Hardy
Hardy pushes his team to their limits.
Three bodies in five weeks, no leads, and forensics trickling in too slowly for his liking and his patience. They've at least managed to identify the other two victims, also prostitutes, and have notified their families, but Marney's original identity remains unknown. Hardy's hopes for some kind of physical evidence, something they can point to and say 'this will, without a doubt, identify the killer', are fading fast.
He's consulted with those DIs in Stonebridge's Crime Investigation Division who have worked more in vice than in homicide. He's hoping there's somebody on the force who has already built a rapport with the sex worker community, someone they already trust, someone who gives them enough comfort to give information that could save their lives or the lives of others on the street. There either isn't anyone, or there simply are no witnesses.
His DSs are becoming frustrated with him but mostly with the case. Murders committed by strangers are notoriously difficult to solve, and murders of prostitutes even more so. Hardy suspects the perpetrator is more familiar to the women than they realize, but appears harmless and most likely is, most of the time.
Until something triggers him. Until something tells him it's time to kill again.
The victims were found within five weeks, but that's not how long they've been dead. The last victim found is the oldest (Patricia Randall, 23, reported missing September 2012. Last seen on Tom Avenue approximately 2:00 a.m. No one saw what vehicle she got into, or who she went with. Originally from Liverpool, with the usual tragic story: drug addiction spiralling out of control, brought to Stonebridge by a boyfriend who was also a drug addict and he was the one to report her missing.) The second victim is next (Laura Drysdale, 25, reported missing June 2014, last seen on Tom Avenue approximately 1:30 a.m. No one saw the vehicle or person she left with. Originally from Sheffield, a runaway at fifteen who turned to the street to survive and to drugs to cope.)
Then Marney, of course (original identity: unknown). Last seen on Tom Avenue at approximately 1:00 a.m. six weeks before and counting.
Hardy hopes that a time span of just over two years is all he has to worry about.
He drives himself even more than he pushes his team. He knows he's sinking into that whirlpool of obsessive focus that almost killed him during Sandbrook and took him to the brink with Danny Latimer, and he's just as helpless to stop himself. He works late into the night, poring over everything his team has pulled together, all the forensics which have come in so far. The paucity of information only adds to his frustration and frays his temper as the late night cleaning staff learned. The cleaning lady still gingerly tiptoes around him and scurries away with her face averted. In his defense, he hadn't realized she was there until she'd screamed when the coffee cup shattered against the wall.
When he isn't poring over the evidence, he goes back to where Marney was found and walks from there to where they found Patricia and then to where they found Laura. He explores the river banks, searching for similar sites that may be potential dumping grounds.
Those are the nights he dreams of Pippa and the water and wakes up shaking, gasping and soaked with sweat.
He regularly sends his DCs out to tramp along the river bank, and sends his DSs out to canvas the women on Tom Avenue. He keeps Sal running, chasing any leads or ideas he can think of. He knows he's pushing everyone hard, perhaps too hard, but a serial killer who isn't caught or stopped by some other means just keeps killing. With Marney's murder now six weeks old, he knows it's only a matter of time before the call comes in that another body's been found.
Being a copper in a serial killer's hunting ground isn't something he ever thought to experience, and truly wishes he wasn't experiencing it now.
Three weeks after Patricia Randall's body is discovered, one of his DSs reaches his breaking point at their daily briefing, as Hardy is once again telling them to canvas for witnesses.
"For God's sake," the man explodes, "they're just a bunch of slags! We've gone out to Tom Avenue at least once a week since the bodies started showing up, and they're not going to talk! We've done all we can, and we've got other cases to work on!"
Everyone stills in sudden, tense silence as Hardy turns fiery eyes in a grim face towards the man. He prowls closer to - Ron? Tom? - and his Scottish burr is thick as he growls, "You don't ever speak about these women like that again. They were human beings, not garbage to thrown away by the side of a river! They had families, lives, and somebody, somewhere, who loved them. For that reason alone, they deserve our respect and for us to do more than our best to find their killer and bring him to justice!"
He pauses, nostrils flaring as he sucks in a deep breath.
