It had been the month for wacky conversations, Sam conceded as she drove to the pub to meet Eva.
Her decision to step back from Sheelagh had resulted in some frosty encounters with Gina especially; generally little barbed conversations about work issues that had left her feeling more isolated than ever. She knew she'd put herself in that position out of choice but it didn't make her feel any better about it. Gina might not have said anything outright about Sheelagh but the undercurrent was clear. So what had Sam done to combat it? Thrown herself into work – and at Peter Cavanaugh.
The night that debacle had culminated had triggered three truly bizarre conversations. First off, Manson had found her in an empty CID following Cavanaugh's arrest and pulled up a chair. She'd been expecting him to gloat about being right all along but he'd just leaned back in his seat and sighed.
'I'm sorry,' he said.
She glanced at him sharply. 'Excuse me?'
'Don't look so surprised, Samantha,' he replied. 'Listen, you're not the only one who's been done over by a villain today. At least we caught Cavanaugh thanks to you – I let Don Beech get away right under my nose. I'm not going to live that down in a hurry.'
Scrutinising his expression, she couldn't find any hint of his usual maliciousness. It was disconcerting to say the least. She liked knowing where she was with people and the last few days had knocked her confidence into the dust. However, she decided she had to take Manson at face value, especially since she couldn't feel more humiliated right now, whatever he said.
'I still don't understand why you're apologising,' she pointed out.
He shrugged. 'I might've been partially to blame.'
'What, for telling me how big the result could be?' she retorted. 'No, Guv, I didn't need the push. You were right, I want your job and I let that cloud my judgement.'
'That wasn't what I was talking about,' Manson said.
She blinked, feeling the stress of the day beginning to tell on her. 'Then what?'
'You were trying to prove yourself, yeah,' he answered, 'but it wasn't just about the job, was it?'
Finally grasping his meaning, she shifted in her seat and averted her gaze. 'Listen, Guv –'
'You've put distance between yourself and Sergeant Murphy in the last few weeks,' he interrupted. 'Don't think I didn't notice. That's exactly what I wanted but maybe it's backfired.'
'What do you mean?' she asked carefully.
He picked up a pen from her desk and twirled it around his fingers. 'You're obviously a better copper when you're mooning after one of the uniform sergeants than when you're not.'
She snorted. 'I'm not sure that's the case.'
'You wouldn't have let Cavanaugh get close if I hadn't warned you to back off from Sheelagh,' he said. 'You're one of the best coppers I've got on my team and I jeopardised that myself.'
This was all a little too surreal for her liking. She didn't completely trust him, nor was she feeling mentally up-to-scratch after a day cleaning up her mess with Cavanaugh. For all she knew, this was similar to those games he'd played with Eva – lulling her into a false sense of security only to turn the tables and trample her down again. Maybe all he wanted was her out of Sun Hill and, baffling as the realisation was, she suddenly recognised that the idea hadn't even crossed her mind in the weeks she'd been systematically pushing Sheelagh away. Transferring could've meant a return to DI and she hadn't even considered it. What did that say about her?
'Look,' Manson went on, standing up with effort, 'if it makes you feel more comfortable we can go back to handbags at dawn in the morning.'
Glancing up at him, she said, 'I think it might, Guv.'
He smiled, seeming more human than she'd ever seen him before. 'As far as I'm concerned, this conversation never happened. Except,' he added before moving off, 'you can forget what I've said about you and Sheelagh in the past. Clean slate, okay?'
Slowly, she nodded. 'Thank you, Guv.'
Yep, that conversation had indeed been a strange one. Though, to be fair to him, he hadn't reneged on his word. In the week since the Cavanaugh debacle, Manson had been snippy on work matters but had studiously avoided any comment on anything else. It felt as if her working life was back to normal at least, without the threat of transfer hanging over her if she so much as looked at Sheelagh in the wrong way.
Of course, that hardly solved her other problems. From the chat with Manson that night she'd gone straight down to Gina's office and found her ready and waiting with a bottle of whisky open on the desk and a severe expression on her face.
'Do you need me to tell you how stupid you've been?' she queried.
Sam groaned as she sat down. If Manson had guessed the reasons for her pursuit of Cavanaugh upstairs then Gina knew them for a fact. Inspector Gold might've been the best person to have in your corner but she was a formidable adversary and Sam knew she'd wound her up over the last month with her treatment of Sheelagh.
'Well?' Gina prompted.
'No,' Sam said, reaching for her glass. 'I'm well aware of it.'
After a few moments of scrutiny, Gina said, 'Do you know how much you've hurt her with your silly games?'
She waited until the whisky had scorched her throat before replying, 'I didn't intend to hurt her.'
'What were you expecting to happen?' Gina demanded. 'Thick as thieves for a year then you give her the cold shoulder with no explanation? Course she was gonna be hurt, Sam. You were so busy trying to convince yourself you were fine that you didn't stop to think how she was feeling.'
'I knew how she was feeling,' Sam argued, less vehemently than she might've done in front of anyone else. 'You think I just switched off? That I didn't see it in her eyes?'
'Well, you did a good job of ignoring it,' Gina pointed out.
'Yeah, and look what happened when I did,' she retorted. 'I put myself in the way of a no-strings fling with someone who wouldn't be around very long and I walked into a minefield.'
'Why?' Gina questioned.
Sam squinted at her. 'Why what?'
'Were you trying to prove to yourself that you're not –'
'No,' she cut in with a grimace. 'It wasn't as concrete as that. Maybe it was as simple as just being flattered, you know? He was gorgeous, he was charming, everybody was falling over themselves for him.'
Gina seemed to lose some of her hostility, reclining back with her drink. 'Not everybody.' When Sam shot her a questioning look, she continued, 'Sheelagh hated him from the off, even before she found out about you two.'
'She knew?' Sam asked.
'Yep,' Gina replied. 'She saw you together.'
'How could she...' Trailing off, Sam frowned and tried to think. 'When? When did she see us?'
'Yesterday,' Gina said, 'before the obbo on the boat I think.'
Sam strained her mind then winced, feeling the bruise inflicted by Trevor Little ache at the movement. The only time she'd been less than careful with Cavanaugh that day had been in the car park and if Sheelagh had seen that then she hated herself a little more than she had two minutes ago. She took another gulp of whisky and closed her eyes briefly.
'That explains something anyway,' she said finally. 'She gave him a hard time getting back into the nick, I thought he was exaggerating. I mean, I didn't think there was any way she could...'
'Well, she did,' Gina answered. 'And she was jealous.'
Sam glanced up again. 'She was?'
'You can take that look off your face,' Gina warned. 'You claim you love her and you've put her through hell these last few weeks, these last couple of days especially. Despite all that she was still frantic this afternoon, worried sick.'
'I do love her,' Sam returned quietly. 'I didn't mean to upset her.'
Surveying her, Gina sighed. 'Then you've got some amends to make, haven't you?'
Following that conversation, it had been inevitable she'd go straight to Sheelagh's. It was magnetic almost; the desire to do what Gina said and make amends. The trouble was, she wasn't completely sure how to go about it. If she stopped to think then she'd over-think so she decided to let her instincts take over. Where Sheelagh was concerned they usually worked. That was how she'd found herself in the quiet suburban street outside a dark house suddenly conscious of the fact that she didn't want to wake the boys up if they in there – especially Connor.
So she'd pulled out her phone and called Sheelagh. The tone of voice told her instantly that she was forgiven but she couldn't leave it at that. When Sheelagh had opened the door she'd apologised without trying to defend herself and that had somehow worked. Ironically enough, all Sheelagh wanted from her was honesty and sincerity. Cavanaugh's name hadn't been mentioned between them that night, nor any time since. It spoke of Sheelagh's desire not to get close to the root of the problem, even if they'd subsequently spent a week skirting round the issue.
Part of Sam dearly wished she was wrong and that Sheelagh didn't feel the same way about her. She hated causing her pain and confusion, especially because she knew Sheelagh was still nowhere near her wavelength on this. Despite that, she was certainly aware something wasn't right about their friendship; otherwise they'd talk about Cavanaugh, Des and all the other things they never mentioned. Sheelagh was skirting around the idea because, subconsciously, she didn't want to acknowledge it. So, in the meantime, she was suffering without knowing why. Sam recognised that she'd been the same before her grand realisation but it was more acute for Sheelagh because of how much closer they were since then.
The other half of Sam just prayed she wasn't wrong. Hearing that Sheelagh had been jealous of Cavanaugh was reminiscent of how she'd felt about Des, way back before she knew it was jealousy she was experiencing. The hopeful portion of her brain wondered if this was it, the trigger that would inspire Sheelagh to recognise her feelings in the same way Sam had. As Sheelagh had been applying cream to her bruise, for instance, the motion was gentler than it needed to be. It was loving, that's what it was. If Sam had felt like pushing her luck, that might have been the opportunity to do it. However, it had been a long day and they'd just got back on solid ground – she didn't want to screw things up again quite so soon. So, instead, she'd savoured the moment and thought about it for most of the night. She could live her life for moments like that. Which, she conceded, she might well have to if she didn't get her act together.
For the week following the Cavanaugh debacle Sam was careful to demonstrate to Sheelagh that she was trying to return to how they were before without putting herself in the way of any tricky situations. She needed to get her head sorted and, without Gina around to push, she had a bit of breathing space. Things at home were tricky and had been since Abi's – pretty accurate – accusation of cowardice. Of course, Sam hadn't exactly shared details of her doomed attempts to distance herself from Sheelagh but Abi had undoubtedly picked up on them nonetheless. She was giving her the cold shoulder and Sam didn't know how to resolve that situation until she did something decisive that Abi might approve of. In the meantime, things were strained but Sam didn't intend to rush into a confession that might cause more harm than good at this point. No, she'd have to wait for the right opportunity to come along.
That was her thought-process before Dennis Weaver had decided to try and take Phil Hunter out in a blaze of glory. Then things had shifted again.
Down in that tunnel, she'd been petrified. Angry, too, but she'd mainly used that to hide from Phil how scared she actually was. The atmosphere between them had thawed as the hours stretched on and his wound began to grow steadily worse. It was impossible to see someone in agony and not feel pity in some sense or other. Besides, the more they talked the more she felt like she understood him. As he tried to keep himself awake he discussed Cindy and how much he loved her. Then he'd looked up with weak fascination in his eyes.
'What about you?' he asked in shaky tones. 'Does Samantha Nixon have a heart?'
'Yes,' she admitted softly, staring into the grime of the wall. She could die at any minute; there was no good reason not to tell the truth.
'What happened?' Phil pressed.
'Didn't say anything,' she answered.
'You idiot,' he muttered.
'Oi,' she said sharply. Then she realised that he was effectively bleeding to death on her lap and she moderated her tone. 'If I'm an idiot, what does that make you? You're talking about loving Cindy and you mucked it up, didn't you?'
He took a quivering breath. 'Well, don't you do the same thing. Tell her, Sam. Tell her.'
Looking down at him, she queried, 'How did you know?'
'Obvious to someone with half a brain,' he replied. 'Or someone who ain't got their head buried in the sand,' he added when her grip on his shoulder tightened. 'I'm not saying she's daft, just don't wanna think about it, does she?'
'For a crap copper you're on the mark sometimes,' she retorted.
He'd sniggered then and began to lose consciousness again. Not long after that they'd nearly kissed. She couldn't explain that even now and she didn't want to try. She wasn't attracted to him one bit but she'd felt a connection all of a sudden. Funny how it had taken him talking about Sheelagh to get her to almost kiss him, but she was glad she'd bottled it.
At the hospital she'd admit – to herself and Sheelagh at least – that she was a little out of it. Yet she was still aware of the precise moment Sheelagh entered the cubicle. It was the first time she'd managed to breathe properly since Weaver had taken that first shot at Phil. She'd looked at Sheelagh and felt safe again.
It hadn't escaped her notice that Sheelagh was doing what she'd done for her several times – helping her home, keeping her upright. There was nobody else she'd allow to do that for her, it was like relinquishing complete control and admitting that she needed help, specifically Sheelagh's help. There hadn't been any mollycoddling but there had been support and she loved her all the more for it.
Back at home she'd very nearly crossed the line again. Sheelagh had asked what it was she was keeping from her and she was almost prepared to tell her. Then, all of a sudden, Sheelagh herself had seemed to dodge the issue. It was that subconscious avoidance kicking in but that would've counted for nothing if Sam had been able to find the right words after her shower as they sat on the sofa gazing at each other. That had been it – the closest to a frank confession she'd ever come. Perhaps if Abi hadn't come home she would've found both the words and courage but it hadn't worked out like that and the moment had been lost. Sheelagh had fled, probably thanks to Abi's animosity, and Sam had suffered through another one of her daughter's withering tirades, potential concussion or no. It hadn't been a pleasant experience but it had thrown up a few questions.
That's why her first job of the day had been to text Eva. Since Gina was on holiday she needed to talk to someone and she recalled Eva's insistence in the note that was still safely locked up in her bedside table. So, she'd dropped her a text on the off-chance and been rewarded with a prompt reply suggesting they had a drink that night. She might've been exhausted after the last week but she was in dire need of some advice from a friendly face.
The pub was a little off the beaten track, certainly not one other officers from Sun Hill would frequent. Eva was waiting at a table in the corner, slumped back in her seat and looking as tired as Sam had ever seen her. Clearing her throat, Sam smiled as Eva's eyes opened and she stood to embrace her.
'Come here, you,' Eva said, squeezing tight. 'What took you so long? You look terrible.'
'Cheers,' she replied with a grin.
'You know me, Sam,' retorted Eva. 'Tell it like it is. You getting a round in?'
Nodding, she went to the bar and ordered them both a glass of red wine. It took a few minutes for the rather dippy bartender to get to her and she'd sufficiently ordered her mind by the time she returned to the table. Plopping the glasses down, she reclined into her chair and exhaled heavily. Eva was looking her over with amusement in her eyes.
'Bad day?' she queried.
Sam snorted and raised her glass to her lips. 'How's MIT?'
'Mental,' Eva replied. 'Mickey's lording it over me something chronic and you know what? I love it, Sam. I really do. Might not have been planned but it's the best thing that's ever happened to me.'
'I'm really pleased for you,' Sam said sincerely. 'Though I can't say we don't miss you.'
'You and who?' Eva challenged.
'Everybody who values a decent copper on the team,' Sam answered. 'And Debbie,' she added with a slight cough.
Eva chuckled. 'Never thought I'd miss Debbie McAllister, you know.'
'MIT's addled your brain,' said Sam.
'Yeah, well, I'm happy enough.' Eva paused and sipped her wine. 'If you'd have wanted a catch-up, Sam, we could've done that over the phone. What's going on? What's happened?'
'You always were too bright for your own good,' she said then she sighed and let the alcohol wash over her slowly. 'Did you hear about Dennis Weaver?'
'Shot dead, two police officers present at the scene, DPS investigating,' said Eva.
'You are keeping up to date,' Sam remarked. 'Well, I was one of the two. Phil was the other one, he shot Weaver in self-defence.'
Eva absorbed that slowly. 'How are you bearing up?'
'Fine,' she said with a wave of her hand. 'That's not the issue.'
'I think I know what is,' Eva said. 'Come on, Sam, spit it out. You've ignored my letter for weeks. Why are you here now?'
She rested her forehead against her palm. 'Because I've been such an idiot,' she admitted.
Settling back in her seat, Eva instructed, 'Start at the beginning.'
Sam felt like a school kid brought in front of the headmaster. Nevertheless, she began, 'I freaked out. It's not exactly been easy since you left. Manson was on the rampage at first, out for more blood, and he knew how I felt about – about...'
'Sheelagh,' Eva supplied promptly.
'Yes,' she murmured. 'How I feel about Sheelagh.'
'How did he find out?' Eva asked.
'The same way you did,' replied Sam. 'The same way Gina Gold did, Jack Meadows, Phil Hunter, Connor Murphy, Abi... I might as well be wearing it on a neon sign around my neck.'
Eva was watching her carefully. 'But Sheelagh still doesn't know?'
Shaking her head, Sam said, 'Not consciously anyway. I'd just about made up my mind to talk to her, Eva, I really had. I couldn't not. You'd told me how stupid I was being, so had Gina and Abi. I was going to but... Manson started twisting the knife. I let him get to me. He said he'd have me transferred, that I wasn't focused on the job. Much as I hate to admit it, he was right. I've spent the last six months more worried about Sheelagh than Sun Hill CID.'
'Because she needed you,' Eva pointed out.
