Notes: Some of the content here is from 08/10/03; the rest is my own material and meant to fill the gaps during the show. Unlike other chapters though, there is no 'after' section as I wanted to keep the original ending, which was just wonderful: definitely one of the best moments of The Bill. No worries though, there's an epilogue coming up to cover the 'what happened next.'
And since I've started each chapter with kudos, I'll add some here too. Praise this time goes to the costume department (or whoever was responsible) for letting Chris Simmons appear without Mickey's customary jean jacket during the character's most vulnerable scenes. The actor uses his lovely narrow swimmers build to great affect. And when he goes after Delaney and starts putting his life back together, the jacket and the more familiar stance of DC Webb, comes back.
Praise also goes to whoever created Delaney's character, keeping to the psychology of the rapist. Good research is always appreciated.
Other Notes: Sorry this took a while but it just kept growing (over 8000 words in this chap alone!) and its still going!
Thanks to – Suze Webb and Tish for Mickey info and Sez babe for details on Delaney. You're all wonderful!
Warning: It's not graphic (keeping this PG-13/12A in line with the show, after all) but there's some course descriptions ahead.
One of Our Own IV:
End of the Line
By NorthernStar
"As soon as Martin told me what had happened, he regretted it." The chaplain went on, oblivious to the churning of Mickey's gut. "You could see it in his eyes. I don't know what he thought I was gonna do with the information."
Mickey looked away, understanding Delaney's feelings all too well. "Maybe he thought it'd change your opinion of him."
"Possibly." O'Donnell said. "Anyway, over the next few weeks, the nature of our conversations changed."
"In what way?"
"I don't know how to describe it really." He admitted. "It felt like he was threatening me."
Mickey frowned, concerned. "What did he say?"
"He told me that when we met on the outside, things would be different. The way he said it…" The chaplain sat back a little. "I don't know, maybe I'm being paranoid."
"Do you know Eddie McGowan?"
"Yeah he was Martin's cellmate. Martin blamed him for standing by while he was attacked."
"Yeah," Mickey confirmed softly. "He's been missing for some time."
"You think Martin's done something to him."
"We don't know." Mickey lifted his head. "Whereabouts do you live?"
"Why?" Alarm crossed O'Donnell's face. "What's going on here?"
"Delaney escaped from custody. For some reason he's remained in London. We're just trying to find out why that's all."
"Well I live out near Hounslow."
Mickey felt a flash of disappointment. Too far…
"Who was the bloke who raped him?"
"Trevor Makin. His appeal case went through about a month back. It got a bit of press and Makin's conviction was overturned on a technicality."
"And when did this happen?"
"He was released about a month ago."
Mickey tensed, heart rate kicking up. Delaney and his need for revenge…
That had to be it.
"Where does he live now?"
"I wouldn't know. Very few of the inmates I counsel ever keep in contact."
"OK, fanks." Mickey got up. "You've been…" His legs were shaky and the pause as he regained his balance was noticeable. "…very helpful."
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah." Mickey looked away. "Just got up too quick that's all."
O'Donnell frowned. "If you don't mind my saying, detective, you don't seem all that well."
Inside he flinched from the concern. On the outside, Mickey gave little away, avoiding the chaplain's eyes. "It's nuffing."
"Maybe I can help." O'Donnell told him. "Let me get you some tea…"
His skin crawled. "I'm fine." And he went to the door. "Fanks."
The chaplain opened the door for him. "God bless." He said.
Yeah, right…
Mickey walked back to his car thinking about O'Donnell and confidences, faith and blessings.
Faith had once meant a lot to Mickey, something that had surprised a lot of people when they realised. Back then, he was never without his crucifix, without the strength it offered him, but not now.
He'd put aside the symbol, and all it represented, when Kate was taken from him. Her death he might have weathered with his faith intact, but it wasn't just her passing. It was more that she had been taken just before they were ever together, really together, and that was a cruelty deeper than his belief.
So Mickey had put the cross aside, leaving only the chain around his neck. The abandonment of his faith as quiet as the holding of it had been.
He had on occasion, regretted the loss and in bleaker moments, questioned whether it had been the right thing to do. He could have used the strength his faith had always given him when his mother was killed, and especially now, with the wreck his life had become.
But looking into O'Donnell's eyes back there, while the chaplain softly betrayed confidences with one breath and blessed him with another, Mickey had known he wasn't wrong.
Jack tossed aside the useless file he was reading and reached for another. There was a small pile on his desk and he'd read them all twice over already. He would probably scan through them once more before he was through, but he already knew it was futile. If the information was there, they would have found it already.
He just had to face it. The case had gone cold.
Damn…
Jack skimmed through the notes, knowing them almost off by heart. Delaney's case files were concise and informative, but there was nothing there he could use. Some were written up by Mickey while he was investigating the thefts from the prostitutes Delaney visited. Despite his lingering anger over what had happened to Rachel, Jack could now see that Mickey's notes were fair, in depth and unbiased. None of the dismissal that Jack had accused Mickey of showing to Rachel and her problems was evident in the DC's words.
Why hadn't he seen that before?
Jack sighed. That was just another regret where Mickey was concerned; it was getting to be a long list.
His eyes caught on Rachel's name and he chucked the file down on his desk.
