Dempsey was vaguely aware of movement. The feel of his feet being dragged and the pinch of someone's hands under his arms. Skinny little hands he thought. A wash of cold air assaulted him and he felt a pain through his skull which ran down his spine. No sooner could he protest, then he felt himself being lowered down on the ground. Somewhere in his mind, he assumed this wasn't good and that now might be an ideal time to run. If only be could move.
XXXXXX
Owen brushed back the dark strands of hair from Dempsey's face and moved up to look at the wound on his head regarding the detective as he slumped on the bed. He bit back a cry of sympathy, feeling the pain in himself and stumbled to the kitchen. He returned with ice, washcloths and a bowl of hot water.
Dempsey stirred momentarily but his eyes remained shut. Owen unnecessarily soothed him as he swept the cloth over his face, and over the cut which thankfully wasn't bleeding, cleaning as best he could. He pressed the ice pack over the swelling which illicited a throaty moan of protest.
As he tended to the other cuts, his hands shook in anguish. Why was Dempsey there? He went running usually.
Carefully, as best as his shaking hands allowed, Owen cut through the thin top that Dempsey wore and gazed at the expanse of chest and down the long legs. He wondered why it was that some men were blessed and he was not. Why was he never destined to be the man to command the respect that Dempsey did, no matter what he tried? He'd never be the kind who'd attract women like Harry Makepeace and make criminals who'd committed terribly acts shiver in terror.
Restraining his thoughts, he removed the man's trainers, socks and then averting his gaze, he pulled off the muddy sweat pants, pleased to see his guest wore boxers. His mother would not be pleased otherwise.
Oh god, what would she think? He sunk to the floor with a sob and remained on his knees and wondered what to do. He clutched Dempsey's limp hand and held it to his cheek and thought about the possibilities as the maelstrom in his mind continued.
His turmoil of emotions brought out a frenzy of domesticity. The place must be clean, he had a guest, for heaven's sake. He washed the remains of the top for no reason and the sweat pants; he found clean blankets and sheets and made his mother's special herbal tea. It was said to cure all ills, blessing the sick and Owen could do no more for the Guardian Angel on his sofa. He cleaned around Dempsey and polished his Magnum, before placing it on top the book case carefully. Dangerous things, he heard his mother say.
Then he ran a bath and spent his time watching the water rise with one eye on his guest.
XXXXX
Dempsey felt a hand on his shoulder and an obnoxious smell. He muttered a curse and then cracked open one eye.
"Careful, no sudden moves." He heard a man say and he wondered where he was.
Slowly he raised himself up and gazed down at his naked chest and bare feet. Uneasily he wondered where his shirt was and what happened to his sweat pants.
"Owen?" He croaked. "Richard Owen?"
"Yes sir." He replied.
Dempsey looked with more care and tried to engage his brain with his mouth, ignoring the throbbing of his head.
"You're safe." Owen added.
Dempsey debated the meaning of the word. He had felt marginally safer with Angie Hughes. Christ, was Harry alright and hell, Spikings. He gazed around the room and then back to the man in front of him who seemed to be acting unlike any criminal he'd ever met and tried to get hold of the situation.
"It's tea, my mother's brew. It will help you."
Dempsey studied his captor for a long moment. In any other situation, if it wasn't for his dammed head, he could easily overpower him. But right now, getting to his feet felt like all he could manage. He wondered where his gun was and if Owen had yet worked out that it was he who'd aimed his weapon and would have killed him had the line of fire been there. Was it even him the alleyway?
"I need to check on the bath." Owen got up and then looked back with a kind smile. "It smells awful… the tea…."
Owen must have seen the suspicion on his guest's face for he replied quickly. "I would never hurt you, I want to help and keep you safe."
"Safe from what?" Dempsey asked, but the man had already disappeared.
As soon as Owen left, Dempsey studied the space from where he sat on a couch against a long wall, hoping it might yield some answers. There was a hallway through which Owen had disappeared. The furniture was spartan and the walls decorated with a few religious icons, some candles and a photo of Owen with an older woman he assumed to be his mother.
He took a careful sip of the hot tea and felt a wash of dizziness overtake him. He tried to sit up a little more and test his legs, drinking more tea as he did. It was disgusting and he longed for a coffee. Yet he got the impression that Owen didn't want to hurt him. What his motives were still worried him, but he didn't think it was murder. Maybe.
"I think you might feel better for a bath too." Owen announced his return as Dempsey gripped the side of the sofa, deciding to give into the hopelessness. He hoped that he might deceive his captor but on standing and wavering, he wasn't sure. Man, he felt bad.
"You got any pain killers?" He asked as felt the pins and needles work out of his legs, determined to pull it together for Harry. He wondered what she was doing and how she was holding up.
XXXXXX
Chas found her in Spiking's office. He had no idea how long she's been there but as soon as he arrived, she'd offered a sheet of paper. Neither of them sat in the boss's chair.
"Any news?" He asked of Spikings.
"Concussion, damage to his shoulder and arm. And they're monitoring his heart." Harry reported with complete professionalism and he wishes she'd drop it.
"Have you been home?" He queried.
She looked awful, as if she was already half a person without her partner, but he can't tell her that. He thinks back to their big bust up when Dempsey turned up with a bloody horse and how she'd been pragmatic and resigned to whatever Dempsey did or didn't do next. This is dramatically different, not least because he's seen his two friends change and he's not sure how or when, just that it is.
She evaded him. "It's all the people who I believe Dempsey has had any significant interaction with for the past six months."
"Your window cleaner?" Chas studied the list and looked up. "It's me Harry, not the boss or any of that lot out there."
She paced at the window for a moment. "Off the record?"
He nodded, "Off the record."
"I'm not the tea maker or baby sitter for Spiking's wife. Dempsey is my partner. I know him and I know his life. I want to run this investigation with you."
Chas sighed. "He'd hate that."
"He tell you that I'm the best chance he's got of staying alive." Harry said firmly and he knew he'd lost. His friend had indeed said that many times and was right.
"Alright but…" Chas tried to form a plan.
"…everyone whose been murdered has fallen out with him, or at least it might look like it from the outside."
"Spikings?" Chas can't work that one out. "The boss will tear a strip off anyone but he'd never do wrong by us."
Harry nodded in agreement, "Again from the outside it might seem like he hates Dempsey but they're loyal to each other when it matters."
Chas thought back to when Harry left, "He took Dempsey out for a beer when you…well."
"Abandoned Dempsey. Yes, he said." Harry observed softly. "I really was in way over my head."
Chas wanted to ask why but let it go, it was't really his business. All he knew was that Dempsey hadn't chatted up any birds for well over a year.
"The point is that you are his friend. The error is that Spikings should have let you and me lead from the start." She paused, reflective for a moment,. "Look, I trust him with my life and the murderer should know that if they've been watching us so I think we could be seen as safe hands so to speak."
Chas thought about his colleague being the ultimate prize.
"I hope Dempsey was right." She said simply.
If he'd hoped for a confession, it wasn't forthcoming but it hardly took a genius.
"We'd better sort through this list then. Coffee?" He got to his feet and poured a mug for one when she shook her head.
"Everyone with a cross is arrested or in prison. Those with a tick I've already run through the database…" She trailed off and if it was possible for her to pale even more, she did as the enormity of the situation took hold.