"There are going to be more bodies and they're going to be here, on our watch, and I won't let him get away with it! He's still out there, and we-I-won't stop until we've got him. You don't feel the same way, I'll have you moved off my team by the end of the day!"
He turns to the others staring with wide eyes, watching him like they expect his head to start spinning round at any moment.
"And the same goes for the lot of you! Anyone wants off this case, and off my team, leave your name on my desk. I'll shift you out, too."
He presses his lips together, and glares at the silent crowd looking back at him. Sal's eyes are so wide he actually thinks her eyes really will pop out of their sockets. He shakes his head, turns his back and slams the door behind him as he stalks into his office.
He collapses into his chair and rubs his face with shaking hands.
He never thought he'd miss Broadchurch and Miller's overly-sympathetic approach to investigating a serious crime, but he thinks this lot could use some of that softness right now. At least that knob - Jon? Don? Don. That was it. Don Webster. At least Webster could, while wee Sal could use a little more of his, Hardy's, detachment.
He shakes his head, picks up his glasses and turns to the computer.
Webster is right about one thing: they do have other cases to work on.
The knock, when it comes an hour later, is hesitant, but it's quickly followed by two far more confident knocks.
"Yah," he calls without taking his eyes away from the computer screen.
The door opens and Sal steps inside. She's carrying several pieces of paper in her hand.
He takes in her solemn expression and leans back in his chair. He raises an eyebrow and takes off his glasses.
"What?" he asks. "Have the whole lot of you decided to put in for a transfer?"
She blinks limpid blue eyes in confusion, then shakes her head. "Oh, no, sir. Well, Donny was determined to go but we talked him out of it."
"Really? What did you promise him?"
"The satisfaction of showing you up when he solves the thing."
Hardy's mouth reluctantly quirks into a half-smile. "Well played, wee Sal."
Sal smiles shyly. "I think you have a good heart, sir, even if you're far too grumpy."
He drops his gaze to his desk, a flush creeping up his cheeks. He suddenly, fiercely, misses his beard. "Is that what you're here to tell me? That I'm too grumpy?"
"What? Oh. No. I think we've found something."
Hardy lifts his head, eyes wide, nostrils flaring like he's sniffing the air. "Yah?"
"Not a suspect, unfortunately...but I think he's hunting a much larger area than we first thought."
He scowls. "Tell me."
"I've been using HOLMES, and there are six unsolved murders with similar MOs spread out from Kent to Cornwall, all within thirty or so miles of the coast. The oldest one is almost three years old. May 2012, in Sandbrook."
He stares, a cold sinking feeling in his stomach.
"Fuck."
Ellie
Chief Superintendent Elaine Jenkinson walks into Ellie's office and closes the door, causing her to look up in surprise.
"I've just had a call from the CS in Stonebridge," Elaine says without preamble. "They're pulling together a special meeting of Dis working along the coast. Friday and Saturday."
Ellie's widen. "Well, did they say what it's about?"
Elaine sighs and lowers herself into the chair in front of the desk.
"They've been finding bodies. Prostitutes. All in their early twenties, all with similar MOs, all dumped beside the river. They've done a cursory review of unsolved crimes in HOLMES and think there are some that may be linked to the same killer, all along the coast. They're setting up a special task force, most likely commanded out of Stonebridge but they're willing to shift the base of operations if it seems the perpetrator is operating from somewhere else."
"Is it usual for serial killers to operate over such a large area?" Ellie asks doubtfully.
Elaine gives her a sad smile. "Serial killers are like anybody else: they're all different. I told them you'd be attending."
"Yah, of course," Ellie says absently, a tiny frown line between her eyes.
"Stonebridge will be running point on this, but I've promised them our full cooperation. Whatever plans you might have had for the weekend, cancel them."
"Of course," Ellie says again. "I'll leave the boys with Lucy or Beth."
Elaine smiles and stands. "Thanks, Ellie. None of the unsolved cases are ours, of course, but we'll provide your brain power and some DSs for leg work. It'll be a good opportunity for you, too. See how the big boys do it."
Ellie signs in to the police station in Stonebridge, takes her visitor ID badge and follows the desk sergeant to the large conference room located on the third floor towards the back of the building. The room is already teeming with detectives, greeting each other and chatting in various groups. Scurrying around and between them are support staff completing the set-up of the room.