Rachel…
As a detective, he knew Rachel and the other prostitutes were the best hope for finding Delaney. As her lover…
Jack had hoped it wouldn't come to this but even before he'd started scouring Delaney's files for information, he'd known there wasn't any other option. There was only one place Delaney might be found…
He really hated to ask. But that wouldn't stop him.
Jack put the files away and left his office.
The drive back was frustrating, city traffic choking the roads, slowing the cars to a snail's pace. As he sat in the jam, Mickey's fingers drummed on the steering wheel, full of nervous energy.
He didn't like the inactive. It gave him a chance to think. And the one thing Mickey couldn't do right now was think.
But in the silence of his car, stalled bumper to bumper in the centre of town, his mind began to race with possibilities.
Delaney had…
Delaney had been raped.
Mickey's fingers went white as his grip on the wheel tightened.
The act had always sickened him, long before he'd ever known, intimately, the damage it could cause. That a man could force himself on another was vile but it spoke of something far more repugnant, a far deeper evil, that Delaney had known exactly what he was doing, the harm he was causing Mickey when he raped him.
And yet there was a twisted logic to it.
Delaney knew the power a rapist had over his victim, how that endured long after the act itself was finished with. He would want that.
Raping Mickey had been a way to regain the control he'd lost in his own rape and it was also the best revenge he could take.
Bile rose in the back of Mickey's throat. His body trembled, shaking with rage.
Mickey slammed his head against the wheel, forcing the thoughts away, pushing the anger back.
He didn't have time for this. Couldn't fall apart, couldn't give in…
He needed to catch Delaney. It was the one thing keeping him together. He couldn't see beyond that.
Didn't want too…
It was almost two by the time Mickey finally arrived back at the nick. He knew he drew some odd looks from the relief as he walked swiftly through the station, head bent, ignoring them. He went straight to his desk, pulling out the top draw and grabbing the small bottle of prescription painkillers inside. He shook a couple out and popped them into his mouth before heading over to the water dispenser and filling a cup to swallow them with. The pills scratched all the way down and he finished the rest of water.
Mickey glanced back at his desk and thought about taking his next dose of antibiotics. Being forced to sit in the jam had irritated the sore, barely healing tissues of his anus and rectum. There was sharp discomfort around his middle too, protesting his full bladder. He didn't want to go, sick at the thought of finding more blood on his underwear. He just didn't want to deal with that part of himself.
But the pressure hurt and he went anyway, hiding himself away in the stalls, unable to face standing next to Rob at the urinals. Pee-ing was every bit as uncomfortable as he'd thought and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from hissing. Maybe that next dose of tetracycline was a good idea.
He waited until he heard Rob leave before coming out of the stall. He washed his hands then made the mistake of looking up, looking into his reflection in the mirror. A barely recognisable wreak stared back.
Mickey bent and splashed cold water on his face, the liquid dribbling like tears off his chin. It felt like he'd been doing this forever. Was it only a couple of days since he'd been raped?
Mickey looked down, biting his lip. He couldn't even look at himself. His eyes stung and he had to swallow to force back the tears.
Anger flared at his own weakness and he grabbed some paper towels, roughly dried his face, scrapping fiercely at his own skin. Then he chucked the tissues away and left the loos, banging the door in his wake.
The house looked no different from the others on the terrace. It was normal and ordinary and gave no clue about what went on behind its featureless door. The woman who answered was pretty and looked as if she was dressed for a night out even though it was only half past two in the afternoon.
"Oh…hey…I…didn't realise you were going to come round." She said.
Jack's stomach clenched. Despite the cuts and bruises she couldn't conceal under make-up, she was dressed for business and she'd thought he was her next customer.
"I need to talk." He said, pushing inside. "It's about Delaney."
There was reluctance on her face, badly covered. She held open the door. "Right, come in."
She followed him into the sitting room. "Can I get you a drink?"
He shook his head. "I can't stay long." He said.
She frowned. "Is this an official visit?"
"In a way, yes." He replied, sitting down. "He attacked one of my officers. I need to you to warn the girls that he goes to, that if he turns up, to get in touch with the police immediately."
"Any other criminals you'd like us to look out for?" Her tone wasn't entirely teasing. "Maybe we should put together a portfolio of mug shots and I'll see what we can do?"
His face was grave, not liking her tone. "This isn't a joke."
"I'm not laughing Jack." She told him. "I can't exactly go to prostitutes as say 'my boyfriend, the copper, needs help.' It doesn't work like that."
Jack got up, hating this. Hating himself for having to use this.
"Jack what is it?"
"He raped the officer." His voice was harsh.
Rachel bent her head, probably thinking of her own run in with Delaney. She'd been lucky to escape with just a beating. "Is she OK?"
Jack looked back at her, knowing he was breaking a confidence, but doing it anyway. "It was Mickey."
Trevor Makin.
He flashes VIOLENT on PNC.
Mickey scanned Makin's file on his computer. The mug shot was of thin faced, dark haired man with sharp angular features. Not a pretty sight, but he didn't look like a rapist.
But neither had Delaney.
