ETA Warnings: Non-graphic descriptions of violence, suggested torture, blood.
Hardy
Hardy opens bleary eyes and Miller's annoyed face swims into focus.
"We need to stop meeting like this," he mumbles, eyes fluttering closed. He's floating in a lovely cocoon of cotton, aware of the pain in his stomach but it's very far away.
"I couldn't agree more," she says drily. "Keep doing this to us, and we may put you in here ourselves next time."
He grimaces. "Why am I so groggy?"
"The wound wasn't deep enough to get to the vital organs, but the doctors still put in a couple layers of stitches. They gave you some painkillers and local anaesthetic, and you were out like a light. Gave them a right good scare, too."
"Well, they've certainly scared me often enough," he mumbles then yawns and gives her a sleepy smile. "She safely in the nick?"
"Yes. I'll question her in the morning."
"You mean we'll question her in the morning."
Miller sighs. "Any hope of convincing you otherwise?"
"None," he says then yawns again. "Take me home?"
"In the morning, Hardy," Miller says firmly. "You're barely staying awake right now, and while I have more than enough help to get you into your flat, the doctors want to monitor you overnight."
"What do the doctors know?" he grumbles then frowns as he sluggishly realizes what she's said. "What help?"
Miller steps aside and he sees a red-eyed Daisy standing beside a relieved-looking Tom.
"What—?"
Daisy moves to the bed and lowers herself to the chair beside it. "I told you you needed somebody to watch out for you," she says and bursts into tears.
*/*/*/*
He comforts her as best he can, one arm wrapped around her as she rests her head on his shoulder and sobs. He makes soothing noises, calls her darlin', and promises to be around to make her life miserable for the next fifty years.
She gives a soggy giggle, lifts her head and kisses him on the cheek.
"I love you, Dad," she says.
He grimaces. "Now who's being soppy?"
She rolls her eyes and smiles. "I'll stay with you tonight."
He looks from her to Miller to Tom with soulful dark eyes. "Take me home," he sighs.
*/*/*/*
He gets his way, of course, and hobbles into his flat an hour later. He's almost regretting his bull-headedness, because it takes everything he's got to make it to the bedroom.
He's asleep before the others even leave the room.
*/*/*/*
He's sore and growly the next day but he goes to the station with Miller, where his team stares in disbelief, and his CS, Jake, gives him a look that says he now knows Hardy is a raving lunatic.
Miller pauses in the middle of the room and says, loudly, "We're interviewing Sophie Merchant, and then I'm dragging him to Broadchurch and he's going to rest and relax even if I have to bloody well knock him over the head to do it, awright?"
There's a moment of stunned silence before his team and Jake burst into applause. Hardy glares and shakes his head but doesn't have the strength to argue.
*/*/*/*
Sophie doesn't quite look at them as she sits at the table. Gone is her direct gaze and sweet smile, and she suddenly looks very young and vulnerable. Hardy feels unexpected sympathy for the woman. He knows Claire's ability to spin a convincing tale, and he suspects that Sophie didn't have a chance once Claire got her in her sights.
They quickly run through the preliminaries: the date and time, who's at the table, and they ask Sophie for her name, where she was born, where she lived, and her occupation. She answers readily enough and admits to her aliases as Miller lists them off.
Silence descends and Hardy watches her without moving until she finally looks at him and seems to get caught by his eyes, because she doesn't look away.
He asks the only question he has: "Why?"
"Because you deserved it."
"Really? What did I do to deserve it?"
"You framed an innocent man. You kidnapped and raped a woman and forced her into confessing to crimes she didn't commit. You're having an affair with a known prostitute. God knows what else you're doing that I don't know about!"
"I think there's very little I've been doing for the last few months that you don't know about," Hardy says, surprisingly gentle. He's aware of Miller turning her head to look at him, puzzled. "None of what you've just said is true, and you know it."
Sophie blinks rapidly. "They are true. They have to be."
"Why? Because otherwise everything you've done will have been for nothing?" Miller says.
Sophie doesn't look away from Hardy.
