Chapter Fourteen

Maya talked about her new job, the difficulties of moving from CID to the newly created Cold Case Unit, the frustrations of coming into a case so many years too late. And the delight of solving even one old case. It would be just as easy to boot her computer, search the police databases, or spend her time at the library instead; scanning through the stacks, reading through the microfiche. Looking for past faces, or name, a long-closed case, something Maya remembered like the back of her hand.

"That's why Superintendent Webster is so interested. A case that may be solved as a police corruption case would be quite a scoop for the Unit."

"DCIs Gene Hunt and Sam Tyler are usually the ones investigating historical police corruption cases aren't they?" said DI Maya Roy to her new Detective Chief Inspector of the CCU.

Satisfied she was merely standing up for herself and unwilling to admit he was secretly quite proud of her for doing so, he merely mumbled and nodded. "Best get started on the crime scene detail then, sweets."

As a kid Sam wanted to be a police officer, and because his mum told him that by working hard he could make his dreams happen, he did. He never really thought about the why behind his desire to be a cop, though, and years went by before he tried to figure that part out. The law was important and it needed to be upheld, but it was just as important that the people be protected, and not just from criminal activity. He wanted to be useful, to help. Gene was the same too.

Take scribbling down notes on a notepad, for instance. On occasion, it was all right, but Gene much preferred the clean, crisp efficiency of communication via electronic or semi-electronic means. Even the mere act of typing up a memo to hand to someone else in his unit was infinitely preferable; for one thing, it meant far fewer questions about what this or that squiggle meant. Therefore, theoretically at least, with a well-written memo, very few questions were necessary. People just went about their work quietly and efficiently. Gene's and Sam's CID unit was like the proverbial well-oiled machine, and it suited him incredibly well.

Gene's ex Rachael came down from London "The nursery I used to teach at," Rachael Hunt recalled. "One of my toddlers was kidnapped and my ex and his former DI were sent out to investigate it. A messy business, stolen on his way to preschool. Mum negligently left him at the playground entrance, just a short walk into the nursery. He sadly never made it into the 2-3 year olds room though. He disappeared somewhere between that gate and the door 200 feet away."

"I was fired from nursery practitioner because Dorothy Martin filed a complaint that I was unfit to be around children for sleeping around with my childhood sweetheart turned copper." this was in 1997 when Gene first became a Detective Chief Inspector for Greater Manchester Police after being promoted by Harry Woolf at just nearly 32 years of age.

The question really was - how did the goddess from his childhood fantasies of The Sweeney, the woman who used to ruffle his hair and kiss his scraped knees and elbows after playground fights, maiden name Miss Foster. The Miss Foster. How did she end up married to Gene Hunt?

He was just finishing setting the table with mate Sam as the phenomenon known as Mrs. Hunt, the Guv's stepmother, came storming through the door for Sunday roast dinner.

"There's my Gene," Sam heard an abrasive voice call out and cringed. "What's that smell? Did you leave that roast cooking while I were at church you lazy sod? It will be tough by the time we eat."

"Mum, you've been going to that church since you were a little girl," Gene insisted.

Here he was in his early forties with a wisp of a girl for a missus; Rachael was just 30 this past spring and Sam Tyler was how old? Thirty three? Thirty four? Almost the same age. She was born in 1976 with an eleven year gap to Gene.

Gene's got a blue suit and tie, cropped hair, cool demeanour. He's lost weight.

Sam doesn't look at the old 1970s Greater Manchester Police unsolved crimes in any sense of the word. It's more difficult than he'd hoped to fall back into the motions - informational packets, PNC database, request forms, reply-all. He keeps getting stuck on things, re-reading paragraphs. Like he can't quite accept what's in front of him.

He nearly jumps when his phone rings. Internal caller ID - " , DCI." Sam swallows and picks it up.

"DCI Tyler." he answers.

"Hey, Sam dude. Assigning you to a case in Trafford - just forwarded the briefing."

Sam refreshes his e-mail. "Yeah, I've got it."

"Yes, boss. Trafford. I'm on it." grabbing his coat.

Liz drives them to the crime scene. Sam thinks her company would be comforting if it weren't for her uncompromising outgoingness or the fact that she's fritzing between Depeche Mode and Arctic Monkeys on the radio. When she starts humming along to 'I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor,' Sam winces and shifts in his seat.

