A/N1: Well, guys, we're getting to the end of this story. There should only be one (maybe two) chapters, an epilogue and an Author's Note to go. I get a little choked up when I think about it because I'm really going to miss working on this story when it's done. (Not to mention all the incredible feedback from everyone!)
Hardy
Hardy's CS arranges with the Police nationale to locate and question Joe and while they're at it, to find and question Lee's former lover, Sophie Merchant. They also put in a formal request to review the records of the phone calls and online conversations that Ricky, Lee and Claire have made or received since their arrests. While Hardy and Miller think Claire is the one who's been in contact with Joe, it could just as easily be through the other two, given the trio's twisted history.
The French police find Joe easily enough and Hardy and Miller sit behind his desk, watching the video of the interview with sharp eyes. As Joe denies any contact with Claire Ripley, Hardy finds Joe's wide-eyed nervousness sickeningly familiar. It's the same air of earnest innocence that had surrounded him even as he was confessing to the murder of an eleven-year-old boy.
Miller's tense beside him, her face frozen in an expression of disgust that only gets worse as Joe asks about his sons, asks if he can see them, asks about her. She shudders.
"He's still thinking of ways to come back, to be part of our lives," she mutters. "At least Tom's almost old enough to make up his own mind and protect himself, but Fred...Fred's still too young." She swallows with difficulty and Hardy sees she's fighting the urge to retch. "What if Joe meets Fred when he's the same age as Danny was? What if he crosses the same line with Fred?"
Hardy puts an arm around her. She freezes, then relaxes and leans her head on his shoulder.
They think interviewing Sophie Merchant will simply tie up another loose end…until the police tells them she's gone, and there's no record of her leaving France.
Ellie
Ellie spends a restless night worrying about Joe, tossing and turning and trying not to wake Hardy, although he doesn't seem to be sleeping any more soundly than she is. In the warm light of morning, as she finishes her shower, she decides she's not going to give Joe that much power over her. She isn't going to worry about him so long as he stays safely in France, and if he doesn't, well, she's more than capable of protecting her children if that's what it takes. She thinks about her little nest egg, ready to be used to run if necessary, and realizes she's stronger than that now, stronger than him. She always has been.
She will not run from him.
Besides, this new aspect of her relationship with Hardy is going to be complicated enough without letting Joe taint their budding romance.
Not that they're romantic, exactly, she thinks with rueful amusement as she finishes drying herself and pulls on her housecoat. They've spent most of their waking hours inspecting crime scenes or snarling at each other about evidence or lack thereof rather than whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears, although she admits Hardy is surprisingly good at it when he puts his mind to it.
On the other hand, she feels as if everything that's happened between them has been as inevitable as the ocean waves crashing into the beach of Broadchurch. There's something romantic about that, too, she supposes.
She pads into the kitchen to find him standing at the sink wearing only his pajama bottoms, yawning as he sets up the coffee maker. He gives her an answering grunt from a disbelieving face in response to her cheerful 'good morning' and wide grin. He manages to smile a little when she slides her arms around him then leans up to kiss him, smoothing her hands over that long back that had so enticed her the first time she saw it.
Fifteen minutes later, as she's perched on the cupboard, her housecoat pooled beneath her for a cushion, she thinks he's also rather surprisingly creative when he puts his mind to it.
It's her last coherent thought for a while.
She's mildly annoyed about the marks on her neck but only because it's far too warm for a high-necked shirt.
As they go to the station, Hardy diffidently, almost shyly, asks if she wants to go to Murray's retirement bash with him. She agrees with a wide, excited grin, which is immediately replaced with a puzzled frown when he says, "So, this isn't a secret then?"
"Secret? Why would it be a secret?"
He gives her a speaking look. "I'm not exactly the catch of the year," he growls.
"Well, no," she says, "but then again, neither am I. That still doesn't explain why it would be secret."
"So I can tell Daisy?"
"Of course, although she might figure it out all on her own when you're not sleeping on the sofa bed anymore."
"Ah. Right." He slides a glance her way, then smiles a wide, open smile, his dimples on full display, and she can't stop her answering grin.
Sal immediately zeroes in on the blue smudges on Ellie's skin and with an awkward smile at all the blatantly watching coppers and a glare at Hardy's wide-eyed, nervous face, the younger woman marches Ellie into the loo.
"Is it Hardy?" Sal almost squeals as soon as the door closes.
Ellie glances around a little guiltily before she nods.
Now Sal really does squeal. Ellie winces at the noise and prays no one runs in to find out what's going on. She looks at Sal's shining face and prays even harder that she's not involved in Hardy's stalking.
Sal lowers her voice to a whisper and says, "Is it a secret? In which case, I have some foundation to cover up those love bites."
Ellie flushes a deep, dark red, even as she says, "No, of course it's not a secret."
"Then why do you look so guilty?"