'And I didn't mind,' Sam said with a soft smile. 'When I think about that... It scares me. And I let Manson rattle me. So I backed off and I – I hurt her. You see, there was this guy,' she explained, attempting to steady her tone. 'An Australian, helping us with a case. I saw the chance for a bit of fun, a way of distracting myself.'
Quirking an eyebrow, Eva questioned, 'Didn't quite work out like that?'
'Nope,' she answered. 'He was bent, he was using me and, well, I ended up locked in the boot of his car after he'd put a gun to my head when I tried to play him.'
Eva let out a chuckle then held up a hand. 'Sorry, sorry.'
'Go on, laugh at me,' Sam told her. 'I deserve it.'
'You don't,' Eva retorted. 'You're not the only one who's made mistakes. Look at me and that fella back at Sun Hill. I didn't know he was a drug dealer any more than you knew this copper of yours was bent.'
'I wish that was the only problem,' she went on after a moment. She lowered her eyes into her glass and watched the liquid slosh around. 'Sheelagh saw me and him together. Not only does she know exactly how much of an idiot I was, she's jealous and she doesn't understand it. It's like I betrayed her.' She swallowed hard. 'I did betray her. That's what it feels like.'
For a minute Eva didn't say anything. Sam felt the scrutiny of someone who knew her fairly well and shifted under the glare. Then Eva queried, 'Did you feel like she was betraying you with Des?'
'No,' she replied instantly and then she thought about it. 'Maybe, I'm not sure. I mean, it wasn't conscious. How could it have been? I didn't know how I felt then, I just knew...something.'
'Like she does,' Eva said.
'So I have betrayed her,' Sam muttered. She dug her fingers into the corners of her eyes. 'This is such a mess. We haven't talked about him – Cavanaugh. It's like there's an unspoken agreement to sweep it under the carpet.'
'And you wanna do that as much as her,' returned Eva. 'Am I right?'
'I did,' she admitted with a wry grin. 'At least I wanted time to sort my head out. But then Dennis Weaver happened. Me and Phil ended up hiding in an old tube tunnel with that maniac stalking us like deer. And you know what?' she continued. 'All I could think about was how I hadn't told her, Eva, how I needed to tell her. If I was killed by a villain like Weaver and I hadn't... It was all so simple at the time. I kept thinking to myself, get out of here, get home and give Abi a hug and then... Tell her, talk to her. It kept me going down there.'
Eva's fascination was evident. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. 'So why haven't you?'
'Oh, I nearly did,' she answered. Lifting her glass, she took another sip of her wine. 'I came this close,' she added, holding her thumb and index finger a centimetre apart.
'And you bottled it,' Eva said.
She shook her head. 'I just couldn't seem to say it, that's all.'
'Is it because she's a woman?' asked Eva when she failed to elaborate. 'Must be a funny thing to get your head round, falling for a woman like this.'
'No, I like being attracted to her,' she said. Drumming her hand on the tabletop, she recalled the warmth that overtook her every time she shared one of those little moments with Sheelagh. 'That's not the problem,' she went on. 'For once, it's like everything fits, you know? It's like a... It's a partnership. I wanna look after her, keep her safe. I've never felt this protective over anyone apart from Abi. Even Glenn...' She trailed off and shrugged. 'We were good together but we were separate. With Sheelagh's, it's – well, it could be – all or nothing. I want her to look after me, Eva,' she said, unable to keep the smile from her face. 'I like that she cares, I don't feel on my guard or defensive or weak. It is what it is – it works.'
'And physically?' Eva pushed gently.
Chuckling, she retorted, 'Believe me, I'm eager to test that theory out.'
'So what is the problem then?' questioned Eva.
'I don't know, I don't know.' She hesitated. 'Maybe it's how quickly it all slotted into place for me, how it all suddenly made sense – that isn't something she...'
'Sam,' Eva said patiently, 'I don't claim to know what's going on in her head but I have seen you together, I've seen how she cares about you. I know she loves you. You know she does, don't you?'
She nodded, smiling once again. 'I just don't know how to talk to her, Eva. I spent weeks pushing her away and all either of us got for that was heartache. Abi's barely talking to me because she thinks I'm being a coward – and she's right – but it's not as simple as that. I love Sheelagh too much to put her through this. All the stuff with Des, losing Niamh...' Inhaling, she tried to rid her mind of the sudden image of that little baby cold in the hospital. 'Look, the point is that she's been through so much and she's survived. I'm supposed to throw a grenade into that, turn her world upside down again?'
'But she loves you, Sam,' Eva pointed out.
'Yeah,' she conceded, 'and she loves the Church and she loves her kids. Connor's already cottoned on and he's not happy about it.'
Sighing, Eva tilted her head to the side. 'So?'
The pressure of that single word hovered in the air. Theoretically, it was such a simple question to answer but she found she couldn't.
'So...' she murmured finally. 'So it'd be hard on her.'
'What,' Eva said, 'and you don't reckon she's tough enough to handle it?'
That was a trick question and both of them knew it. Eva smirked and sipped her wine while Sam toyed with the edge of her sleeve then realised whose action she was unconsciously mimicking and forced herself to stop.
'She's the strongest person I know,' she said after a minute.
'Then why can't you trust her?' asked Eva.
She shrugged. 'I was miserable without her around. She was the same, according to Gina. I don't wanna go back to that. It's not completely selfish,' she added before Eva could say anything. 'She hated it as much as I did. If we weren't talking again then one of us would have to leave Sun Hill.'
'There's you assuming the worst again,' Eva said with a shake of her head.
'Better that than setting myself up for a fall,' she replied.
With a snort, Eva said, 'Samantha, you've already jumped headfirst off the bloody building. So has she. The sooner you realise that the happier you'll both be. You've just gotta go for it. You can face down Pat Kitson and Dennis Weaver but you can't step up and tell Sheelagh you're in love with her? What's wrong with you?'
Sam smiled and raised her glass to her lips again. 'We haven't got all day.'
'True,' Eva agreed. 'We have got time for another though. Come on, I wanna hear Samantha Nixon mooning good and proper.'
Although it felt as if they were going round in circles, Sam certainly felt better by the end of the night. She left Eva with a promise to keep her in the loop and she also somehow promised to get her act together and do the decent thing. She'd gained a brief reprieve when she mentioned the serial rapist she was investigating but, as Eva warned, if she waited until there wasn't a flap on at work they'd all be claiming their pensions by the time she got round to it. No, the chat with Eva had cleared her head and she'd enjoyed talking about Sheelagh with someone else other than Gina. By the time she went home she knew she sounded like a love-struck teenager and she couldn't care less.
The next morning Hugh was arriving for a consultation and Sheelagh was in court testifying against a Rastafarian who'd refused to give a blood sample after drink-driving. Both those things were fighting for space in Sam's mind when she got to work and she was still preoccupied when Marilyn called up to let her know Hugh was downstairs. She was heading down the back staircase to collect him when she spotted Manson at the coffee machine. For all their talk of a truce over Sheelagh, they were still clashing daily over work issues and her success in persuading Jack to bring Hugh in for a couple of days had seriously wound him up. Skirmishes over cases flexed her muscles a bit and she enjoyed being on the opposite side of the fence to a man whose policing skills she completely distrusted and disliked. None of that meant she particularly wanted a battle this minute though. After all, the reason she'd taken the back stairs was to drop in to the Sergeants' Office and check on Sheelagh before she left for court.
However, Manson didn't seem inclined to let her past quietly. 'Is your psychic profiler here yet?' he asked.
She spun on her heel. 'If you mean Dr Hugh Wallis, yes, he's at the front desk. He is actually a chartered psychologist.'
'Oh,' he replied with intense disinterest. 'You'd better not keep him waiting then.'
'I'm not,' she said, starting to move along the corridor.
'The sooner he starts earning his fee...' Manson called after her.
Once more, she twisted back to face him. 'Well, to be honest, Guv, he can't do much in two days.'
Manson snorted. 'Now you tell me.'
'Give him a week...' she suggested.
'You'd be lucky,' he answered.
'Is that a yes?' she questioned.
'No,' he said before climbing the stairs and disappearing out of sight.
Rolling her eyes, she carried on along the corridor and found the door to the Sergeants' Office open. It was almost as though Sheelagh knew she'd pop in – or at least wanted her to. From the look she got when Sheelagh glanced up to find her in the doorway, Sam was under no illusions that she was welcome.
She stepped inside and closed the door. 'How are you doing?'
'I haven't been this nervous about a court appearance since I was a probationer,' Sheelagh admitted.
'I still maintain you were in the right,' Sam said. 'Go in the witness box, keep your cool. You'll be fine.'
Sheelagh smiled and stood, reaching for her jacket. 'How was Eva?'
'Good,' she replied. 'Loving MIT but somehow missing us lot.'
'I realised, you know,' said Sheelagh as she perched on the edge of her desk, 'I forgot to pass on something she said, when she delivered that letter to me. I was thinking about it last night. It probably doesn't matter now but I hate leaving things unfinished.'
Intrigued, Sam said, 'Go on.'
'She told me to tell you that life's too short,' Sheelagh explained then gave a little shrug. 'She's not wrong.'
'No,' Sam said softly, 'she isn't.'
Sheelagh was looking at her in that way again. Following her conversation with Eva, Sam was more convinced than ever that Sheelagh wasn't yet aware of what it meant but Sam herself was in no doubt. If they hadn't been in the middle of the nick – and she hadn't been in the middle of an onerous investigation – she might've suspected this was her moment but it wasn't. So she cleared her throat in such a way that Sheelagh knew they were dodging the subject again and, to be fair, she looked as relieved about it as Sam felt. How was it that you could be in complete conscious ignorance and still demonstrate subconsciously that you didn't want to touch something with a barge pole? It was something that fascinated Sam as a profiler but it probably wasn't something she should probe, at least not right now.
'Your old lecturer here yet?' Sheelagh questioned.
Sam caught the playful tone of voice and grinned. 'Waiting for me in the front office.'
'Is this you asserting your authority?' queried Sheelagh. 'The student surpassing the teacher and keeping him waiting?'
'Something like that,' she retorted. 'I respect Hugh and I value his input but...'
'I get it,' Sheelagh answered with a sweet smile. Then she slid from the desk and straightened her collar. 'How do I look?'
'Like the model police officer,' Sam returned. 'You'll be fine. I'll see you later, okay?'
When Sheelagh nodded, she slipped out of the office without a backward glance, simultaneously trying to focus on the rapist case while giving Sheelagh the subconscious signal that she didn't need to look back to reassure her because she really was going to be fine. However, the more she thought about it, the more worried she'd admit she was. There was still no doubt in her mind that Sheelagh had acted appropriately but that wasn't the point here – politics was. When you started playing politics with officers' careers then things went downhill fast. Sam might've regained a little respect for Superintendent Okaro in the last few months but she still hadn't forgiven him deep down for overlooking for the permanent DI role. Putting up with Manson on a daily basis hadn't exactly aided her forgiveness. She didn't trust him to do the right thing – and she'd freely and egocentrically assert that overlooking her for that job had been the wrong thing to do.
Stepping into the front office, she glanced around. It'd been a while since she'd seen Hugh, even if they'd exchanged the odd email and phone call over cases in the last few years. That he'd been a regular visitor in her and Abi's lives felt like a lifetime ago now and when she tried to reconcile all that with how she felt with Sheelagh in her life she was a bit bemused. She wasn't completely certain that the man with his back to her was the visitor she was looking for; however, he was the only one there so she cleared her throat.
'Hugh?'
He turned around, the front view much more reminiscent of the man she remembered. 'Well, look at you,' he said appreciatively.
She chuckled and queried, 'Where's that fresh-faced young student gone then?'
'You're looking fantastic, as ever,' he assured her.
'Thank you,' she answered, though she wasn't really in the market for such compliments from him. 'And thank you for coming here to help with the rapist.'
'You're welcome,' he said. 'Lead on.'
'Okay.' As she turned back to the door to buzz them both in, she added, 'Erm, just to warn you, not everyone's as keen on profiling as I am.'
'Now there's a surprise,' he replied.
Eager not to waste any time, she recapped the overview of the case she'd already given him on the phone as they walked through the station so they could hit the ground running. Her only concession to her concern about Sheelagh was to check that the Sergeants' Office was now empty as they passed and it was. Then she focused completely back on the case, trying to inject her usual vigour into the conversation.
Upstairs, knowing how Hugh's mind worked, she focused on the attempted rape first as the disturbance in the rapist's pattern. Once she'd covered that she intended to look at the other three.
'So, as I was saying, there have been three rapes and one attempted rape in the borough.' Sweeping through the pictures on the table, she found one of Annette Fleming with her facial injuries on full display and pinned it up on the board. 'Three weeks ago the third victim, Annette Fleming, was attacked. The man approached her from behind, he tried to drag her off and was about to rape her but, luckily, he was disturbed by a passer-by.'
'Did they give a description?' Hugh questioned.
'The witness couldn't get a look at his face because he was a wearing a hood,' Sam answered. 'But previous victims have said he's an IC1 male with dark hair.' Returning to the table, she collected some more pictures and held them out. 'Okay, now this is where the attack of Annette Fleming took place.'
Hugh scanned them. 'Can we get down there?'
'Absolutely,' she said. 'I've made some time.'
'Good,' he replied.
She rifled through the photos again and extracted two more traumatised women. Slowly, she put them up on the board. 'Now, there were two rapes before that. Nina Omar and Khadija Mia, both young Asian girls with similar MOs to the recent attack.'
'In what way?' Hugh queried.
'Both were attacked from behind,' she explained, 'their clothes were cut. Again the rapist wore a condom and, again, we were unable to build any conclusive DNA profile from the crime scenes.'
She saw Hugh's questions brewing in his eyes, but they were side-tracked by Manson strutting into the room. Inwardly, Sam was torn: on the one hand, she wanted to utilise Hugh's expertise as extensively as possible without any smarmy interruptions but, on the other, she dearly wanted these two to butt heads.
'Dr Wallis? DI Manson. Thanks for coming in,' he added, as if it had been his idea.
Hugh shook his hand. 'Glad to be of assistance.'
'Well, I hope you've got all you need to work your particular brand of magic,' Manson said.
'Oh, once I've got the crystals warmed up and a bearing on true north,' returned Hugh conversationally. When he paused, Manson just stared at him and Sam had to stifle her smirk. 'Sorry, I was being facetious.'
'No, be what you like,' Manson said, 'as long as it helps catch this bloke. I've been promised great things, Dr Wallis, I hope I won't be disappointed.'
With that, he swept out of the room like Dracula. Sam looked back to Hugh, prepared to see the look of quizzical disdain on his face. She wasn't disappointed.
'You'll be waiting a long time before you win him over,' he commented.
'Not if we get a result on this,' she answered. 'Okay, so, here's what else – what little – we've got...'
Although they didn't exactly have much in the way of evidence at the moment, Hugh wanted to look at everything before they left the nick to examine the site of Annette Fleming's attempted rape. Sam didn't much mind – she knew how his mind worked and, really, she'd always enjoyed watching him process things. It was striking how much she'd modelled her profiling skills on his, she realised as she watched him going through the pictures and statements, although she suspected the more time they spent together the more they'd find they diverged. There were certain things about his attitudes that she'd rebelled against when she was his student and she was set in her own ways now. Not many people in the world could make her change them and he wasn't one of the few.
Eventually, he signalled he was ready to go down to the waste ground where Annette Fleming was attacked. She grabbed her things and they were descending the back staircase to go out to the yard when she caught sight of Sheelagh pushing the door open to the Sergeants' Office, shoulders stiff and jaw set.
Turning to Hugh, she muttered, 'I'll just be a minute.'
'Sure,' he replied.
She barely spared him a glance as she glided towards the office. Sheelagh was stood immobile in the middle of the room, her right palm pressed onto her desk.
'Hey,' Sam said softly.
Sheelagh spun around, obviously not surprised to see her but with unable to mask the pained expression on her face. Sam's instinct was to step forward but she refrained, conscious of exactly where they were. Instead, she jumped to the natural conclusion from the sequence of events she'd just witnessed and inched closer as might be permitted in such a situation.
'Not guilty?' she asked.
'Judge threw the case out,' Sheelagh answered.
Sam winced. 'Sweetheart, I'm sorry.'
She recognised a second too late the term of endearment she'd used when she was specifically trying to keep this professional but the half-smile she'd earned was compensation enough. Abandoning all pretence at distance, she moved to rest a hand on her upper arm.
'It's politics, that's all,' she said.
'I've had enough of it,' admitted Sheelagh. 'I know I did the right thing but it doesn't matter, does it?'