"Watch the road," he mumbles.

"I am!" Liz exclaims, almost cheerfully indignant. "You know I led last Health and Safety seminar."

His mobile buzzes. Sam frowns, pulls it out, sees a text from someone named "Jasmine." He flips it open.

Seriously. U ok?

Sam glances at Liz, who has focused one-hundred percent of her attention on driving. He texts back carefully, Who are you?

He last visited Trafford on a dusty street corner in 1973 with a Ford Cortina Mk3 GXL belonging to Gene's dad idling loudly behind him. He gets a reply before the next traffic signal, Liz turns a corner and they reach the cordoned area.

Except then a digital camera snap-beeps inside the crime scene and Liz orders another SOCO to check for visible forensics. Sam's gripping a lukewarm paper cup in his hand and Chris is wearing a uniform with reflective tape sewn to it.

Sam recognizes Chris at first, under the constable hat.

You're..." Sam frowns. "You're a PC."

"Not much longer, 'opefully." Chris grins, and the sheer familiar honesty of it makes something in Sam hurt like glass. "Been studyin' for the exam like you told me - checked out books and whatnot, been readin' up on forensics and crime theory and psycho... psycho-analogous, all that."

"Psychoanalysis," Sam mumbles.

"Yeah, that'un!" Chris clutches the memo pad in his hand, jots something down in his odd, secretive way, like Sam won't notice he's doing it right in front of him. "Psycho... an..."

"I-" Sam closes his eyes, shakes his head. "Nothing. You'll make a great DC."

"Really?" Chris laughs. "Cheers, Boss. Reckon fourth try will be the charm."

He glances at the caller ID and winces, picks it up.

"Hi, Gene."

"Where are you?"

"Station." Sam grabs a wad of toilet paper, pats down his eyes one more time, then flushes it down. "Sorry, I'll be back at my desk now."

"Need you at the interdepartmental security meeting, five minutes."

Sam's hand fidgets on the stall latch at the sound of the Boss saying 'interdepartmental'. "I - yeah. Of course. Conference Room..."

"B."

"Right, B."

"It's on your schedule."

"I know."

"Clearly, you don't."

Gene finishes the call.

The meeting is plain, repetitive, heavy-handed. CCTV analysis, GPS interception, IP tracking. With modern convenience comes Big Brother, Sam thinks dully. He keeps a memo pad open, jots a note here and there to look busy.

Maya sits next to him, the other Crime Squad representative. She taps her finger against the table, equally bored and quietly annoyed. Sam can't help but notice they're the only DI and junior DCIs sitting in for their senior DCI.

DI Maya Roy narrows her eyes, flips her phone closed. "I'd have already rung five experts if I'd gotten this earlier, but because Gene insists he's 'busy'-"

"He's our other DCI, whether we like it - best get used to it." DI Maya Roy truthfully stated.

He shouldn't feel violated by Gene Hunt on a whole new existential level, but the only thing he can bring himself to peek at is the Man City emblem pinned to the corkboard. Otherwise, it's memos, bulletins, a few framed commendations. All white and grey and brown, all perfectly appropriate for the workspace.

Gene Hunt is dropping his keys on the counter and yanking open Sam's modern 2007 fridge with modern 2007 comfort food.

"You've let colleagues go lying to them. About my condition." Sam was looking down with his arms crossed over his chest.

Gene drums his fingers on the seatback; thinking back to when he saw DCI Sam Tyler nearly jumping off the roof from the main Stopford House. "I couldn't exactly tell them dearly demoted DCI Tyler thought he was in Sweeney-land half the time, can I?"

"Gene, tried to play games on my laptop twice. Chris loves all the tech." PCSO Liz Cartwright laughed as she asks DCI Sam Tyler to marry her by getting him down to his knees proposing.

Between pursuits in Gene's new 2007 Ford Mondeo Titanium X and the regular arrests; it had been an ordinary day in Greater Manchester Police CID at the main Stopford House premises.

He's, to put it mildly, surprised when he finds the spot as head of C Division still to be his. The faces under his charge haven't changed, although Maya's request for a transfer has been accepted during his absence to the Cold Case Unit.