Ellie stops and blinks. "Well...because...it's..." She trails off, frowning. "It's new," she finally says helplessly then pulls a face as her hand goes up to her neck. "Which explains these. The enthusiasm hasn't worn off yet."
Sal looks a little confused but gives what Ellie suspects is meant to be a wise nod. She suddenly feels ancient and even less romantic than ever, then she remembers the morning and grins, blushing.
She's quite happy with things the way they are.
Hardy
They go to the pub that night for his regular meeting with Missy. Miller sits at what's become his usual table while he goes to the bar and gives the bartender-with-the-sweet-smile their drink order. While he's waiting, he turns and watches Miller as she reads something on her phone with a disgusted scowl. His face softens as he imagines the wrinkle in the middle of her forehead that he knows is there even though he can't quite see it from this angle.
He notices Missy walk in and head to the table just as the bartender puts the glasses down behind him.
"Your order, mate," she says.
He turns and gives her a distracted thanks. "You may as well get Missy's usual ready, too."
Her mouth tightens but she nods and walks to the other end of the bar to make the drink. Hardy turns his attention back towards Miller and Missy and freezes, suddenly feeling as if the world is getting closer while simultaneously rushing further away. Missy is sitting in 'his' chair, and the way she and Miller are leaning across the table, speaking intently, combined with the distance and the angle...there's a sudden crushing feeling of recognition and realization so strong he can't tear his eyes away from them.
"Here you go," the bartender says briskly behind him.
Hardy stands frozen for a long moment then turns towards her.
"Thank you. You know," he says, his eyes wide and never wavering as he digs out his wallet, "I've been coming here a while now and it just occurred to me that I've never asked your name."
She looks taken aback. "Why do you want to know? Especially after all this time?"
He shrugs as he pulls bills from his wallet. He sees her eyes flick to the picture of Marney and her baby before returning to him. "You've finally learned my usual drink," he says, "and I think I finally know who you are."
He lifts an eyebrow in question.
Her blue eyes widen as they stare at each other. She finally swallows, shrugs and says, "Sondra." She nods at the drinks on the bar. "You going to pay for those now?"
"Oh, aye. Could you give me a tray this time, though?"
"Not up to juggling three drinks tonight?"
"Not tonight, no."
They stare at each other in silence, and some type of acknowledgement passes between them before she shrugs and pulls a tray out from beneath the bar. She deliberately places each glass on it then presses her fingers flat on the stainless steel rim and pushes it towards him. "All yours, mate."
He glances at her fingers still resting on the tray then back at her. "Aye, I suppose it is."
"You took a long time," Miller says with a smile.
"The bartender's my stalker," Hardy says flatly as he sets the tray down on the table and stops both Miller and Missy from reaching for their glasses.
"What?" Miller yelps. "Well, bloody arrest her!"
"We have no evidence," Hardy snaps as he pulls out his phone and dials SOCO.
Miller stands up, almost toppling her chair and glares. "You're mad! You could have brought her in for questioning at least!" She pushes past him and hurries to the bar but is almost immediately back. "You idiot! She's already gone!"
Hardy finishes barking orders into the phone and shrugs as he ends the call. "She won't be gone far," he says, "and she won't be gone long. She's just raising the stakes again."
"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" Miller shouts, throwing up her arms in frustration.
"She gave me her fingerprints," he says gesturing at the tray on the table. "She wants us to know who she is. She's daring us to find her."
Miller's eyes widen into dark pools of horror and she sinks back into her chair. "For fuck's sake, Hardy-who is this woman and what the hell does she want?"
"We'll find out who she is once we get the prints analyzed, and that's going to tell us what she wants."
Miller just gapes and slowly shakes her head at him.
"Is this a bad time to tell you I think another sex worker has disappeared?" Missy says.
Both Hardy and Miller's heads snap in her direction.
"What?" Hardy demands.
"A woman named Rolanda."
"When and where did you see her last?" he growls.
"On Tom Avenue, of course, three nights ago. I saw her going into the shelter. I don't blame her, it was a bloody miserable night. I haven't seen her since." She shrugs. "Maybe she's on a bender or maybe she's gone into rehab, or maybe she's at home sick, but you told me to tell you if I noticed anything unusual."
"Fuck!"
Hardy sends some uniforms to look for Rolanda. They quickly find her family, and they confirm they haven't seen her and are beginning to get worried since this is the longest she's ever gone without getting in touch with them in some way.
While the family files a missing persons report and the uniforms canvas the Avenue, Hardy and Miller go to the river and trudge through the thick vegetation in silence. They check the sites where the South Coast Killer had left previous victims but find nothing. Hardy scowls in frustration, standing in the clearing where they'd found Marney, and notices the sun glinting off the river to his right.
He looks at it, the water placid, reflecting the shoreline like a mirror. It's beautiful but he can still taste that other river, still feel it, still see what it had done to Pippa over the three days she'd been in it.
He shudders and turns away.
