DISCLAIMER: The characters of Tony Hill, Carol Jordan, Don Merrick, Kevin Geoffries, John Brandon, and Paula belong to Val McDermid, and were blatantly borrowed from her series of books, generally known as "Wire in the Blood". All others belong to me.
SUMMARY: A man is in jail for a series of brutal murders. Now, someone is doing the same, with a slightly different twist. Is it a copycat, or something else entirely? It's up to Detective Carol Jordan and psychologist Dr. Tony Hill to find out.
SPOILER: A big one if you don't know what happened to Maggie in "Still She Cries" (episode 2, series 2)
A/N: For those who have read the books, I suppose I would put this just before "The Last Temptation", considering the life-altering event both Carol and Tony go through together in that book. If you've seen the series on BBC America, I think this would fit in just about anywhere, though probably best as a continuation of the last episode. And for those who have neither read the books nor seen the series… well, carry on! I must admit to taking a huge liberty by giving Carol a gun; that is entirely, factually incorrect, though creatively necessary. Though they may never see it, my thanks to Val McDermid for creating these wonderful characters in the first place, and to Robson Green and Hermione Norris for bringing them to life in the most brilliant manner on screen. And finally, to papiliondae for beta-ing… and whatnot.
--
He loved these moments. The night was silent and dark but his senses were alive with sensation. Light from a lone street lamp filtered weakly through the tree that stood behind him, creating tiny diamonds that flickered on the glass. He pressed his forehead to the window and gazed at the sleeping form on the bed inside. He stood transfixed, as her chest rose and fell, rose and fell, he could almost hear her breathing. The cool night breeze tickled across his skin, making the hairs at the nape of his neck prickle, but he wasn't nervous. No, he had done this before, and grown accustomed to the little rush of excitement, the surge of adrenaline that always coursed through him before he tamped it down. Disciplining himself to concentration.
But for these few moments he enjoyed the hot spread of excitement through his body, a wry grin sliding across his face as his hand reached down for his growing erection. This was not new either, he reminded himself, as he undid his zipper. Though some might consider it a weakness he knew it was a necessary part of the process, but it had to be done now, then there was less chance that his emotions would fuck things up later. Later required concentration, not ejaculation. He bit back a laugh at the rhyme and quickly brought himself to a quiet release, careful not to leave a mess. Wiping his hand on the back of his trousers, he took a deep breath. Time to get to work.
He loved these moments.
--
As his students filed out Tony walked up into the empty lecture theatre, bending to retrieve a discarded piece of paper before slumping into a chair. He sat there, head resting on his folded arms, eyes closed for long moments until he smiled as he felt another presence in the room.
"Carol," he said.
She stopped in her tracks. "How on earth did you know?"
Tony lifted his head and ran a hand over his face. "I don't know," he admitted. "I suddenly felt much better."
Now it was her turn to smile. She sat on the edge of the large desk at the front of the room and looked up at him. "Bad day?"
He groaned. "One hundred and sixty eight students a day. Which in itself wouldn't faze me in the slightest, if 99 of them didn't want to be Clarice Starling or the next Patricia Cornwell. We won't even get into the inherent irony that we're in England and three quarters of my class are male." Carol chose to remain silent, allowing Tony a moment to vent. "Everybody wants to know about the John Wayne Gacys, the Fred Wests, the Jeffrey Dahmers. They want to hear the gruesome details rather than the academic process." His tone became one of mock-eagerness. "I'm not interested in the why; tell me all about the how!" He leaned back and crossed his arms in defeat. "Why someone feels compelled to take souvenirs of his victims is met with blank disinterest. They've seen it all on telly and think they're all crack profilers. But tell them the souvenir is the victim's genitalia, and you're either met with poorly concealed revulsion or morbid curiosity."
"Those who look in from the outside either can't understand how you can do the things you do, or succumb to the morbid side of human nature and want to know how those you study can do the things they do.
"No wonder I haven't had a date in over eig.. four years."
Carol couldn't help but laugh. "Then you just need to date someone who isn't on the outside looking in."
He thought about this for a time. "I often feel like I'm the one on the outside looking in," he admitted at last. They were both silent for a moment until Tony asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Sorry?"
