. "His internal injuries appear to be healing nicely already and I don't foresee any long-term damage. The only thing is that, with the injury to his liver, he might find the consumption of alcohol rather problematic in the future. I know it's hardly the worst-case scenario, but it's something to bear in mind."

"You mean his tolerate might be affected?"

"Yes, or he could be prone to more alcohol-induced illnesses, if he isn't careful. Though, I understand that he's not currently a regular drinker?"

"No, not especially."

"Well, that's good." He paused. "The remaining concern for us is his mobility. What we have noticed is a continued numbness in his back and there does appear to be some bruising and swelling on his spinal cord. Thankfully, there's no sign of any fractures, but sometimes the alternative can be just as serious."

"I see…" Christina felt the cold sensation start once more in her stomach. "What does that mean?"

"Well, injuries of that nature to the cord can cause paralysis. We would hope to see the swelling reduce and the bruising clear over time, but there's no telling when, or if, that will happen."

"So, what do we do in the meantime?"

"Well, he'll still need recovery time from the bullet wounds so he's going to be with us for at least another week or so in relation to that alone. Once we feel he's fit enough to begin physiotherapy, then we would start working on his movements and try and get him on his feet and walking. But it may take some considerable time."

"When would he be able to come home?"

"Not until such time as his condition could be managed there. Whilst he tries to regain mobility, he would require to remain with us. In the long term, it will depend on what level of functioning he regains before an assessment could be made. For example, if you live in a house with stairs…"

"We do."

"Then that might be problematic depending, as I say, on his level of functioning."

She felt as though her head was swimming, as though her entire body was flying through the air with nothing to grab onto to anchor herself. "What about his job?"

"Too early to say."

"Have you spoken to Stewart about all this?"

"Not yet. He's still very much under the influence of the medication he's been receiving. I would say it'll be another couple of days before he'll be able to register the seriousness of his situation and it would be only fair to wait until then before discussing it with him. But I wanted to keep you up to speed."

"Yes, thank you," she replied. Once alone, she found her mind racing over all of the outcomes and possibilities to the point where she could no longer think straight, and the cloying smell of the hospital was making her feel sick. She decided to go outside for a walk, try to clear her head and think rationally about what to do next. Surely they had to take just one step at a time? There was no other way. The weather outside was warm and after walking around the grounds, she found a low wall to sit on, suddenly realising that she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. Checking her watch, she realised that the hospital canteen would likely be closed until nearer dinner time and she pondered wandering to the nearest shop to try and grab a sandwich, but her stomach turned over at the thought.

It was surprising how alone she felt. Ever since she had met Stewart and become part of his family, he had always been there. It hadn't mattered that her relationship with her parents were strained or that her mother had subsequently died or that she hadn't spoken to her father in longer than she could remember, because she had her husband. Even though she knew that he was going to live, the uncertainly about everything else made her feel so…helpless.

As she made her way back into the hospital, she passed the bank of payphones in the reception and slowed her stride. He had said that she could call him anytime and she had to believe that he meant it. Rooting around in her pocket for some change, she walked over to the first phone and picked up the receiver. She started to punch in the number and then stopped. What would she say if he answered? That she was just calling to tell him the latest update? That she wanted to know what was happening with the security van raid? That she needed to hear his voice?

Slowly, she replaced the receiver again and put the money back into her pocket.

XXXX

"I'm sorry Frank, but it's not good enough."

"Well, what exactly do you expect me to do? I can't magic evidence out of thin air!"

"I'm not asking you to do that. I'm asking you to carry out a detailed and thorough investigation!" Gordon said.

"That's what I'm doing!" Frank retorted. "Tell me what I should be doing differently, and I'll do it! We've got no independent witnesses, nothing from forensics and the person who could tell us the most is dead!"

"You must have some idea who could be behind this! You must have a suspicion at least!"

"This MO could relate to various different people. I've asked Tosh to go through the records and see if anything jumps out at him. If we think that there's anyone in the frame, then we'll shake them down. I can't do anymore than that right now and, besides, it only happened yesterday!"

"Yes, and if this was a simple robbery then time wouldn't be as important, but as you point out, a man is dead and if we don't want AMIT coming in and taking this case from us then we need to make progress!"

"Who mentioned AMIT?"

Gordon sat down behind his desk. "I've already had a phone call from Det Superintendent Meadows wanting to know where we are and whether or not we feel the need to hand things over to them."