'Yes,' Sam argued, 'it does. Let the dust settle, okay? No one in the nick thinks what you did was anything apart from spot on.'
It looked as though Sheelagh was making a concerted effort to believe her. Reaching up, she covered her hand and pressed hard. 'Thanks.'
Sam saw her gaze flicker to something beyond her shoulder and knew that Hugh's inquisitive nature had finally kicked in. Nevertheless, she didn't intend to introduce them to each other. With a strained smile, she let her hand fall to her side but she didn't move, stuck between demonstrating her support and masking it for Hugh's benefit.
'Go on,' Sheelagh said firmly. 'You've got your case. You're on the clock, this'll keep.'
She would've preferred to stay. Wondering if her conflict was showing quite so plainly in her face, she nodded. 'How about a drink tonight, hmm?'
'Perfect,' answered Sheelagh. 'Thanks.'
'Anytime,' she murmured.
Forcing herself to step back, she let her eyes linger on Sheelagh's for another few seconds then dragged her body out of the office. Hugh was waiting in the corridor and he fell into step beside her as they headed out towards the car park. Although she was there physically, her mind was still back in the Sergeants' Office.
'Who was that?' Hugh queried as they passed through the front doors.
'Hmm?' She'd only half heard him and, when she grasped the words more clearly, she flushed and decided to ignore them. 'So,' she continued, 'we'll go to the third site first and work from there if you feel the need.'
'Great,' he said.
Studiously, she avoided looking at him during the journey. She was trying to focus on the case, reminding herself that this very dangerous man was out there threatening women and she had the power to do something about it. That, coupled with the real thought that both Abi and Sheelagh were in danger while this animal was on the loose, focused her mind. By the time they parked up at the waste ground she was completely zoned in on the case.
'This is the site of Annette Fleming's attempted rape,' she explained. 'Took place about nine thirty in the morning, different from the others, they happened late in the evening.'
Hugh looked around. 'So what does that tell us?'
'Well, I'm thinking maybe he was unemployed, maybe a shift worker,' she answered.
'Maybe it's just his day off,' Hugh pointed out.
'Or maybe he's getting bolder,' Sam suggested.
'Maybe.' Glancing around the wasteland, he asked, 'Which way was she jogging from?'
Sam pointed across the grass. 'She was jogging from this direction.'
'This her regular route?' he pressed.
'Fairly regular,' she answered.
Hugh nodded in that old way of his. 'Does that make our man an opportunist or is he a planner, hmm? Where was she attacked?'
As he gestured to a patch of brambles near a filthy pond, she struggled with the recollection of the clinical statements from the officers and medical staff about Annette's injuries. She inclined her head, unwilling to let Hugh see how much this was affecting her.
'Yeah. Just here,' she said, indicating the spots as she spoke. 'A witness somewhere over there says he emerged from behind here, came rushing up behind her then hit her.'
'She didn't hear him?' Hugh questioned.
'She was wearing headphones,' she said.
He frowned. 'Again, did he know that or did he just see it?'
'Or maybe it doesn't make a blind bit of difference,' Sam replied.
When he offered her one of his wry smiles of approval, she felt a tingle of satisfaction, the way she'd felt at university when she'd managed to please him in one way or another. His suggestion that they walk through the attempted attack was something she'd expected and they undertook something of a re-enactment utilising the victim and witness statements. From that they ascertained the controlled grip of the attacker meant his training included martial arts, perhaps he was even military or police trained. On Hugh's instruction, they switched roles so she had her arm around his neck while he kneeled on the grass.
'The victim is probably paralysed with fear right now,' Sam said. 'The witness calls out, disturbs him, he runs off to the main road.'
Standing and brushing off, Hugh asked, 'Forensics?'
'A shoe print, size nine,' she answered. 'That's all. We think he's forensically aware – very.'
He absorbed that and went through as many details of the witness statements as they could before they returned to the car. Mindful that they had a lot to get through, she launched into the next phase of the day.
'Right,' she said as clinically as she could manage, 'the first victim, Nina Omar, was raped in a park late at night. The second victim, Khadija, another Asian girl, was raped about ten thirty at night in an alleyway. Both times he used a knife.'
Hugh glanced over from the passenger seat. 'Were these locations both near the tube stations?'
'I think so,' she replied. 'I mean, I'll check the map again. What were you thinking? He chose these places so he could get away quickly?'
'Possibly,' Hugh said. 'But what does that tell us?'
'That he's not from the local area,' Sam returned.
He almost smiled. 'Exactly. Shall we go?'
It was a relatively short drive to the site of the fourth rape. This one was in the midst of derelict buildings that felt intimidating even in broad daylight. Sam didn't appreciate any woman having to live their life in fear but she'd have to concede that she'd warn every one she knew to take necessary precautions, even after this monster was caught. There was always another one lurking around the corner. She knew she'd taught Abi well, at least; even if that didn't complete dissipate her anxiety.
'Okay,' Sam said briskly, 'fourth victim, Claire Beckett, was attacked the night before last on the way home from the pub.'
'Where's the pub?' he asked.
'Here,' she answered, pointing to the correct spot on the map in her hands. 'But there's no shortcut so, if he marked her out, he would've had a hell of a job to get ahead of her in time.'
'Unless he was waiting for her,' Hugh suggested.
'But she'd never been to that pub before,' Sam argued.
Hugh raised an eyebrow. 'I'm starting to feel a little redundant here.'
Chuckling, she said, 'Well, you always said I was a good student.'
'The best,' he replied shortly.
It was the closest he'd ever come to a compliment and she was flattered. It was certainly something he'd never said in previous years; although, a little voice told her, if she was such a good student wouldn't she be working as a profiler now? She hadn't made the grade so did that make his praise hollow? Then again, perhaps there were other reasons she wasn't meant to become a profiler, both professional and personal. That was why she smiled back at him, although he likely thought it was a direct result of his compliment.
Progressing beyond the buildings into the actual alleyway where Claire Beckett had been attacked, they got into a conversation about the wounds the rapist was inflicting.
'Now we know he likes cutting,' Hugh said. 'Is he left or right-handed?'
'We're not sure,' she admitted.
'Where are the injuries?'
'Predominantly on the back,' she answered, 'down the right side, on the neck but on the left.'
He indicated they should test out the possibilities using his pen as a makeshift knife. It was uncomfortable and alarming, even simulated. God knows how those poor women had felt with his arm wrapped around their necks and the knife at their backs. They came up with a result.
'So right-handed,' she said as they separated.
'Yep.' He collected his clipboard from the wall and made a fresh note.
For her part, Sam was recalling the fear of that pose and trying to make connections in her head. 'Now why does he actually need to cut them?' she queried aloud. 'Is he disfigured? Is he scarred? Maybe that's it, you know, maybe he's trying to make them like him. Unsightly. Or is it anger? Or hatred?'
When she looked at him she found that old cynical expression on his face. It was the look warning her that delving into the mind of the perpetrator wasn't their remit, something she'd always struggled with.
'I think,' he said, 'we should focus on whether his behaviour or actions tell us if he lives here or whether he just comes here because he knows the pickings are gonna be easier or if he just knows the area. Hmm?'
She rolled her eyes. It was easier than a response. Feeling the sliver of light between their thought-processes actually made her feel better in one respect then, of course, on the other hand she resented the possibility that his methods could be more useful than hers. She didn't actually think that was the case; she rather suspected they'd work in tandem and work well. It was the same sort of relationship professionally that was so effective personally with Sheelagh.
Hugh gestured along the alley. 'So he went that way?'
'Yep,' she said, 'that leads out to a street but there's no sign of him on the CCTV and there's a camera pointing almost straight at that exit.'
'Have you checked all the tapes?' he queried.
She threw him a look. 'Yes.'
'And the victim saw him run off?' Stepping along the passage, he added, 'You stay here, tell me when he would've been out of sight.'
'Okay,' she replied, watching him walk off.
Her phone ringing at first irritated her then she looked at the display. There were two people she would've answered a call from in the middle of this and it happened to be the younger of those two ringing right now.
'Abi?' she asked anxiously.
'I'm at Rebecca's,' her daughter said. 'She wants me to stay for something to eat but her mum hasn't got the car and I wondered –'
'Yeah, no, no,' Sam interrupted, 'don't worry, I can pick you up.'
'Are you sure?' Abi questioned and Sam felt the impact of weeks of animosity bubbling underneath the surface. That hurt far more than she'd thought it could.
'No, I'd prefer to actually,' she said firmly.
'Thank you,' returned Abi.
'Look,' Sam added, 'just tell your friends not to go anywhere alone.'
'We're sixteen, Mum,' Abi pointed out. 'They're not gonna listen to me.'
'Well, if they have to tell them to stick to busy areas that are well lit,' she replied. Ahead of her, Hugh crouched in front of the railings and whistled, waving his arm for her to join him. 'Sorry, darling, look, I've got to go.'
'Be careful,' Abi said before she could hang up.
Sam smiled to herself as she walked towards Hugh. 'Yeah, don't worry, we'll catch him. Bye bye.'
As she reached him, Hugh stood and pulled apart the railings, showing a broken panel. 'Look,' he said triumphantly, 'he's no commuter. Your rapist knows this area like the back of his hand.'
While that was quite obviously a breakthrough, something about knowing this man was intimate with the area spooked her. It made him more dangerous, as though he was stalking the people she loved most. More than ever, she wanted to get back to the nick and collate this new information, work on a geographical profile with Hugh.
She managed to urge him back to the car quite rapidly. Perhaps his mind was on the same track. However, she began to doubt that when he started questioning her as they drove back to the station. She would've preferred silence to ponder their recent conclusions but he seemed to want to catch up.
'How's Abigail doing then?' he questioned.
'Good,' she answered. 'Better, anyway.'
'I can imagine how hard it was for her,' he said. 'You as well. But you never returned my calls when the news broke. I could've supported you.'
She glanced sideways briefly. 'I had support.'
'Really?' he pressed. 'Is there finally a man on the scene who lives up to Samantha Nixon's exacting standards?'
With a self-conscious chuckle, she diverted the conversation back towards the case and, albeit reluctantly, he took the hint.
Back in the incident room, Hugh went over everything they knew in meticulous detail. While she appreciated his thoroughness, she was beginning to feel a little claustrophobic around him and she took the opportunity to nip out to the landing for a glass of water, keeping half an eye on him through the window.
Without warning, Manson appeared beside her at the water cooler. 'How's it going?' he questioned.
'Not easy,' she admitted. 'At times it's like I'm still his pupil but he's really good.'
'He'd better be at his price,' Manson retorted. 'The DCI's keen to hear any progress.'
'Well, it won't be long now. Hugh's drawing up a circle of hypothesis.' On seeing his confusion, she added, 'It's a geographical profile. It's the area in which the rapist operates.'
'So it's a map,' Manson said.
'Yes,' she returned tightly. 'I suppose it is.'
'Circle of hypothesis...' Manson snorted. 'Honestly, Sam, you don't half talk out of it sometimes.'
'Glad to see we're winning you round, Guv,' she called after him as he headed off.
For a minute she sipped her water and delayed going back into the incident room. Sometimes Hugh worked better alone and she'd allowed her mind to creep towards what Sheelagh might be up to at the moment. As if summoned, the woman herself appeared from the back staircase, looking completely demoralised.
Sam stepped in front of her, stopping her distracted progress. 'Hey, what's wrong? What's happened?'
Blinking, Sheelagh seemed to cycle through ten emotions in ten seconds. Even with all her practice at interpreting this woman, Sam couldn't put a name to them all. She did, however, know that things were far from right.
'What's happened?' she repeated urgently.
'The Super gave me three options,' Sheelagh explained in a soft, resigned voice. 'Demotion, desk-bound or transfer.'
Frowning, Sam tried to comprehend that. 'But you did nothing wrong. You can't accept this, you have to fight. Why didn't you call me?'
Sheelagh shook her head. 'You're in the middle of an important case.'
'I still would've answered,' she argued.
'I know you would've,' Sheelagh replied sincerely with an attempt at a smile. 'But there's nothing you could've done. Like you said earlier, it's politics.'
'No, no,' Sam said, 'this is beyond that. This is ludicrous. They can't –'
'Shush,' Sheelagh cut in, resting a hand on her arm. 'I've made my choice.'
All of a sudden, Sam felt dizzy. This morning she'd had the certainty that Sheelagh was part of Sun Hill. That gave her breathing space and the opportunity to formulate her response to her feelings in a way that wouldn't screw up their friendship again. She needed that space – she needed Sheelagh. If she was to leave now –
'I can't leave Sun Hill,' continued Sheelagh, as if she'd been reading her mind again, 'and I can't be chained to a desk.'
Sam let out what she hoped was a discreet breath then she realised what that meant. 'But –'
'It's fine,' Sheelagh interrupted.
'Let me talk to the Super,' Sam persisted. 'I can try, let me try.'
Sheelagh's hand was still heavy on her arm and now she squeezed significantly. 'It means so much that you want to but, really, it wouldn't do any good. I'll take the demotion, it's all I can do.'
The words trickled over Sam and she tried desperately to think of a response. She hated being helpless; she wanted to click her fingers and fix this, just like she'd wanted to do the impossible where Niamh was concerned and rid the world of Des Taviner. That she couldn't do that angered and upset her but, mostly, it just frustrated her. Eventually, she realised that she needed to say something. From the look on her face, Sheelagh's mind was made up and, ultimately, she could hardly encourage her to leave Sun Hill. It might've been selfish not to but she couldn't bring herself to do it.
'At least let me buy you dinner,' Sam said finally.
A tired smile flickered over Sheelagh's face. 'That, you can do.'
Relieved, she checked her watch. 'I promised Abi I'd pick her up from a friend's. How about I meet you at that bar we went to before about eight? I'll call ahead, book a table.'
'This is the red-light bar, right?' Sheelagh queried with an attempt at light-heartedness.
Sam's lips twitched. 'That's the one.' Then, before Sheelagh could cross the corridor, she caught her hand and asked seriously, 'Are you sure about this? I'll support you whether you want to stay, leave, fight – I don't care. I'm on your side.'
'I know,' murmured Sheelagh affectionately. 'I'm sure I'm doing the right thing.'
With one last look, she drew away entirely and knocked on the Super's door. As she was admitted to the office, Sam stared after her. Everything seemed to have shifted on its axis in the last few minutes and she felt as though she needed a walk around the nick to process everything. However, she recognised she couldn't leave Hugh on his own for much longer and reluctantly dragged herself back to the incident room.
He was standing with his arms crossed when she arrived. 'Everything all right?'
'Sure,' she lied. 'Where are we at?'
She attempted to focus on what he was telling her, she really did. However, she had half an eye on the corridor through the window and she was eventually rewarded when Sheelagh emerged. She met her eye and saw how much she was struggling. More than anything, she wanted to slip out of the room and comfort her but she couldn't do that. At least once Sheelagh had disappeared towards the staircase she could turn back to Hugh with a purpose and almost listen to his logic.
By the time Manson arrived for an update, the two of them had got a pretty clear picture of what evidence they had to present. Whether he'd take it seriously or not was another matter but Sam elected to let Hugh take the lead. Manson was a tricky customer and all she truly wanted was to get this man off the streets. If he'd believe their hypothesis coming from Hugh then she had to let him state their case.
'How are we doing?' Manson questioned.
'There's still a mass of information I've gotta wade through,' Hugh answered, 'and I'd like to get my hands on any unsolved rape files, any other instance involving knife attacks.'
'I'm sure that can be arranged,' replied Manson.
'But from what I've seen so far,' Hugh continued, 'I'm almost certain that our man is what we term as a marauder.'
'A marauder,' Manson repeated, the derision evident in his voice.
Someone who uses a base from which to commit his crimes rather than travelling into an area,' explained Hugh. 'And he usually knows where to find easy targets. Samantha?'
She'd been watched Manson's reactions carefully and now turned her attention to the map on the whiteboard. 'Okay, these in red are the actual rapes; this in blue is the attempted rape.'
'Very colourful,' Manson muttered.
After exchanging a glance with Hugh, she said, 'The idea, Guv, is to draw a circle around the further point of all the crimes so far.'
'And our offender will usually be very close to the middle of it,' Hugh supplied.
Manson studied the map. 'Limosall Road.'
'Well, no, not exactly,' Sam said, trying to keep her voice level, 'but certainly in the heart of Sun Hill. We need to look at these sites in a lot more detail, see if there are any common denominators, you know like pubs or nightclubs or factories.'