"It's mid-afternoon. Shouldn't one of us be working?" Eyes narrowed, he asked, "And how did you know I wasn't?"
"I am a detective, you know."
"Ah, right."
"To be honest, I made the assumption that you hadn't found anything to fill your Thursdays yet, since Maggie…." she gave him a sympathetic look. "Anyway, I just happened to be on lunch and thought you might be available."
"For what?"
She laughed again. "Well, lunch for starters. I haven't had the chance to take you out to celebrate since you took up this new position. Which I see is going wonderfully well for you," she added dryly.
He stood up and walked down the few steps towards her. "New case?"
"Sorry?"
"Lunch. I presume it's so we can sit down and talk about whatever new case you're on."
"No," she corrected him. Speaking slowly, she repeated, "I haven't had the chance to take you out to celebrate since you took up this new position. Lunch. Between two friends. No work." When she saw his raised eyebrow, she waved her hand dismissively. "We could talk about football or… something."
"Talk about football?" he asked in amazement.
Carol slid off the desk and started towards the door, not looking back to see if Tony was following. "I'll have you know I could teach you a thing or two about football."
He quickly reached her side and leaned into her shoulder. "Carol, you teach me something every day."
--
Kevin Geoffries was bored. Unbelievably bored. He gazed through the window of his new office, absently registering his colleagues going about their daily business, lost in his thoughts. Rising up through the ranks of the police force, he had achieved Detective Inspector not a month ago. Yet any hopes of higher rank bringing more exciting cases had been quickly dashed when he realized that all crimes were the same, no matter the rank. Promotion only brought him a pay rise and more paperwork. Even as he recognized the irony of wishing for what he was employed to prevent he couldn't help but think, "I'd kill for a murder right about now." He looked up at the ceiling, addressing some unseen deity. "Sorry," he apologized.
He looked back down to the document he had read several times over this morning, pushing it around idly and weighing his options. "What the hell," he thought at long last. Standing up, he grabbed the paper and walked out of his office.
"Don," he called out as he made his way to the older man's desk.
Don looked up from his paper. "Yeah?"
"Busy, I see," Kevin commented.
"Have you come out to count the panels in our ceiling now that you're done with yours?" he asked innocently.
"Piss off." Tossing the document onto Don's desk, Kevin asked, "Do you remember that serial killer we had about three years ago? Killed the vics, put them in the bath and covered them with ice cubes?"
Don looked off to the side for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Jeff Gibbons, a.k.a. Mr. Freeze?" he guessed. Seeing Kevin's nod, he went on, "Entered the bedroom through the ground floor window, smothered the vic with one hand, then tossed them into a bath full of ice cubes. Threw off the time of death."
"That's the one."
Don looked up. "Do I get a gold star?"
Kevin frowned. "Just read that. Came in the morning reports today."
Sighing, Don picked up the paper. After several moments, Don glanced up again. "So?"
"So? Aren't you struck by the similarities?"
"Similarities?" Don asked. "This victim was dismembered and stuck in a freezer. The pathologist won't even be able to tell how she died until she thaws out."
"He broke in through the bedroom window. Ground floor, just like Gibbons. A photograph was missing from a frame, and she was a brunette. Same as the others."
Don shrugged. "Fine, I'll give you that. But how about these numbers on the wall? Gibbons never did anything like that. 'E-26, G-24'. What's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know," Kevin admitted. "At first I thought 'G' stood for 'Gibbons', but he was convicted of killing twenty six women, not twenty four."
"Oh yeah," Don said as if the idea had just occurred to him. "I would think the fact that Jeff Gibbons has been in jail for two years of a six hundred and fifty year sentence might throw cold water on your theory."
"Well, my theory isn't that Gibbons did this, but it could be a copycat. Besides, wouldn't be the first time DCI Jordan put a man on trial for something he didn't do."
Don's jaw tightened. "I'm going to pretend I never heard that. If it wasn't for DCI Jordan, you wouldn't be standing in front of me right now, and it would be my name on that door over there."
Kevin nodded apologetically, knowing he had overstepped the mark. He did owe Carol his job and this promotion, and suddenly he felt badly about the remark. "You're right, Don. I'm just going stir-crazy in that damn office." He picked up the slip of paper. "I think we should go check this out."
