It was two weeks later when Tom intercepted him at the car-park behind the police-station. He was shifting around and clearly nervous, and Hardy took a bit of time to observe him before stepping in his line of vision. "Tom." He was surprised to see him, but the reason for it was not exactly hard to figure out. Miller was still at her paperwork and if there had been an emergency at home, the boy would hardly have waited at the car.

And certainly not at his.

"Can… can I ask you something? Please? Because I know what mom will say, and I just… I need to ask someone and… Well, there's only you, really. Please?" Well, wasn't that a cheery thought.

Could he send him off? Get him to go inside and talk to his mother? Or did he really have to be nice and helpful to this person, whom he didn't really know at all?

Sighing, Hardy unlocked the car and put his bag on the backseat. "Come on, I'll drive you home," he offered. Standing outside the station would surely not help with the awkwardness of what was to come, and he rather preferred the least awkwardness possible.

Tom quickly scrambled around the car, as if afraid he'd be left behind right after being offered a lift. Hardy shook his head. Teenagers.

Before they'd even left the carpark, Tom started to talk and there was little he could do but listen.

"So, I know what happened, what Mom said about Dad. I mean, I know … I know, but the court all said he wasn't guilty. And then we chased him away but… what if we were wrong? What if … what if there was a mistake? I mean… Dad might … I mean, he can't. He can't. He… he just can't have done it, right? Right? He's…" And Tom bit his lip, trying to stop it from wobbling. Hardy could see, even without taking his eyes off the road, that it was an unsuccessful attempt. "I mean, he's my dad. He can't have done it." The tears started, dropping audibly onto Tom's rain-coat. Shit. Hardy hated crying, and especially hated it when all he could do was make it worse.

He set the blinker and pulled up at one of the photo-spots at the side of the road. If it hadn't been drizzling and daylight, they would have been able to see those bloody cliffs.

"Tom," he started and then stopped when Tom turned to look at him, eager and hopeful and so bloody sad it caused his heart to painfully skip. He winced, not just from the physical pain. "No," he said because sometimes it was kinder to be abrupt. "No, there was no mistake. I'm sorry, I wish I… I wish it hadn't been your father who killed Danny, but he did. He did. He told me so, in your own backyard and later at the station. Remember when I came to your house that day? That's when he first said he did it. They didn't allow the confession as evidence, though, because-" because your mom kicked the shit out of him "because of procedural mistakes. But I promise you, there was no mistake. He killed Danny."

Tom was now openly sobbing, not even pretending to supress it. Hardy let him cry, let him get it out of the system because no words of comfort would suffice for this kind of grief. The worst kind of grief, really: Mourning someone who was not dead, still very much alive but could never be a part of your life anymore.

He'd mourned Tess like this, for longer than he cared to admit. And if he'd bloody cried, nobody would ever know.

After a while, Tom sniffed and wiped his eyes, smacking his lips as if he'd tasted something unpleasant. Silently, Hardy reached behind him and offered Tom the bottled water from his bag.

"Ta," the boy muttered and swallowed. He seemed better, more composed, and Hardy turned on the car and pulled out on the road again, hoping to get him home before his mother found them and started asking questions. They were nearly back when Tom spoke again. "But what if you're wrong? What… what if he was pretending? Covering for someone else? What… maybe he had an affair, and he wanted to protect her and… Maybe he had an…" he stopped himself, probably realizing he was grasping straws. "What if there was a mistake? Mistakes can happen, right?"

They stayed silent for the short remainder of the drive, but before Tom could open the door when they reached his home, Hardy stopped him with a hand on his arm. "You're right, mistakes can happen. But there was no mistake, Tom. Believe me, as much as I wanted to solve that case, once I knew it was your father, I would have given anything to be wrong. For your mom, for you – for everyone, really." He'd liked Joe, that time at dinner. He'd felt jealousy creep up at him when he'd seen Joe and Miller interact – so loving, so attuned, so disgustingly cute. So much like what he'd yearned for his own marriage to be, and wasn't it a joke that this image of a perfect couple had turned out just as much of a farce as him and Tess?

Still, he'd have given up his job to let Miller keep her happy family, Tom and Fred keep their father and the Latimers keep their friend. Except the Latimers much rather would have kept their child, and all he'd been able to give them had been risking his bloody life to get some certainty and closure. And much good had that done them… But there was nothing else he could have given but that, and he'd tried, tried so hard to make the case waterproof. Keep Miller away from the arrest, out of the loop until everything was done, dot every I and cross every t. And in a moment of weakness, he'd messed it all up again. Showing compassion to Miller had wrecked the case that would have been over then and there.

"I wasn't wrong, though. I know it doesn't help you, but it's the sad, bitter, ugly truth. Joe Miller killed Danny, and he got off free because we – I – made a mistake after his arrest."

Tom bit his lip and nodded, then forced something akin to a smile. "Okay," he said and opened the door. "Okay. Thanks."

Hardy sat in his car and watched him enter the house, waited even longer until he could see the lights in the upstairs-room switch on. Considering the subject, this talk had gone rather smoothly. Apart from the crying, Tom had taken everything astonishingly well; very mature, even.

With a sigh, he put the car into reverse and backed out of the parking-lot, certain that this wasn't over at all.

Bloody Joe Miller. Even years gone, he still managed to make life miserable for everyone who'd touched him. He should probably find out where that plonker had weaselled his way to, just in case.

Times like this, Hardy wished he still smoked.