Ellie pauses on the threshold, scanning the crowd of unfamiliar faces until her gaze falls upon someone she does recognize. Tess Henchard is standing with a group of other detectives with that familiar smug confidence she wears like a cloak. Ellie hesitates. She has nothing against the other woman, but even after almost eight months, she's not sure she's ready to share small talk with Tess which will inevitably shift to Hardy, whose absence in the room is glaring. But Tess is the only person Ellie recognizes and, being Ellie, she approaches with a nervous smile.
Tess glances at her as she joins them then does a double take. "Ellie!"
"Hello, Tess," she says and turns to include the four men standing with her. "Morning."
"I hadn't realized he'd included Broadchurch in this," Tess says thoughtfully. "You have some unsolved murders of prostitutes in your town?"
"Well, no, but I was told they were inviting someone from all the territorial police forces that border the coast. We probably just got caught in the net. Better safe than sorry and all that."
Tess gives her an unfathomable look but then Ellie's always had trouble reading her.
"Yes," Tess says with an odd note of amused skepticism, "that must be it."
Ellie gives her a puzzled look before introducing herself to the others and listens as they continue discussing what little they know about the purpose of the meeting.
"I think he's over-reacting," Dave says. He's another DI from Sandbrook and Tess' colleague. "We don't have anything that meets the profile."
"It depends on how far back we need to go," Tess says. "If the perp has only been active for the last eight or nine weeks then that substantially narrows the search focus."
"We found the first body nine weeks ago, Tess," says a new voice from behind Ellie, "that's not when we think he started."
Ellie recognizes his voice with the first word and spins around, mouth gaping, eyes wide. A part of her knows she must look ridiculous and only more so when she gets her first look at him.
Gone is the scruffy unkempt man she remembers so well. The man standing before her is clean shaven, his shirt crisply pressed and buttoned to his throat, his tie perfectly knotted and straight. His hair is shorter than it was in Broadchurch, and smoothly combed. She barely recognizes him, his face all unfamiliar angles and sharp edges that could slice paper, but the overall impression is one of almost-vulnerable boyishness.
Then she meets his eyes, and they're as wide as hers, watching her with a mixture of uncertainty, nervousness, happiness and some indefinable something that gives her a burst of fear mixed with excitement mixed with the sense of finding something that had been lost.
"Miller," he says with an obvious effort, "finally got that promotion, then, aye?"
She gobbles, struggling for words that she never gets a chance to say because someone's calling his name. He glances over his shoulder and nods.
"We're starting," he says and leaves them after a rather helpless look at Ellie.
She shakes off her daze and settles beside an amused yet obviously annoyed Tess.
"Awright," Hardy says from the front of the room. "We've got a lot of information to get through in the next day and a half, so let's get started. I'll be giving you a general overview of the situation, and then DS Sal Edwards here is going to give you a walk-through of the evidence."
From the terrified expression on that woman's face, Ellie's positive he hadn't bother to warn her any more than he'd warned Ellie the first time he had her do the team briefing when they were investigating Danny's death.
DS Edwards does a better job than Ellie, although she's supported by Hardy when she stumbles. The two of them guide the visiting DIs through the cases and the pitifully thin evidence Stonebridge has managed to glean from the three bodies found so far.
"These murders occurred within the last two years," Hardy says. "We've reached out to the street prostitutes in Stonebridge, telling them to be extra cautious, trust their instincts, and to come to us if there's a customer acting suspiciously."
"Why this big meeting?" Dave asks from the other side of Tess. There's a note of amused contempt in his voice that Ellie finds curious. "This isn't the first serial killer to target slags."
"We don't call them that here," DS Edwards says quickly, shooting a nervous, wide-eyed glance at Hardy. "Not when we're talking about this case, anyway."
"Really?" Dave chuckles. "You going to control my language now, are you, DS Edwards?"
Hardy takes a step forward, subtly positioning himself in front of his now red-faced DS, his cold eyes locked with Dave's.
"These women are victims," he says, his voice tight, a familiar curl to his lips, "and we will treat them and speak about them with respect."