'He might be striking on the way to work, from work,' Hugh said.
'And you're not just looking at rapes?' Manson queried.
'Hugh doesn't believe that Nina Omar was the first victim,' Sam answered.
'Some offenders progress as they get bolder, better, more confident,' Hugh said. 'They start off small and work their way up the scale.'
Manson nodded. 'From muggings to stabbings to rape to...'
'Killing,' Hugh concluded when he trailed off.
'And how likely's that?' Manson asked. 'In this case?'
'Very,' returned Hugh.
Left alone again a few minutes later, they had permission to dig through as many case files as they could get their hands. She went to retrieve some recent files that she knew about from CID and by the time she returned to him she was struck by the enormity of their task.
'Right, there you go,' she said, passing a chunk of recent cases over to him before sitting down. 'Look, we can easily justify you staying beyond tomorrow. This is a big case.'
'Orders from your DCI,' Hugh replied. 'I'm only here to take a preliminary look at what you've got.'
'It's ridiculous,' she said as she examined the stack of files she'd kept for herself.
'Uh-huh,' muttered Hugh.
'Meanwhile, our man goes on raping,' Sam remarked.
Behind her, the door opened and Debbie entered, holding out a file. 'DNA's back from the aggravated burglary, Carswell Lane.' Although she took it, Sam was puzzled and Debbie continued, 'Two weeks ago? Woman woke up to find a masked man in her bedroom. Ran off and he cut himself breaking in.'
Sam struggled with the details. 'Yeah...Howard Morgan... Right... Erm, I'm up to my eyes in it here, Debbie. Look, would you ask the DI to authorise an arrest in the morning?' she questioned sweetly.
Taking the file back with unusual alacrity, Debbie replied, 'Sure.'
'Thank you,' Sam said.
Debbie stepped to the door then glanced back. 'How's it going with the rapist?'
'Slow,' Hugh answered shortly.
'It's just a matter of time before he makes a mistake,' Sam added, perhaps trying to reassure herself more than anything. 'Then we'll get him.'
With a nod, Debbie left and Sam looked back to Hugh. There was that old disapproving expression on his face, the one that warned her a good profiler didn't say anything speculative. Nevertheless, she didn't regret her reassuring words. She owed it to her colleagues to stay as upbeat as possible about the potential for solving this case quickly. They were having to deal with the fallout from the rapes just as much as she was.
They worked until half-past six then she disengaged to go and collect Abi. Hugh was fine with that, promising to join her bright and early tomorrow to carry on their good work. She saw him out to the front office then hurried to her own car with two goals in mind: collect Abi and meet Sheelagh.
When she got to Rebecca's Abi was waiting on the step for her. That was unusual but she saw the anxiety in her daughter's eyes. It reminded her of how close they'd been getting before that whole cowardice conversation, how genuinely concerned Abigail had been about her, instead of just being angry about the job getting in the way of everything.
Opening the car door, Abi slotted into the passenger seat. 'You're early.'
'That's something I don't hear very often,' Sam quipped as she reversed out of the parking space. 'Why were you waiting outside?'
'I wanted some fresh air,' replied Abi.
'Is everything all right?' she pressed.
Abi shrugged. 'They think it's a joke, Mum. Something to play chicken with.'
Shivering, she gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. 'Don't ever think that way. Please.'
'I won't,' Abi said quietly. 'I know what you do, I know what you face every day.'
She shot her daughter an appreciative glance then refocused her attention on the road. Only when they were nearly back at the house did she casually mention, 'I've got dinner plans.'
Abi's head snapped sideways. 'Who with?'
'Sheelagh,' she answered.
'I thought you weren't friends anymore,' said Abi after a few seconds of silence. 'You stopped seeing her, didn't you?'
'Yes,' she said simply.
Frowning, Abi began, 'Have you –'
'No,' Sam cut in.
She felt the shift in the air but neither of them spoke again for the rest of the journey. Ordinarily, Sam would've gone in to change but the stiffness of Abi's shoulders warned her against getting embroiled in a mother/daughter debate inside the house. She could either go around in circles with Abi or she could have a serious talk with Sheelagh about this demotion business. One was likely to be more productive than the other. Nevertheless, when they got home, she made certain to watch Abi inside the house and only exhaled when the light in the living room came on. Then she drove off.
Having called ahead and asked for the quietest table available, she wasn't surprised to find Sheelagh waiting for her in a distant nook of the bar. It was a beautiful little table with a central candle and dim lighting around the walls. This was where doing a favour for the chef came in handy, Sam supposed as she hung her jacket over the chair and slipped into it. Sheelagh had sat up straighter when she arrived, accentuating the dip of her cream shirt in a way Sam was trying desperately to ignore. After all, tonight wasn't about that.
'Have you ordered a drink?' she asked, attempting to steady her voice. It still came out as something of a squeak.
'A glass of red wine each,' Sheelagh answered. 'I hope that was all right.'
Sam smiled at the look on her face. 'I'm getting very predictable in my old age. What do you fancy to eat?'
'Linguine, I think,' returned Sheelagh, picking up the menu and passing it over. 'I'm starving.'
'Do you want a starter?' Sam asked as she scanned the menu.
'Pizza bread,' Sheelagh said.
Nodding, Sam waved the waiter over without preamble and ordered pizza bread followed by linguine for Sheelagh coupled with garlic bread and spaghetti bolognaise for herself. Once she'd exchanged pleasantries with the waiter and they had their drinks they were left in peace and Sam wondered how to begin. Sheelagh's face plainly showed mental and physical exhaustion – would it be better to leave the whole thing alone? But, then again, she needed to know and, she suspected, Sheelagh needed to tell her. So she took off in her usual blunt style.
'What happened in court?' she queried.
A half-smile swept across Sheelagh's face then her expression darkened and she sipped her wine. 'The Super insisted on coming with me,' she answered. 'Sure, that meant he was expecting trouble and we got it. They hammered home the idea that I'd opposed religious freedom and all that rubbish. His hypocrisy went out of the window; I think I was done for before I stepped into that witness box.'
'Well, I'm sure it was nothing you said,' Sam returned honestly. 'Did you get the impression Okaro was on your side?'
'I did,' Sheelagh said, 'until we got back to the nick. It was the Borough Commander's call apparently but I'm not sure I believe it.'
Sam studied her carefully, watching every flicker of unease and confusion that crossed her face. 'Me neither,' she admitted. 'Go on.'
For a few moments Sheelagh was silent, her hands clasped around her wine glass. Finally, she said, 'The Super called me upstairs, offered me this informal resolution that he'd agreed with the Borough Commander. He couldn't defend me anymore, not after Des. Like I told you, I could take the demotion, be stuck to a desk or agree to a transfer. To be honest, he was banking on me taking the demotion. That looks like a tangible punishment he can hold up for display, doesn't it?'
'Yes,' Sam muttered. Then she met her eye. 'You could've thrown a spanner in the works.'
Sheelagh shook her head. 'I couldn't stand being stuck to a desk. You won't have heard about the homemade bomb threat earlier, will you?'
Frowning, she said, 'No. What happened?'
'Cameron attended a shout with a man dressed as a koala on a motorway bridge,' Sheelagh explained and Sam did a double-take. 'I know, I know. He was making a statement about not being allowed to see his kids and that outfit was apparently all the fancy dress shop had.'
Sam reached for her wine. 'This is sounding professional.'
Conceding that with a shrug, Sheelagh rested back into her seat. 'He reeked of petrol,' she went on, 'and he admitted he'd left a surprise for his ex-wife. I was already on my way round there to make sure she was safe when I got the message the place might be booby-trapped. I started to evacuate but then... Smithy called in confirmation that the bomb was in the kitchen, told me to stay put.'
The sheepish expression on her face warned Sam what was coming. 'What did you do?' she asked.
'Didn't stay put,' Sheelagh replied. 'I smashed my way in, had a look around the kitchen, couldn't find anything. Then the microwave pinged on,' she continued, clenching her fist on the tabletop. 'It was just a canister of petrol on a timer, primed to blow when the wife got home from work. I'd turned that off when the oven switched on with another one.'
Sam was staring at her with a mix of pride and horror. She could hardly criticise Sheelagh's impulse, given that it was certainly something she would've done under the circumstances. On the other hand, though, she could easily have been blown sky-high. It was easy to disregard your own safety when you thought your integrity was being questioned. Sam had done it plenty of times – most notably with Pat Kitson and Peter Cavanaugh – but that didn't stop her spurt of anger towards Superintendent Okaro for making Sheelagh feel that way. It was different, she realised, when you were on the outside seeing someone you loved put themselves in danger in a way you would've done without a thought. It gave her a fresh appreciation for what Sheelagh must've suffered while Sam was getting herself kidnapped by Cavanaugh then hunted by Weaver and she stretched a hand across the table to cover Sheelagh's.
'Don't do that again,' she warned.
With a strained chuckle, Sheelagh retorted, 'Can I extract that same promise?'
The fact that she wanted to say yes was significant, even if she couldn't actually go through with it. She was saved the difficulty of replying by their starters arriving and they ate in silence, Sheelagh tucking in more heartily than she did. This was something else, wasn't it? If – and that was a big if – they could actually make a go of things then the job was always going to be in the way, a constant danger. Cass Rickman, Juliet Becker, Mickey Webb, Nick Klein – the list of officers dead or badly injured by criminals in Sun Hill went on and on. It was more food for thought and it didn't exactly compel her to set the train in motion by being honest, even if she hadn't already decided to wait until this investigation was over. There was another facet to all this, of course: if Sheelagh did what Sam suspected she would and backed right off, she could be in danger as a copper and Sam would have no input, no way of helping her. Again, that was exactly how Sheelagh must've felt – subconsciously – during the Cavanaugh and Weaver situations.
She forced every bite of her garlic bread down then pushed her plate away. Sheelagh had already finished and was peering at her over her glass, obviously aware that her mind was ticking over. When the waiter cleared the table Sam began talking only so she could control the direction of the conversation.
'I get why you wouldn't wanna be chained to a desk,' she said. 'I couldn't do it. I mean, it's not why I became a copper at all. But you could've transferred and kept your rank.'
'So could you,' Sheelagh pointed out.
The implications of that statement were clear, even if she knew that Sheelagh was unaware of the intricacies of her own decision at the tail end of last year. It was enough that Sheelagh knew she'd stayed because of her in some way and, by extension, Sheelagh was staying for similar reasons. Perhaps she believed it was just that their friendship was worth hanging onto. Sam was struck with another bout of that dizziness that had assailed her earlier in the upper corridor – what would've happened if Sheelagh had been given this choice before Sam had come to her senses and apologised for being an idiot? She could've lost her completely without the opportunity to do anything about it.
'Look,' she said finally with an attempt at lightness, 'my stubbornness is not something to mimic. It's got me in a lotta trouble over the years and I can't say it's done me much good.'
'I disagree,' Sheelagh answered. 'It's made you stronger; it's made you a better copper.'
'Maybe,' she conceded, unable to repel the compliment, 'but I'm still no role model. Please, don't stay at Sun Hill to prove a point. It's not worth it.'
'That's not why I'm staying,' said Sheelagh. She clasped her hands together on the tablecloth and sobered a little. 'So much has changed in the last year and a half. I sit at night in a new house with new furniture, new plates. The kids are barely talking to me, I lost...' Trailing off, she blinked away tears.
Sam covered Sheelagh's hands with her own. 'Hey...'
After swallowing hard, Sheelagh attempted a smile. 'You see? You've lived through it all with me; you're the only one that understands.'
Though it pained her, Sam forced herself to say, 'That's not reason enough to stay somewhere that doesn't appreciate you.'
The look that crossed Sheelagh's face was exasperation coupled with amusement. 'Much more of this and I'll change my mind,' she said in an obvious effort to put the matter to rest.
Sam inclined her head and let it drop. Pushing Sheelagh to understand why it was she was staying at Sun Hill wasn't the right thing to do at this second. It had been a long day for them both and, besides, she didn't want to spook her into suddenly transferring. It was enough that she'd raised the possibility that Sheelagh could leave; it made her believe she'd done the right thing by their friendship without letting her deeper feelings get in the way.
'How are you getting on with the rapist investigation?' Sheelagh asked abruptly.
Her recap of the progress today took them all the way through the main course and into their dessert of a chocolate sundae and mango sorbet – split between them, of course. With Sheelagh, Sam was a little more open about the difficulties of working with Hugh, about their divergence of methods and the way he struggled to see beyond the plain facts in front of him.
'You need to understand, that's all,' Sheelagh said as she finished her portion of sorbet and pushed it across the table. 'The same as with Pat Kitson.'
'Cass died because I didn't figure that out in time,' Sam reminded her.
'That's not true,' Sheelagh answered firmly. 'You rely on a mixture of facts and emotion, that's what works. At the time you had no evidence against Pat Kitson and nothing to suggest she was involved, not until after Cass's death. Then you followed your instincts and the facts and you got the result,' she continued. 'You nearly got yourself killed in the process but that's another argument.'
'Possibly not for a day when you disarmed two petrol bombs without backup,' replied Sam conversationally.
Sheelagh's lips twitched. 'Eat your sorbet.'
By the time they were ready to leave, Sam got the impression they were both feeling better. It was like old times; like the last time they sat in this restaurant happy in each other's company. The realisation that she'd very nearly screwed this up gave her pause as she stood and watched Sheelagh struggle with her coat.
Stepping around the table, she took it from her hands. 'Here, let me.'
The smile that Sheelagh threw her was downright beautiful, as was the way she rested slightly back into her arms as Sam slotted the coat around her shoulders. Masking exactly how content she felt, Sam gestured towards the street and they walked out into the summer night ridiculously close, both physically and emotionally. It was only when they neared the car park that Sam recalled the reality – not of their personal situation but of Sheelagh's professional one.
Halting beside Sheelagh's car, Sam asked, 'Are you gonna be all right? I mean, no one knows better than me what it's like to walk into that place suddenly down a rank. Maybe you should take a few days off to get your head sorted.'
'No,' Sheelagh replied, 'if I do that it suggests guilt or hiding. I won't have people thinking I've got anything to be ashamed of.'
Sam chuckled fondly. 'Good on you.'
'Exactly what you would've done?' Sheelagh offered with a smirk.
'How'd you guess?' Sam retorted. Then she paused, unwilling to leave but knowing that it looked a little odd, standing in the street like this staring at one of her colleagues. 'I should go.'
'Sure,' Sheelagh murmured, although she didn't move. Instead, she reached over and straightened the collar of Sam's jacket, her fingertips brushing her neck before lingering on her shoulder. 'Can't take you anywhere, can I?'
Feeling tingles down to her toes, Sam struggled to maintain the appropriate tone of voice. When she spoke it seemed as if all her emotions were on display but, if they were, Sheelagh didn't notice – or didn't want to notice.
'I'll always need some looking after,' she said.
'Lucky I'm staying put then,' returned Sheelagh. Finally, she drew her hand back. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
Sam nodded, not trusting herself to say anything else at the moment. She stepped away from the car, keeping her eyes on Sheelagh's figure for as long as practicable before she spun around to find her own car.
The drive home cleared her head a little, at least reminding her of the task she'd set herself to complete before she even contemplated talking to Sheelagh. Evenings like this made the dividing line difficult to spot and she could easily fall into the trap of believing they were already a couple, that the hard part wasn't still to come. She had to guard against that or she could say or do something stupid without thinking. That was the intimacy of her relationship with Sheelagh and she had to keep one step removed from it.
Letting herself into the house, she was hit by a wave of silence. That was unusual and her immediate sensation was panic. For all Abi's words earlier about understanding the danger of the rapist, she was still angry with her and incredibly impulsive. If she'd gone out then –
'Oh, you're back,' Abi said, springing out of the living room like a coiled snake. 'I thought you might've grown a spine while you were out.'
Sam growled and edged past her daughter, heading for the kitchen. All she wanted was a glass of water to take away the sandpaper in her throat and she'd go straight to bed. Unfortunately, Abi didn't seem inclined to let her go that easily. She followed her into the kitchen and planted herself in the doorway. When Sam had filled a glass from the tap she found her path blocked.
'I need to go to bed,' she said.
'What's wrong with you?' Abi demanded.
'I don't have time for this,' she warned. 'You know how hectic things are at work. A few hours ago you were worried about me catching this guy. I've got Hugh Wallis in helping me, I've gotta be on the ball tomorrow.'
'Hugh?' repeated Abi with a frown.
'Yeah,' she said shortly. 'So, if you don't mind...'
