Ellie

They drive in silence, Ellie mulling over the interviews they'd just finished in Sandbrook.

"You may as well spit it out, Miller," Hardy finally drawls. "I can hear the gears painfully grinding in your head."

She rolls her eyes, and says, "Why are you so sure Tess isn't the one who faked the robbery?"

Hardy presses his lips into a thin line, and she wonders if this is a question he's just going to ignore.

"I'm not," he finally says, "but Dave makes the most sense."

"Explain it to me."

"Tess was-and is-very good at her job, and she's always been as dedicated to the job as I am." He slides her a rueful glance and says, "Well, maybe not quite that dedicated. Regardless, it would take a great deal for her to deliberately compromise a case, and she would have known that a targeted theft meant we needed to look more closely at everyone involved. It couldn't have been Ashworth, since he was already in custody, so he would have needed an accomplice, and Claire would have been the obvious choice. I just can't see anything Claire could have offered to make it worthwhile for Tess to risk everything, especially Daisy."

"Dave had just as much to lose. What could she offer him, then?"

"Sex, most likely. Dave has never been a great one for thinking ahead and it's Claire's weapon of choice, after all."

"Is that what she used on you?"

"What, sex? With Claire? Na. She used the damsel in distress on me."

Ellie snickers. "What? You? Since when are you some kind of white knight?"

He presses his lips together as he turns his head away. "If Dave covered things up for Claire, it would have been for sex. Claire didn't have much money and I doubt he would have jeopardized everything for a mere haircut."

"But if he was already having an affair with Tess..."

"It was serious for her, not Dave. Dave's a player. Always was." He grimaces. "I'm not sure how she missed that."

"Are you still in love with her?" Ellie asks, a small catch in her throat.

He huffs an irritated sigh and refuses to look at her.

"I need to know if your feelings for your ex-wife are clouding your judgment. She said you asked to reconcile."

"She's exaggerating. I told her I missed her and wished we could go back and be a family again."

"When was this?"

"The day before the surgery." He glances at her then returns his attention to his driving. "I don't really know what I was hoping would happen. Maybe just for her to give me something to hold on to before going into surgery, something that meant I had a reason beyond solving Sandbrook to keep living."

"Were you really that worried about the surgery?"

He swallows and she watches the long, surprisingly graceful fingers of his hands clench around the steering wheel then relax.

"I went into cardiac arrest. On the table." She catches her breath, her gaze flashing up to the sharp angles of his profile. "I understand it took them three tries to bring me back."

"My God. Why didn't you tell me?"

His mouth twists as he shrugs. "Not important. I made it through, didn't I? Besides, we solved Sandbrook, Miller. Means there really was a reason why I survived it all, that there is some point to my continued existence."

Ellie blinks rapidly and turns to look out the passenger window.

As much as she tries, she can't think of anything else to say the rest of the way home.

They talk to Webster first the following morning.

He's predictably resentful of the questions but answers without hesitation and gives up his computers readily enough. Like Tess and Dave, he has no obvious motive and gains nothing from publicly humiliating Hardy.

They call Sal in next, but as she settles with wide blue eyes and a nervous smile into the chair in front of Hardy's desk, his cell phone rings.

"What?" he barks then scowls as he listens to the voice on the other end. He's on his feet and moving towards the door as he listens and says, "We'll be there in fifteen minutes." He turns at the door and says, "I'll leave this one to you, Miller," and is gone before either woman can respond.

Ellie's jaw drops as the door snaps closed behind him and she watches through the window as he taps Webster on the shoulder. The younger man is startled then hurries after him as Hardy strides rapidly from the squad room. She turns to the younger woman and they share a look full of mutual understanding before Ellie shakes her head and says, "He's still a knob," and surprises a laugh out of Sal.

Ellie smiles and adjusts her notebook on Hardy's desk. "I guess it's just you and me."

"Honestly? I'm rather glad about that," Sal says with a nervous tug at a curly lock of hair hanging by her ear. "I wasn't looking forward to being skewered by GB's eyes. Sometimes, he's just so...intense, you know what I mean? I almost feel sorry for suspects he's interrogating."