Dave bristles and scowls, but Hardy's expression doesn't change and any lingering sense of unfamiliarity in Ellie evaporates into relief. The Alec Hardy in front of her today may be a far cry from the exhausted, subdued man he had become in Broadchurch. This Alec Hardy may move with a lithe quickness that had been sorely lacking prior to his surgery, and there may be a fire in his voice and eyes that gradually faded then returned on the day they finally closed the case on the Ashworths, but there's no mistaking that expression on his face. It's utter contempt for someone who doesn't care as passionately as he does for the work they do and the victims they serve. He may have shaved off his scruff, cut his hair and straightened his clothes, but beneath those superficial changes, he's still the same man.
For some reason, the realization makes her happy.
"We've identified six cold cases that have a similar MO. The oldest is in Sandbrook, where the body was found in May 2012. Besides the fact we have a serial killer in the region and need to work together, we've also run out of leads here in Stonebridge. If he's committed these other murders, maybe that's where he slipped up, especially on the early ones, when he was figuring things out. If nothing else, maybe we can close some of those cold cases. That, Dave, is why the big meeting."
He turns his gaze to the others in the room. "Any questions?"
The room erupts, questions flying fast and furiously. They throw out suggestions and lines of enquiry, most of which Hardy and his crew have already explored, but there are a few he tells DS Edwards to note down. Ellie thinks she looks too young and naive to be working a case like this, let alone to be second only to the DI while on the hunt for a serial killer. She notices that DS Edwards watches Hardy with a mixture of terror and gratitude and something Ellie thinks could turn into hero worship if she isn't careful.
Ellie turns her attention back to Hardy, who's responding to a comment with withering sarcasm.
Then again, hero worship isn't bloody likely.
There's no opportunity to talk to him at lunch because another DS comes in to the conference room, whispers in Hardy's ear and he leaves without a single glance in her direction.
He's back after lunch with his familiar grim expression that looks strange on his beardless face. Even with the grimness, he seems a good ten years younger, lighter, somehow. A stab of resentment flashes through her. There she was, vaguely worrying about him every day for the last eight months, wondering if he'd managed to find a job and maybe even some friends, and here he is, not only a DI again but leading a special task force searching for a serial killer. Pretty good landing for the man once branded the 'worst cop in Britain'.
She frowns.
He probably hadn't given her or Broadchurch a second thought once he left. After all, he never once contacted her in all this time.
That ignites her temper, and anger simmers below the surface as they continue working through the afternoon, poring over crime scene photos and forensics reports, searching for something, some connection that might have been missed, and making arrangements for the cold case files to be shared.
Ellie feels like a wet rag once they break for the day, albeit a wet rag that is still pissed off. Tess leaves with a murmured comment about seeing her tomorrow, a still surly Dave in tow. Ellie, though, isn't about to leave without giving Hardy a piece of her mind. She glares at his back where he's standing with a few lingering DIs and DS Edwards. She can tell by the tilt of his head that he's listening intently to whatever is being said.
Well, she has plenty of things to say, too, but first things first. She goes to the loo and returns in time to see the door at the opposite end of the boardroom closing on his long, lean back.
She mutters curses as she hurries across the room and yanks the door open. She sees him walk in to an office with DS Edwards tripping over herself as she tries to keep up with him. Ellie stomps down the hall and plants herself in the doorway.
"I see you still haven't stopped being a knob," she snarls.
The surprise on his face warms her heart although it doesn't soothe her temper. She sees DS Edwards from the corner of her eye, and the sheer horror on her face would have been amusing at any other time.
"I thought you left!" he says then quickly recovers. "And don't start, Miller."
"Don't you 'Miller' me! You couldn't have warned me you'd be running this show?"
His eyes widen at that. DS Edwards scuttles past Ellie but they barely notice her leave.
"You mean you didn't know?" he asks.
"Not 'til you started talking right behind me!"
"I assumed Elaine told you."
Ellie's jaw drops. "She knew?"
Now Hardy looks confused. "Well, I assume so. It certainly wasn't a secret! Of course, I don't know what my CS told yours-"
Ellie sniffs and crosses her arms with a huff. "Still, you should have called or something once you saw I was going to be here today."