Mickey felt distantly sick. His mind unwillingly conjured the images of this man and Delaney, fuelled and given shape by his own ugly experiences. Was it possible that without Makin's humiliating and brutal attack on Delaney, he might not have raped Mickey? Had the inclination always been there inside Martin? Had there been something that Mickey had said, or done that triggered it? Or was it the only way Delaney could regain what he'd lost?
Had raping him given Delaney back that sense of power and control?
The growing need for understanding inside Mickey disturbed him. He didn't want to think of that, couldn't think of that. He just had to catch Delaney. He couldn't deal with anything else right now.
And why should he understand? Delaney didn't deserve compassion. He'd shown none to Mickey or his other victims.
Delaney was evil. And he was going to put him away. That was all he needed to know.
Mickey covered his face with his hands, tried to rub away the tiredness building inside him. His body still ached despite the strong painkillers, constant reminders of what he'd endured, no matter how much he tried to move on.
Right now, it didn't feel like he'd ever be normal again.
Someone touched his shoulder.
Mickey's head jerked up, hands pulling away from his face, heart pounding. He turned.
"Mickey," Phil Hunter stood behind him. "Where's that forensic report for the Chaney case?"
Mickey swallowed, forcing himself to relax. "Er…yeah," he dug in his 'in' tray, pulled it out and handed it over. "It's 'ere."
Hunter frowned at where he'd retrieved it from. "What, you've not read it yet?"
"Been a bit busy. With the Delaney case."
"All right. I'll get it back to you as soon as, yeah?"
"OK."
Phil started walking back to his own desk. Half way across the room, he paused. "Listen, take a break. You look like something they dragged out the river."
Mickey agreed but turned back to his computer, alert now, still buzzing from the shock of being touched. He stared at the mug shot of Makin.
There was no understanding Delaney: rape didn't give you reason to rape.
Mickey didn't think he could ever, ever force himself on anyone. No matter how much he hated someone, or how much he believed it would undo what had been done to him.
Maybe that was the difference between them – between being a victim and…what ever it was you were, if you weren't a victim.
It was all he had to hold on to.
Mickey scanned Makin's file again, then glanced at the map on the wall. Makin's address had to be in that catchment area. He turned in his chair. Behind him, Debbie and that new detective, Rob, sniggered over something. It felt like they were laughing at him.
"Where the A-Z gone?" He asked Debbie.
"Behind you."
Mickey slid across in his chair, grabbing up the book. "What about the DCI? Where's the DCI?"
"I don't know." Debbie's lips twisted nastily. "Doing Rachel Heath?"
Mickey ignored her and got up, grabbing his jacket. He would have preferred Jack in on this, but he wasn't going to wait.
"Is…is he all right?" Rachel asked.
Jack sat down and finally admitted the truth. "No."
She settled beside him, taking his hands in hers.
"I can't believe it's happened." Jack said; with her, in private, he could confess what he felt. What had been playing on his mind since he'd learned what happened. "I'm responsible."
"How could this be your fault?"
"Because I underestimated Delaney."
"No, come on, sweetheart, you're being irrational." She murmured, "no one could possibly have known he was going to do all this." She entwined their fingers. "Look, the one thing you can do for Mickey right now is catch Delaney."
"We can't even find him." Jack said. "We know he's remained in the area. That's why I hoped…" He trailed off. He wasn't going to ask again.
Rachel sighed. "I'll tell the girls to call me if Delaney comes to them. And I'll contact you immediately." She smiled slightly. "It's the best I can do, Jack."
"I know." He looked down at their hands. "I just wish…there was something more I could do." He told her. "For Mickey."
"He will get through this, Jack."
"He's been through a lot lately with his mother dying. Now this." The anger that had been growing steadily since the shock had died away, since he'd cradled the sobbing DC in his arms by his mother's grave, finally found its voice. "I should have seen that it was getting personal."
"How could you?"
"Delaney threw acid on Mickey's car. He stole his notebook and posted it back to him. The signs were there, I just didn't see them." His accent deepened. "I didn't want to see it. I just wanted Delaney caught."
"You can't blame yourself."
"It's my job to look out for the relief and I failed in that responsibility." He sighed, rubbed his forehead, and then looked down. There was a short pause before he spoke again. "I got demoted once," he admitted, "for lack of supervision and negligence. That's what I showed here. I let my personal feelings get in the way."
"Because of me?" Her words were brittle.
Jack took her hand. "I don't regret anything that's happened between us." But although he'd meant that to be true, it almost felt like a lie. "But I should have handled things differently."
"Jack you did the best you could with-"
He got up abruptly, severing the connection of their hands. "No I didn't! A good officer, a good friend, was raped on my watch and yes, ultimately that is my responsibility!"
Hurt crossed her face and he realised he was being unfair.
"I'm sorry." He told her.
"It's OK." She got up. "You're angry. Anyone would be."
"I shouldn't take it out on you."
"You can talk to me, Jack." She paused, frowning. He could tell she was searching for a way to ask something. When the question came, it surprised him. "It's not just the rape, is it? It's that it's Mickey."
Jack was silent.
"He's more than just a colleague." It wasn't really a question.
Jack laughed despite himself.
"What?"
"A few weeks ago I would have hotly denied that." A smile found its way onto his lips. "And did, at one point." He sat back down. "We've been through a lot together." He told her. "He's a good officer."
