Licensing Note: The story line and characters are inspired from Broadchurch created by Chris Chibnall. Text from Broadchurch is in green. If you would like to turn off the colored text, click "Hide Creator's Style" at the top of the page. The tense, pronouns, or wording of these quotes may be slightly modified to fit the scene. All original content and plot for Drowning in a Sea of Suspects is released under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International license by Morgan A. Wyndham. Cross-published on Archive of Our Own by MorganAW.
Alec Hardy let out a hard, exhausted, satisfied sigh as he watched Lee Ashworth, Claire Ripley, and Ricky Gillespie marched out in handcuffs for transportation. This case had destroyed his marriage, his public credibility, and nearly killed him. Now the long nightmare was over. They now had solid evidence, both bodies, and taped confessions. He was certain that Claire would circle back to her baseless accusations against him out of spite, but given her lack of credibility he doubted much would come of it. For all intents and purposes he could get on with his life now. He could take his patched up heart and walk away from Broadchurch with its endless sky and people who were so outwardly friendly but could turn into a mob at the drop of a headline.
"Quite a sight, isn't it?" Hardy turned as his former supervisor joined him at the railing of the station balcony to see the prisoners off.
"Aye, I was afraid I wouldn't live to see the day," he said with a morbid laugh.
"I hear that's all sorted now?"
"Little scrap of metal in there now keeping everything on track," he replied, rubbing his hand gingerly over the healing scab.
"Good," she said and looked at him appraisingly. "You did good work today. Three murderers in custody won't make up for the one that was released today but it certainly helps balance the score a bit."
Hardy merely nodded and watched as the transportation van left the station. He waited until it faded out of sight before turning to go back inside. He had his hand on the door handle when she called out, "DI Hardy, may I have a moment of your time?" She calls after him, "in private."
He pauses, hand clenched on the handle. He was so close to putting this all behind him. He took a breath and turned to face her. "I'm not a detective inspector any more, DS Jenkinson, you made certain of that ... Sir," he tacked the honorific at the end to just skirt past insubordination – a tactic he'd picked up from Miller.
"Your heart made certain of that, Hardy. You collapsed and nearly died in the middle of a chase and a killer get away in the process. There are protocols for a reason."
"Just one case, that's all I asked for. I just needed to solve that case."
"And so you did, by the end of the day as it were."
"Barely."
"In any event," she said, regaining an air of command in her tone, "now that your health is back in order I was wondering if you might help me out. I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a tight spot."
"Is that so?" He asked, intrigued that she'd be asking favors of him.
"The thing is, there's been another murder. We've yet to fill your position, you see, so we're in a bit of a bind."
"You've had months! How could you not find some other poor bastard to trap here in that amount of time?"
"To be frank, I was rather hoping to keep it open for DS Miller when the dust of the trial settled and she was ready to come back. However, after todays ruling that no longer seems feasible, at least not for the time being."
"Bloody hell," he scowled and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He owed Miller, he couldn't have solved the Sandbrook murders without her. She'd kept him going when he was running on fumes and he'd tried to reciprocate that during the trial, but her world was still shattered. When she'd picked up the pieces she deserved to have that job waiting for her. He glanced at Jenkinson warily, "there's no one else to do it?"
"As you've pointed out before, you've met my CID team and nobody is as qualified as you."
"So bring in someone from the outside!" Hardy paced the cramped balcony of the station.
"You were present for nearly every moment of Joe Miller's trial, baring a shockingly brief break to have your chest carved out, and I'll need your knowledge and observations."
Hardy stilled, "why is that relevant?"
"Before I say any more, I need to know if there was any truth to the defense's allegations about you and DS Miller."
"Nothing more than gossip mongering by a pack of rabid mongrels," he fired back with a wince. His own reputation was already in tatters but he'd worried those rumors would come back to harm Miller's career.
"No truth to any of it?"
"We work together, that's all." She opened her mouth as if to follow that up but he cut her off, "don't tell me you of all people are going to spout some nonsense about male and female detectives working closely at odd hours leading to..." he gestured vaguely in the air in punctuation, "and knock back gender equality in the police force by thirty years."
"Of course not," she snapped, "only, given the nature of this case I do need your assurances."