He gives her that stare she remembers so well, that stare that says there's some social nicety he's suddenly realized is in the room but he has no idea what it is or what he's supposed to do about it.
"What?" he says. "You mean two minutes before I walked into the room?"
She blinks. "You mean...you didn't deliberately invite me?"
"I had no idea you were the DI in Broadchurch. I figured you were still stopping poor hardworking sods just trying to get home on the back roads of Devon."
She glares. "I've been DI for almost eight months. But, of course, you would have known that if you'd bothered to get in touch with me! Eight months and not a single phone call! Not even a single bloody text! You could have been lying dead in a ditch somewhere and I never would have known!"
"Oi, don't put that on me!" He grabs his phone and waves it at her. "Go on, want to go through this? Count how many messages and phone calls I've received from one Detective Inspector Ellie Miller in the last eight months? Or maybe you already know how many that is?"
They stop, both practically growling as they glare at the other.
Ellie slowly becomes aware that it seems awfully quiet for such a busy police station. She turns and sees they're the focus of a dozen pairs of fascinated eyes. She turns back to Hardy with a stricken expression.
Hardy rolls his own eyes. "Never mind them, they'll be on to a new spectacle soon enough."
She watches as all his righteous indignation drains out of him. He drops his gaze and tosses his phone on his desk.
"You're right," she says, more subdued now.
He keeps his eyes on his feet as he shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets.
"Didn't expect it, really," he mutters. "I figured you were glad to be shot of me. Didn't think we'd meet again."
"No, me either." She gestures helplessly. "Yet here we are."
He nods and silence descends. Ellie hears movement and conversation start up again behind her, and she relaxes. Coppers are coppers, she thinks, no matter where they are, and since the show seems to be over, it's time to go back to work.
Hardy lifts his head.
"It's good to see you," he says.
"Don't be nice to me."
He smiles at that, a full, honest smile. It brings a charm and sparkle to his face and eyes Ellie never would have expected and which she never would have believed if someone had told her about it.
"Fine," he says, "then you can buy dinner."
Her eyes narrow into suspicious slits. "Do you still have to eat only rabbit food?"
"Na, I can eat chips now."
She blinks and remembers asking him what kind of Scotsman he was if he didn't like chips. She realizes now, well over a year later, that he hadn't eaten chips because of doctor's orders rather than any distaste for them.
She scoffs anyway. "Do you even know where any of the good chip places are?"
He gives her a haughty glare and stalks towards her. She moves out of the way when it appears he's going to just walk over her if she doesn't.
"Sal!" he barks.
DS Edwards lets out a startled yelp from where she's sitting at her desk and drops the pen she's holding. She turns wide blue eyes in their direction.
"Yes, sir?"
"Where's the best chips place in town?"
"Tony's on the Common," she says promptly.
He turns to Ellie. "Tony's on the Common," he says, perfectly deadpan.
Ellie rolls her eyes. "Unbelievable," she says. "I'm going to my hotel to shower and change. Where do you live? I'll pick you up."
His mouth curves into a slight smile as he gives her his address then glances at his watch. "How long do you need?"
"An hour?"
He nods, then turns to an avidly watching Sal, ignoring the others who are busily pretending not to watch.
"How late is Tony's open?"
"2:00 a.m., sir."
"Good. Would hate to disappoint you, Miller."
She shakes her head. "I'll be at your place in an hour, more or less."
"Awright," he says, his eyes warm.
Ellie takes a step back, nods, then turns tail and runs.
An hour and ten minutes later, Ellie is knocking on the door to Hardy's flat. She's not sure if the building he's living in is a step up or a step down from the little blue shack. She's considering the wall fixtures behind her, wondering if they're so tacky they're actually attractive or if they're just tacky, when the door opens.
She turns and is taken aback at the sight of a teenage girl standing in the doorway, long brown hair flowing across her shoulders and down her back. There's something in the shape of her face, in her eyes, that Ellie immediately recognizes as coming from her father.
"You must be Daisy," she says and gives her a wide smile.
Daisy nods, her eyes curious. "You must be Miller."
Ellie rolls her eyes. "Ellie, please! Or do you have your father's preference for last names?"