"I do know what you mean," Ellie says with a grimace, then frowns. "GB?"

Sal flushes guiltily. "Grumpy Bastard. Donny-Webster, I mean-coined it and it seems to have stuck."

Ellie grins, wide and open. "Hardy's right; much more creative than what we came up with in Broadchurch. Or at least more acceptable in polite company."

Sal shrugs sheepishly and they laugh.

"Well," Sal says with a sigh and lifts her chin with a determined air, "let's get this over with."

"Awright. Have you ever been in Hardy's flat?"

"No, and I've never deliberately taken a photo of him or filmed him, naked or otherwise, or edited video of him, and you can examine all of my computers and cameras, including the one here at work."

"Thank you. SOCO will be round to bag and tag everything."

Sal nods and earnestly says, "I want to do everything I can to be cleared so you can find whoever's doing this to him." She shakes her head. "He didn't deserve what happened."

There's something in the younger woman's expression and tone of voice that makes Ellie's eyes narrow in sudden suspicion. "Do you fancy him, Sal?" she asks and, like when she asked Hardy if he still loved Tess, she finds herself holding her breath.

"Fancy him?" Sal says, as if she's never heard the term before, and flushes. "We-ell, I certainly wouldn't say no if he asked me for a drink, but I don't think he realizes I'm a grown woman of twenty-six. He calls me wee Sal, for God's sake!"

A cold, deep pit opens in Ellie's stomach at Sal's confession and she clears her throat before saying, "Does it offend you, when he calls you that?"

Sal shakes her head. "Na, actually, I find it rather sweet." She leans forward with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes and whispers, "I think I'm his favourite." She grins, leans back, and says, "Well, as much as anyone is his favourite. I mean, he barks and growls at me just as much as he does at everyone else, but then he calls me wee Sal, and he gives me a nod of approval once in a while, and I'm reminded, you know, that he's grumpy but he does have a heart." She pauses, a gently fond smile on her face, then adds, "And he's a brilliant detective."

"Brilliant?"

"Not brilliant as in a genius, but brilliant as in devoted and focused and he just...won't give up, you know what I mean?"

Ellie huffs a small laugh. "Do I!"

Sal nods eagerly. "It's admirable and it makes me want to be a better copper, to do something great. I want him to be proud of me."

Ellie feels a stab of comradery with the woman sitting across the desk from her. Even when she'd resented the hell out of him, even when she was sure she hated his breathing guts, even when she's so angry she could happily murder him herself and dance on his corpse, there's always been an underlying desire to make him proud, mixed with an even greater desire to prove him wrong.

"Do you know what's odd, though?" Sal says thoughtfully.

Ellie gives a small shake of her head.

"It's not about ego with him. Have you noticed that? He was so angry the press focused on him at the expense of the women who have been murdered, he raged around here for an hour. Scared the cleaning lady even more than she already is, and she's always been terrified of him, making sure to scuttle out of sight before he gets near her. You should have been here, Ellie, when the media started asking him how he felt about being in the middle of yet another high profile case."

"I read some of the quotes from the press conference, yah," Ellie mutters, "and listened to him rant about it that night."

"It was glorious! I only wish I could speak with the same level of dripping sarcasm and disdain. Of course, it just makes them feed on him more."

"How dare he give up his opportunity for fame?"

Sal nods. "Exactly." She frowns. "Do you think any of the reporters would go so far, just to get back at him?"

Ellie shrugs. "I sincerely hope not, but I suppose there's no harm in putting them on the list of suspects."

"Then there's that Dave in Sandbrook."

"What about him?"

"Oh, right, you probably didn't see their local paper today."

Ellie shakes her head.

"Dave gave an interview about the South Coast Killer, and managed to talk more about himself and his accomplishments than he did about the case." She grimaces with distaste. "I don't like him."

Ellie's face twists into a similar expression. "Neither do I," she mutters.

Hardy

He hadn't planned on being called out of the interview with wee Sal, but he can't deny he's relieved to have an excuse to leave. It's a brief moment of cowardice he almost feels guilty about, but he thinks that if he's not there she might open up more to Miller and admit everything, if she's the one behind it all. If it's her and she confesses, then there's still an opportunity for her to save face and he wouldn't have to ruin her career over what is, ultimately, nothing but an extremely tasteless series of pranks. Hell, if wasn't for Daisy, he'd even consider keeping her on in his squad.