Setting the steaming cup aside, she pulled out her laptop, hoping for a quiet half-hour to check her personal e-mails and maybe send a message to her teenage son in Canada. The mere thought of him made her smile fondly to herself, and for a moment she wished she had the time to visit him more often. But no sooner had Liz typed in her password than a big gloved hand slammed down the cover and uncerimoniously pushed the computer aside, demanding her full attention.

"Cartwright. It's your favourite scarf and I bet you've been racking your little brain for weeks wondering where it was. I know that because I'm still a good detective, thank you very much... and also because I've been keeping an eye on you, thinking you'd eventually end up doing something stupid and sentimental after the events of DCI Tyler's coma, and I was right."

"Oh, and hello to you too, Boss. Nice to see you again."

Leaning forward, he picked up a corner of her scarf and dabbed at her face gently, while she let her tears fall freely onto the table and into her now cold tea.

"I'll sign you out and take you home. But stop those tears first, or you'll end up ruining my new car's upholstery and then I'll give you a good reason to cry a river! Understood?"

"Yes, Boss?" Sam answered as he tossed his jacket onto the desk and made his way into the office with the Mondeo keys.

"My ex knew of the missing toddler, Superintendent Webster wants us to wrap up an old 1999 case on his disappearence from that Yellow Square nursery, my ex Rach once worked in." DCI Gene Hunt updated DCI Sam Tyler who is ordering a beefburger with horseradish, a potato waffle, a jacket potato, grated cheese and baked beans.

It had been the first thing Gene said to Sam since the bollocking he'd given him for getting the unmarked gold new shape Mondeo Titanium X scratched.

Liz Cartwright sat in a corner of the cafeteria, and ordered some tea to warm herself up after a long day spent on a different murder case that was particularly nasty.

There were more updates on the 1999 missing toddler case that Gene's ex Rachael had new information on, eight years later.

"You're only doing this to try winning back your ex's nursery nurse post." Liz remarked.

She was only mildly surprised by Gene's unannounced arrival. He ignored her sarky remark and plonked himself down in front of her. He held his I-Phone horizontally across his lap like a sword.

"You know love, it isn't very nice of you to assume Rachael deserved to lose her nursery practitioner post, over a mentally unstable then teenage Mum who claims she's been sleeping around Manchester."

His piercing blue eyes were locked onto hers and held a clear message of disapproval.

Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt was certainly not famous for giving up a case bone once he had it between his teeth, and honestly she'd never expect him to act in any other way, so she just sat there and waited for the inevitable lecture that was about to follow.

"With all that's been going on in Manchester in the past few months, I half-expected her to show up at my doorstep sooner rather than later."

"Alright then. You got your ex Rachael, so what?"

"Dorothy Martin neglects toddlers from allowing them to walk to nursery alone while she waits in the off license, kicks them out of the house to play in the street as long as she doesn't have to deal with their demands and violent video games in front of turkey dinosaurs; to name a few." he knew the style of child abuse from the Martins as he remembered the squalid, untidy council house; they lived in since the 1990s with fading plastic toys in the garden. Gene went undercover as a Green Taxis driver at the time, in his third year as Detective Chief Inspector using a red Ford Sierra GL saloon to find out why her then 2, 3, 4 and 7 year old led such chaotic lives.

"I know in my heart, this is a case of child neglect because she's still having babies after little Joshua went missing from the Yellow Square Nursery!" she sobbed into her cup of tea with wet tears.

"This isn't right, Cartwright, and you know you've been playing around with the chavs male partners. You could end up on the Jeremy Kyle Show over a kid that isn't yours." he muttered sternly.

One moment later, fresh tears came streaming down Liz's face as she held the Boss's leather driving gloved hand.

"You're a clever police woman with such a brilliant career and I don't want you wasting your potential if I can help it." said DCI Gene Hunt who took Annie Cartwright's daughter under his wing since she started in 1997 ten years ago. "You don't want to take on a baby or toddler knowing it's got violent bio parents in the bargain; the child has behavioural and learning disabilities with genetic alcohol traces." Gene always was like a younger father towards Liz Cartwright as there is sixteen years between them, twirling his bright blue gel pen as he spoke.

"I know, Boss; but I can't help thinking when looking back on your ex Rachael's statement; whether we could have prevented a child from going missing in nursery..." said the bright PCSO who went to University before working for Greater Manchester Police like her mother did.