Abi didn't move, just crossed her arms and glared at her even more. 'You enjoy being miserable, don't you? Makes you feel hard-done-by.'
'I'm not miserable,' Sam answered.
'You should be,' Abi snapped. 'Why do you always do this? You screw everything up.'
She gritted her teeth. 'This isn't your concern but, for the record, I am gonna talk to her eventually.'
Snorting, Abi muttered, 'Eventually. Yeah, eventually. By that point she'll probably know you well enough to run a mile. I'm surprised she hasn't already.'
With that, she finally seemed finished. She turned and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Sam wincing at the thuds on the staircase and the bang as her bedroom door slammed. It was something that she'd stormed upstairs and not outside, Sam supposed, although she felt as though they'd slipped back to where they were months ago, back when all the Glenn stuff was simmering.
How could she convince Abi that she genuinely intended to talk to Sheelagh? In truth, she hadn't worked out how on earth she was going to manage it. Any assertion would simply come out as false, something Abi would easily tear to pieces. She was like her in some respects – in too many respects – and she'd want to hear details. How she planned to tell Sheelagh, where she was going to do it, what words she'd use. That was the plan Sam knew she should already have in her head but she preferred keeping things abstract for now. Maybe that was cowardly of her but it was all she could handle while this investigation was going on.
The next morning she got a coffee on the way to work and hung around outside the front of the nick, leaning against a lamppost and generally looking far more like a shifty suspect than a respected officer. She knew she should be inside preparing for her second day with Hugh but he wouldn't arrive until ten and she needed to check that Sheelagh was coping all right. It was almost a pathological need and one she hoped she wouldn't be called upon to explain to anyone – including Sheelagh.
Seeing her as she crossed from the car park, Sheelagh's step quickened. 'What are you doing hovering around out here?'
'Trying to get set for another day with Hugh,' Sam replied with a shrug. 'I need all the fresh air I can get.'
Sheelagh plainly read the lie in her face but didn't pull her up on it. Instead, she gestured for them to head into the nick. 'Thanks for last night.'
'Anytime,' she answered. 'I appreciated the company.'
'Well, it did me the world of good,' Sheelagh said, glancing sideways. 'And I'm fine, you know.'
Sam sipped her coffee. 'Did I say you weren't?'
'Of course not,' said Sheelagh. 'You're far too clever for that, DS Nixon.'
'I should hope so,' she retorted.
Chuckling, Sheelagh said, 'Thank you.'
'Anytime,' Sam repeated. She pulled open the door and tilted her head. 'After you.'
The smile on Sheelagh's face grew and she entered the station more like her old self. No one seeing her could guess that she was furious and distressed about her demotion and Sam felt privileged to be in her confidence, able to see beyond the facade.
'I'll catch you later,' she said in an off-hand manner as she keyed in the code to the front staircase.
'Sure,' Sheelagh answered in a similar tone of voice.
As she climbed the staircase, Sam couldn't help but allow herself a little grin. Yes, there might be a serial rapist on the loose; yes, Abi might be furious with her; no, she still couldn't see past the obstacles that separated her from Sheelagh. However, they still had a chance and that was worth something. It was worth a lot actually.
Sat at her desk a little while later, she glanced across towards the window and her gaze slipped over Ken's workspace. She blinked at the fact he seemed to have fangs, vaguely wondering if she'd got enough sleep last night.
'Ken? Are those..?' She trailed off as he opened his mouth and revealed vampire fangs. 'Oh, they are,' she continued, unable to stifle her amusement.
'You noticed?' he mumbled. 'What do you think?'
At the next desk Rob sniggered. 'I think, Count, you've been working too hard.'
Slipping the fangs from his mouth, Ken explained, 'See, me and the missus, we're going to a horror party. I haven't got the costumes yet so if either of you two want to –'
'Busy,' Sam cut in.
'Ditto,' Rob said.
'Very,' Sam added for emphasis before turning her attention sharply back to her paperwork.
She'd almost forgotten that Phil was due back today until he limped in, ever the actor. He was greeted like something of a hero, especially by Rob. She called over a welcome along with everyone else but refrained from approaching him until the department was a little quieter. By that point he was stretched back in his chair with his bad leg elevated, reading a clipboard and eating a biscuit.
'So, how are you?' she asked.
'I'm good, thanks,' he answered. 'How you doing after the Weaver encounter?'
'Well, being stuck in a tunnel with him isn't an experience I'll forget in a hurry,' she said. 'But you're the one who took a bullet in the leg. How are you?'
'I'm fine,' he replied. 'I just wanna put it behind me now. Now Weaver's dead at least I'm not looking over my shoulder every five minutes.'
Awkwardly, she patted his arm. 'Anyway, it's good to have you back.'
'Sam,' he called before she reached her own desk.
She turned back. 'Yep?'
'Have you done anything about what we talked about down in that tunnel?' he questioned.
'I've forgotten everything we discussed,' she retorted. 'That was the deal, wasn't it?'
Snickering, he raised his clipboard again. 'You're hopeless, you really are.'
Hugh arrived punctually and she collected him from downstairs, listening to his polite questions about how her evening had been and deflecting every one of them. They'd reached CID when he finally got the message that she wasn't in the mood for personal chit-chat and they got to talking about the case and the new development that had dropped onto her desk first thing.
Forensics had finally delivered analysis of the size nine shoeprint found at one of the rape sites. It looked like a heavy-duty shoe and there were traces of Scottish peat found in the mud, probably from the Highlands. A little more examination and they could pin it down further, though it could mean everything or nothing: it could mean their man spent some time up there, that he regularly commuted or simply that he'd been in a garden with Scottish peat in it. As she wryly pointed out, he could even be a gardener.
When Terry wandered in they suddenly found themselves with a suspect. The aggravated burglar he and Debbie had arrested that morning hadn't sold any of the jewellery he'd stolen from his victims; it was as though he was keeping trophies. Both her and Hugh's interest was piqued by that, especially because the location of the last burglary wasn't too far from where Khadija had been attacked. Morgan fitted the, admittedly sketchy, physical description and he was into martial arts. Every box they had at the moment, he seemed to tick.
After giving Manson an update, they persuaded him to let her arrest Morgan on suspicion of rape, although she got the feeling that Hugh was less than convinced by the possibility. She knew him well enough to recognise when he was holding back but they had a viable suspect for the first time in the investigation and it was worth pursuing as far as she was concerned.
In the interview room, Sam let Debbie lead then took over when Morgan steadfastly refused to admit to any sexual assault. He was Irish, which riled her for reasons she wouldn't be able to explain to anyone else, but otherwise he just resembled a typical Sun Hill scrote in casual clothes with an attitude to match, in spite of the fact that he'd just held up his hands to aggravated burglary.
'Do you have a girlfriend, Mr Morgan?' she asked.
'What's that got to do with anything?' he returned.
Tilting her head to the side, she studied him carefully. 'What's it like wandering around someone's room when they're asleep?'
He snorted and leaned back in his chair. 'I'm not answering that.'
'Presumably you have to check that they are, in fact, asleep,' she said. 'How close do you get?'
'No comment,' Morgan said.
Sam held his gaze. 'Was the woman on Carswell Lane your next victim?'
'I didn't lay a finger on her, I was just robbing the place.'
'I don't think you do it purely to steal things,' she told him. 'There's more to it than that, isn't there? Maybe you like to have a look, see who your victim is. Perhaps you already know,' she went on, 'and wonder what she likes to wear in bed. Do you get off on it?'
'No,' he insisted.
She lifted up the evidence bag on the table between them. 'You like to take home little, erm, reminders, don't you, Mr Morgan? And when it doesn't work out – what then? You take your anger and frustration elsewhere.'
'You can't pin this on me,' he said.
No matter what tack she tried, she couldn't get him to admit to anything. An ID parade with their only witness was one way of getting anything concrete given that Morgan was only telling them the bare minimum. Following the interview, Sam wasn't convinced either of his innocence or his guilt but she needed to rule him out for her own peace of mind. Debbie called Khadija while she updated Manson again, pointing out that Khadija had been terrified her mother would find out she'd been raped in the first place. Pursuing it hadn't been something she'd wanted to do and since an ID parade was a step down that road, who knew if she'd be comfortable with it? Hugh and Manson agreeing that they needed her statement disregarded what she'd been through, though Debbie did manage to come back with a positive answer for the ID parade. However, it was tempered by the fact that Khadija had only agreed because her mum was away. That didn't bode well for any future proceedings.
Debbie and Terry went to see her and, the next Sam heard, they were rushing her to hospital following an overdose. As soon as she'd put the phone down on Debbie, she went to tell Manson what had happened.
'So she's okay?' he asked as they walked through CID.
'Well, she tried to kill herself,' she answered. 'And, according to Debbie, if it wasn't for Terry she might well have succeeded.'
He halted and turned to her. 'She did agree to the ID.' She stifled her irritation as he continued, 'Khadija's the only one who got a good look at the rapist so even if she rules out Morgan, to me that's a result and I don't care if you wheel her in on a trolley.'
He left CID and she was slow to follow, wondering how far distant she needed to keep herself to avoid the temptation of pushing him down the stairs. She lingered in the corridor for so long that she decided to actually take a seat in the chairs outside the DCI's office and try and order her mind the best she could. She was approached there finally by Gabriel Kent of all people and his interest in the case prompted her to assign him to watch over Khadija at the hospital. At least knowing she'd actually done something useful related to the case allowed her to stand up feeling marginally less useless.
With Hugh locked away with some more files in the incident room, she had a little breathing space and she found her mind wandering back to Sheelagh. Really, she was surprised she'd gone so long without succumbing to the impulse to check on her and decided to take the opportunity now they were in a momentarily lull with the case. The name 'PC Murphy' sounded so wrong in her head that she was going to have to watch herself carefully the next time she mentioned her to anyone.
Going downstairs, she found herself at a bit of a loss on where to find Sheelagh. In the past she'd always tried custody and the Sergeants' Office first but those were no longer options. She stuck her head into the canteen and the bathrooms but with no luck. She'd just about accepted that Sheelagh was obviously out of the nick when she drifted past the door to BIU and heard Lance Powell talking to Andrea Dunbar. There was something in their hushed tones that slowed her step.
'I just didn't expect it, that's all,' Lance was saying. 'She gives the impression of being so open and accepting.'
Andrea snorted. 'Come on, she has just been demoted for racism. Is it that surprising she should be homophobic as well?'
The words speared through Sam and she nestled closer to the wall in order to listen unobserved. She couldn't say what was going on in her chest at the moment but it burned like acid.
'You know,' Lance said after a moment, 'I can usually tell when someone's going to react like that. But I really couldn't with her. Now we have to work together and I'm not sure we can. She practically said it was unnatural and disgusting without actually saying it, you know what I mean?'
'Could be her religion,' suggested Andrea.
'I'm a Christian too,' Lance argued. 'There are ways of looking at things and you can't deny what you are, can you? God made me this way. I believe that, even if the Church doesn't. But some people refuse to see past their own nose. I didn't think Sheelagh would be one of them.'
'Where is she now?' Andrea queried.
'I don't know,' he answered. 'Keeping away from me, I expect.'
Sam had heard enough and, besides, if she stood there much longer someone was going to notice. Suddenly, the last thing she wanted was to see Sheelagh. She needed to process Lance's observations and she certainly couldn't do that in the middle of one of the most important cases of her life.
So, disconcerted, she pushed off from the wall and returned upstairs to CID. She forced all thoughts of Sheelagh from her mind and focused on the case, knowing even as she did it that the hollow fear in her chest wasn't going away easily. She dreaded the moment she'd have to face it.
Somehow, someone persuaded Khadija to look at the photographs and she eliminated Morgan as a suspect. However, the identification process reminded her of something the rapist said during the attack, the same thing about 'striking the hood' that had been said to one of the other victims. It irritated Sam that they were no closer to working out what it meant but Manson just seemed content they'd got Morgan for the burglaries and that Khadija had played ball.
'I'm heading off,' Hugh said as the mini-briefing broke up.
'Manson is making a huge mistake letting you go,' she muttered.
'No, he isn't,' Hugh replied. 'We've reached some sound conclusions based on the evidence we've got so far.'
'We've hit a brick wall,' she said.
'I could sit round for weeks hypothesising about the type of man we're looking for,' he answered. 'Police procedures still apply, you've gotta rule out the suspects.'
'And the budget doesn't stretch to that,' she added.
'Exactly,' he said as he walked out.
Stood alone in the middle of CID, she nearly succumbed to a wave of panic.
They were not only no closer to tracking down the rapist, she was abruptly less certain of her relationship with Sheelagh than she was this morning. It was one thing to know she'd have difficulty accepting Sam's feelings – and, by extension, her own – but it was quite another to have the word 'homophobic' bandied about so freely by an openly gay man. Whatever had passed between Lance and Sheelagh had certainly upset him and, really, that scared Sam. It could, of course, just be a kneejerk reaction to learning he was gay but didn't that say something in itself? Was Sheelagh so uncomfortable with the prospects that homosexuality threw up that she'd hide behind homophobia to protect herself from the truth lingering underneath the surface? Once more, Sam sought refuge in Gina and Eva's assertion that Sheelagh loved her. She could be wrong about it but they weren't. Perhaps it was just a case of riding the uncomfortable wave; perhaps this was another step Sheelagh had to take.
Or perhaps, an unwelcome voice at the back of her mind whispered, this was the inevitable conclusion of her falling for Sheelagh Murphy in the first place. Maybe this was the universe's idea of a sick joke – make her finally able to give herself fully to another human being only to have the opportunity snatched away from her.
Somehow, she managed to moor herself back at her desk and bury her head in the files she'd spent the last two days going over with Hugh. It wasn't that she thought they missed anything, just that she hoped she could interpret something differently now. Tomorrow Manson would assign officers to help her wade through the mountain of previous cases that could be connected but she needed to come at that with a clear head in the morning. She owed it to the victims not to be distracted by personal issues while she was investigating this.
The doors to CID creaked constantly as people made their getaway but Sam didn't move. It was safer in the nick, safer away from her rampant thoughts and a daughter who was no doubt on the warpath again. If Sam had struggled to cope with her attitude last night when she thought things were heading in the right direction, she didn't have a clue how she'd manage now. So she concentrated on memorising every detail she could manage – all the better to help with the continuing investigation.
Suddenly, a chocolate bar dropped onto the file she was reading. She jumped and glanced up as Sheelagh, dressed in civilian clothes, pulled up a chair beside her and nudged a cup of coffee into her hands. It felt surreal, given Lance's little tale earlier, and Sam rapidly scrutinised her face to ascertain whether the day's events had triggered any sort of alteration in Sheelagh's attitude towards her. She didn't think they had. The exasperated affection she associated with Sheelagh's friendship was shining in her eyes and she seemed relaxed. Still...she'd sought her out, hadn't she? Sam hadn't been expecting that on any level and she couldn't help but feel it meant something.
'What's all this?' she asked carefully.
'I know you, remember?' Sheelagh returned. 'An investigation like this and you forget everything basic about looking after yourself. You can't stay here all night.'
'I could,' she argued with a light grin, leaning back and feel the chair give a little.
'You won't,' replied Sheelagh. 'Not if you know what's good for you.'
Sam chuckled at her stern expression. 'I'd better not take my chances. How was your day?'
'Never mind that,' Sheelagh said, 'how's the investigation going?'
Although she noted the avoidance as a trick right out of her own book, she was more than willing to accept it right now. She reached for the coffee and toyed with the rim of the lid as she contemplated the professional obstacles of the day, wondering how best to phrase all this.
'It hasn't been good,' she admitted. 'We got a suspect, we lost a suspect. We're no further on and the only chance we've got is poring through old files to find some links. It's slow work and in the meantime...'
'I know,' Sheelagh said softly.
Swallowing, Sam met her eye. 'I need to solve this.'
'I know,' repeated Sheelagh. Discreetly, she slid a hand onto her knee under the desk and Sam's chest constricted. 'It's okay.'
'It's hardly that,' Sam pointed out.
Sheelagh leaned a touch closer. 'Sweetheart, you're doing your best, I promise you that. I have faith in you.'
That was an interesting choice of words, Sam realised as she held Sheelagh's gaze. It was the clearest indication she could obtain that Sheelagh hadn't made the connection yet and she was both relieved by that and buoyed by her affection in equal measure.
'Thank you,' Sam said finally.
'Do you believe me?' Sheelagh queried.
She smiled. 'I'm trying to, if that counts.'
'That's all I ask.' With one final squeeze, Sheelagh withdrew her hand and stood. 'Don't stay too late, okay? And eat something when you get home.'