"You know they're not true," Hardy says. "Otherwise you wouldn't have just scratched me last night. You could have killed me. Why didn't you?"
She crosses her arms and shrugs, her eyes flickering away then back to him.
"It's because you're not a killer," he says, and his voice is honey-smooth, soothing and relaxing. "Thank you, by the way."
She gives him a startled frown.
"You still had the knife when Miller caught you. You could have hurt that young man who tried to stop you. You could have hurt anyone who was in your way. You could have hurt Miller," his voice cracks a little on her name before he continues. "You could have done a lot of damage last night, Sophie, but you didn't. That's why I'm thanking you. You're not a killer, but I think somebody really wanted you to be. So, I'll ask again: why do you think I deserved to be humiliated and threatened and attacked?"
She swallows, then says, very quietly, "You took him away from me."
"Lee Ashworth?"
"Yes. No one had ever loved me like that before, especially not somebody like him. I didn't realize just how empty I'd been, how empty my life was, just echoing nothingness, until I met him and he filled everything up with laughter and light and love. He only came back to England for a divorce, but you'd forced Claire into hiding just so you could hound him, force him to confess to a crime he didn't commit, just like you forced Claire to confess, and now he won't talk to me or let me help prove his innocence."
"He didn't come to England for a divorce," Miller says.
Sophie frowns and finally turns to look at her. "Yes, he did. Claire even said so when I asked."
"No, Sophie," Miller says gently, "he didn't. He wanted Claire back, and they were together for a bit. They were even looking at houses in Broadchurch before they finally confessed."
"Confessed! To what? They didn't do anything!"
"Claire didn't do anything, Lee didn't do anything...why do you think they're in prison now?"
Sophie's face twists and she points an accusing finger at Hardy. "Because this one fabricated evidence! Forced confessions! Just like he'd done before! I was almost convinced he wasn't so bad, but then he started flaunting his relationship with that—that—a prostitute, for God's sake!" She glares at Hardy. "Is she even willing? Or did you rape her, like you raped Claire?" She turns back to Miller. "If you're not careful, he's going to turn on you, too, just like they said! Everything I did, I did to protect you!"
"Really," Miller says flatly. "You were so concerned about my safety, you decided to publicly humiliate him instead of pulling me aside and warning me. You decided to threaten him and then cut him with a knife on a busy street, just to protect me. I find that very difficult to believe."
Sophie's eyes slide away from hers.
"I don't think you really wanted to do any of it," Hardy says softly, almost purring. "What would happen, Sophie? When you wavered, did you call Claire and she'd reel you back in? Convince you I was a dangerous man and had to be stopped?"
She refuses to look at him.
"She did, didn't she?" Miller says, and now her voice is as gentle as his.
Sophie doesn't answer.
Hardy and Miller exchange glances, then Hardy says, "Who came up with the plan, Sophie? Was it Claire?"
Sophie blinks rapidly and shakes her head. "I had nothing, was nothing, until I met him. Then you took him away, and I was back to nothing again. That's when I knew what to do: I'd become nothing in your eyes, too, and that would let me do whatever I wanted." Now she looks at him and there's a sad, rueful twist to her lips. "How often do you notice the person who empties your garbage or cleans the hall in your apartment building? How often do you recognize the person who serves you drinks when they're not behind a bar? As far as you were concerned, I could stand right in front of you and your eyes would slide right over me, like I wasn't even there."
"But you weren't sure your camouflage would work, were you?" Hardy says. "That's why you never let me see you in the station, turning away whenever I came close. Same at the flat. Except for the pub."
"Well, I was the bartender," she says with a shrug.
"You wanted me to figure out it was you, didn't you?" he says. "That's why," he opens the folder in front of him and slides over the picture of him and Missy at the pub table, "you put this picture in with the others. You knew there'd be a point when I'd realize there was only place and one direction from which this could have been taken."
She shakes her head. "I didn't think you'd realize it was me. Anyone standing at the bar could have taken that picture. I didn't expect you to figure it out like that, right there and then. I just couldn't think fast enough."