He dreams of Pippa and Marney and the water and wakes, gasping, rising up like he's again breaking the surface of that damned river, with a brackish taste in his mouth, burning lungs and aching arms.
"Hardy?" Miller asks sleepily.
He's panting, drenched in sweat as he desperately tries to draw in air and can't immediately answer.
She sits up and puts a hand on his shoulder and he flinches. He's not used to the feel of another person's touch in the immediate aftermath of his dreams. Tess had already been gone in all but name when they began and he's been alone with them ever since.
"Hardy?" Miller asks again, leaning closer, her hand rubbing soothing circles against his back, and the sensation is so overwhelming he has to close his eyes against the tears.
"Go to sleep, Miller," he chokes out.
"I most certainly will not," she says sternly, and wraps her arms around him.
That breaks him, and he bows his head, his face twisting with sobs, his shoulders shaking, while Miller simply tightens her hold on him, solid and warm and real and there, offering him silent comfort as she urges him to lie down with her, his head on her breast as he clings to her and mourns for Pippa and Marney and Danny and all the others he's been unable to save over the years.
Ellie
Ellie hugs him close, waiting for his sobs to ease. As he slowly relaxes, she strokes one hand soothingly up and down his lean back until he finally sighs, lifts his head and gives her an embarrassed look through tear-spiked lashes.
She gives him an encouraging smile.
"Better, yah?"
He nods, looking away as he sits up. She follows, once again wrapping her arms around him.
"Where are you going?"
"The loo," he mutters.
She nods. She's certainly shed enough tears over the last two years to know his eyes must feel like all the grit of the Sahara is in them, but she can't quite bring herself to let him go just yet.
"I'll make us some tea," she says.
"Don't fuss," he says tiredly, his mouth downturned, his head bowed, but he doesn't pull away.
She leans her chin on his shoulder. "Just this once, let me fuss. All right?"
He looks at from the corner of his eye and sighs.
A few minutes later, they're back in bed, side by side and leaning against the headboard, sipping tea from steaming cups.
"I don't like doing that," Hardy says suddenly.
"Nobody does," Ellie says, "but sometimes it's better to let things out."
"I'm going to keep having these...these..."
"Moments of pure human emotion? I would bloody well hope so!"
"I'm trying to be serious here, Miller."
"So am I! For God's sake, you never have to apologize to me for a few tears, Hardy. Have you met me?"
He gives her a ghost of a smile. "I'm likely going to keep having these dreams, especially while under stress. They don't...they're not comfortable to live with."
She gives him an exasperated look. "Would you please stop being such a knob?"
"I don't like being fussed over," he mutters.
"I promise to keep my fussing constrained to an occasional shoulder to cry on."
He looks at her from shadowed amber eyes. "That will do," he says then leans over and kisses her.
To no one's surprise, the bartender's prints come back the next day as belonging to Sophie Merchant, a computer programmer whose last known address is in France. There's no record of her anywhere in England, and the flat she'd rented in France had been let to other people months before.
No one knows where she is, and Ellie fights the urge to beat the shit out of something, especially when Hardy's CS refuses to issue a warrant for Sophie's arrest. She does understand-they have no evidence, after all, and Sophie's previous relationship with Lee doesn't prove she's Hardy's stalker-but it doesn't make her any less angry. All they can do is issue an alert letting other police territories know Sophie Merchant and her various aliases is wanted for questioning in an active investigation.
On the other hand, Ellie's not sure it matters because every copper's instinct she has tells her Sophie hasn't gone far. Whatever or whoever it is that's got her fixated on Hardy isn't going to go away and since she deliberately allowed them to identify her, Ellie knows that means Sophie plans on making a dramatic, likely final, move against him.
The uncertainty around what that move may be, and where and when it may occur, gives Ellie cold sweats and the wish she had something-anything-she could use to release her frustrations and fear.
She stomps in to Hardy's office where he looks up from scowling ferociously at the computer, glasses perched on his nose, to scowl ferociously at her.
Perfect.
It isn't much of a row, since they're angry at the situation rather than each other, but it makes her feel a little better. She'd much rather drag him into a storage room and work out her frustrations in a different way, but this will have to do. Hardy's as angry as she is, although for him it's because of the South Coast Killer rather than his stalker once again slipping from his grasp.
They haven't found any sign of Rolanda, and the six men they had under surveillance either hadn't been in Stonebridge or hadn't been working at the shelter the night she disappeared.
"Forget Sophie," Hardy finally growls, "she's not done yet, and we'll catch her when she re-surfaces. But this bastard, this bastard-" he paces the office, one hand running through his hair, the other on his hip, and Ellie's seriously reconsidering the storage room idea when he loudly barks, "Sal! Webster!"
Ellie grins as she hears the two scrambling but quickly sobers as they careen through his door.
"Yes, sir?" Sal says, wide-eyed and breathless. Webster is a little less intimidated, a scowl on his handsome face.