She took his hands again, waiting for more.
"I think in a way Mickey sees me…I don't know, as a father figure." He frowned, thinking of the young man and the rapport between them. The times they had both failed to live up to the other's expectations. "I don't know why that ever bothered me."
She smiled slightly. "It's a lot to live up too."
Jack looked down, hearing the truth in that. "Maybe."
"Then you can do more for him, Jack." She told him and kissed his mouth. "Just be there."
Mickey found Makin's house easily. He parked his car a short distance away and waited. It didn't take long. The front door opened and a man walked out, immediately recognisable from the mug shot. There was a small white dog yapping at his heels, tugging at its lead, eager to get going.
Mickey snorted contemptuously. So much for the dangerous criminal.
He watched Makin cross the road and start towards the park. As soon as he saw Makin take the footpath at the end of the road, and he was sure that was where Makin was going, he started his car and swung it into a three point turn, before heading back the way he came.
He got to the park seconds before Makin, parking and watching the thin man walk his dog – a little fluffy white rat-on-a-lead – through the entrance. Mickey got out and walked behind.
The park was largely deserted and surrounded by trees and undergrowth. It was the prefect place for Delaney to tackle Makin.
Mickey kept to the edge of the park, in the trees, watching the man and his dog wander through the grass. Vaguely, he knew he shouldn't be doing an obbo without back up, but the only person he trusted right now…ever…was Jack. And the DCI wasn't anywhere to be found.
Coldness settled in his belly. Doing Rachel Heath?
Probably.
Jack took her into his arms, relishing the comfort of her touch and the taste of her mouth. She leaned closer and he felt her shoulder dig into his chest, sharp against his ribs. Almost as bony as Mickey's had been when he'd held the sobbing young man beside his mother's grave.
Mickey…
He pulled back. "I'm sorry."
Her arms slipped from around him; there was disappointment in her eyes, and understanding in them too.
"I have to go." He told her.
She smiled. "I love you."
The words offered more comfort than she would ever know.
Another pair of eyes were fixed on Makin. Martin Delaney also watched, and then he saw something very interesting. A familiar narrow figure ahead of him in the trees.
Mickey Webb…
Delaney's mouth settled into a bitter line.
You really couldn't trust men of the cloth…
A twig snapped behind him. Mickey turned and his heart skipped in his chest, fear and anger coursing through him the moment he saw Delaney. For a brief moment he was back there in the warehouse, tied and powerless, screaming from the pain and the rage and the humiliation. And then that confusing tide crystallised, sharpened, and came rushing out.
Mickey threw himself at Delaney, slamming the bastard up against a tree. In the struggle, Delaney got his hand under Mickey's jaw and pushed hard, pressing painfully on Mickey's neck.
"Come back for seconds have ya?" Delaney sneered.
The words were like acid against his nerves. He would not let it happen again. He'd kill first.
There were no ropes stopping him now, no dizzying concussion.
Delaney kneed Mickey's belly and the DC stumbled back, his momentum pulling Delaney with him. The pair fell to the ground, Mickey grabbed Delaney's shirt and gave into the anger boiling inside him, hitting out, landing blow after blow. Blood oozed from Delaney's nose and Mickey forced himself to stop.
Delaney struggled to his knees. And the bastard was smiling…smiling… "Shame you didn't put up much of a fight the first time, eh?"
Mickey kicked him in the gut, sending his sprawling. "What about Makin, ay?"
"Two men holdin' me down." Delaney spat. "What's your excuse?"
And he kicked out again, letting the anger fuel him.
Delaney coughed, winded. "Come on, come on…" he taunted.
The sick bastard was actually enjoying this, getting his kicks out of seeing the anger and the frustration that Mickey felt.
Mickey raised his foot and began stamping down on Delaney's arm, again and again, until Mickey felt something give beneath his heal. The satisfaction was muted.
Delaney looked up at him, almost laughing. "You can arrest me but I'll always have somethin' on you, Mickey!"
The words cut deep: there was truth there. But he could inflict hurt too. "Like Makin's got somefing on you, yeah?"
"You broke ma arm!"
Mickey leaned over him. "Why haven't you done anything to him yet?" He yelled. "What you scared of, ay?" There was a thin scrap of triumph in this, knowing he was doing the very thing Delaney hadn't been able too – confront his attacker – and he clung on to that small victory.
"Truth?" There was a chuckle in Delaney's voice, scorning Mickey's victory. "He's always got that bloody dog with him." Mickey looked up at the man in the distance, dragging the scrap of fur along, completely unaware. "I hate dogs!"
"You're a sick, sick man!"
Mickey's phone rang, and with hands shaky from the confrontation he checked his pockets before spotting it in the grass. He went over and when he bent over to pick it up, he took his eyes off Delaney for just as second. In that moment, Martin was off, knocking Mickey down and sprinting away.
Mickey tore after him, answering the call as he ran. "This is DC Webb," he yelled into the mobile. "I need assistance!"
Jack was half way back to the nick when the call came over the radio.
"All units from Sierra Oscar. DC Webb has seen Martin Delaney in the last two minutes running out of Bray Park, heading in the direction of Bagshot Road…."