"There wasn't proper security procedures for nurseries back in the 90s, so of course a toddler could run off from the premises easily without adults looking." stammered DCI Gene Hunt "You've just caught me at a bad time, so I apologise for being a diva towards you Cartwright."

"Believe me, I know the practitioners now at Yellow Square Nursery only hand over their charges to authorised people who are named on their system." she said distracted leaning forwards "That's OK, Boss." She noted down in a memo notebook the level of security Yellow Square Nursery had since 2000 "they've also installed child proofed doors, CCTV cameras, inform the police/Social Services if a child goes missing after a certain period and a code pad since the inadequate rating from the original 1999 Ofsted inspection." smiling coyly towards Gene.

"I'm not afraid to speak my mind and be a police diva, when it's needed." blurted the Boss, his heart sinking when he receives a radio call on Dorothy Martin neglecting another of her younger children.

"We'll interview Miss. Martin on her fitness to prioritise parenting and safeguarding under fives." said PCSO Liz Cartwright taking the Martin folder in her hand.

DCI Gene Hunt and PCSO Liz Cartwright pulled up outside the grubby council estate in a slightly rusty Ford Fiesta Mk3 XR2i. He pulled up on some yellow lines and switched off the engine.

"You can't park here, Gene." said Liz.

"We'll only be a minute or so, tops." smiled DCI Gene Hunt getting out of the car. "I may be another sexy police officer."

She stuck a Police sticker on the windscreen, while Gene went to the boot to get wheel clamping equipment out, taking a wheel clamp, screwdrivers attaching it to the vehicle along with a fake parking enforcement ticket from his pocket; putting it underneath the windscreen wiper.

"That should keep traffic wardens off guard and stop any light fingered residents from nicking my early 90s car, I'm still quite attached to my Max Power magazine days."

PCSO Cartwright shook her head resignedly at the Guv being an early Nineties throwback complete with those awful chequered jeans, black pixie boots, a loud neon coloured collared shirt with a red and white baseball jacket that he last wore in 1991-1993.

"Christ! Hard to believe it's 14 or 15 years ago, I was tearing around this very estate in that Fiesta playing my electronic and dance music loudly chasing after boy racing scum. To my parents off duty; I become these creatures that suddenly don't get out of bed in the morning and answer back." laughed DCI Gene Hunt who felt nostalgic for his days as a very young Detective Inspector in the early Nineties when people easily mistook him for age 13 or 14 years of age.

"But it reminds me, and I think, 'Well maybe you was like that since 13 or 14'." said PCSO Liz Cartwright thinking about the Guv's usual attitude towards certain early morning call outs.

"My nephew, my brother Robert's son, is about to start at police cadets."

"So you're creating a family dynasty?" asked PCSO Liz Cartwright.

"I'm 42 now and they're all in their 20s. Young, enthusiastic and keen and ready."

"You were only a teenage uncle at the time, why did your elder brother Stuart make you look after his hordes of under 10s; while he ditched his kids for an acting career? I've seen his face in that series about scammers called Hustle. I've also read from various media that he married Bethany Goddard and has two very young toddler girls that are the spit of his new snobby wife." said Liz Cartwright who knew of the seven year gap between her boss's brother's wife and Rob.

"I'm very good at doing policing and I love looking out for kids. I've made it almost an art form."

"That's not the point Gene, you were still a child yourself in the 1980s!" snapped PCSO Liz Cartwright cross at the extremely lax babysitting arrangements of the time at a then teenage Gene Hunt looking after his younger nieces and nephews, despite the Guv explaining it was normal for the Eighties.

They headed across the rubbish strewn pavements towards the graffiti covered stairwells. Gene wrinkled his nose at the smell of urine and decay. Their footsteps echoed around the stairwell as they jogged up the concrete steps - the lift being out of order - to level 10.

"No wonder, she lets her toddlers run riot," commented Gene "This place is a dump."

"There's no place like home," PCSO Liz Cartwright shrugged her shoulders as she rung the doorbell of the council house. Having taken a good look round, they then made their way round the rest of the flat, but there was no sign of anything other than the usual chaos of a household with young children.

With a clatter of locks and chains the door creaked, open one eye peering round the side.