"I want the list of all the employees and volunteers working in the shelters," Hardy snarls, "along with the records of their interviews. If this arsehole isn't one of the six we identified as possible suspects, then he's somebody else in those shelters. We are going to find him, whatever it takes. And once we do, I will want to know how we managed to overlook him."
Sal nods rapidly, shooting a quick glance at Webster then giving him a quick elbow to the ribs.
"Yes, sir," he says reluctantly.
Hardy stares, eyes narrowed, then waves a hand in dismissal. They quickly leave, but Ellie raises an eyebrow at Webster's hand hovering near the small of Sal's back as she precedes him through the door. She makes a note that perhaps wee Sal has secrets of her own to share.
She glances at Hardy, who's shaking his head, lips pressed into a tight frown. "I'm not sure he's right for her," he mutters and Ellie's jaw drops.
"You noticed that?" she almost squeaks in her disbelief.
He rolls his eyes. "I am a bloody detective," he growls. "I'm not sure why people are always so surprised when I notice things."
Ellie's still laughing as she returns to her desk.
They're working late, combing through interview tapes and transcripts, wee Sal and Webster catching a short nap at the table beside them, when one of the station's cleaners bustles in.
Hardy glances at her and she gives him a cheerful grin and greeting as she begins emptying trash bins. He frowns a little, then says, "You don't usually work this shift, do you?"
She shakes her head. "Na, pulling a double shift," she says. "One of the girls didn't show up."
"Oh? Had a fight with the boss, did she?" Ellie asks.
"Don't think so. She's always reliable, never late, always called, so when she didn't show, the boss got worried and went to her address." She lowers her voice and widens her eyes. "Only the address doesn't exist! Her cell phone's turned off and no one knows what's happened to her. The boss just finished filing a missing persons report. She's really shook up and worried." The woman shakes her head as she looks at the pictures that surround them. "Hope she hasn't ended up like one of these."
"Why would you think she might?" Ellie asks.
The woman shrugs as she replaces the last trash bin. "Well, she's obviously hiding from somebody, if she's giving out fake addresses. Hope whoever it is didn't find her. Sondra's a nice girl, she's got a sweet smile. Nervous, though, and easily scared. She got spooked by one of the coppers once and said she never could relax around him."
Ellie's eyes widen. "Which copper, did she say?"
"Na, only that he scared the shit out of her and she made a point of avoiding him."
"What's her name? Just in case we come across her."
"Sondra Moran. I hope she's all right. Such a nice girl, and hard-working, always willing to lend a hand and take extra shifts."
The boss of the cleaning staff sends them Sondra's picture ID badge that was left hanging in her locker. Ellie and Hardy recognize her immediately: the bartender with the sweet smile, Sophie Merchant.
Hardy
Miller reluctantly leaves for Broadchurch late the next morning. Hardy has to practically push her into the car, telling her she's already been gone for a week, and the boys need her home. He's regretting it before her car is even out of sight. He makes his way to the station and tries not to think that Sophie might be watching him even now, and creeping closer.
To take his mind off things, he calls Daisy. He listens to her talk about the play rehearsals and what she's hoping to do once summer holidays start in two weeks, about Tom's latest football game and Fred's latest escapade, then she says, "Don't forget, Dad, the play's on the 17th, then Beth and Paul are launching Danny's charity the next day. You promised to be here."
"I promised to try," he hastens to clarify.
"Which means you're going to be here, right? I know I'm not actually in the play, but I'm quite proud of all the carpentry work I've done for it. Besides..." she hesitates.
"What?" he asks, suddenly concerned.
"I've asked Mum to come to it, too."
"Oh, darlin', I'm glad."
"Well, I'm not sure I'm ready to see her, so I want you there in case I need a buffer."
He sighs. "I'll do my best."
"Good."
"I need to talk to you, too, Daisy."
"What about?" she asks, suddenly nervous.
"Miller. And me."
"Oh, that! Come on, Dad, you must know I approve! I think Ellie's brilliant."
He frowns. "Just what do you think you're approving?" he asks suspiciously.
"You and Ellie, you know, dating. Tom told me."
"How the bloody hell would he know?"
"Ellie had a chat with him last weekend, wanted to know if he was all right with her snogging you."
He puts a hand to his forehead. "For God's sake," he mutters.
"It's not like it's a surprise, Dad."
"What?"
"Oh, come on, we're already all living together! That, and you're always looking at her like you can't believe your eyes. Well, except when you're angry with her, of course. I mean, you still look at her like you can't believe your eyes but it's for different reasons. Either way, it's obvious. Why do you think I never asked you anything about it all week?"
He flushes a dark red and is glad she can't see him. "It's not that obvious," he mutters.
Daisy laughs for a good five minutes and all Hardy can do is tilt his head back in long-suffering silence until she's finished.
"I take it you're all right with this then?" he says drily.
