Prologue Part VI

It reveals that the house can't be abandoned, at least not for long. The retired Guv's coat is lying on the floor in a crumpled heap, for one. There is no dust, or at least not as much as there could be. Scraping together all her courage, Liz glances first into the living room, then into the kitchen. The former is empty except for a bottle of single malt and a dated tumbler on a small table – both drained to the last drop. The kitchen contains little more, a couple of bottles on the floor. So, upstairs it is.

The first thing she sees as soon as she's up high enough on the stairs, is another empty bottle. Beer, this time. Another step, and she spots another bottle. Speeding up slightly, Liz finally reaches the landing.

The hallway is practically littered with bottles – beer and whisky, mostly. And-

Legs, sticking out from a doorway that must lead to the avocado coloured bathroom.

Liz rushes forward, because those are Ray's Guv's loafers –- oh God, the blood is still on them –- that's him lying there as though he's dead. PCSO Cartwright is on her knees next to his prone form within a heartbeat, trying to turn him on his back. There's no vomit on the floor, so at least he can't have passed out from that and choked on it... But Christ, he's heavy for an old man!

Finally, she's managed to turn the retired Guv over, and she reaches out to search for a pulse- there it is. Thank God. And he's breathing too, a cloud of alcoholic stench wafting around him every time his chest falls, which thankfully happens at regular intervals. There's no blood, no cuts, nothing to indicate he injured himself. Liz sits back, exhaling audibly. Jeez... He must be sleeping off the booze...

Liz's gaze roams settling on the trail of bottles in the hallway. Her initial relief starts to fade away as she puts the pieces together. He's been here, all that time, since the incident. Doing nothing but...

"Four o'clock in the afternoon." Liz realizes she's snapping tapping her digital watch, but strangely, it doesn't bother her one bit. He gave her a bloody scare there, he deserves some snapping, for this and everything else!

There is another rumble, a groan, and Liz realizes she whole-heartedly wishes for the now retired Guv to have the headache of his life. That's the least he deserves, really. Her frustration bubbling over, she adds with snide in her voice, "That's the afternoon two days after what happened with DCI Tyler, by the way, sir!"

Guvs should be reliable, looking out for their team. He isn't supposed to put other officers in a coma, and then refuse to deal with the consequences and drown whatever he has been drowning in alcohol.

Meanwhile with DCI Gerry Hunt processed through to Custody in handcuffs from the Ford Transit arrest van, escorted by two uniformed officers and Liz takes him through to Interview Room 5 to begin a recorded interview. Gene and Liz say their ranks into the cassette recorder, the time and suspect present.

"Don't you want to know how DCI Tyler is doing?" the dedicated female PCSO asks in anger. "He's alive. But it was a close call. Really close." Liz has to fight hard to retain control over her voice. " 'e was in a coma, woke up just a couple of hours ago. Do you want to know what the doctors told me? About his injuries?" She pauses for a moment, before shaking her head. "I suppose you don't, but you know what, Guv? I don't care! Because you need to know, because it was you who did this to him!" remembering her mother used to work for him in the 70s and 80s.

At this point Gene is beyond caring about the criminals that poison Manchester "First of all, fractured skull – that alone could've cost 'is life, and 'e's damn lucky it didn't. Next, a couple of broken and cracked ribs, but that's par for the course, right? Shattered bones in his right 'and, you outdid yourself there if I may say so. Severe bruising all over his upper body, some internal bleeding. Oh, and severe bruising on his legs, 'e'll 'ave to use crutches for a while. Or, well, a cane, because obviously 'e can't use 'is right 'and!" DS Gene Hunt yelled fuming with the whole debacle "But, 'e's alive. 'e'll recover, physically at least. Mentally, who's to say? This could have caused epilepsy to fuck Sammy's brain up, uncle Gerry!" Gene is refusing to use his uncle's former title of days gone by.

"Right. Stay 'ere. You can stay 'ere forever, for all I care. If you don't come into Custody for an interview tomorrow, I'm... no, we are reporting you to the Super." Now her voice is shaking too, shaking with hurt and anger and sadness. Gene is silent, facing her on their side of the Formica table with those unsettling blue eyes of his. She still can't tell what he's thinking about in lieu of what his uncle did, but when she looks closely she thinks that his face has gone pale.

"We've been stressed sick! Sam in a coma, you refusing to stop after a hit and run, where does that leave us? What are we supposed to do? And 'ere you are, in yer own 'ouse, drowning yerself in booze." The tears are out too."Because where does it leave the rest of us? When first we have to see our own DCI in hospital, and then we can't even respect the old Guvs any more? Tell me, sir, where does it leave us?!"