Don's jaw nearly hit the desk. "What? Go up to Sutherland? To check out what? Does DCI Jordan know about this?"
"I'm DI, I've got some authority around here. Come on, Don," he all but pleaded. "Have you got anything else to do?"
He watched as the young DI walked towards the exit. Groaning, Don stood up and grabbed his coat. "I'll be lucky if I'm not looking for a new job by the end of the day.
--
"You've seen one cop shop, you've seen them all," Don thought to himself as he and Kevin waited at the front desk of the Sutherland police station. A page had gone out ten minutes ago for a DCI Samuels and Don was just about to complain about the tiny chair that he was wedged into when a tall bulky figure approached them.
"DI Geoffries?" The man asked Don.
He jerked a thumb in Kevin's direction. "He's DI Geoffries. I'm Inspector Don Merrick." He held out a hand, which the large man shook.
"DCI Samuels," he announced as he shook Kevin's hand. "You boys are from Bradfield?" The two men nodded. "What brings you up north?"
"We got this off the wire this morning." Kevin handed Samuels the print out.
Glancing down, Samuels grimaced. "Ah yes. Ghastly. One of our junior officers nearly contaminated the crime scene by vomiting." He looked up again. "So I ask again, what brings you up north?"
The man's tone put Kevin on an uneven footing, but he decided to go ahead anyway. "Do you remember the Jeff Gibbons case? About three years ago?"
The officer nodded. "Yes. Not my jurisdiction, of course, but you can't escape the media, even up here." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "'Mr. Freeze', I believe they called him, or some equally childish name."
"Right," Kevin said. "Broke into the bedroom window, suffocated the vic, and removed a photograph from the scene."
Samuel's eyes narrowed as he quickly picked up on Kevin's train of thought. He barked out a short laugh. "And based on that, you think this has something to do with a case that was solved three years ago?"
"You have to admit there are similarities," Kevin offered.
"Similarities?" Samuels repeated, and Don could barely prevent himself from looking over to Kevin and saying, "I told you so." When Kevin remained silent, Samuels looked over to Don. "Is there nothing else for you to do in Bradfield?"
"Apparently not, sir." he muttered.
"Well, I'm sorry this was a wasted trip, gentlemen," Samuels said, without a trace of apology in his voice. "Please be sure to pass along my thanks to DCI Jordan, but for now, we'll try to manage without her help." He caught the quick look of guilt before Kevin could hide it. "Oh, I see," he smiled. "Well, perhaps thanks aren't necessary, but rather a request. A request that she keeps her DIs on a tighter leash and to let those of us who were hired to police this area do so. Now, as unusual as it may seem, there is much to do around here and I need to get to it." With that, he turned and left without another word.
Don and Kevin mustered as much dignity as the situation allowed and left. Neither spoke until they reached the car, when Don finally broke the silence. "The good news is, the paint on your door is still new enough that they should be able to scrape your name off in a jiffy."
"Piss off," Kevin snarled, and slammed the car door behind him.
--
"You know, I was rather surprised to find our lives –Maggie's and mine- weren't all that different."
They had just carried their chips to a window table of the tiny shop and sat down when Tony began the conversation. The can Carol was bringing to her lips stopped midway.
"What do you mean?" she asked incredulously. "What in the world does your life have in common with a murderer?"
"Well, perhaps nothing on the surface, but take today for instance. This would normally be my day to visit Maggie. Every Thursday for over five years. Then I got thinking about how regulated life is. Now Maggie, she had to maintain a specific schedule because of her incarceration. But how is my life any different? In order to be at the job that I am expected to attend every day, my alarm clock goes off at the same time every morning. I'm asked to be present at work at a specific time and am sternly reprimanded if I am not. I am relieved of my teaching duties at a specific time every day. My medical visits are regulated in a similar manner. Then I go home knowing that in order to fulfill the same schedule the very next day, I must go to bed at a time very similar to the night before. The only difference between me and Maggie is that she was incarcerated."
"The difference is, you didn't murder a handful of young girls, thus leaving the courts no choice but to take your freedom away."