Jack's heart skipped a beat at the report.
Mickey!
Jack stepped on the breaks and reversed the car, swinging it around to double back the way he came, listening to the reports of Mickey's location. He silently thanked God that he was only minutes away.
"Sierra Oscar, this is DCI Meadows." He said into the radio. "I'm at the top of Staymore Road and am proceeding to Mill Yard."
Mickey sprinted after Delaney, yelling his location into his phone all the while. His lungs burned and he felt the trickle of blood on his forehead. The gash on his head had reopened in the fight. And every one of his cuts and bruises ached at the exertion.
But he kept on going…
Jack reached the yard in just over a minute. He stopped the car and got out. No sign of Mickey or Delaney, or anyone else.
"Mickey!" He called.
Nothing.
His stomach churned, worried. He knew what Delaney was capable of and it made him sick to think what Mickey might endure a second time.
Sirens sounded all around and he called out again.
"Mickey!"
Damn Mickey, couldn't he stay put just once?
Then the sound of pounding feet alerted him and Jack turned to see Delaney run out of the trees. He came to a halt when he saw the DCI.
"All right, Delaney, you just stay put." He yelled, "it's over." He could hear his officer's getting out of the area cars.
Delaney looked behind him then down at the ground. He bent and scooped up a piece of piping.
"Don't be stupid." Jack warned him.
Smithy hurried over, hands going to the canister of CS on his belt. "Put it down!"
More feet. Mickey pounded towards them, heedless, and ploughed into Delaney. Martin cried out in pain as Mickey tackled Delaney and the pair went down in a tangle of arms and legs.
Mickey twisted Delaney's arms behind his back then felt someone behind him. Smithy tugged Mickey away and took over restraining Delaney. The DC stumbled back, gasping air into his lungs, legs numb and shaky. He couldn't believe it was over.
"Martin Delaney," Jack began, "I'm arresting you for assault."
"Just assault?" Delaney lifted his head. He was laughing. "What about rape?"
The words shocked them. Jack cast a worried glance at Mickey.
Mickey looked up at the approaching uniforms, desparate. "You shut your mouth!" He screamed.
Delaney took no notice. "What about the rape?"
"You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court." Jack recited as he and Smithy pulled Delaney to his feet. "Anything you say may be given in evidence." He pushed the man at Smithy. "Put him in the car!"
"What about the rape charge?" Delaney continued as Smithy led him away. "You don't caution me!"
"Shut up!" Smithy shook Delaney, jerking his broken arm, stopping the words.
But it was too late, wasn't it?
"Rape?" Reg asked. "What's that about a rape? I didn't know he'd raped anyone."
Mickey listened to the words and despaired. Too late…
No…
Des looked at Smithy. "What's been going on, sarge?"
No…
"Shut up, Des!" Smithy ordered, shoving Delaney at him. "And just put him in the car."
A grin broke on Delaney's face. "Decided not to report it, Mickey?" He crowed over his shoulder. "Brave boy!"
That final taunt snapped something inside him, stole away that one tiny shred of self worth he had left, that he was better than Delaney. Mickey rushed forward, grabbing Delaney and twisting his broken arm, relishing the cry of pain he made. "You're going back inside Martin." He hissed, wanting him to hurt, wanting his words to do as much damage as Delaney's had just done. "What happens when you meet another Trevor Makin, ay? Are you gonna report it? ARE YOU GONNA REPORT IT! Ay? Ay?"
Then he pushed away and saw the faces. Reg, Des, everyone…staring at him with growing shock. They knew…
They knew what Delaney had done to him.
He was going to be sick.
Jack came over. "Mickey?"
He was shaking hard, lungs never getting enough oxygen no matter how hard he breathed.
Jack pointed at Delaney. "Get him out of here." He yelled at Des and put an arm around Mickey. "You're all right. You got him."
Jack frowned, not liking the pallor of his DC's skin. His thin shoulders shook, but Jack couldn't tell if that was from the run or the anger or unshed tears. Jack looked up, saw the other officer's all casting concerned and questioning glances their way. He carefully manoeuvred Mickey around, away from prying eyes, but the young man stumbled, legs going from under him. Jack muttered an oath, catching him on the way down, taking his weight as he fell to his knees.
Mickey's head was bent. "Never 'fought…never 'fought 'e'd…" He could barely draw breath.
Jack knelt beside him. "He'll probably retract it during questioning."
"Nah." Mickey looked up. His voice was harsh. "Nah he won't. 'E's proud of it, ain't he?"
Jack could only squeeze his shoulder in silent support.
Delaney met Des's eyes in the rear-view mirror. He wasn't smiling now.
"That true. Wot you said?"
"Des." Reg admonished.
"It is, innit? You're a bloody rapist, aren't you?"
"Des!"
"Shuddup. Mickey's a mate, ain't he? I'm concerned, that's all."
"Look, he was just trying to rattle everyone." Reg reasoned. "Don't give him the satisfaction."
"Yeah, well how comes no one said that back there, ay? How comes Mickey didn't say 'that's a load of old donkey's' instead of going bananas like he did?" Des looked back up into the mirror, gripping the wheel, angry. "You did, didn't you, you little scrote? You banged his arse!"
"DES!"
Delaney turned to stare out the window and smiled.