"Not really, but I think it's always a good option, don't you?"
She steps aside and lets Ellie into the flat. There's a faint smile on her face that again reminds Ellie of Hardy.
Ellie chuckles. "Yah, suppose so. Am I interrupting your weekend with your dad?"
"Not really. He usually comes my way, but since Mum had to be here anyway, I hitched a ride."
"Are you sure? You can come with, if you'd like."
"Na. Dad already asked but I have homework since I missed school today and it'll give me some time away from Mum, too. Besides, I'm staying here until Sunday anyway."
"If you're sure..."
"I see him almost every weekend and talk to him pretty much every day. When's the last time you talked to him?"
Ellie flushes guiltily and glances away, looking around the sparsely furnished apartment. "Where is he, anyway?"
"I sent him to get changed."
Ellie blinks. "What?"
Daisy curls her lip in a familiar expression of distaste. "He was going to take you out for chips dressed in a suit and tie."
Ellie bites back a laugh at Daisy's disgusted tones.
"I laid out some jeans and a jumper for him," Daisy raises her voice and calls, "and he better be wearing them when he comes out!"
"Awright, awright," Hardy says as he opens the door and walks into the living room. He is, as directed, wearing jeans. He's straightening a soft green jumper he's pulled on over a button down shirt and gives Ellie a long-suffering look as he stops in front of his daughter. He holds out his arms at shoulder height.
"Do I pass inspection?"
Daisy raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms and tapping her mouth with her index finger as she makes a show of circling him, then says, "Yah, you'll do."
Hardy heaves an exaggerated sigh of relief, drops his arms, and turns to Ellie with a smile that brings out the dimples she never realized he had.
"Ready?" he asks.
Ellie nods, trying to ignore the little ball of excitement churning in her stomach and the odd liquidity she feels in her limbs, because really, it's not like they haven't eaten together before. They'll probably talk shop the entire time, since that's all they have in common.
He starts to push his feet into his shoes.
"Dad. The trainers."
He gives her a wide-eyed, vaguely guilty stare.
Daisy puts her hands on her hips. "We had this conversation," she says sternly.
"Yes, darlin'," he sighs and pulls on his trainers instead.
He turns to his daughter and opens his arms.
She gives him a scandalized look and flashes an even more scandalized one at Ellie. "We've talked about this, too, Dad. Honestly, you're only going out to dinner!"
"Fine," he growls, then smiles and puts an arm around her shoulders. "Love you, darlin'. Don't know what I'd do without you. I won't be too late. If you're worried about anything, just give me a ring and I'll get home right away."
"Stop worrying, Dad," she sighs. "Go, have some fun. I'll see you later."
He presses a kiss against her temple, releases her and ushers Ellie to the door.
He pauses on the threshold. "Oh, by the way, did you borrow the book that was beside my bed? I was hoping to finish it tonight."
Daisy gives him a puzzled frown. "The only time I was in there today was when I was picking out your clothes."
"Awright. I must have knocked it to the floor, then." He smiles and closes the door.
They walk from his flat and stroll in not-quite-awkward but not-quite-comfortable silence until Ellie can't take it anymore.
"I guess you do hug people," she blurts, then looks stricken. He probably doesn't even remember what she's referring to, she thinks, mentally kicking herself.
He slides a side-long glance at her and smirks a little, dimple flashing.
"I'm quite good at it, too, or so I've been told."
"Well, she's your daughter, so she may just be trying to spare your feelings."
He rolls his eyes. "I can't believe I've actually missed you, Miller."
Now it's his turn to look stricken, if his suddenly averted face is anything to go by.
She grins. "You missed me?"
He stays silent and she realizes he's doing what she's seen him do so many times before: bracing himself for the fallout from whatever he's just said. It's an unconscious thing, a way he positions himself, preparing himself for whatever life or the angry person in front of him is about to throw his way.
She takes pity on him and doesn't press the question.
They walk into Tony's and get a table. They order their meals then simply look at each other.
She nervously clears her throat then says, "You shaved."
He smiles. "No wonder you're a detective. Daisy made me. Says I don't look like her dear old dad with all that scruff."
"Kids," Ellie says with a chuckle.