'I will,' she answered. Then she picked up the chocolate bar. 'Unless this fills me up, that is.'
The warning look Sheelagh shot her before she left was nothing short of intimate and Sam felt a little awestruck as her eyes followed her across CID. Of course, as the doors swung shut, she realised that she was more confused than ever and, once again, she recognised that wherever they went from here was going to be difficult for both of them.
A couple of days later they were still no closer to a definitive breakthrough on the rape investigation, though perhaps they were teetering around the edges of one. Along with a small team they were combing through every unsolved rape case in the database and moving back down the scale to general assaults with a sexual element. Thanks to Gabriel, they'd made a couple of tenuous links with other attacks and, early afternoon, she braced herself to present the fresh cases to Manson. She could see the scepticism in his face as she discussed the rapes in Portsmouth and Plymouth, growing exponentially when she mentioned the rabbit DNA found at the Plymouth rape.
'And how does that bring us closer to the attacks here?' he asked.
She hesitated, knowing what his reaction was going to be, then ploughed in regardless. 'I think we need to get Dr Hugh Wallis back in here to look at these cases. I am sure we can make a connection.'
'Dr Wallis, for all his expertise in geographical profiling hasn't got us any results so far,' he said.
'Well, it takes time to build a full picture,' she reminded him.
'And that's one thing we don't have,' he replied. 'The Super's right, the press are all over this and people are beginning to panic. We have a serial rapist who could strike again at any minute. So forget Hugh Wallis,' he went on. 'You're the detective, put the pieces together yourself.'
'Guv,' she muttered before leaving.
Returning to the incident room, she sat down and looked at the mountains of information littering the desks and the paltry team she had to work with. It wasn't going to be enough and she was overcome with another wave of panic as she contemplated what would happen when she failed. Flattening her palms onto the desk, she caught sight of a packaged sandwich, a can of Diet Coke and a bar of Galaxy chocolate. How Sheelagh had contrived to discreetly deposit this little lunch was beyond her but it was the third day in a row.
Funnily enough, while Sheelagh had made sure she'd eaten over the last few days, they hadn't exchanged a word and they'd barely even seen each other. On the first day, Sam had written it off as bad luck. After all, she'd been flitting around all over the place, not only reading reports at her desk in CID as well as in the incident room but liaising with officers from other nicks when something interesting cropped up. It was perfectly plausible that Sheelagh had seen her on the phone and just decided to leave her lunch in the incident room for when she got back. That was the thoughtful thing to do, just like Sheelagh.
Yesterday, however, she'd begun to think it was a little strange. She knew for a fact that Sheelagh was helping out in CSU yet they hadn't spoken. She'd seen her walking downstairs and they'd exchanged a smile as Sam had disappeared into CID to talk to the DI. When she returned to the incident room ten minutes later her lunch was on her desk. It was almost as if Sheelagh had deliberately sneaked in while she was out of the room so she didn't have to see her. Yet she'd bothered to bring her lunch – that was a paradox, wasn't it? It was a strange way to avoid someone but perhaps it was a sign that Sheelagh didn't quite know what she was doing.
Picking up today's sandwich, Sam turned it over in her hands and couldn't help but smile. Whatever the hell was going on between them at the moment, there was no mistaking Sheelagh's underlying feelings. For now, Sam could handle the oddness of the situation. She certainly couldn't deal with things without Sheelagh on her side – she'd proven that well and truly during the Cavanaugh debacle. Until the rape investigation was over, and until she'd worked out a plan of attack, this bizarre mess was going to have to do.
The next pile of files she pulled towards her were unsolved cases from naval towns that Gabriel had compiled. It seemed like a good stab at logic on his part – or at least something worthy of attention – and this particular batch were from Scottish towns. She cracked open her can of pop and got reading.
It was a couple of hours before she struck upon something interesting. She read the file twice, pondering the similarities and wondering what difference a decade could make in their guy's MO. The more she thought about it the more she became convinced it was a possibility. After making a couple of phone calls, she was struck with the need for more information. Her only problem was going to be Manson and she decided to tackle that sooner rather than later.
Unfortunately, he wasn't in his office or anywhere upstairs. It was as though he'd divined she was looking for him and was purposely hiding. That might be frivolous thinking on her part but now she was eager to get hold of him she was bordering on the paranoid. Hurrying down the front stairs, intent on asking Marilyn if the DI had gone out, she stopped in her tracks. Connor Murphy was sat in reception with a sullen expression on his face. He hadn't noticed her yet but her urge to escape before he did clashed with her need to know what the hell he was doing there.
Going to the desk, she kept her voice low as she asked, 'Do we know what Connor Murphy's here for?
Marilyn glanced up with gossip gleaming in her eyes. 'Something to do with homophobic graffiti I think. I heard Lance talking about it.'
Sam's stomach sank but she endeavoured to mask it. 'I was wondering, have you seen DI Manson? Has he gone out?'
'No, no, he's not long come back in,' Marilyn answered. 'He's definitely around here somewhere.'
'Thanks,' she said politely.
Spinning around, she was aiming to disappear without interacting with Connor then she found him watching her. From the disgust on his face she knew she couldn't risk him raising an uncomfortable subject a little more loudly than she'd like. There was no doubt in her mind that he was completely clued in to the situation and, given that he was in the nick because of a homophobic incident, she was reasonably anxious. However, she wasn't about to let a teenage lad see that, especially not one who could throw such a spanner in the works. She squared her shoulders and approached him.
'Hi, Connor,' she said. 'What are you doing here?'
'What's it to you?' he retorted.
His attitude was as combative as Abi's, though his energy was directed so differently. How ridiculous was it that her daughter was demanding she talk to Sheelagh while she got the feeling that Connor would go mad if she so much as attempted it?
Refusing to be intimidated by a teenager, she sat beside him with the same demeanour she utilised for tricky suspects in interview. She stretched out her feet and said, 'I was just making conversation. When you see somebody you know it's only polite.'
'You don't know me,' he muttered.
'I'm friends with your mum,' she answered with an easy smile. 'That means I know you.'
He snorted and crossed his arms. 'Right. Yeah.'
She was getting nowhere fast with this so she decided to cut to the chase. Maybe bluntness would win her respect where civility hadn't.
'Have you been arrested, Connor?' she asked.
Glancing over sharply, he said, 'No.'
'Then why are you here?' she pressed.
'I'm waiting for Mum,' he replied. 'That good enough? Will you leave me alone now?'
'I was only being friendly,' she said as she stood.
'Don't bother next time,' he snapped. 'I don't want anything from you.'
Sam knew she'd turned a funny colour but she hoped Marilyn didn't notice as she buzzed back into the station. Only when the door to the front office was firmly shut behind her did she exhale and give herself a minute to adjust.
Connor's hostility was hardly surprising given his attitude in the past but involvement in blatant homophobia was new and unappetising. She had to find out more about that, for her own peace of mind if nothing else. Whatever stage of denial Sheelagh was in, it likely couldn't last forever and things could get messy when the truth came out, so to speak. Unless, of course, both mother and son were insurmountably homophobic. Wasn't that a distinct possibility?
'Have you got work to be doing Samantha?'
Hearing's Manson's voice kick-started her copper's brain again and she pushed off from the wall she'd been using as a crutch and strode along the corridor after him.
'I was looking for you actually, Guv,' she said as she caught up.
'Funny, it looked like you were sleeping on your feet,' he answered. 'Come on then. What is it?'
'There was a rape in Lanarkshire in 1989,' she explained as they walked. 'The attacker had a London accent. Now the statement at the time was poor but there are similarities with the Canley rapes.'
'You wanna go to Scotland,' he said.
'I think this woman could be our rapist's first attack,' she answered. 'I want to re-interview her.'
Stopping at the coffee machine, he turned back to her with his hands still in his pockets. 'Well, I haven't got the resources to fund a trip and what about this 'strike the hood' phrase? That was used in the rape cases here.'
'The victim didn't report it,' she admitted. 'But that could indicate that his confidence is growing, his MO evolving. Just two days, Guv, that's all I'm asking.'
'We're in the middle of a major investigation,' he pointed out. 'You can't swan –'
'This could be the breakthrough we need,' she interjected. Her tone had made some impression on him and she added, 'I need to catch this man, whatever it takes.'
'Okay, two days, that's your lot,' he muttered.
'Thank you, Guv,' she said curtly, dashing up the staircase before he could change his mind.
By the time he joined her up there she already had the authorisation forms printed off. He rolled his eyes and went through to his office to sign them and cross-check her plans with what he thought she should do. Knowing that could take a little while and yet impatient to be active, Sam decided she'd better tell Sheelagh where she was going. The last thing she wanted to do was drop in there tonight once she'd got Connor home and she thought telling her over the phone was a little impersonal. She was trying very hard to follow exactly the same path that she would've done before Connor's homophobia, before Lance's accusation of Sheelagh's homophobia, before Cavanaugh. She didn't want Sheelagh to think anything had shifted between them and, before, she would tell her face-to-face that she was running off to Scotland on a wild goose chase.
After checking BIU and the canteen she segued to the bathroom and was rewarded by finding a cubicle door closed. Instinct told her that Sheelagh was in there but she could hardly knock on the door and ask so she contrived to wash her hands and drop her phone, prompting her to curse aloud and thereby announcing her presence. Sure enough, the lock on the cubicle slid open and Sheelagh emerged. She'd obviously been crying and, recognising that, Sam could hardly ignore it. She wouldn't have done that before either, after all.
So she asked, 'What's wrong?'
Sheelagh moved to wash her hands, lathering extra soap on as she replied, 'Oh, just one of those days. How's the case going?'
'You've been crying,' Sam persisted.
'It's nothing,' Sheelagh said in a tone Sam was used to in a different context. It was her no-nonsense tone, the one that persuaded her to eat when she wasn't hungry, sleep when she wasn't tired. 'I'm fine.'
'Okay,' Sam returned softly.
Was it still a lie between them if she knew exactly what it was that Sheelagh wasn't saying? She didn't want, for whatever reason, to tell her that Connor had been brought in and why. Did Sheelagh herself even know the real reason or did she just believe it was parental shame holding her back? It wasn't; Sam knew that even if Sheelagh didn't.
'Listen,' she went on briskly, 'you should know I'm disappearing for a few days.'
Sheelagh looked up sharply in a manner not unlike her son. 'What?'
'We've got a potential historical case in Lanarkshire,' she explained, leaning against the sink. 'I caught Manson in a good moment and he agreed to fund a trip up there.'
'A good moment?' Sheelagh repeated with a smile. 'Is there a full moon tonight?'
With a chuckle, Sam replied, 'I'll take anything I can get, honestly. Hopefully I'm travelling up tomorrow, I just wanted to tell you in case I don't see you again before.'
Belatedly, she realised that she'd just informed Sheelagh she'd come in here looking for her and that the phone thing had been a ruse. It probably also told her there was a reason Sam hadn't outright said she was looking for her. It was another one of those messy interludes she wished she could wipe away, if only due to the uneasy confusion she saw lurking in Sheelagh's eyes.
'Well, good luck,' she said finally.
Sam tried to smile. 'Hopefully it's the breakthrough we need. If not then we're just waiting for him to strike again and I can't bear doing that.'
Sheelagh's expression softened as she patted her arm. 'No one could accuse you of doing nothing.'
'Stay safe while I'm up there, will you?' she questioned after a few seconds. 'I mean it, no unnecessary risks, stay out of harm's way.'
'I'm a police officer, Sam,' Sheelagh reminded her. 'Harm's way comes with the job.'
'It was worth a shot,' she retorted.
Sheelagh's hand lingered on her arm for another moment then she drew back. Sam read the conflict in her face. She was wondering whether to mention Connor but she ultimately decided against it and stepped towards the door.
'I'll see you,' Sheelagh said.
'See you,' Sam returned, watching her tug open the door and disappear.
She stood for thirty seconds in the bathroom gathering herself together before she climbed the stairs back to CID. From then on it was all a bit of a whirlwind – even if she wanted to think about Sheelagh and Connor she barely got the chance then she talked herself out of it when the idea flitted across her mind. There were trains and a hotel to book, some meetings to set up, not to mention calling Abi to make sure they could speak tonight. That was certainly something she wasn't looking forward to and she wasn't wrong to be wary.
As soon as she brought the pizza box into the kitchen Abi's eyes narrowed.
'What have you done now?' she queried coolly.
'We have to eat, don't we?' Sam replied.
'You're up to something,' Abi argued. 'I know you, remember. What's going on?'
Placing the pizza box down on the table, Sam rubbed her neck. 'I've gotta go away for a few days, sweetheart,' she said.
'Where?' Abi questioned. Then she snorted and made for the door. 'Actually, you know what? I don't care. Go. I'm better off without you here.'
'I'm glad you're taking it so well,' Sam said. 'Wait,' she added before her daughter disappeared, 'you need to eat. I'm not hungry.'
Reluctantly, Abi returned to the table. She tossed open the pizza box and sat down to eat, not sparing her so much as a glance. Sam watched for just a few seconds, trying to imprint this moment on her memory, then she headed towards the door.
'One day I won't be here when you come back, you know,' Abi said casually. 'And Sheelagh won't be there because you're too much of a coward to take the risk. She'll find someone else, won't she?'
Sam pressed her palm against the door jamb. 'I'm dealing with this in my own way, Abi.'
Her daughter didn't respond and, really, she was relieved. She took herself upstairs to pack and spent far too long choosing which shirts to take with her for three nights in Scotland. Only when she heard Abi climb the stairs and close her bedroom door did she succumb to her hunger pangs and go back downstairs. Whether by design or accident Abi had left her two slices of pizza on the worktop and she settled down to eat them without much relish. She didn't need to enjoy her food; she needed to focus on the damn case.
Three nights in Scotland and a day to recover after travelling back down felt like a lifetime away from Sun Hill.
The last time she'd gone away she'd felt adrift from Sheelagh. This time it was no different, except that she didn't feel as though she could contact her like she had when she was in Birmingham for that course. Things had altered between them and they weren't back on terms where Sheelagh would expect random text messages and the occasional call. Maybe she'd miss her – yeah, she'd miss her – but that was just something to be endured right now until they could get back on something like an even keel.
However, the time spent on trains gave her ample opportunity to think. Yes, she had case files to examine and notes to make but that could only keep her brain occupied for so long. Her thoughts kept slipping back to Sheelagh, involuntarily but inevitably. By the time the train drew into London she was certain of one thing – they couldn't carry on like this. It was unsustainable. She'd known that from the off really and all this homophobia business just brought it home to her.
She loved Sheelagh and, whether she knew it not, Sheelagh loved her. It was obvious every time they were in the damn room together. Her abstract plan to talk her was still no more than that, but it was at least a genuine plan. She knew she had to do it and it wasn't because of Abi calling her a coward or Gina and Eva berating her. No, in the end it came down to doing the right thing for Sheelagh. This wasn't doing her any good, not least because of the friction it was generating with Connor. They needed this out in the open then they could deal with it, whether it turned out the way she desperately wanted it to or not. Otherwise they'd all get hurt. Sam's guard dropped when she was around Sheelagh and it was only a matter of time before something slipped out. She needed to control this as best she could, as soon as she was in a position to do so and believed Sheelagh was collected enough to deal with it. Yes, that might be fluffy in terms of timescale but she did honestly intend to do it.
Abi wasn't exactly waiting for her when she got home but a note was. She'd left the house in a state and gone to stay with Caroline for a couple of days. Sam knew she should be irritated but, given how things were, maybe it was best that Abi was safe with her aunt while all this was going on. Naturally, she called Caroline to check Abi's version of events then had to spend half an hour hedging around the reasons why things were strained between them again. At least Caroline wasn't fully apprised of the situation. Sam loved her sister but they were too different to agree on something like this and the last thing she needed was Abi having another ally to gang up on her with.
Going into work the next day, her first job was a meeting with Manson and Jack to update them on what she'd uncovered in Scotland. That she had a tangible lead with a potential victim now living in London was something that Jack was delighted about and Manson grudgingly pleased with.
'What do you wanna do, Sam?' Jack asked when she'd finished recapping everything.
She glanced to Manson before answering, 'I'd like to get Hugh Wallis back in here. I think now we've got something else for him to look at, a progression of events that can indicate where our guy might go next.'
Jack nodded. 'I agree. The public are worried about this situation and we need to do all we can to catch this guy before he strikes again.'
'With respect, Guv,' Manson said curtly, 'Dr Wallis didn't do us any good before.'
'I disagree,' Sam interjected.