"Come on…" Jack said softly as he helped Mickey to get up. Mickey let himself be herded by the DCI into the passenger seat of his car. He winced as he sat down, bruises protesting the movement.
Jack frowned, seeing the flash of pain that crossed his face. "You all right?"
Mickey didn't look up. "Just gave us a bit of a kickin' this time, guv."
This time…
"See the FME when we get back."
Mickey tensed, uncomfortable with the concern, hiding his face. "I'm OK." He told him softly.
Jack closed Mickey's door and walked around to the driver's side. Mickey didn't look round when he got in and started the car up, keeping his head turned away, staring out the window.
He felt oddly numb to what had happened. Delaney had told everyone, taken away his only chance of putting the rape behind him and carrying on, and yet he didn't really feel anything. There was a vague sensation on inevitability but nothing else.
Brave boy… Delaney had taunted, robbing him of that small amount of pride he felt in confronting his attacker.
Mickey knew cowardice, hiding behind the sofa as the man he had called 'dad' laid into his mother again and again, to afraid to help her or call the police. But even as he'd trembled in the night and swore to Smithy that nothing had happened, desperate to keep his secret, even as he'd insisted to Jack he wasn't going to report the rape, he'd never thought he was being a coward.
Maybe…
Maybe he'd been wrong.
Mickey watched the streets of Canley whiz by, arm propped against the window, chewing on his nail.
It wasn't like he had anything to lose now.
So he made the decision.
That wasn't the only one he made…
It didn't take long to get back to the nick.
Jack pulled up outside in the yard but Mickey made no move to get out.
Jack looked up and saw Des and Reg taking Delaney out of their car. It was probably best they waited. Mickey didn't need another confrontation with Delaney.
"I wanna make a statement." Mickey said softly. It was the first time he's spoke since leaving the scene.
The decision surprised him. "It's been 72 hours." Jack told him gently. Any forensic evidence at the warehouse would be gone.
"Yeah well I kept the clothes I was wearing."
Jack felt a rush of pride. "Good."
Mickey didn't look at him.
"So how'd you feel about standing up in court?"
Mickey's head lifted. "Ask me on the day."
Jack looked at the bent blond head, a slight smile on his lips. He'd never been prouder of him.
Smithy led Delaney into the nick, followed by Des and Reg. Delaney looked subdued, as if the reality had finally hit him. Smithy wondered how Mickey was.
Another officer took custody of Delaney.
Des looked at Smithy. "Is it true what Delaney said about Mickey?"
Smithy stopped. "Leave it Des!" He warned.
"It is isn't it?" Des pushed. "He raped him."
One of the female PC's walked passed, eyes flicking up in interest. Smithy nodded to her angrily. "Why don't you get on the tannoy, ay, you idiot?"
Mickey trailed behind Jack. He heard every word, but he kept his head bent. He didn't want to look at anyone, didn't want anyone to look at him. He'd be station gossip by the end of the day.
But he felt calm inside.
It was over.
"Poor bloke," muttered Reg.
But what did he care?
Jack and Ramani took his statement.
Mickey sat in the CSU interview room, and it might just have been any other day at work, but now he was on the other side of the table - the side of the victims.
Jack brought him a cup of steaming black coffee and offered him a smile. Mickey avoided his gaze, turning his eyes to the Styrofoam cup in his hands. He just wanted to get on with this; get it over with.
Then they began.
Mickey never looked up once. As a copper he knew what to say and his voice was detached and toneless. He might easily have been talking about someone else.
At approximately 6:30 pm on Thursday 24th September 2003, in the course of his duty, he had chased Martin Delaney into the warehouse across from Larkmead Station. He did not know the exact address, but he could find it again.
Yes he had tried to call for back up on his mobile but there was no signal.
No he didn't draw his ASP. He had left it in his car.
Yeah, that was stupid.
He had confronted Delaney and been knocked unconscious, probably with a shovel, he wasn't sure. When he came too, he was being tied to a table.
Face down.
Mickey's voice broke at that and he bent even further into himself, biting his lip.
"Do you need a minute?" Jack asked gently.
Mickey shook his head. "Nah." His voice was rough.
Yes his feet were in contact with the floor and his arms were at right angles.
No he couldn't move.
The ropes had been tied around his wrists and tightened in vices.
Yes it was possible they were still there in the warehouse. He hadn't removed the ropes from the scene.
Yes he knew that pictures of his bruised wrists and other injuries would need to be taken.
Then Delaney had taunted him. Mickey repeated every word his attacker had said.
His mobile had rung. Delaney had taken it from his back pocket and smashed it.
No Delaney didn't say anything else. That was all.
And then Delaney had pulled down his trousers and removed his own.
Then he'd been raped.
No there hadn't been any other sexual or indecent assault.
Not really.
The 'not really' because Delaney had taken a while to…rise to the occasion; he'd needed to perform an indecent act. And Mickey made the motion in the air to illustrate.
Ramani didn't blink, giving the act voice.
Yeah that. Wasn't the term he would've used.
Yes there had been penetration. It took maybe four or five minutes.
Yes he had ejaculated inside him.
No Delaney didn't say anything after that.
Yes he was sure. He didn't speak.