"How've you been?" he asks, leaning forward, resting his clasped hands on the table.
He may look different without a beard, but his eyes are the same: wide, dark, intent, as if he could see all the answers she's trying to hide if only he looks hard enough.
She shrugs, dropping her gaze to the table, where she picks up her knife then puts it down again. "Oh, you know. Busy, what with two kids, a job and no husband." She winces.
"Have you heard anything from him?"
She gives a small shake of her head. "No, and that better be the way it stays."
He raises an eyebrow.
"I told him I'd kill him if he came near us. Hopefully he took the threat seriously."
"Were you serious?"
"Deadly. What? You don't think I'd do it?"
"You would absolutely do it. I just don't want to be investigating the case. I'd hate to have to arrest you, Miller."
"Well, it'd keep it in the family, I guess."
He ducks his head and chuckles. "I'm glad things are better for you."
She smiles and shrugs. "What about you? DI in the big city, and now head of this massive investigation. Pretty good for the worst cop in Britain!"
"We-ell, give me a wee bit of time and I'm sure I'll more than deserve that title again."
"And you've suddenly developed a sense of humour!"
"I've always had a sense of humour. I just didn't have the energy for it."
"How are you feeling?"
"Never better. How are the boys?"
To Ellie's surprise, their conversation flows easily, and he even laughs at a couple of the stories she shares. She tells him about Nige's continuing inability to do any more poaching now that everyone knows about it and how he keeps getting caught in the most inconvenient ways. He tells her about DS Edwards-or wee Sal, as he calls her-accidentally breaking the projector last week just before DS Webster's presentation on the conference he'd attended in London.
"I offered her a special commendation, because it saved my DSs at least two hours. She told me that's why she did it."
Ellie chuckles then sobers. "Why is she your lead DS on this case? She seems very green."
Hardy rolls his eyes. "Oi, greener than the spring grass. But she was the DS who caught the case, and I think she can handle it. She has a lot of support from the other DSs and working on the task force will be a good learning experience. Besides, she's been doing exemplary work. Webster's getting a bit stroppy about it, though, but then he's even more of knob than I am."
She winces. "Oh, that must make for some fun work days."
He shrugs. "At least the nicknames are a bit more creative than what you lot in Broadchurch came up with."
"Really? Share. We can always use new material."
"Na, na, na-you're a detective. It's up to you to figure it out."
"Don't think I won't!"
"I don't."
Ellie smiles at that, wide and open, the way she used to smile before Danny died and her life fell apart.
"Well, I have to say you're almost pleasant when you're not stealing jobs and on the verge of dying," she says cheerfully.
He rolls his eyes.
They walk back to where she parked her car.
He shoves his hands in his pockets as she opens it then turns to face him, the door between them like as shield.
"It's good seeing you, Hardy," she says. "I wondered where you ended up." She pauses, then says, "Are you happy?"
"I'm fine, Miller," he says with his usual brusqueness.
Now it's her turn to roll her eyes. "Sorry for asking."
He ducks his head, frowning, then shrugs. "I'm...fine."
"You still seem very alone."
He shrugs again, and she sees the familiar twist to his lips, the one he makes when he's struggling to figure out what to say and usually ends with silence or a change of subject. As it does this time, too.
He takes his hands out of his pockets and lifts his head to look at her, his eyes dark and steady.
"It'll be good to work together again," he says, "even if you're only on the periphery of this one."
He takes a step closer and holds out his hand.
She smiles a little as she reaches out and shakes it.
"See you tomorrow," she says.
He nods.
She drives off, and sees him standing there, tall and lanky, his hands shoved back in his pockets as he watches her drive away.
Hardy
"You're home early," Daisy says as he closes the door behind him.
"Work tomorrow."
"You should ask her out when you don't have to work the next day. Really show her how much fun you can be."
He stares at Daisy with an expression usually reserved for stepping in something unmentionable and smelly.
"It's not like that," he growls. "We worked together in Broadchurch."
"I know who she is, Dad. Doesn't mean you shouldn't still show her you're not always a big grump."
Hardy shakes his head and presses a kiss to the top of Daisy's head. "Don't stay up too late, yah?"
"I won't."