"Miss. Martin?"

"Who wants to know?" replied the now 26 year old woman.

"I'm DCI Hunt," explained Gene flashing his warrent card. "And this is PCSO Cartwright. We're here about your neglect towards under fives."

"I guess you'll want to come in," snapped Miss. Martin opening the door just enough for the two police officers to enter. "Wipe your feet or else!"

After settling down on a sofa that was probably around since the seventies and being handed tea in chipped, stained mugs, Gene was the first to speak.

"When did your Paige last went to the Yellow Square Nursery?"

"Friday, for that road safety thingy your blue dudes did."

"What time?" asked Gene.

"I don't know... 9 'o clock or something."

"You've been a great help with our enquiries -," as Liz Cartwright started to pause.

"Lizzie," warned Gene; the words somehow felt wrong in his mouth.

"Does she follow instructions from adults?" asked PCSO Cartwright about toddler development.

"I hope so," sneered Miss Martin "But I wouldn't put it past the little shit."

"You chased after your 2-3 year old daughter?" said DCI Gene Hunt shocked

"Since her daddy left, she's been nothing but trouble since he was on Jeremy Kyle about DNA doubts over his younger babies." exclaimed Dorothy Martin sneered, lighting up a cigarette.

Gene appeared to object to the smoke "What's the younger child's name?"

"Tanya Colebert Mitchell." she replied. "Her mum lives on the other side of t' estate, eleven years younger than me since that bitch was one of these ex Social Services kids home jobbies."

"Thank you for your help," said Gene sharply standing up "We'll be in touch."

"Charlotte needs a lot of supervising. She constantly touches my stuff, plays with toddler toys or has tantrums and constantly does things that I have asked her not to do (such as feeding the police dogs jam or syrup and chasing the dogs around the station) and she hardly sleeps so I'm up a lot of the night with her. She cannot organise herself and it takes her hours to get ready to go anywhere because she is constantly distracted and goes off task. Charlotte has no concept of danger and will step out in the road a lot when cars are coming; I have to either hold her hand, treat her like a older baby or carry her." said DCI Gene Hunt who found the behaviour of little Paige hauntingly familiar only in this case it's considered ordinary toddler stuff, because it isn't a 14 year old doing this.

Gene led the way back to the Fiesta with PCSO Cartwright as he unlocked the car "I'll have a lift back to the station, DCI Gene Hunt please." across the courtyard area strewn with more litter.

It wasn't much help; but at least Dorothy Martin produced a lead but the Detective Chief Inspector knew the estate was laden with con artist types who were known to scam police officers with false statements, sell stolen goods and leave younger children on anyone that'll have them.

"She was born on 9th March 1993 and I was only 26 or 27 then; I still enforce a quiet time after lunch for Charlotte to do quiet activities or toys, mostly on her own, near me. Any noise and questions are answered with 'Mmmmmmm. Everyone's having a quiet time now.'" said DCI Gene Hunt thinking back to his very young fathering days with an autistic child in the early 90s and how he manages Charlotte Hunt without any support from her deadbeat mother, social workers or little respite care.

PCSO Liz Cartwright asked her boss "Did you even hit puberty before you fathered a child with Autism?" as Gene looked about 13, 14 or 15 despite being in his mid twenties in 1993.

"Acne spots and all, Cartwright. Years ago in '93. Anyway, we were fooling around at this house party of one of me mate's and we were in the lav and Elaine Dowling knelt down to blow me and, uh…" He paused and cleared his throat. "Well, she did blow me, but every now and then would stop and kiss me on my spots, and bite and lick them, left me with a unwanted child after nine months in her."

The mobile in the phone holder twangs itself to life, rattling against the plastic. Sam's always gone on about the latest tech - he's the oldest one in line getting hard for Apples or BlackBerries or what-have-you - but I'm fine with my indestructible little Nokia. Gets the job done. Has Snake.

Forensics have gone over the scene with a fine-tooth comb, and everything has been logged and noted.

"Right, we've got time to grab a chicken curry sandwich at the chinkie." said DCI Gene Hunt driving the Mk3 Fiesta XR2i to Belinda's Sandwiches for a quick lunch stop after collecting his 14 year old daughter Charlotte Hunt from the estate's childminder who also did care for teenagers and young adults with special needs.