Yes they could approach Dr Travis who attended him at the rape suite at St Hughes.
Yes, he would consent to another medical examination if it was necessary.
Then Delaney had left. He was still tied up.
He got free.
No he didn't try to leave.
Because he didn't, OK?
No he hadn't tried to call for help. His bloody mobile was in little bits.
And then Smithy found him and took him home.
Yes he bathed soon after. But he kept his clothes in a bin bag and he hadn't touched them since.
Yes they were welcome to them.
Anything else they needed to know?
"We'll get this typed up." Jack said.
Mickey bent even further into the chair.
"Raped?" Debbie's nose crinkled. "Mickey?"
"That's what I heard." Ken said.
"But he's been here most of the day."
"Yeah." Brandon agreed. "Looked like death warmed up most of the time though, didn't he?"
"But who…?" Debbie straightened up. "Have they caught him yet?"
Ken nodded towards the incident board and the photo of Delaney. "Brought him in a couple of hours ago."
"Delaney?" She shook her head. "No, I can't believe that."
"Ties in with what the DI said though." Brandon leaned forward. "About Delaney's MO."
"Yeah but…Mickey?" She stopped when she saw Brandon and Ken tense. Silence fell across the CID room.
Debbie turned.
The DCI glared at them from the door. "Get back to work the lot of you!"
Everyone was suddenly busy.
While the statement was being prepared, Jack took Mickey into his office and got out his bottle of scotch. He poured Mickey a large measure and handed it over.
Mickey looked at the glass Jack held out.
"Go on." Jack encouraged.
Mickey took the scotch with a soft "cheers" but didn't drink it.
Jack sat down behind his desk and looked at the young man hunched on the chair in front of him. There was a quietness about him now that Jack didn't like. He didn't know what to say or do to ease the turmoil inside his friend.
It had been hard listening to the details. He didn't think he would sleep tonight. And maybe not tomorrow night either.
It was always ugly interviewing rape victims – doubly so when you knew the person.
It didn't matter what Rachel said, he knew.
It was his fault.
A soft knock interrupted his train of thoughts. Ramani came in and handed Mickey's statement over.
"Thanks."
She glanced at Mickey as if she wanted to say more, probably discuss counselling but Jack caught her eye and shook his head slightly.
No.
Reluctantly, she left them alone again, closing the door behind her.
Jack stared at the paper in his hands. Mickey's ordeal reduced to harsh facts and uncompromising words. He put it down on his desk and waited while Mickey read through it.
Jack held out a pen.
Mickey's fingers didn't tremble as some rape victims did when he took it, but there was a tension in his signatures that Jack didn't remember seeing before.
Mickey put down the pen and the hardest part was over.
"Well done."
Mickey straightened up. "I fink this is the end of the line for me, guv." He said softly.
Jack sat down. The words not as shocking as they might be. He knew, deep down, this might happen.
He looked up at Mickey. "You're not leaving are ya?"
Jack's question was heavy with regret. It was…comforting… to hear. But it wasn't enough. He had to do this.
It was over. Just more so, and in a different way, than he'd thought.
"Delaney told the chaplain he was raped," Mickey explained, beginning to pace. He couldn't say this standing still. "And then he freaked out…because someone knew his secret." He looked around at Jack, needing him to understand, needing him to know that he wasn't running away. Not really. "He freaked out cos only one person knew."
"But you're not Delaney."
"The whole station's going to know about me in the morning."
"You've got nothing to be ashamed of."
Mickey's head lifted. "I ain't ashamed." He told him, but even he didn't know if that was a lie. "But whether you like it or not, people are gonna start treating me differently from now on and…" the words caught in his throat.
Jack looked down. "For a few weeks maybe."
"I duuno how to 'andle that." Mickey admitted. "A lots 'appened to me recently, I've…" His throat felt tight, couldn't swallow the knot there. Tears threatened but he wasn't going to give in. "I've lost my mum. Now this." His head came up, strength filling his voice. "I fink its time for a fresh start."
There was sadness on Jack's face. "So you want a transfer?"
Mickey nodded once. "Time to move on."
Jack sighed, hearing the finality. He knew there was nothing he could say to change his mind. And in a way he understood Mickey's need. He didn't completely agree with it, but understood it nonetheless. So he nodded. "I'll fast track your application myself." He got up. "As of now you're on compassion leave. We'll sort the details out later."
"'Fanks."
Mickey went into CID. Jack followed him but remained just outside the doors. The tension that fell across the room when he entered told him that station gossip had reached most of them. He ignored the looks and went to his desk. No one approached him, probably warned off by the DCI waiting just outside, making sure everyone kept their eyes on their work.
Or maybe they just didn't know what to say.
Or maybe he was just being paranoid.
At his desk, Mickey opened the bag he carried and scooped up his personal items into it. Nothing particularly valuable, a couple of photos, a book he'd been reading forever, paracetamol, a CD, a Mars bar, a pack of mints and his prescription pills.
His life in Sun Hill encapsulated in those few mementos. Then he zipped up the bag and walked out.
At the door, Mickey paused and glanced back. He remembered it before the fire, seeing the room as it once had been, clearly in his mind's eye. Duncan had sat there, Kate there, his desk there and Paul and Debbie, there and there.