"Oh, aye," she says in a fair imitation of his accent. "Not sure about having Tom and Fred for brothers, but I suppose we'll manage."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Hardy warns sharply, "this might all fall apart by next weekend."
Daisy just begins giggling again.
Several hours later, Hardy glances up as Sal walks in to his office carrying a file box.
"These came for you," she says cheerfully. "Records of communications with and visitors to Ricky Gillespie, Lee Ashworth and Claire Ripley."
He blinks owlishly behind his glasses then nods. "Aye, I've been expecting those."
"Do you need help going through them?"
"No, but if they're not digitized, I'll need your help to do that so we can get them off to Miller."
Sal puts the box on the sofa and begins rifling through the bagged material inside. "Mostly memory sticks but there's some paper in here. I'll get them scanned right away if it's not done already." She glances at Hardy. "Ellie in Broadchurch this week, then?"
Hardy nods, and feels a stab of loneliness at the thought.
"Are you going to move to Broadchurch, sir? Or is Ellie going to move here?" He stares and she flushes. "I'm not prying, really! It's just I like working with you, and I'd be sorry to see you go."
He sits back in his chair with a self-deprecating grimace. "You like working with me? Are you daft?"
Sal laughs. "No, sir. You're difficult and unreasonable and volatile, and a grumpier bastard I have yet to meet. But you're dedicated and brilliant and you've challenged me and given me more opportunities than any other DI I've ever worked with. Plus you believe in me." She hesitates, then says, "Have you ever considered taking the South Coast Killer case away from me?"
"Of course," he says without hesitation, "but you're doing a good job, have been right from the start, so there's been no need."
She grimaces. "Did I mention the brutal honesty?" she says then smiles almost bashfully. "I appreciate it, sir. All of it."
"Does Webster still resent it?" He nods in the vague direction of Webster's desk. "I see you've grown closer lately."
She blushes furiously. "We've come to an understanding," she says primly.
"Is that what you youngsters are calling it these days?"
She rolls her eyes. "And what do you and Ellie call it?"
His lips twitch towards a smile. "Fine," he growls, "but if he starts acting like an arsehole, you tell me. I'll have words."
She beams. "Don't you worry, sir, I'll take care of it if he starts acting like an arsehole. Honestly, there won't be much left of him for you to have words with by the time I'm done with him."
Now he does smile, broad and genuine. "Glad to hear it."
She picks up the box. "I'll get these scanned. Oh, and the last of the transcripts and recordings from all the shelter interviews just arrived. We're going through them now."
He nods and watches with almost paternal pride as she bustles out of the office.
He sends the prison data files to Murray, who calls him the next day.
"Several of the video calls came from the same IP address," he booms. "I've just finished sending the information to your SOCO and Miller."
"Think they came from her flat?"
"Only one way to find out."
"Thanks, Murray, I-"
"Yah, yah, you owe me one. Come to the party on Saturday. Bring Miller."
"And put up with your flirting all night?"
"Don't fuss, I'll make sure to flirt with her, too."
"Oi," Hardy sighs.
His uniforms find Sophie's flat that afternoon, rented in the name of Kay Cooper, and a SOCO technician is waiting for him when he arrives. There's nothing out of the ordinary: a kitchen/living room with a tiny bathroom and an only slightly larger bedroom at one end of it.
"This is what we wanted you to see before we dismantled it," the tech says and opens the closet located to the left of the front door.
It's slightly deeper and longer than the usual front closet, with a small shelf running along the back. On the shelf are stacks of photographs and memory sticks and Hardy's skin begins to crawl as the tech begins to show him, one by one, what's in one of the stacks. Each one is a picture of him: walking down the street, in the pub, sitting in his office, stretched out on the sofa in his flat.
The technician picks up another stack but Hardy shakes his head and turns away.
"Bag and tag everything," he says, and it sounds as if his voice is coming from a great distance. "I'll take a look once it's been processed."
He's pleased. He almost sounds professional.
During their nightly phone call he explains to Miller what was found, and says, "We've issued a warrant for her arrest, but who knows? Maybe she's back in France by now."
"You know she's not in France!" she says angrily.
"I don't really care where she is, so long as she stays gone," he growls.
He reviews the transcripts of the phone calls between Claire Ripley and Joe Miller and isn't at all surprised that Joe had lied about knowing Claire. He also reviews transcripts of the phone and video calls, chats and e-mails between Claire and Sophie Merchant aka Sondra Moran aka Karla Clarke aka Kay Cooper. Even without watching and listening to them, he sees the manipulation in Claire's words, slyly convincing both Joe and Sophie that Hardy abused and forced her into a false confession, and there's no one willing to bring him to justice for what he'd done. He'd believe her himself if he didn't know better.
He puts down the last transcript and tosses his glasses on top of it. He leans back in his chair, rubs his hands over his weary face, and curses the day he ever thought Claire Ripley needed his help.
He calls Maggie in the morning. She listens to him with minimal questions before saying, "You've become quite the embarrassment of riches for me."