'Well, you would, wouldn't you?' Manson retorted.
'Listen,' said Jack, 'it's my call and I want Wallis back in here, at least to go over this fresh information and see if it's connected. I'll arrange it today.'
Sam gladly took that and escaped the office as soon as she could, aware that Manson stayed behind to have a ruck with Jack. She couldn't be bothered with any of that politics, she was just happy she was getting Hugh back in. Without his assistance she felt dangerously doubtful of her own abilities.
Settling back at her desk, she heard snippets of station gossip from Ken. Apparently June was in hospital after being run over by Tony in the area car but, apart from missing her spleen, she was doing fine. Gary had been undercover on a big case and had wangled his long-awaited promotion to CID. Sam couldn't wait to see that in action, even if the idea of Gary Best and Rob Thatcher in the same department filled her with a sense of dread.
She made it to lunchtime before she succumbed to the urge to go in search of Sheelagh. Finding her alone on refs in the canteen, Sam got a cup of tea and went to join her, as casually as she could.
'Mind if I sit down?' she questioned.
Sheelagh flinched but then, seeing her, a radiant smile spread across her face. 'You're back.'
'Looks like it,' Sam answered, slotting into the chair opposite. 'Have you missed me?'
'Now, why would I miss you?' Sheelagh shot back.
'Charming,' Sam said with a grin.
Raising an eyebrow, Sheelagh challenged, 'Well, did you miss me?'
'Yes,' she said honestly. That earned her a fresh look of gratitude which she rapidly diluted by adding, 'Who else is gonna nag me the way you do?'
'Nobody else would have the energy,' Sheelagh replied. 'You're a full-time job, you know that.'
'I'll start paying you eventually,' Sam said, 'Come on, tell me something interesting. How are things with you?'
Apprehension flickered across Sheelagh's face and Sam knew there and then she wasn't going to get a straight answer. However, that did raise the question of what Sheelagh was hiding from her, consciously or otherwise. She filed it away as another one of those instances she could use as evidence if the need arose and decided not to push it.
'I'm fine,' said Sheelagh. 'Usual boring stuff.'
Sam sipped her tea. 'Good. I hate to be out of the loop.'
'How was Scotland?' Sheelagh questioned after a moment. 'Did you find what you were looking for?'
'A bit more than that...' she said before launching into an explanation of what she'd uncovered up there, in suitably hushed tones. Sheelagh could know all this but the rest of the station was a different matter. She valued her input as a relatively impartial observer and was pleased that her hypothesis about this rape being a precursor to the Canley rapes wasn't dismissed outright.
Suddenly, Tony was beside the table. 'Sheelagh, we've got a shout.'
The look of regret that their conversation was ending prematurely was more than enough for Sam. As Sheelagh stood, she smiled and said, 'I'll catch you later, okay?'
'Okay,' Sheelagh returned. She picked up her hat and grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair then disappeared out of the canteen.
Sam watched after her then raised her cup and drained the dregs of lukewarm tea. She still got butterflies so much as seeing Sheelagh cross a room and, more than that, her mind went on entirely inappropriate tangents. A cold shower might be in order later to prepare her for a tricky day tomorrow with Hugh.
Everything was set up for the following day and she was eager to get to work as soon as Hugh arrived. However, when she collected him from the front office he turned the conversation first to her. It was sweet, she supposed, even if she was disinterested in inane chit-chat with anyone but Sheelagh right now.
'I hope you took some time to yourself in Scotland,' he commented.
She chuckled. 'How likely's that?'
'You might have changed,' he said as they climbed the stairs.
'Not exactly,' she replied evasively.
Whatever Hugh thought of that, she didn't wait to find out. She picked up speed and walked into CID, the doors flapping behind her. He must've got the message because he followed her to the desk and crossed his arms, business-like as usual.
'Okay,' he said, 'so what have you got for me?'
'Right,' she said, picking up her notes, 'a Brenda Kellman. She was a prostitute on Clydeside, she moved down south about ten years ago. She was raped in 1989 after meeting with a group of clients in a hotel room.'
'And you think this might be our man?' he asked.
'Well, it's the same MO,' she answered. 'I mean, bit more primitive but all the hallmarks are there. Definite traits of a retaliation rape and there are links to the Navy – military training, just like our guy.'
Hugh nodded. 'Is she willing to talk?'
'She'll be here any minute,' Sam replied. 'Why don't you familiarise yourself with the case notes and I'll get us both a drink?'
It was only when she was at the coffee machine that she realised she was putting distance between them and she wasn't completely sure why. Perhaps it was simple as not wanting someone else to guess her feelings for Sheelagh, not when she was trying to focus on solving this case now they had a proper lead.
When she got back to her desk Hugh had made himself comfortable and the frown on his face told her this wasn't going to be plain sailing from her perspective. She knew that look well and she was almost relieved that they had to go straight in to talk to Brenda Kellman without him having the chance to pick holes in her theories first.
The interview proved to be a tricky one. It was evident even after all this time how traumatic Brenda found the memory of the rape. She'd been entertaining a group of six men in a hotel room and suspected the one who hadn't been able to perform might've been her rapist. He'd been laughed at by his mates and then the party broke up. The rape happened straight after that – the attacker came from behind all of a sudden but he didn't have a knife, preferring to use his fists and rant about her deserving it. Brenda hadn't seen his face but something about him had struck her as being like the man from the hotel, whether it was his southern accent or something else. She only knew the man who booked her as 'Greg' but the local press had managed to track him down at the time and his name had been published in the paper. Sam wrapped up the conversation delicately, unwilling to let Hugh see how affected she'd been by Brenda's tale.
While in Scotland she'd collected a heap of press cuttings related to that attack and any other potentials. She deposited Hugh in the canteen for a complimentary bacon sandwich then retrieved them and went back to the incident room, passing the folder to Gabriel to track down the article Brenda had mentioned. Kerry Young abruptly appeared, eager to help as a SOIT office who'd dealt with two of the victims and Gabriel willingly let her take his place on the team and passed his work on. With Andrea checking the cuttings and Kerry wading through case files going back fifteen years, Sam finally felt as though they were getting somewhere, following up on a tangible lead.
She was initially frustrated by the fact that Andrea came up with nothing in the search for the press cutting but that was swiftly fixed by some good work from the young constable. She'd used her local knowledge to get the reservations list for the hotel in the night in question – despite the manager telling them they didn't keep such records, the accountants still had them in the archives. Sometimes it paid to have a little local connection and it gave them a name – Greg Collishaw.
Hugh came back up from his break with his poker face on. Sam braced herself then recapped what they knew about Brenda Kellman's rape alongside the cases they'd had in Canley, aware that she was verbally hesitant in a way she didn't appreciate.
'Okay,' she said, 'Brenda was attacked from behind. He was left-handed, he was fast, he was violent. Erm, the accent, that matches, and the stuff he said to her about her deserving it? We've heard that before.'
'I'm not convinced,' Hugh replied. 'There was no knife, he was rough, he was careless, it's not his style at all.'
'I think Brenda Kellman was his first victim,' she argued. 'That's why it was rough.'
He sighed. 'Maybe.'
'Hugh,' she said slowly, 'if we rule this out we could be throwing away a vital piece of evidence.'
'Facts, Samantha,' he retorted, 'facts, facts, facts. We know he's from the South East; we know it from his accent, we know it from this cluster. We know he's familiar with the area, he mainly attacks late at night, after the tubes close. He's travelling to the scenes either by car or he's walking or he lives here. It's probably the latter because he goes for locations that only a local would know. So we know that he's someone from this area.'
'What about the peat in the footprint?' she challenged. 'That's Scottish – fact.'
'Yeah,' he conceded, 'we've got Scottish peat, we've got rabbit DNA here, we've got bird DNA here, we've got two West Country rapes. Now that suggests that he's commuting from his home base here and something is taking him round the country.'
'Some kind of country pursuit,' she said. 'Hunting?'
'Hunting, poaching, maybe just likes country walks. Maybe he's got family in Scotland or friends or it was a business trip. Look, what happened to Brenda was terrible, I'm just not convinced that it's the same man.'
'Okay,' she said after a moment, 'but I don't wanna rule it out yet.'
'Fine,' he returned, 'rule it out later. When you accept that I'm right,' he added, putting his hand on her shoulder as he walked past.
That physical reminder of their history unsettled her. It was strange, really. That type of unease had been her general reaction to physical affection in a work environment, or at least her general reaction to any touching that she hadn't calculated down to the nanosecond. When she remembered what she was like when she first got to Sun Hill she was ashamed. All that manipulation of Duncan Lennox to get where she wanted to be on the serial killer investigation... That was the Samantha Nixon that Hugh knew and probably the one he admired. There had to be something wrong with that, she recognised; although it did throw a spotlight on how different she was now thanks to falling in love with Sheelagh Murphy.
She was saved too much introspection on the matter by Andrea coming through with a location for Greg Collishaw – he worked at a hotel in Paddington and had a conviction for theft. She wasn't inclined to wait for an officer to come with her so she took off on her own, grateful for the fresh air and time out of the nick.
At first Collishaw was less than helpful, more mindful of his boss watching than the questions she was asking. Reminding him of Brenda's rape at least brought out a bit of remorse and she tried to build on that, attempting to get some names from him but he was being obstructive. However, she wasn't about to be beaten. Politely, she asked him if his boss knew about his conviction for stealing wage packets and that looked to be the nudge he needed. She left him with her card and returned to the station.
Instead of joining Hugh and the team in the incident room she first went to her desk in CID to check her messages and email. There were a couple related to ongoing investigations and she made a few calls while she was trying to settle her mind after the Collishaw conversation and waiting for him to contact her.
She'd just put the phone down on a lawyer from the CPS when Phil tapped her on the shoulder. Twisting in her chair, she was startled to see the look on his face. She still hadn't accustomed herself to their truce but this was more like outright concern.
'What is it?' she questioned.
Dragging a chair over, he rested with his elbows on his knees and sighed. 'Out of all the women you could've fallen for...'
'Is it Sheelagh?' she asked instantly. 'Has something happened?'
'She's fine, don't worry about that,' he muttered.
Sam let out her breath, even if she was still perturbed by his expression. 'What are you trying to do to me? Come on, Phil,' she pressed, 'what's going on?'
'All right, I thought you'd better hear this from me,' he said finally, rubbing his chin. 'There was a GBH this morning, it was brought to CSU as a hate crime.
'Right...' she said slowly.
'Yeah, well,' he continued, 'the thing is that we identified a suspect. Or...Sheelagh did.' Clearing his throat, he grimaced. 'It was Connor, it was her son.'
She gripped the edge of the desk and swallowed hard. 'It was a homophobic hate crime, wasn't it?'
'Afraid so,' he said. 'Sam, I'm sorry.'
Averting her gaze, she tried to absorb the news. There was one hell of a leap between homophobic graffiti and a serious assault but it didn't surprise her as much as she thought it should. She'd seen Connor's hatred in his eyes, seen the way he reacted to her and Sheelagh. She was an idiot not to see something like this coming.
She suddenly looked up at Phil. 'What level of violence are we talking here? He knows,' she went on quickly, 'he knows that I –'
'Sam, Sam,' he cut in, holding up a hand, 'calm down. He knows but she don't, yeah?' When she nodded, he continued, 'Well, if I was putting money on it, I reckon he lashed out at someone else – a gay bloke – because he didn't wanna hurt her.'
'That's something,' she murmured. 'Have you charged him?'
'Not yet,' he said, 'but the evidence is stacking up. We got witnesses, CCTV footage, not to mention a positive ID from the victim. I wanted to let you know before you heard it on the grapevine, that's all. You know what this place is like.'
'I can't get used to you being nice,' she said in a bid to deflect his sympathy. 'I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.'
He knew what she was doing and she appreciated his little grin all the more for that. If someone had told her a year ago that she'd be on friendly terms with DS Hunter she'd have laughed in their face. Then again, falling in love with Sheelagh had hardly been part of her game plan, had it? Things were so upside down, even before Connor Murphy had taken his homophobic anger out on an innocent man.
'What you gonna do?' Phil questioned after a brief silence.
Shrugging, she replied, 'Catch this rapist.'
Phil sniggered. 'Do they give out awards for burying your head in the sand?'
'What else can I do right now?' she returned. 'This is an important case, you know that. Look,' she went on before he could argue, 'I'm gonna sort it, I am. But it needs my full attention. I mean, Sheelagh was gonna have a hard time dealing with this anyway, without her son taking to gay-bashing as a hobby.'
'You're hiding,' he pointed out.
'I'll deal with it,' she promised. 'After this case is solved.'
He stood up and sighed. 'Well, make sure you do, yeah? The longer she goes without knowing the truth the worse it's gonna be. It won't go away.'
'I know that,' she said honestly. 'And thanks for telling me, Phil. I do appreciate it.'
'You were the easy one,' he retorted. 'Now I've gotta tell Sheelagh.'
She grimaced. 'Be gentle with her.'
Once he'd gone, she exhaled and squeezed her eyes shut. It was one thing to try and put on a front with Phil but, alone, she wavered. He was right – the longer this went on, the worse the fallout would be. Perhaps this'd be Sheelagh's trigger, the moment she realised something wasn't quite right with them. With her son violently attacking gay men, though, would she just cocoon herself away from it? In her shoes, Sam probably would.
This would hit Sheelagh hard, Sam knew that. If they were truly friends – and that's all they were – she'd have no qualms about going downstairs right now and offering her support. But that wasn't the case and, since Sheelagh had attempted to hide Connor's involvement in the graffiti, she wasn't supposed to know anything about his homophobia. She couldn't go talk about it because Sheelagh clearly didn't want her to know. Course, now it was more serious, everyone around the nick would be gossiping. They'd have to talk about it...surely? Or would it be like Cavanaugh? Just another one of those things they avoided. They were practically falling through the gaps in their confidences these days and Sam hated the distance.
For the time being there was nothing she could do. Like she'd said to Phil, she needed to find this rapist and, afterwards, she'd see where they went from here – if there was still anywhere to go to.
Collishaw scraped some names together, not full IDs but something to go on nonetheless, and suggested that 'Little Al' was the one they should be looking for. At a briefing in the incident room she ran through the options with the team, tasking Kerry to get onto the military base and the MOD. She was a little perturbed by Hugh muscling in on her instruction to add urgency to it, as if Kerry or any of the other officers working the case needed that impressing on them. She suspected he was trying to remind her that she used to be his student again, something that irked her more than she could articulate given his earlier dismissal of her ideas. The conviction in her mind that these rapes were linked wasn't going away and, even if she turned out to be wrong, she wasn't going to bow down gracefully to his superior wisdom. She was far beyond that.
Without checking with her, he passed on another job to Kerry and Sam followed him out to the water cooler, wondering if she had actually won him round on the link between all the cases.
'What was that about the West Country rapes?' she asked.
'If – if you're right about this Scottish case then there's a possible link with the naval bases,' he replied. 'The date's much later but it's worth checking out.'
'Little Al – it's humiliating, isn't it, a nickname like that?' she questioned.
'Depends,' he said with a shrug, 'could be affectionate.'
'Little Hugh...' She smirked. 'How does that feel? It's humiliating, isn't it?' she pressed. 'You see, I think that's the key to our man – humiliation. Brenda laughed at him, humiliating him in front of his peers. He felt emasculated so he lashed out, proves he's a man.'
Hugh rolled his eyes. 'Thank you, Sigmund Freud. Look, forget about the why. Explaining his behaviour isn't gonna catch him, predicting it is.'
'Oh, I get it,' she said. 'Your way or not at all, is that it? You haven't changed, have you?'
'No, I haven't,' he retorted. 'Do it my way or do it without me.'
'Fine,' she answered, waiting for him to look back to her. 'My way it is.'
While he was glaring at her, Kerry rushed out of the incident room. 'Sarge? CAD'S on the phone. There's been another rape.'
Her determination to follow her own path in direct opposition to his wishes suddenly became unimportant. With Hugh on her heels, she went to the phone and kept her voice steady as she heard the details from the CAD operator. Then she recounted them to Hugh and asked him if he'd mind filling in the DI.
'Why don't I come with you?' he suggested as she grabbed her coat.
'No, I don't think so,' she replied. 'After what she'd been through, I don't think it's advisable.'
That was only part of the reason she didn't want him there and perhaps he knew it. Perhaps he put this down to emotional weakness on her part and he was right. There was no way she could look at this victim without letting emotion creep in and, ironically enough, the only person she'd trust with those feelings right now was the one person she needed to keep at arm's length. So she proceeded to the hospital alone, trying to regulate her emotion as much as possible.
