Owen's apartment
The painting of Jesus stared down at Dempsey when he woke. He thought briefly of the beautiful art he'd seen in galleries and the objects around Winfield Hall as he observed the cheap, shiny print on the wall with disgust.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" He cursed, pissed at waking up in this stupid single bed made for a monk and the prospect of more mind games. "Like you can do anything. I sure wish you would."
He assessed his situation. Did he feel any better? He'd faked deep sleep to cover his frustration and to get rid of Owen. The art of sleeping with his senses open to intruders had been perfected over the years, especially since Lupino. He'd come to realise that the only time he really slept was with Harry.
His head still throbbed but the pain felt less intrusive as Dempsey untangled his legs from the starched sheets and stood slowly. When his body woke and the blood flew around his limbs, he felt able to withstand walking. Unsteadily and then with more purpose, he crossed the room trying to keep his feet quiet and studied the sash window that had caught his eye when he first entered the room. There were locks on it but the pane of glass was single glazed. The drop to the flat roof below was possible. Easy if he was at full fitness. He didn't dismiss it yet.
He heard the sounds of movement elsewhere and scrambled to the door.
"Hey, man! Let me out." Dempsey tried the door handle and slammed his fists on the frame, surprising himself at the force. He calmed it down, uncertain of Owen's mood until he saw him.
When Owen appeared, looking more insipid and weasel-like than the day before, he enquired after his sleep and Dempsey saw the man hadn't changed course during the night. It was as if the events of yesterday evening never happened.
"Reasonable." Dempsey looked at him, remembering how Owen had crept from the room as if in fear. He tested him now, drawing himself to his full height, and taking a menacing step forward and saw alarm in his captor's eyes.
"I need the bathroom." Demspey pushed past and closed the door. This time he wedged a chair underneath the handle and sluiced himself down, bringing some clarity to his well-being.
Back in the room, he found Owen sat on the edge of bed, biting his nails. He brightened on seeing Dempsey.
"I have to go out." He said, rising as Dempsey waited for something he wasn't sure of. "I have one last task to perform and I can't let you be involved. You'll be safer here and I'll make sure Harriet finds you."
Dempsey felt his heart skip a beat. Too late, he rushed forward to grab Owen but the man was faster, locking the door behind him. "What do you mean? What are you gonna do? You hurt Harry….Don't you dare."
There was a silence. Dempsey pressed his head to the door, as if hoping he could project his thoughts… demands as they felt. Panic pulsated through his body as he prayed for the first time in years.
"Everyone blamed you for the killings, that was my error and I have to change that. This is part of my trial and I have to pay for this. Me, not Harriet. She is safe." Owen spoke mechanically.
"Listen to me," Dempsey pleaded, his voice breaking on the words, "Nobody else has to die."
He realised that he was talking to silence as a distant door closed, and slammed his fists against the door. "Dear God."
The trouble, he thought as he tried to get control over his emotions, was that he had no idea who Owen was after next.
Guys and St Thomas Hospital
Chas walked fast through the hallways, his body strung on wires. Spikings had been operated on last night, to remove bleeding on the brain and Chas wasn't sure which way was up anymore. Any chance to speak to his boss to get any more details was lost.
He had stayed around, trying to be all things to all people. As he sat on a cold plastic chair and gazed at the floor he thought of his colleagues, who were so much more than that. His friends. It always amused him to think they were three outsiders. Harry by gender. Dempsey dropped in from the mean streets of Brooklyn. And himself with his heritage that caused people to double take at his accent. Somehow the American had become a good friend. It was hard to find them in this life, they'd all seen mates disappear when they became coppers. Chas missed him and worried about Harry.
He had the sense that she needed to tell him something when she'd tried to track him down at SI-10 at the crack of dawn. He'd told Fry to keep her there and go through what she had to say, anything to hold her from taking matters into her own hands.
He got into his car and sped through the breaking dawn, crossing the early morning streets of London. In truth, he missed everyone.
Owen's apartment
Dempsey tested the door again and looked around the room for something to pick the lock. The door opened inwards so busting it down would take effort in any situation. The room was spartan but his eyes alighted on the painting of Jesus and, more importantly, the nail that supported it.
His coordination was a lot better than yesterday, he thought. There was a click and a jolt of metal on wood and the handle gave way.
The front door had internal bolts and he secured them from the inside, intent on locating his gun and his ID, biding time in case Owen came back. He wasn't leaving until he was armed. The crazy shit hadn't used a gun yet and didn't look sturdy enough to deal with one. It had to be here, Dempsey reasoned and thought back to what he knew.
He'd seen Owen look nervously to the bookcase the previous night. Pushing the books aside he made quick work of the unit. Then there was a glimmer of metal and he grinned. Pulling it down, he checked, the bullets still inside. The kid had no idea.
SI-10
"You were meant to be at the hospital with me." Chas greeted Harry, looking tired, the strain beginning to show on his gentle face.
Fry looked up cautiously from where he was perched and Harry thought how much they all taken on in such a short few weeks. "How's the boss?"
"No news. We'll hear more later." Chas sighed and turned his attention to Harry as the news rolled through the subdued office. Spikings might be the loudest, but Dempsey was the magnet that glued them together with Chas at the heart. She, the sister to the men who tried and failed, to get between her and her partner.
She thought of the further disruption to come as it surely would and took a deep breath. "Richard Owen. I wanted to ask Spikings if he remembered this man in our office, and if he was the attacker."
She threw down the staff photo of the nondescript man. The words seem to burst forth as if she could not longer contain them.
Chas slowed her down, "How can you tie him to this?"
Harry felt conflicted and it showed as Fry and Chas urged her onwards, and she picked up the sense of something in the air. That they might have a breakthrough.
"He wasn't on my list until this morning. Dempsey said that this killer knows their way around this place, has access to everything but isn't maybe that obvious. Average, nothing special but very clever and helpful. He was in the building when all three murders took place, I've checked the staff list."
Chas motioned to her to sit down.
Harry ignored him and paced instead, "We saw him at the academy seminar, when Dempsey spoke about Ryman. He was at Walthamstow when Dempsey challenged Sturgeon. He fixed his computer. He was fixing the screen when Lloyd and Matthews were in the conference room and he was the IT person who set up the trackers on Spikings and Dempsey's phones. He wasn't in yesterday, he rung in sick."
Chas sprung to his feet to make a call, "I need the address…."
Harry waved a sheet before him as she headed out the door, car keys in her hand, "I already have it. We can't waste anymore time."
Chas threw down the receiver and ran after her, calling for Fry to arrange back-up. "Armed back up, Fry… it could be a trap."