She's teasing, but there's no hiding the concern in her voice.
"Not for much longer, if things go as I hope," Hardy says. "I want to make it as uncomfortable as possible for Sophie or Sondra or whatever bloody name she's using at the moment. I want her on the run."
"I'll do what I can. Karen White's still pissed you came to me the last time. I'll work that lingering resentment to get the story the widest possible circulation."
He smiles. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."
Maggie works her connections and the story along with Sophie's ID picture from the station's cleaning job is front page news the next day. Wee Sal tells him the tip line is ringing off the hook with reported sightings of the woman, and he hopes Sophie's feeling the pressure, unable to find a place to rest for long. He hopes it makes her panic.
As he picks up the next interview transcript for the South Coast Killer case, he thinks that as much as he hates reporters and the media, they do sometimes come in handy.
Miller returns to Stonebridge on Thursday night, and she tells him they're improving since they make it to the sofa this time. Once they're settled in bed for the night, though, she proceeds to give him royal hell for putting the story in the papers again. He sighs and lets her rage before he wraps around her and tells her everything's going to be all right.
They spend the next day going through more of the South Coast Killer interview transcripts before driving to London. They spend Saturday strolling round the city then return to their hotel to get ready for Murray's retirement send-off.
Hardy stretches out on the bed going over the latest information his DSs sent him and glances up as the bathroom door finally opens and Miller emerges. He blinks at how beautiful she looks, her curly hair styled so it's softly framing her face, her dress and strappy heels showing off a narrow waist and remarkably pretty legs.
He lets out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding and growls, "Murray's going to be unbearable."
Miller gives him a questioning smile as she puts earrings in her ears.
He gets off the bed and walks to her, resting his hands on her hips. "He won't let you leave his side and he'll be flirting outrageously the entire time."
Her smile widens. "Bless," she says and gives him a lingering kiss, then leans back, wiping lipstick from his mouth. "I'm going to enjoy it for all it's worth. You're not exactly the flirting type."
"True," he says ruefully.
The pub's already packed when they walk in but Murray notices them immediately.
"Laddie!" he bellows across the babble of voices, "and Miller! Get over here and bring your wallet!"
Hardy shakes his head as he takes Miller's hand and leads the way through the crush. Murray immediately takes in their clasped hands and grins, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
"I see I missed my chance with you, Miller," he says.
"I'll always hold a special part of my heart for you, Murray," she says with a wide grin, leaning up and giving him a peck on the cheek.
"Aye, as you should." Murray slings his arms around both of them and turns them towards the bar. "Next round's on you, Hardy."
Hardy rolls his eyes but nods at the bartender who begins pouring drinks. Murray grabs his and Miller's and they shift out of the way as the crowd of well-wishers begin to converge on the bar.
"I'm surprised you made it, Alec," Tess says from behind him.
Hardy turns and shrugs. "It's Murray. He'd never speak to me again if I missed this."
"You came with Ellie?"
Hardy's eyes narrow as he nods, because if he didn't know better, he'd think she sounded jealous.
Her perpetual smugness is very much in evidence as she eyes him thoughtfully and sips her drink. "I've been thinking about you the last few weeks," she says. "Daisy told me you convinced her to talk to me again."
He takes his own drink with a nod of thanks at the bartender, and they move out of the way of the crowd. He sees Miller talking and laughing with Murray and he smiles at her bright, happy face as the older man charms her. He reluctantly returns his attention to Tess.
"You and Daisy have always had a special bond," he says with a shrug, "and a girl needs her mother."
"What about you, Alec? What do you need?"
He raises an eyebrow. "I have everything I need."
"Really."
He glances again at Miller then back at Tess. "Really."
Tess presses her lips together, her eyes narrowed. "Should I say congratulations?"
Hardy rolls his eyes. "We didn't get engaged, Tess."
"But you are together."
"Yes."
"Then I suppose there's no point telling you I've been thinking about us lately, especially after that latest story in the paper. I've been worried about you, missing the days when we were a family."
He chokes a little on his drink. "Now? You're thinking about that now?"
Her smug smile returns. "We could go somewhere and talk about it," she says almost seductively.
"Bloody hell, no!" he blurts so loudly heads turn in their direction.
She flushes. "For God's sake, keep your voice down!" she hisses.
"Well, stop being so bloody daft!" He makes no effort to lower his voice.
Finally, her smug smirk is gone. "I thought you might want to talk about it. For Daisy's sake."
"Oi, don't try to manipulate me with Daisy! She's happy about Miller, she loves Broadchurch, and if you want her to forgive you so bloody bad, maybe you should try apologizing to her!" He's aware Murray and Miller have come up behind him. "You might even try apologizing to me!"
Miller slides in beside him, slipping an arm around his waist. "Everything all right here?" she asks.
Hardy gives her an exasperated look. "Oh, aye," he says sarcastically. "Tess and I were just discussing the weather."