The victim was a Norwegian girl forced off the High Street into an alleyway with no witnesses. Entering the room after talking to the nurse she found Solveig in a worse state than she'd expected. The poor woman looked deeply traumatised and Sam wondered if, like Brenda Kellman, she'd still be reliving this in fifteen years.
'Solveig? My name's Samantha, I'm a police officer.' She sat down with a sigh. 'They tell me your English is very good. A lot better than my Norwegian, I'm sure,' she added then she looked at her seriously again. 'Solveig? I've spoken to your dad and he's on his way here.' That got a reaction, even if it was just the horror flickering in her eyes that her father would see her like this. 'I'm trying to find the man who did this to you,' Sam continued. 'I've spoken to a few other women who we think he may have attacked. I want you to know that you can tell me anything you want, okay? Or maybe you don't want to talk at all, that's fine. But I'll be right here when you do,' she concluded, tentatively taking the bruised hand and being rewarded by fingers clenching around her own.
She didn't stay long. The glazed look in Solveig's eyes warned her that she wasn't ready to talk and, given the state of her, Sam would rather face Manson and a swarm of poisonous ants before she pushed her to speak. She hadn't forgotten his callous attitude towards Khadija and she'd rather be sacked than put any woman through another experience like that.
Walking back into the incident room, the only tangible thing she could do was write Solveig's name on the whiteboard. She was trying to avoid how lousy she knew she looked after that visit coupled with her gnawing concerns about Sheelagh and all her more general worries.
'How is she?' Hugh asked.
She glanced over her shoulder and said tightly, 'Completely traumatised.'
'Was it him?' he questioned.
Putting the lid back on the marker pen, she turned around and recounted the facts, just as he'd like her to: 'Attacked from behind, used a knife, used his left hand, used the same phrase – 'time to strike the hood' – same accent.'
He nodded. 'Anything new?'
'Yeah,' she replied, 'it happened in broad daylight and it's the first midweek incident. He's been careless, maybe he's left something for forensics. And he was more violent,' she added, 'a lot more violent. He almost cut her throat. Next time he will kill.'
For a moment she hated Hugh. He seemed almost fascinated underneath his natural mechanical expression, as if this new direction was something to be relished. Of course, she knew he didn't truly want anyone else to be hurt but his manner of treating everything like an interesting detail to be examined was particularly grating right now.
'I need to get home,' she went on. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
Hugh stood as she passed. 'Hang on, we could go for a drink and discuss –'
'I don't wanna discuss anything right now,' she interrupted. 'I'll see you tomorrow, Hugh.'
With that, she left the incident room as swiftly as she'd arrived. She returned briefly to her desk in CID to shut things down there but she didn't stop to talk to anyone and she found herself outside in the summer air just a few minutes later.
She wanted Sheelagh, she realised as she walked heavily to her car. She wanted the transitory comfort a short conversation with her could bring, but she couldn't have that right now. Connor had been charged with GBH – homophobic GBH. Not only did Sheelagh have her own demons to deal with at the moment, Sam couldn't risk letting her own guard down. It'd be a mess neither of them needed so she just had to do what she'd always done – deal with her feelings alone. Admittedly, it had been easier when she'd been denying that she had such things.
Getting home to an empty house, she hesitated then called Abi. She knew from her daughter's curt hello that there was still a chasm between them but she needed to hear her voice anyway.
'I'm sorry for calling,' Sam muttered.
'What is it?' Abi asked, her voice softer. 'Are you okay?'
She swallowed. 'Listen, I need to know you're being careful. Please don't take any risks, please.'
'Has something happened?' her daughter pressed.
'You'll find out soon enough,' she said after a moment. 'There's been another attack, a really violent one this time. Take precautions, stay safe. If something happened to you, I couldn't...'
'I will,' Abi said when she trailed off. 'You too.'
It was the closest to an understanding they were going to get right now and Sam knew better than to push her luck. It was enough to hear her voice and know she was safe. Following a few pleasantries to send to Caroline, she ended the call and tuned in to the silence of the house until it rang in her ears. She wondered how Solveig was. She wondered how Sheelagh was.
The first job of the next day was a visit to the site of Solveig's rape with Hugh. She talked him through it using the notes from the officers first on the scene, aiming to keep her voice as level as possible. It was one thing opening up to Sheelagh, quite another showing any anxiety to Hugh who seemed to perceive it as weakness.
One of his observations was that the alley was a dead end with no escape, suggesting a lack of planning. She pointed out again that it was the first attack in daylight and that he was definitely getting bolder. The scorn on Hugh's face was barely concealed.
'Sam, if you've already decided that this is our serial rapist, what do you need me for?' he asked. 'Focus, keep an open mind. The facts will tell us if it's him.'
'I am following the facts, Hugh,' she said tautly.
Seeing the scepticism on his face she launched into a list of the parts of the attack that matched their man's MO – the method of restraint, the use of a knife, the left-handedness, the same cuts to the neck and face – with the caveat that he was getting more violent. She knew she was getting far too emotional for his liking but he hadn't seen Solveig last night, he hadn't a clue what that woman had been through. To him she was just a geographical dot to add to his statistics and, for that, she was beginning to despise him.
'Did she get a look at him?' Hugh questioned after a moment.
'No,' she admitted, 'she's not able to talk to us yet. We also found this,' she added, showing him the necklace that was ripped off during the attack and highlighting the fact that the matching bracelet was missing. It was possible that he'd kept it as a trophy and, as Hugh pointed out, he seemed to be altering his methods to fight against what they already knew about him.
'It was vicious, Hugh,' she said, 'far more violent than any of the others. When I think about what his next move might be...it scares me.'
Although clearly still under the illusion that she was letting this get to her too much, Hugh conceded that, if this was their guy, he was growing in violence and confidence. It shouldn't scare her, he said; it should motivate them both to work harder. She ignored that remark and led him back to the car.
Back at the nick she led a briefing in the incident room on the latest rape, trying to garner witnesses for the narrow fifteen-minute window that encapsulated the attack. It was a busy area; surely someone must've seen something. Afterwards, she was approached by Kerry who informed her that Gabriel Kent had cropped up on the list of ex-Navy personnel who may have known their suspect. That was brilliant – a tangible lead that she sent her to follow up on straight away, though she didn't move as quickly as she would've liked or expected under the circumstances.
In the meantime, Sam decided to take herself back to the hospital – alone, of course – to check on Solveig and talk to her father who'd arrived overnight. When she got there the pain was evident in his every breath. She tried to comfort him but to no avail. What was there to say? His daughter was traumatised, he felt guilty because they'd had a silly disagreement about a boyfriend and the monster who'd done this to her was still roaming free. Sam stayed only for a few minutes, leaving him with her card and the promise that she'd find the man who'd done this to his daughter. That was one promise she was determined to keep, hopefully before another father had to go through this trauma.
Back at the station, she went with Hugh to the DI's office to give him an update based on the information they'd collated to date. Spreading out what they had again at least made it look as though they had places to go with the investigation – there were leads such as the West Country rapes, the country pursuit or work that was taking him to the countryside where he collected the rabbit and bird DNA that was transferred onto the victims, the fact that he was striking in an area that was predominately city workers and so likely worked amongst them himself.
One positive lead they'd obtained this morning about Solveig's rape was the report of a black 4x4 speeding away from the scene. Again, checking CCTV gave them something legitimate to do and that obviously pleased the DI. He wasn't one for theory and, to be honest, at the moment, neither was she. Any further debate on that point was interrupted by PC Harman disturbing them with a report of another attack, possibly another rape.
Without hesitation, she rushed down there and, once again, she deliberately left Hugh at the station, ostensibly because she needed him to continue combing through what they had in case this was another assault by their guy. In truth, she just didn't want to do this with him by her side and she was even more relieved she'd made that call when she realised that Sheelagh was one of the officers dealing with the victim.
It was the first time she'd seen her since all this stuff with Connor kicked off and she rapidly scanned her face to see if there was any discomfort about them interacting like this but there wasn't. That was all she could manage right now before she refocused on the situation at hand.
'What happened?' she queried. 'Did she get a look at the guy?'
'She says he didn't rape her,' Sheelagh said as they walked. Her tone of voice was cautious but caring, something Sam recognised and appreciated all the more in this moment, considering what was going on elsewhere.
'Well, maybe it didn't get that far,' she suggested. 'Maybe he was scared off. Maybe she fought him off.'
'I realise that –' Sheelagh began but Sam cut her off.
'We need to speak to her,' she said as they approached the cubicle where the victim was and halted. 'As soon as the doctor says she's well enough.'
'But there's something else,' Sheelagh persisted and Sam finally switched her mind from its single track and remembered who she was talking to. If Sheelagh was telling her there was a discrepancy here then she believed it. As Lance joined them, she shot her an apologetic look and was rewarded with a small smile for her trouble. It was at least enough to convince her that nothing had definitively changed between them and she needed that reassurance right now.
'We went to a shout earlier on today, Sarge,' Lance said after a few seconds. 'The carjackings DCs Thatcher and Drummond are working on?'
'Oh, the blonde who handcuffed Wayne Radford to his car,' she said with a smirk at Sheelagh.
Nodding, Sheelagh pulled out an evidence bag containing a blonde wig. 'We found this in her car. And these,' she added, showing her another bag containing handcuffs. 'I reckon she's tried the carjacking scam again but this time it went wrong. Like you said, we can talk to her when the doctor lets us.'
'Okay,' Sam answered, feeling calmer all of a sudden, 'well, if it turns out to be that we should be thankful it's not another rape. You need to speak to DC Thatcher and DC Drummond. Right,' she continued, 'there's someone I need to see whilst I'm here.'
Avoiding Sheelagh's gaze, she slipped past her and along the corridor. It was as though she was drawn to Solveig's bedside, even if she didn't expect her to talk yet – or ever, come to that. She needed to see that she was still alive, still breathing. It was a bit of a compulsion.
She was staring through the glass to Solveig's room when a hand rested on her lower back. Sucking in air, she tried to steady herself but she couldn't do it, not with Sheelagh there at her side.
Turning, she couldn't help but allow herself to be enveloped in Sheelagh's arms. The sheer warmth startled her and she succumbed to the comfort, inhaling the sweet scent of Sheelagh's hair and indulging in the illusion of safety for a few seconds.
'Don't you dare do this to yourself,' Sheelagh warned in a whisper.
Sam drew back, though she still kept hold of her hands. 'I should've found him.'
'You're doing your best, darling,' Sheelagh insisted.
'It's not good enough!' Her voice had risen and she grimaced. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry.'
'Shush, it's okay,' Sheelagh said firmly. 'You don't need to apologise to me.'
Absorbing the love in her eyes – unacknowledged as it may be – Sam nodded slowly. She was doing her best to pull herself together, mindful that if she didn't she'd lose this vital physical comfort, but she wasn't inclined to break away just yet.
'I don't know what to do,' she admitted. 'I need to solve this.'
'And you will,' Sheelagh answered. 'I know you will.'
Surprised to find tears in her eyes, Sam disentangled herself and brushed her hand across her face. 'Look at me,' she muttered, 'I'm a right mess.'
'You're okay,' Sheelagh said.
Sam held her gaze then, tremulously, stepped away. 'I should go.'
'Sure,' replied Sheelagh with a half-smile. 'I'll see you later. You look after yourself.'
'I will,' she murmured.
With one last look between Solveig and Sheelagh, she set off along the corridor, completely uncertain as to how she was feeling but knowing she needed to concentrate on what leads she had.
As soon as she got back to the nick she was summoned up to the incident room. There was someone waiting on the phone for her, an anonymous tipster warning of a woman in trouble on an old industrial estate. Whoever it was had asked directly for her and she knew they had to check it out. Manson agreed, as long as she took a uniformed officer with her and she grabbed Andrea Dunbar as the nearest available one.
The desolate building on the industrial estate was chilling. Even if there weren't a spate of rapes going on in the area, she'd have been wary about going inside and she found herself relieved that Andrea was with her as she poked around.
There was no woman in trouble to be found but there was a bracelet with blood on the clasp in a big white chalk circle. It was part of the game, she understood, as every hair on her body stood up.
'He wanted us to find this,' she muttered to Andrea. 'He's probably here now, watching us.'
That realisation perturbed both of them and they were quick to vacate the building and alert SOCO, even if Sam knew in her heart there'd be no forensics to collect. This guy wasn't stupid and she couldn't shake the idea that he was playing cat and mouse with them. That threw up a selection of unsavoury possibilities that sent shivers down Sam's spine as she indicated to Andrea that they should go update the team. While they were driving there, the young constable hesitantly said she might have found something in her work earlier, a potential lead. With that in mind, Sam put her foot down and swore at the drivers in their way until they were within sight of the station.
Andrea had done plenty of work on their suspects list this morning, drawing together the naval records with Greg Collishaw's information and putting things together. One name that sprang out at Sam was Alan Kennedy – he'd been a city worker, he'd been sacked following a sexual harassment accusation and he'd been acquitted of indecent assault years ago. He suddenly became a priority and Manson, ever-ready to get in close to the kill, offered to check it out. Mindful of Andrea's work on this, Sam suggested she go with him. It was alarming how much more she trusted a probationer compared to her superior officer in terms of both finding something useful at the scene and not trying to hog the information for herself at the expense of the investigation.
When Andrea returned from their chat with Kennedy's old colleague everything started coming together. He'd supplied a picture and the t-shirt Kennedy was wearing in it implied he was involved in falconry. 'Strike the hood' was a falconry phrase and the West Country rapes correlated with the schedule of local falconry events.
'Alan Kennedy,' she said with a touch of triumph, 'I think we have a serious suspect.'
Her first port of call was the DI's office but he wasn't there. Glancing out of the window she saw him just driving into the car park and rushed down to talk to him. She tried to keep her tone more measured than she felt, knowing that he needed facts to the same extent that Hugh did. But not only did the facts back her up on this one – her gut told her she was right. They might not trust it but she did and, more importantly, Sheelagh did. That was enough for her. Though they didn't have an address for Kennedy, they were working on it. With a serious line of investigation and a serious suspect in their sights, she finally felt as if they were getting somewhere.
Her relief was short-lived. CAD called up to the incident room with a report of a suspected assault adjacent to a building site that Sheelagh and Lance were dealing with. Stopping by the front desk, she tasked Kerry to return to the incident room and help Andrea while she hurried down to the scene.
Once there, she spotted Sheelagh talking to the builder so she had to content herself with getting the details of the assault from Lance. The physical description of the attacker, vague as it was, matched their guy. However, she was startled to realise that they were looking at an attempted abduction in a black Range Rover. The girl was gone and they had very little to go on. With a sigh, she nodded for Lance to carry on with his work and waited for Sheelagh to finish with the builder.
'Anything else?' she queried when Sheelagh approached her.
'Sorry, no,' Sheelagh answered, discreetly squeezing her arm. 'We're collecting the CCTV from every possible camera,' she added. 'We'll find her.'
'I hope you're right,' she muttered. Lowering her voice, she added, 'We've got a suspect, we're closing in. Maybe that's why he's done this.'
'If he's done this,' Sheelagh corrected.
Sam swallowed and nodded, willing herself to believe that. Sheelagh pressed her arm once more then strode off authoritatively in the direction of the nearest office block. At least with Sheelagh in charge of the scene she felt more at ease, even if she was just a lowly PC these days. After taking one final look around and discovering nothing of value, Sam returned to her car.
No leads turned up immediately, beyond a bag dumped in a bin with the ID of 'Amy Grogan' in it. In the incident room, she tried to comprehensively lay this out for Hugh – pointing out that the abduction site was dead in the middle of their circle of activity – but he was having none of it.
'This is not our man's MO, Sam,' Hugh said.
'Well, that's because he's moved on,' she argued. 'He's trying to bring things to some sort of finale. His workload has escalated, hasn't it? He's even left us a clue,' she continued, pointing to the board, 'look, with this bracelet. Now why would he do that unless he was trying to bring things to some final resolution?'
'Remember, we still don't have any physical evidence that links him with the scenes of the rapes, do we?' returned Hugh.
'I think we have to focus on Kennedy,' she said. 'This is his endgame. If we don't find him quickly, we won't find that girl again.'
Then Andrea cut into their conversation – she'd spoken to one of Kennedy's old friends and got an address. Sam could hardly contain her satisfaction. They were going to get him this time. They damn well had to. If that girl didn't turn up safe and well she'd never forgive herself for being slow off the mark. It'd be Cass Rickman all over again.