"Why, who is the victim? How does this connect to the Danny Latimer case?"
"I need your word that you can be objective and won't be stitched up by romantic entanglements."
He gave a disgruntled sigh before calling on the highest power he could summon. "I swear on the memories of Pippa Gillespie and Danny Latimer that nothing untoward has happened between myself and Detective Sargent Miller. Now tell me who the victim is and what this has to do with Miller?"
"Forty minutes ago a group of teenagers sitting at the base of the cliff on the beach heard an altercation from above just before the victim fell screaming off the cliff landing several yards in front of them. They called it in to 999 immediately but by the time they'd run out far enough to see the top of the cliff there was no one there. The victim is in critical condition at hospital."
"Who is the victim?" Hardy asked, half hoping half dreading to hear Joe Miller's name.
"Sharon Bishop."
"Miller's solicitor?" He asked unsteadily, "well, we certainly won't lack for suspects with motive."
"That woman exposed every raw nerve and dirty secret she could find during the trial and now half of the town are suspects. The only reason you're in the clear is that you've been here at the station in full view of at least half a dozen police officers and CCTV for the past hour and a half. So, if you're willing to help you'll be reinstated immediately, the uniforms are waiting for you at the scene."
He let out a low growl along with all of his hopes to escape this town. "I'm only keeping her seat warm. Christ knows how often that woman's harped on me for stealing her job in the first place."
"Consider it a temporary assignment if you'd like."
"I'll need a lift to the crime scene," he huffed as he made his way through the station barking orders at his supervisor like she was Miller.
"Right away," she said and motioned to the dispatcher to call one. "Oh, and Hardy?" He turned and looked at her expectantly. "Perhaps don't refer to the victim as a 'rabid mongrel' from here out. She may be a wanker but she deserves justice all the same."
"What've we got?" Hardy barked as he approached the tent at the edge of the cliff.
SOCO Young shot him a surprised look, "DI Hardy, I didn't expect to see you here, weren't you leaving town?"
"Yes, well … violent crime and all … Jenkinson reinstated me today," he awkwardly flashed his credentials. He knew he'd never been a favorite with the local team and he was uncomfortable that they all knew about his shoddy heart and had no doubt heard the rumors and allegations tossed about in court.
"Right. Distinct signs of a struggle up here. Scuffed footprints start on the path and move to the edge, they indicate a struggle between two people one set is larger than the other and there are distinct treads on each. We should have sizes to you later today. The disruption of the grass and the rockfall are consistent with a push or tumble over the cliff."
They moved to the edge and Hardy looked over at another tent on the beach below with a sinking sense of deja vu. They were only on the other side of the promontory from where they'd found Danny Latimer's body, about a quarter mile from the caravan park. He turned away from the cliff side crime scene and started the long descent to the beach. He was halfway down the narrow dodgy steps when his mobile rang.
He groaned as Miller's name flashed on the screen. "Hardy," he answered with a sigh.
"Where are you? I thought you were leaving in about an hour so I stopped by to see you off but you're not here and it doesn't look like you've packed anything yet," Miller said in her lightning fast cadence. "If you've up and left without so much as saying goodbye, so help me Hardy I will track you down!"
"No, something came up and it looks like I'll be sticking around for a bit." At the base of the steps he turned toward the crime scene, unsurprised to find a crowd beginning to accumulate around the tape.
"What? Staying in Broadchurch? What are you on about?" He resisted the urge to explain the situation to her, to bounce suspects and leads off of her. Until she was cleared of suspicion she couldn't be involved in the investigation.
"Look, Miller, I'm in the middle of something at the moment. Could you meet me at the station in an hour?"
"Has this something to do with the Sandbrook arrests? I thought that was all done."
"No, this is … something different."
"Alright then," she sounded puzzled.
He smiled softly to himself in anticipation of the entirely off the wall insult or speculation that would inevitably trip out of her mouth following her confused pause but he saw Olly Stevens bearing down on him so he quickly ended the call : "Great, see you in an hour Miller."
Before he could end the call Olly called out, "DI Hardy, does this have anything to do with the Lattimer verdict?" He asked in his best 'grown up reporter' voice that Hardy loathed.
"No comment," Hardy barked as he hung up the phone and hurried up the beech to his crime scene.