"Well," Miller says with a conciliatory smile that turns brittle when she turns her eyes on Tess, "I think Tess and I should go talk about the weather, too."
"What?" Hardy sputters, but it's too late. Miller's already walking away with Tess while Murray laughs heartily beside him.
Hardy's chatting with a couple of former colleagues from Glasgow, wondering what Miller and Tess could possibly be talking about for so long, when his phone rings. He sees wee Sal's name and answers.
"What?" he almost bellows against the noise of the chattering coppers in the background as he winds his way to the door.
There's a sudden burst of laughter from somewhere behind him, and Sal cautiously says, "Sir...are you at a party?"
"Aye, in London," he says as he leaves the stifling air of the pub and steps out into the slightly cooler temperatures of a London street in June. There's a long silence on the other end of the phone.
"Sal?" he snaps.
"Sorry, sir, just trying to imagine you at a party."
He rolls his eyes. "Bring me up to speed. Quickly."
"A body of a young woman was found by a couple looking for a, erm, 'picnic spot', about two miles downstream from where Marney was found. The body matches the description of Rolanda Cunningham, the street prostitute reported missing nine days ago. SOCO's already out there and I'm about to head over now with Webster."
"Awright," he growls. "We'll be back in Stonebridge tomorrow afternoon and I'll expect a full briefing then."
"Yes, sir."
He ends the call and goes back inside. He sees Miller's finally returned and is now standing with Murray and several of Murray's London colleagues. She's listening intently, chatting and laughing. She looks so happy, he decides he'll tell her after the party's over. There's nothing they can do tonight, anyway.
She's slightly tipsy by the time they leave and he's tempted to wait until morning, because a squiffy Miller is rather intriguing and he'd like time to enjoy the experience. He heaves a silent sigh because he knows how she'll react if he waits, and tells her on the way to the hotel.
She's silent for a long time, her face stark in the harsh street lights. She says, finally, "Are we going to get him?"
"Oh, aye," he says firmly.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because you and I are on the case, Miller, and together we're unbeatable."
Ellie
As always, there's no physical evidence, so Hardy narrows the focus to the men who were working at the Saint Nicholas Shelter of Hope on Tom Avenue the night Rolanda was last seen alive.
Wee Sal gives him a list of ten men, and he and Ellie pore over their previous interviews while the DSs bring them in to be re-interviewed.
"Sal," Ellie calls, a frown creasing her forehead, "where's the transcript for the first interview with Shawn Buchanan?"
Sal searches through the index on her computer. "I don't have a record of any interview with Shawn Buchanan," she says, puzzled. "Is he a staff member or a regular volunteer at the shelter?"
"Yes," Ellie says, showing the file notes to Hardy, who scowls.
"Well, it must be somewhere," he says. "According to the notes, he's been in every location a woman's gone missing, but he wasn't one of the men we had under surveillance. Why did we eliminate him as a suspect?"
Sal shakes her head as she moves to the files on a separate table in their task force room. "I don't know," she mutters, beginning to rifle through them, "I've never heard the name before."
Soon everyone in the room is digging through paper and electronic files until they stand in frustrated silence, warily watching Hardy.
He's breathing heavily, hands clenched into shaking fists at his sides.
"For God's sake," he finally explodes, "find out who was supposed to interview this man! In the meantime, get him in here so we can do it now!"
Shawn Buchanan runs the Stonebridge shelter's kitchen and sometimes helps serve food. He's reed-thin and so unremarkable he practically disappears into the chair he's sitting in. Ellie thinks it's almost as if you have to consciously look for him in order to see him.
The interview is innocuous enough: who he is, where he lives, how long he's worked for the Saint Nicholas Shelter of Hope organization. He claims he's never seen the women before, but then he doesn't remember everyone he's ever served or seen in the shelters. He travels to each new site to help set up the kitchens and in the last couple of years his responsibilities have expanded to training staff and regularly inspecting each site's kitchen. He only has direct contact with the people who use the shelter if he's serving or clearing up. While he was working the night they believe Rolanda disappeared, he'd been in the kitchen all night and didn't speak to anyone other than his fellow cook and the servers.
They collect a DNA sample and Ellie feels a chill run down her back as she watches him leave the interview room.
"He's lying," she says flatly.
Hardy nods and growls, "There'll be hell to pay when I find out who failed to interview that one."
They work late the next couple of nights, only going back to Hardy's flat to tumble into bed and sleep for an hour or two, tangled together like puppies, before waking and returning to the station to start working again.
They take a break for Hardy's regular meeting with Missy on Wednesday night.
"Everyone on the street is present or accounted for," she says immediately upon sitting down. "I mean, there aren't any unexplained or unexpected disappearances."
"Good," Hardy says and slides a small picture across the table towards her. "This is Shawn Buchanan. He works in the kitchen at the shelter. If you happen to see him talking to any of the women on the street, let me know, all right?"