The case he and Webster are called out to drives all thought of the stalker out of his mind. It's a murder-suicide that's tragic and pointless and leaves two children without parents. He finally makes his way home that evening wondering if there was any point at all to the entire human race.

Miller's curled up on the sofa reading the paper as he walks into the flat. She lowers the paper and says, "Good, you're home."

He pauses on the threshold, his shoulders slumped, his face drawn and exhausted, and says, "Let's go to the pub."

Miller gets them a table while he goes to the bar.

His bartender with the sweet-smile is there, which he's grateful to see. He calls her over, places their order then says, "Do you remember the woman I've met here a couple of times? The one you don't seem to like much."

Her blue eyes turn frosty. "Missy."

"Yes. Have you seen her in here lately?"

She shrugs. "Every night for the last week." She glances at her watch. "About an hour from now is when she's been sauntering in."

Hardy nods, pays for the drinks, carries them back to Miller and tells her what the bartender told him as he settles in the chair across from her.

She gives him a thoughtful look and nods. "What happened this morning, when you were called out with Webster?"

He glances around and murmurs, "Murder-suicide. Husband and wife. Two children left behind, both out with friends, thank God, otherwise he might have taken them, too."

Miller winces.

"What happened with wee Sal?" he asks.

She sighs and shakes her head. "Nothing. She says she's never been in your flat and she neither hates nor loves you enough to do this to you. SOCO bagged and tagged all her computers and they're on their way to Alistair Murray as we speak."

He nods morosely, slouched over the table, his head bowed. "Not surprised about Sal," he mutters. "No motive and nothing to gain."

"Yah? This man today? What did he gain?"

Hardy looks at her with pained eyes and shakes his head.

They're eating in companionable silence when Missy slides into a chair at their table.

Hardy hastily chews, swallows and introduces her to Miller before he turns back to her, hope in his eyes.

"Don't look at me like that, Scotty," she says with a slightly mocking smile. "I haven't seen anything suspicious, if that's what you're hoping."

"I was." He leans closer. "I was wondering if you've noticed anything strange in the neighbourhood itself other than the punters cruising the Avenue?"

A frown creases her forehead as she ponders the question. "Not that I can recall." She shoots him a sharp look. "What? You want me to check out all the alleys and buildings on the Avenue?"

"No! For God's sake, don't make yourself a target!"

She shrugs as she reaches across the table and takes a chip from his plate. "I'm already a target, Scotty. You think he's the only predator out there? He just happens to go farther than the others."

Hardy scowls. "Missy-"

"Stop fussing! I only popped in to let you know I'm all right but there's no progress." She gives Miller a curiously assessing look, then turns back to Hardy and says, "Oh, and I watched your video. Several times, even, before it was taken off the site. You know, if you ever get tired of being a copper, you should audition for a career in the adult film industry." Hardy's eyes widen in horror as she flicks another archly amused glance at Miller then back at him. "I'm rather sorry you didn't take me up on my offer the first time round, because trust me: you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed about. Then again, the camera does add ten inches."

Miller chokes and begins to cough while Hardy groans and covers his face with his hands.

Ellie

Ellie's still laughing as they stroll back to Hardy's flat, and she's only more amused because he's scowling and growling yet makes no effort to force her to change the subject. She hopes the light-hearted snarking helps to take his mind off the horrific crime scene he'd worked that afternoon.

She's not sure what wakes her late in the night and leaves her blinking sleepily into the dark. Then she hears the snick of Hardy's bedroom door opening and his soft footsteps as he pads his way to the loo. She rolls over with a rueful grimace at the fact she can already recognize the sounds he makes when he's moving about in the middle of the night, and allows sleep to reclaim her once more.