"Meadows? He can whistle," Frank replied. "If they had wanted this so badly, they should have pitched up at the start. All they want is for us to do the donkey work and then they'll swoop in at the last minute and take all the credit."

"It's not about who takes the credit, Frank, it's about getting a result for a dead man's family."

"Yeah, a dead man who was in it up to his neck."

"He's still dead."

Frank paused, "I know."

"I'm getting a lot of heat on this one, Frank. I haven't been here long, and I don't mind telling you that I reckon I'm being watched by those higher up who are keen to see how I perform taking charge of a divisional investigation like this. I don't want my first bite of the cherry to be filed under 'unsolved.'"

"Well, no-one wants that."

"Good, then we understand each other."

"So, what did he say?" Jim asked when he arrived back in the office. "Did he give you a bollocking?"

"No James, he didn't. He made it very clear that he wants a result on this one though, so pull your finger out and try and find some useful evidence that might link us to someone."

"I might have someone, Guv," Tosh said, coming into the room. "How does the name Charles Potter grab you?"

"Charlie Potter? He hasn't been active on this ground for years!"

"I know, turned over a new leaf, or so they said. But I reckon it's all rubbish. This is just the sort of thing he used to pull, him and his mates."

"Yeah, most of whom are now dead or inside, a fate I'm surprised Potter himself hasn't come to."

"He did spend time in Wandsworth, but he's been out for at least five years."

Frank paused, "What makes you think he might be involved?"

Tosh shrugged, "A hunch?"

"Well Alfred my son," Frank clapped him on the shoulder, "never let it be said that I don't trust the Lines hunch. Let's pay old Charles a visit and see what he's got to say for himself."

XXXX

Charles Potter lived on the Jasmine Allen, in a corner flat on the top floor and, as they made their way up, Frank couldn't help but regret the slice of cake he'd had after lunch. He could feel the moist sponge and icing turn over in his stomach and wished, not for the first time that when the council had built the place, they had seen fit to install lifts.

"Mr Burnside!" Charles greeted them when he opened the door. "This is a surprise!"

"A nice once I hope, Charlie."

"It's always nice to see you, you know that. Come on in." He stepped back and allowed them entry before showing them through to the living room where Radio 4 was playing in the background. "Would you like a cup of tea? I was about to make one for myself."

"No, you're all right Charlie," Frank replied, glancing around. "How have you been lately?"

"Oh fine, fine. You know me. I keep to myself."

"Yeah, unless you've got a shotgun in your hand."

"Now, now Mr Burnside, I haven't been active in years, you know that. I put it all behind me after I did my last stretch. I'm a changed man. But something tells me you've not come here to enquire after my welfare."

"No, we haven't. There was a security van robbery yesterday on Moorcroft Road, just down from the wholesalers. Know it?"

"Can't say as I do."

"Three blokes stopped the van, tooled up, took the money and battered one of the guards to death."

"Oh my," Charlie said, sipping from a cracked mug. "That's terrible."

"Isn't it just. Sounds like your old MO though, doesn't it? Except the killing, that it."

"I never hurt anybody. That wasn't the point of it. If they just stepped back and let us take the stuff, then I never touched them."

"Very kind of you," Tosh said. "Where were you yesterday morning around six am?"

"Here, in my bed."

"Can anyone vouch for you?"

"No, I was on my own. I have been ever since my wife left me when I went down the last time. I haven't seen her, my kids or my grandkids in a good long while now."

Frank glanced at the pictures dotted around the sparse room. "How many you got again?"

"Two kids and three grandkids."

"Two girls, wasn't it?" he lifted the nearest photograph which depicted two young girls grinning from beneath the sepia tint.

"That's right, Margaret and Kathleen." Charlie lifted another photograph and handed it over. "These are Margaret's three, Tony, Emma and Carol."

"How old would they be now?"

"Oh, Tony must be twenty-two, twenty-three. The girls were a bit younger, second relationship. I'd guess, eleven and thirteen now."

"What are you thinking?" Tosh asked, as they made their way back along the walkway, having gotten as much as they could out of Charlie.

"I'm wondering if Tony's a chip off the old grandad block." Frank replied. "I'm wondering if we've got anything on him and whether he might have decided to follow in dear Grandad's footsteps."

"Well," Tosh said, "they do say that thieving's a family business."

XXXX

"Chris?"

She jerked slightly at the mention of her name and realised that she must have dozed off, the warmth of the ward and the rhythmic noises having lulled into a sense of peacefulness. Momentarily confused, she looked around to see who had spoken, before her eyes rested on Stewart and saw that he was looking at her.