He searches everywhere in his bedroom, but the book he's reading is nowhere to be found.
The briefing the next day goes quickly and is focused on determining who will be on the task force.
"Sandbrook, of course, since the oldest cold case is one of yours," Hardy says, and ignores Tess' smug expression and Dave's pleased grin. He then names the DIs with the other five cold cases as the main members of the task force. "The rest of you will be support, as needed. We may each call on you separately, and we'll want you to bring us any cases that match the killer's MO."
He puts his hands on his hips and looks out over the crowd of faces.
"I don't need to remind you, but: not a word to the media about this. They haven't been paying attention so far and that's the way we want it stay. The victims are prostitutes, after all. Their individual murders won't sell papers, but a serial killer working the southern coastline of England surely will." He sweeps the small crowd of DIs with a hard glare, then nods. "Awright. We're done."
Everyone gets up, talking at once, and Ellie marches up to Hardy with a mutinous set to her jaw.
She plants herself in front of him. "Why haven't I been given a bigger role on the task force?"
He stares. "Because you can't be out of Broadchurch for long," he says calmly. "You have the boys to think about."
She makes a scoffing noise. "Like I can't review evidence at a distance!"
He opens his mouth but is interrupted by Tess and Dave.
"Well, it makes sense that those DIs with the unsolved cases be on the task force," Tess says, and Hardy sees Miller clenching her teeth.
"Consider yourself lucky," Dave adds. "At least you know the perp isn't working in your town."
Hardy struggles not to roll his eyes. For a man who was shagging another man's wife when vital evidence went missing, Dave is far too sure of himself.
"The fact Broadchurch has no cold cases is one reason," Hardy says quickly to stop himself from punching the son-of-a-bitch, "the other is I'd rather use Miller as an independent set of eyes. She sees things others miss. She was invaluable with Sandbrook, remember, finding the link we'd all overlooked the first time around."
There's a sudden tense silence, and Tess presses her lips together and shakes her head at him with an air of disappointment.
"Really, Alec, you need to let it go," she sighs. "We'll messenger copies of the cold case file. You'll get it tomorrow."
He nods. "I'll put Daisy on the usual train."
"Right." Tess gives Miller a determined smile and nod before saying to Hardy, "I'll talk to you next week, yah?"
"Yah."
Dave gives Ellie a nod and a smile, gives Hardy a dismissive, contemptuous glance, then walks out with Tess.
"Who is that guy?" Miller asks curiously. "He doesn't seem to like you very much. Not that that's anything unusual."
Hardy knows she's joking but the words sting nonetheless.
"We have a history," he growls.
"Oh? Never would have guessed."
He gives her a dark glare. She pulls a face but drops the subject.
"So," she says, "an independent set of eyes?"
"We'll get you copies of everything we have so far, and whatever we get from the other territorial police forces." He stares, his face impassive. "I meant what I said, Miller. You catch things others miss. That will be invaluable in a case like this."
She raises a finger in warning. "What did I tell you about being nice to me?"
"Um, sir?"
Hardy and Miller turn surprised faces to Sal, who's staring at the phone in her hand. She looks up with a puzzled frown.
"I think you need to see this," she says and turns the phone in his direction.
He scowls, pulls out his glasses and peers at the screen. He blinks, and plucks the phone out of her hand. Miller leans in beside him to get a closer look.
"What the bloody hell...?" he asks, confused, unable to understand what he's seeing.
It's an electronic postcard, and that he gets. The picture is him with his arm around Daisy, hugging her close to his side. They're walking on a street, and he's grinning down at her. She's looking up at him, a wide, happy smile on her face. Even that he might be able to understand.
What doesn't make sense, though, is the caption: Hardy likes 'em young.
He blinks at Miller and Sal. "What the bloody hell?" he says again, barely noticing when Miller pulls the phone out of his hand.
"Sir," Sal says, and now her voice is cold, "who is that girl with you?"
"My bloody daughter!"
She relaxes.
"Where did this come from?" he demands.
"I don't know."
"I think you'd better go talk to the rest of your team, Hardy," Miller says, sounding strange.
He turns his glare on her. "Why?"
"Because whoever sent this seems to have sent it to everyone in the police station."