There's no progress the next day, and they both return to the flat with grumpy scowls, eat supper with little conversation and head to their separate spaces before their scowls turn into truly angry words and a full blown war. She's almost sorry they didn't end up in a row as she angrily punches the pillow and tosses and turns, trying to get comfortable. At least if she's yelling at him and he's yelling at her, she's not wondering why it's been so difficult to find Joe, and when is the South Coast Killer going to strike again, and who the bloody hell is stalking Hardy and what are they going to do next and when.

She's woken from fitful sleep by something she can't quite remember but she hears Hardy coughing and sees the sliver of light under her bedroom door as he makes his way to the kitchen. She slides back towards sleep, thinking she needs to ask when he has his next doctor's appointment, something she's already forgotten before her eyes close.

The next day is Thursday, and they're leaving for Broadchurch that night for Easter weekend. Hardy had booked the next four days off months ago in anticipation of going to Sandbrook, and while he's scowling as they eat breakfast responding to her desultory conversation with grunts and growls, he can't quite hide his pleased smile at the thought of seeing Daisy.

But first they have to get through the day, and Hardy's called to his CS's office before they even get out of the flat to talk about getting in to see the Ashworths and Ricky Gillespie. When he returns to the squad room, she takes one look at the thunderous expression on his face and follows him into his office and closes the door.

"Bad news about the Ashworths and Ricky?" she asks without surprise. Nothing else has been falling into place the last couple days, so she can't see how getting in to see Lee, Claire and Ricky could possibly go smoothly.

Hardy gives her a sour scowl and shakes his head. "They're still working out deals with the Crown," he says as his phone rings, "and my being publicly humiliated isn't enough cause to go talk to them, at least not right now, according to their defense team."

"I fucking hate lawyers," Ellie mutters. Hardy nods in agreement as he answers his phone.

"What?" His expression eases as he listens to the voice on the other end. "Hold on, I have Miller here with me. I'll put you on speaker." He presses a button, puts the phone down on the desk and says, "Are you there, Murray?"

"And where would I have gone in the last five seconds, laddie?" booms a voice that's even more Scottish than Hardy's. "Good to know you're still as technically dense as always."

Hardy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "What have you got for me?"

"That's it?" Ellie asks, amused. "You're not going to give him a dose of your withering Hardy sarcasm?"

"Murray gets a free pass," Hardy says. "He's done me more favours than I'll publicly admit." He ducks his head at her questioning face and shrugs. "He was my first partner in Glasgow."

"Has he never mentioned me?" Murray asks.

"No, never."

"Good. Means I get to tell you my version of those early days first, and trust me, I'm a much better storyteller than Hardy. We'll need to go for a wee dram and I'll entertain you with many a tale of woe from partnering with Alec Hardy when he was but a green copper."

Hardy rolls his eyes. "Ach, Murray, flirt later. Right now we don't have time."

"Oi, you can't hide the truth forever, laddie."

"Oh?" Ellie says with an amused grin. "Give me your number, Alistair-"

"Murray!" both men immediately shout.

"Alistair is even worse than Alec, eh, laddie?" Murray says before his laughter booms out of the phone.

"Ach, aye," Hardy says fervently.

Ellie grins and says, "Awright, Murray, why don't I give you a ring and you can tell me all the stories Hardy doesn't want me to hear."

Hardy rolls his eyes. "Can we work?"

"Spoilsport," Ellie mutters and wrinkles her nose at him.

"What can you tell us about Tess' computers," Hardy says firmly but there's a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Nothing on them related to you," Murrays says briskly. "Well, other than the e-mails you've exchanged over the last couple of years and documents from the divorce. If she put that video together, she either didn't use any of the computers you found, or she's learned how to wipe all traces of her activities from the hard drive. Tess was always as dense as you; has she suddenly become a technical genius?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Then there's nothing else I can tell you. I'll bag and tag and send everything back to you, yah?"

"Yah," Hardy sighs.

"Are you happy or sad about this?" Murray demands.

"Relieved. I didn't want to have to tell Daisy if it was her mother." He rests his elbows on the desk. "Thanks, Murray. I owe you. Again."

"Aye, well, let me call Miller and tell her about that time you saved my life."

"Ach, that's only because you saved mine immediately after and you want to boast about it."

"We seldom get true moments of heroism-let me enjoy mine."

"At least you deserve yours. I'll be sending more computers to you."