Gene had a coronation chicken sandwich, since it was the only half decent flavour left in Belinda's Sandwiches; there were a lot of sugary energy drinks and junk snacks for sale, which Charlotte starts having meltdowns over in front of her Dad, overwhelmed by the choices.

"I want Quavers and coke!" screamed 14 year old Charlotte not letting go the red/white coloured can and yellow packet inscribed with The light curly potato snack in a green thought bubble with cheese flavour written on it after picking them off the shelves.

"I think it's Daddy you need to apologise to." said PCSO Liz Cartwright trying to calm Gene's autistic teenage daughter down before her tantrum became worse, when a random customer removes them from her hands muttering about her being too old for tantrums and what a out of control teenager.

"I want them!" she wailed thinking there was nothing for lunch when Gene places the order of sandwiches for three people with a small broken hearted 14 year old girl on his hip.

"Hey, it's okay. Charlie," his hand trailed upwards, brushing her hair off her face and then cupping her cheek, her eyes wide and wild before him, "it's okay, it's alright."

The murmuring of his voice, the warmth and the bubblegum breath helps.

"Shhh, it's alright. Charlotte. I've got yer, Charlotte. You're safe." He rocked her as though she was in his arms, her head tucked underneath his chin. "Hey, everything's alright with Daddy."

"Right, now we're all friends again, do you want to wear my police hat?" asked PCSO Cartwright letting Gene's daughter wear her police hat heading towards the hatchback car.

"Come here, darling, let's get you comfortable." said Gene as he did Charlotte's seat belt knowing no different, since she still didn't know how to undo seat belts in the car.

"Uh-oh!" Charlotte smiled as her dad Gene was wearing earbuds and carrying an iPod.

"You have to learn, baby." He sighed as he sat on the Fiesta's Recaro trimmed seat and he was in the playground, one Gene usually passed by as he drove to work every morning, only this time, the equipment was aged. The monkey bars appeared to have three coats of yellow paint, its latest coat peeling away. The seats of the swing set were worn and old, and the merry-go-round was rusted.

He turned and jogged down the pavement, passing by electronics stores, shiny McDonald's restaurants, and people moving out of his way as they chatted on their mobiles.

"Well, what a pleasant 'briefing' this is," Gene glanced around at the scene before him, clearly displeased air quoting. "I've got a mind to stick you all in Custody, just so I can get a bit of soddin' peace!"

A mass fight was on the brink of breaking out in Greater Manchester CID, paper missiles being hurled into the air and both Ray and Chris rolling up their sleeves in preparation.

"Cup of tea, Guv?" Shaz offered with a smile.

"I won't say no," Gene replied, "I haven't had a decent one all week. Five sugars, Shaz, ta muchly."

"It was a pile of steaming shite, Bols. There was no bleedin' big case. No small one, either. They'd rounded us up on false pretences." The disappointment on his face was clear, and she could only imagine at the mood he would have been in all week. "Six solid days of boring team-buildin' exercises. The Commissioner wants us to present a 'united front', apparently."

"Blinds?" DI Alex Drake asked as she walked into Gene's shiny modern built in office behind DCI Gene Hunt stood over the desk with his slim desktop computer in the corner standing tall "It's your call, Gene."

"Like that's gonna happen in the present climate. I tell yer, Bolly, there were many occasions when I felt like telling him exactly where he could shove his team-building. I've got a perfectly good team of my own, I don't need to be pally with a bunch of Brummies and Scousers."

Six weeks of team building exercises over at the Liverpool and Birmingham Police Constabulary had bored DCI Gene Hunt to death even though he was asked to visit them for the team building residential.

"I'm not ready to be Superintendent Gene Hunt, they'll have a long bloody wait."

"I've had a letter," she began, thinking misguidedly that it was easier to talk about, somehow realising that he might ask to see the physical evidence for himself, from Molly's father.

The image of Peter Drake had been an easy one to grab, given his unexpected appearance a few days previous.

"Look, Peter Drake is in the CCTV with our main suspect." She inhaled a deep breath, hoping that none of the other members of CID would choose to waltz in. "You're not going to let a couple of thugs intimidate you, are you?" DI Alex Drake asked her boss and secret love of her life.