And thinking back some more, Bolton had once sat there, Claire there. Beech was there and Kerry's further back. And in the background, Deakin had cut through all the bollocks.
Good teams, despite everything.
Nearly four years of his life. Pretty good innings really.
Match postponed…
Mickey let the door swing shut behind him.
…due to rain.
Smithy carried the tray of food passed the relief. At least half of them now knew what had happened, why catching Delaney had suddenly been top priority. And they all wanted a piece of him.
At Delaney's cell, the duty sergeant opened the door for him. Smithy entered the cell.
Delaney looked up. He'd been quiet and subdued ever since he'd been brought in. Some prisoners were, before questioning. That was when they were likely to get mouthy.
Smithy lifted the covering, releasing a waft of steam and enticing aroma. He met Delaney's eyes, keeping the connection as he bent forward and spat in the food.
Then he put the tray down on the bunk.
"Enjoy."
Jack followed Mickey out to his car. Mickey chucked his bag in the car and got in. Jack opened the passenger side door and looked in.
"If you want me to put a word in for ya, or you need anything, just let me know."
"Guv…" There was one more thing he needed to do. And if something good or decent was to come of his rape, maybe this was it. "When Chandler was tryin' to get rid of me, I stuck it out cos I knew you'd stand by me. I stayed, loads of us stayed, because we respected you." He looked up briefly. "But your loosing that respect now cos of Rachel."
"You think that bothers me?"
"It bothers me." He took a breath. "Is she gonna stop being a prostitute? Are you gonna stop being a copper? Then how's it work, eh? You deserve so much more than this. I mean that. So does Laura." There was no heat or anger in his tone, only genuine concern. "Sort it out with Rachel, eh? I'll drive you round there now."
Jack's face crinkled, feeling none of the anger now. He could hear the sincerity in Mickey's voice. "You're not daft, are ya?"
He'd wished he could do more for Mickey.
Now he had the chance.
Jack got in the car.
The duty officer looked up when Des and Reg approached.
"We've come fer Delaney." Des told him.
"The DI wants him in for questioning." Reg added.
They followed the duty officer to the cell door. As he reached out to unlock the door, Des laid a hand on his arm. "Five minutes." He said softly. "You know the score. Five minutes."
"I don't-"
"You know what that sick bastard did? You want me to spell it out for ya?" Des yelled. "Five minutes, that's all."
Reg looked at the officer. "I'll keep an eye."
The officer didn't look happy but conceded anyway. "Five minutes." He agreed.
Des opened Delaney's cell. He walked in and picked up the untouched plate of food. The fat glob of spittle glistened on top of the overcooked food.
Des curled his lip. "Not hungry then, ay? That's a slur on our cookin' that."
Delaney looked nervously between Des and custody sergeant.
"How's the arm?" Des asked conversationally, leaning in to take a closer look at the bandaged limb. He shook his head. "Nasty. Mickey got you good there, didn't he? Course if I'd been Mickey I'd've rung yer neck. But then I'm probably not you're type." He pushed his face into Delaney's. "Got a thing for blond boys then, have ya?"
"You can't do anythin' to me." Delaney sneered.
"I'm not doing nothin' to ya. We're just having us a chat." He leaned even closer to Delaney. "Aren't we, Reggiebabe?"
"Social intercourse is an important factor in our daily lives." Reg agreed.
"Exactly. Couldn't have said it better meself." He turned back to Delaney, "and it's funny that you mention intercourse, cos that's what I wanted to chat about actually. Now, see, Mickey, he's one of our own. You mess with him; you're messin' with all of us. Screwing his arse is like screwin' my arse, screwing his arse," he nodded towards Reg and then at the custody officer, "and his arse – all our arses." He grabbed Delaney by his shirt and pushed him back against the wall. "Now you tell me why we shouldn't screw with your arse?" He leaned right in, nose to nose. "Eye for eye and all that."
A wet stain spread across the front of Delaney's trousers.
Des looked down in disgust and backed away. "Oh now look at that. Had a bit of an accident there. Real popular in prison that. Wouldn't want to be sharin' the bottom bunk with you."
"Des."
Des looked around, then took Delaney's arm and began marching him out the cell. "C'mon you." He shot the sergeant a nod. "Le's see if we can't find ya some nappies."
At Rachel's house, Jack got out the car and walked round. Mickey got out too.
"You're doing the right fing." He told him.
Jack shook his hand. "You take care of yourself." He said and meant it: simple words but with a much deeper meaning.
"You too."
Jack drew him into a hug, patting his back. Then he let go. "You're the best officer I've come across in a long time." He said, sincerely. "And wherever you chose to go, they'll be lucky to have you."
A slight smile lifted the corner of Mickey mouth, pleased at the praise. It was good to see. "Well you never know, maybe…maybe we'll work together again some day."
"Oh I hope so." Jack turned to go. "See ya."
"Yeah…"
Jack began up the path.
"Jack!"
He turned on the doorstep.
Mickey met his eyes, another small smile playing on his lips. There was a long pause - nothing needed to be said - then… "Fanks."
Jack watched as Mickey got back into his car, started the engine and pulled out. He didn't knock on the door until the car was out of sight.
To be concluded…