"Hi," she said, leaning forwards. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," he replied, and she found herself smiling at his honesty. "My head's killing me."

"It'll be all the painkillers you're on."

"Well, they're not killing much bloody pain." He winced. "My legs feel really funny. Like they're not even there." He looked down the bed to where his feet were a mound beneath the blanket. "I can't move them."

Though the doctor had said that a few more days might be necessary before speaking to Stewart about what had happened, Christina found herself telling him as much as she felt she could. His gaze remained on her whilst she spoke, his eyes blinking slowly as he took in what she was saying.

"You mean…I might not be able to walk?" he asked finally.

"Well, they don't know, darling. It depends on how your spine heals. They need the swelling to go down before they make any real predictions." She paused. "But they seemed confident that they would be able to help you get back on your feet."

He didn't say anything for a long moment, his gaze swivelling to the ceiling. "It wasn't supposed to happen."

"What wasn't?"

"I wasn't supposed to get shot."

"No, of course not."

"I mean…I mean we had it all planned out, everything. Every bit was meant to be covered. There was no way…" he paused. "It shouldn't have happened."

"Did you see who it was?" He shook his head. "Maybe the others might know."

"Have you spoken to them?"

"Only DCI Baker and he couldn't tell me much. I know that Gordon tried to get more out of him, but he clammed up due to operational security. I'm guessing you can't really tell me anything about the operation either." He paused for a moment and then shook his head. "I'm sure they'll get him, whoever he is."

He laughed bitterly, "So optimistic."

"It's not…" she broke off, feeling that there was no purpose in arguing. He was the one hearing the bad news, the one whose body was affected. She was just a bystander, someone along for the ride and yet not in the front seat. "You need to just concentrate on getting yourself better, getting back out there."

"You think so?" he turned to look at her again and she felt a rush of anguish at how vulnerable he looked.

"Yes, I do, and I'll be right with you, every step of the way, no pun intended."

"So, they've given you compassionate leave then?" She nodded. "What about the exam?"

"Exam?"

"For sergeant."

"Oh, that…" in all honesty, the thought had completed slipped her mind. "Obviously I'm not going to be sitting it this time around."

"Obviously."

"There's always next year, once you're better."

"Yeah." He let out a long sigh. "God, I'm so tired…"

"Well then, just sleep," she reached out and stroked his hair gently. "It's not as if you have anywhere to be."

"No," he agreed, his eyes drooping and then closing, his body rising and falling in gentle slumber.

She waited until she was sure he wouldn't awaken at her leaving and then slowly rose from the chair and headed back out of the ward and along the corridor to the nearest payphone. This time, she completed the number and put in the coins, waiting impatiently as the line rang out at the other end.

"CID, DI Burnside's office."

"Oh…Viv," she said, caught off guard at the other woman's voice. "I was…"

"How are you?" Viv interrupted. "How's Stewart?"

"He's…he's doing as well as he can right now. They're confident he'll recover from the internal injuries but they're not sure about his mobility."

"God, that's awful. Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to pop over? Or I could come round your place later?"

"No, that's ok, thank you. I think I'm better off on my own just now, just until things move on a bit." She felt grateful for her friend's offer but couldn't help thinking that it wasn't her company she was seeking. "Is the DI there?"

"No, he's downstairs interviewing. Him and Tosh brought in Tony Marshall for the security van raid, do you know him?"

"The name rings a vague bell…"

"Yeah, well, he's old Charlie Potter's grandson and they reckon he might have been trying to emulate his old Grandad."

"What, they think he killed the guard?"

"Well, they're not sure. Tosh's theory is that Tony's got himself mixed up with some very dodgy people, but they reckon they can crack him. They're putting the squeeze on now."

"Oh…well that'll be good if they get a result."

"Yeah…listen, do you want me to give the DI a message?"

"Uh…no, no that's all right. I'll give him a ring in the morning. It wasn't anything urgent anyway."

"All right, well you take care then."

"Yeah, you too." Slowly she replaced the receiver and stood looking at it for a long moment. Perhaps it was a good thing Frank hadn't been there. She wasn't sure how she would have reacted at the sound of his voice and what had she wanted to tell him anyway? It wasn't as though she had any startling update and, even if she did, would he really care?

Turning around quickly, she felt her balance start to slide and a crushing hunger washed over her. She couldn't ignore it this time and so she made her way to the canteen, ordered fish that looked as though it had been mangled and cried silent tears into the mushy peas.