Her eyes narrow. "Is he your prime suspect?"
Ellie shakes her head. "We just haven't been able to eliminate him yet. He says he only ever sees people if he's serving food, but we can't confirm that."
"Or find evidence to the contrary, is that it?"
"Yes."
She picks up the picture and looks at it carefully. "He doesn't exactly catch the eye, does he?"
Hardy shrugs and leans forward. "Don't engage him directly or do anything to attract his attention. If you see him talking to any of the women, call me immediately. If you can't get me," he scratches a number in his angular writing onto a napkin, "call Detective Sergeant Sal Edwards." He hands her the napkin, his dark eyes wide in an intense stare. "Remember: don't do anything to attract attention."
She rolls her eyes as she takes the napkin and tucks it away. "You tell me that every week. Trust me, Scotty, I get it!"
"See that you do."
Missy leaves first, and Ellie and Hardy finish their drinks, savoring the first real down-time they've had since they returned to Stonebridge.
They stand up from the table and leave the pub, stepping into a street that's unusually crowded.
"Oh, right, there's some kind of concert going on in town," Ellie says as they dodge oncoming pedestrians. Not successfully, it turns out, as she bumps into a tall young man and apologizes with an embarrassed smile. She hears an 'oof' from Hardy behind her and she turns round with a grin to joke about their shared clumsiness. Her grin freezes when she realizes he's doubled-over, gasping, his hand pressed against his right side, red droplets already pooling on to the pavement.
"Hardy!" she yelps and rushes to his side.
"Black hood," he groans, and now Ellie sees a slight figure moving hastily through the crowd away from them, a black hood covering its head.
"Sophie Merchant!" she yells. People turn to look and Ellie sees realization beginning to dawn on faces as Sophie glances over her shoulder. Their eyes meet for a long moment before Sophie turns and tries to run, pushing against the crowd.
"Stop her!" she screams as she lowers Hardy to the pavement.
"It's just a scratch, Miller," he gasps as a couple of people fall to their knees beside them, "go after her."
"Hardy-"
"Don't argue! Go!"
One of the people beside Hardy gives her a distracted smile. "It's all right," she says, "I'm a nurse."
Ellie stands and sees Sophie's been caught by the arm by the same young man Ellie had bumped into, but she's struggling hard against him and his grip is slipping fast as Ellie starts running towards them.
Sophie breaks free just as Ellie gets close, and Ellie puts on a burst of speed, determined not to let her get away. There must be something in her face because people take one look and hastily jump out of the way. Sophie isn't quite so lucky, and Ellie barrels into her, swinging her round and pushing her into the wall of the nearest building.
She pulls back the woman's hoodie and sees with vicious satisfaction that Sophie's wincing in pain. She resists the urge to shake the woman.
"You're nicked," she growls instead, and begins to give Sophie a recital of her rights even as she pulls her away from the wall and drags her back the way they'd come. She pushes through the crowd that's now surrounding Hardy and goes weak with relief to see he's conscious, his stomach laid bare as the nurse examines the wound.
Hardy looks at her, his mouth pressed tight against the pain of what she now sees is a long, narrow slash running from his navel to his hip and crossing through his previous scar. It was obviously made by a knife and is still bleeding profusely.
"Is she under caution?" he grates through clenched teeth, hissing as the nurse presses someone's folded t-shirt against the wound.
"Yes."
"Good. Take her to the station," he says and catches his breath in a pained sob, then says rapidly, "I'm going to need stitches but I'll be there as soon as I can."
"For God's sake-"
He tries to give her a smile. "I'm fine, Miller. Really. Just a scratch."
Ellie glares then looks at the woman administering first aid. "Is he telling me the truth?"
"Well, it's a bit more than a scratch," the woman says, "but it doesn't look too deep." She gives Ellie a reassuring smile. "An ambulance and the police are already on the way, although he did initially suggest he should walk."
"Oh, of course he should," Ellie says sarcastically. She shakes her head and gives him a hard glare. "We're staying," she says, almost absently pulling Sophie back as she tries to break away. She points a warning finger at the other woman and gives her a stern look. "Don't push me," she warns, then turns back to Hardy. "I'll send her back with one of the uniforms when they get here."
"Miller-"
"I am not leaving you to deal with this alone. That is not how this works!"
"I knew you'd fuss," he mutters.
"Knob."
He chuckles then groans. "And that's why I love you, Miller," he says.
She hears the sirens in the distance as she blinks back a sudden, hot rush of tears and says, "Well, I have no bloody idea why I love you, but I do."
His eyes are soft even as his mouth twists against the pain. "I'll take it," he says.
A/N2: Before anyone asks: yes, I wrote a whole conversation between Ellie/Tess at Murray's party. Sadly, it brought the story to a screeching halt AND served no other purpose than a chance for me to beat up on Tess, so it ended up on the cutting room floor.
I really have sympathy for Chibnall and all those bonus scenes they released during series 2...