Tony looked away, forlorn. "But that's just it, isn't it? What's freedom? Is this," he held out his hands, "freedom?"
She grabbed one of his hands. "It's not about sticking to a schedule, you know. That's not what life is about. That's part of life, but that's not life. Life is what you do with the moments you get in between. It's what you do in the unplanned moments."
He looked back at her and tilted his head. "Yes, but are there really any unplanned moments in life?"
Sighing, she grabbed a chip and popped it into her mouth. "Well I certainly didn't plan on having a discussion on existentialism with you when I invited you out for a bite to eat." She let the smile sneak through before turning serious again. "I am sorry about Maggie."
"I know," he thanked her.
She tilted her head. "Is that what's got you so down?"
"What do you mean?"
Reaching across the short space between them, Carol rested her hand on his arm. "Come on," she said softly. "This re-evaluation of your self-worth, this sudden disenchantment with your job."
"I wouldn't call it sudden," he interjected forlornly.
Her mouth twitched, but she kept the smile hidden. "All right, not sudden. Whatever. You know, I many not be a shrink, but I am a damn good listener."
"I know," he acknowledged, "and I appreciate the offer, but there's nothing to tell." He caught her pointed look. "Really."
A telephone ringing interrupted her reply. Tony began to pat his pockets in search of the phone when Carol stopped him.
"It's mine," she said, before flipping it open. "Carol Jordan." She paused, listening. "Yes, I'm DCI Jordan." Another pause. "Oh, DCI Samuels." She looked at Tony and shrugged at his inquisitive expression. As the caller continued to speak, Carol's face grew darker. "I see. Yes, I understand your position completely. I appreciate you calling me and keeping me informed. You can be sure this won't happen again. Yes, thank you. You, too. Goodbye." She snapped the phone shut furiously. "You can be damn sure this won't happen again," she gritted between clenched teeth.
"Dare I ask who will be receiving a visit from Hurricane Carol, or shall I just follow the trail of carnage?" Tony inquired.
"You won't be able to recognize them in the carnage when I'm finished," she vowed and stood up. "I'm sorry," she apologized, "I've got –"
"-some carnage to create. Yes, I got that," he deadpanned as he stood up with her.
Carol glared. "Careful, or I'll get a head start here." Tony held up his hands in surrender. "Shall I give you a lift back to the university?" she asked, civility back in her voice.
Tony shook his head. "No. You know what? I think I'll walk. Clear my thoughts. Come up with something to do now that my Thursdays are free."
"Well you know you could always share them with me."
He pursed his lips and gave it some thought. "I'm not sure you could afford me on your wage."
Feigning disappointment, Carol sighed. "Then I suppose we'll just have to meet as friends." Satisfied with the smile she received, she touched a finger to her chin. "That reminds me. Keep Saturday the 24th free."
"Oh?"
"Yes, 'oh'. I've got plans for us."
She had almost made it to the door before his voice returned. In a tone that sounded more assured than he felt, he called out, "What… what kind of plans?"
Weighing the amusement of keeping him in the dark against the sympathy she felt over his discomfort, she succumbed to the latter. Standing in front of him again, she reached down into her pocket and pulled out an envelope.
"For you," she said.
He took it from her, immediately recognizing the neat handwriting addressing the envelope to him as hers.
"What is it?"
She rolled her eyes. "You could just open it, you know."
"Hmmm? Oh, right." He slid a finger under the flap and deftly broke the envelope open. Holding up two tickets in his hand, he looked at Carol in amazement. "Newcastle. You bought two tickets to a football match?"
"You do like Newcastle, don't you?"
"You know I do."
"Good, because you and I are going." When it appeared he would say nothing more, she reached over and playfully cupped his mouth shut. As close as she was, she couldn't help but lean forward and softly kiss his cheek. "Happy birthday," she whispered into his ear. He pulled back in surprise and she laughed. "You didn't think I'd forget, did you?" She started walking backwards to the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some carnage to create."
She turned and had her hand on the door handle when he called out again. "Carol."
She looked back and waited for him to continue. His mouth moved several times but nothing came out. She winked. "I'll stop by later," she promised and left him standing in the middle of the shop, thrilled to be alive.
--