"I'll be here."

They cut the call and Hardy avoids Ellie's interested and questioning eyes as he says, "It was a long time ago."

"But true?" she pounces.

"We-ell, he definitely saved my life, back when I was greener than even wee Sal."

She props her chin on her hand and gives him a bright-eyed grin. "Do tell."

He rolls his eyes. "Don't you have something to do?"

Hardy

He leaves his office at the end of day to find Miller working at a table with Sal and Webster in the room they've set aside for the task force. They're all once again going through the pictures of the neighbourhoods where the women went missing. Miller's frowning as she looks at each photo, a rather adorable frown line creasing the centre of her forehead.

He quickly turns away and walks around the room, once more reviewing the pathetically sparse information they've managed to glean from each victim and each site where a body had been found. He makes a note to return to the river next week, once Miller's back in Broadchurch. He comes to a halt in front of Marney's picture and his heart squeezes with pity and guilt that they still haven't fully identified her.

"Can I get copies of these photos?" Miller says suddenly.

He turns from staring at Marney's smiling, sweat-drenched face as she holds her newborn, and looks over his shoulder at Miller. Their eyes meet and he nods, and he wonders what she's thinking when she's looking at him like that.

"You always seem caught on that one," she says.

He glances back at Marney's picture. "She's the only one we haven't identified," he says with a shrug.

"Ah. Right."

He looks at the child in the smiling woman's arms and wonders if there's a wee child even now wondering why they haven't heard from their mother. Or had her life gone wrong even then and the child had never known her? There's no way of knowing, but he carries a tiny replica of this photo in his wallet. He placed it there months ago, in the same place he'd once carried Pippa's.

"Marney appeared in Stonebridge about a year ago," he says slowly, still staring at that smiling, hopeful face. "Never told anyone her real name, as far as we can find or anyone will tell, but she was apparently new to the life, according to the other girls."

"Yes, I remember the reports now."

Hardy shrugs. "Easy to get mixed up," he says, "the stories for all the women are practically identical, and there are so many of them."

Sal looks up with a frown. "Do you think he knew they had such similar histories? No, that's silly," she says before anyone can respond. "How would he know? I mean, what, would he interview them before he kills them?"

Hardy spins round and he and Miller stare at each other, wide-eyed, before they explode into motion. Hardy rushes to the table and joins her in scrabbling through the pictures, and they speak to each other in partial words and sentences as they find the ones they're looking for, comparing them with each other until finally they have a half dozen pictures spread out on the table and they're sharing a wide grin and shining eyes.

Sal and Webster exchange puzzled glances.

"What is it?" Webster asks.

"Look," Miller says, hurrying to pin up each picture, "see?"

And they do see: each photo shows a building with a modest sign in front of it, a sign that advertises a church run shelter offering free counselling.

"Oh, my God," Webster breathes.

Hardy grins and claps both Sal and Webster on the shoulder. "Well done, wee Sal!" he says and looks at Miller, his eyes sparkling. "Maybe the women were connected by more than just their profession!"

Miller already has her phone out and is listening to it ring.

"Paul? It's Ellie. Hang on, let me put you on speaker." She presses a button then says, "I'm in Stonebridge, and I have Hardy and a couple of other police officers with me. Have you ever heard of the…" she peers at one of the photos "...Saint Nicholas Shelter of Hope?"

"Of course," comes the rather surprised reply. "I helped found it. In fact, I'm still Chairman of the Board and regularly inspect each site. Why?"

Hardy and Miller's effervescent grins are immediately replaced with appalled stares.

"Ellie?" Paul asks.

Miller starts. "Sorry. Do you have a list of employees or volunteers for each site?"

"No, but I can call the site Directors and ask them to send you the lists, if you'd like."

"No, just send me the list of Directors, and we'll follow up from here." Hardy can tell she's struggling to keep her voice neutral. "Thanks, Paul. You've been a big help."

"Anytime," Paul says, but he still sounds puzzled.

Miller disconnects then gives Hardy a horrified look. "We don't know if he's involved in anything," she says defensively.

"We don't know he's not."

She groans as she closes her eyes and whispers, "Don't trust."