Hardy's lips twitch into a slight smile. "We both know that's not true, Sophie. I think you were tired of it all and wanted it to stop just as much as I did."
She presses her lips into a tight line and looks away. "I'm done talking," she mutters.
*/*/*/*
Ellie
Sophie's escorted back to her cell and Hardy and Ellie watch until she turns a corner down the hall. Ellie looks at him and her jaw sags at the expression on his face.
"You feel sorry for her!" she says.
He slightly tilts his head. "She was manipulated. Claire has a true talent for that, working on people's vulnerabilities, getting them to do things they wouldn't normally do. I certainly wasn't immune."
Ellie has a sudden memory of the men she and Claire had met at the bar in Weymouth and grimaces. "Yes, she does," she says.
"And there's poor Sophie. Desperately in love with Lee, pining for him, dreaming of making a life with him, and then he's arrested for murder, and everything shatters, and she can't—won't—believe the truth." He shakes his head. "She didn't stand a chance."
"Can we prove anything about Claire?"
He shrugs. "That's up to the prosecutors to determine, but I doubt it. Oh, the conversations are manipulative and misleading and most of what she says is outright lies, but nowhere does Claire ever tell Sophie to do anything. She just...stokes the fire, so to speak."
Ellie shudders. "I'm glad Claire's behind bars."
"Me, too."
Ellie frowns. "Just one thing's bothering me."
He raises an eyebrow in question.
"Who's 'they'?"
He shrugs. "Claire and Lee, most likely, at least according to Claire."
Ellie nods but her frown doesn't fade. "Not Joe?"
"No evidence that Sophie and Joe even know about each other."
"Right." She smooths away her frown. "Ready to go?"
*/*/*/*
They return to the squad room where they find Jake leaning against Hardy's office door, arms crossed, blocking the way inside.
"You are not getting in here and getting distracted by work," he snaps.
"I'm fine," Hardy growls and Ellie rolls her eyes.
"The last thing any of us want is you opening up your stitches while you're in your office," Jake says. "Our cleaners are short-staffed and blood is a bitch to get out of this carpet."
Hardy's eyes widen then he smirks. "Awright," he says. "I'm going to be gone a week, but I want all the files sent to me and I want to be called if anything breaks on the South Coast Killer case."
Jake nods briskly. "I've already got Tess on the way to cover off on the task force. Don't even think about coming back until a week from Monday, and if you need more time, just call. We can carry things here."
Hardy glances at his team and nods, and grumbles to Ellie all the way out of the station about how he's more than fit enough to work and doesn't really need any time away.
*/*/*/*
He sleeps all the way to Broadchurch.
*/*/*/*
Ellie's heart breaks a little at Fred's passionate disappointment when she catches him before he can throw himself against Hardy. She holds and comforts him as he noisily protests, explaining to him that Uncle Alec has a sore tummy and can't play right now. Hardy ruffles his hair and kisses his cheek and carefully puts his arms around both of them.
"Take it easy on me, mate, for a wee while," Hardy says.
Fred stares for a long moment with solemn tear-filled eyes then throws his arms around Hardy's neck and kisses his cheek, and Ellie's heart flips at the love in Hardy's eyes as he looks at her son.
*/*/*/*
Hardy
Hardy wakes first the next morning, as usual, and bites back a groan as he gingerly gets out of bed, thankfully without waking Miller, and creeps downstairs.
He's grumpily waiting for the water to boil when Tom shuffles, yawning, into the kitchen.
They grumble 'morning' at each other and Hardy reaches for another cup without thinking, and winces as his stitches pull.
"Does it hurt a lot?" Tom asks.
"When it happened, yah," Hardy says. "It's not too bad now, so long as I don't do anything stupid, like move too suddenly or stretch too far."
"Oh. Good," Tom mumbles.
Hardy gives him a thoughtful look as he makes their tea and carries it to the table. He sits and says, "I haven't asked you how you feel about your mum and me."
Tom shrugs. "As long as Mum's happy."
"But are you happy, Tom? I questioned you about Danny's death. I arrested your dad. Now here I am, with your mother. That's got to be a lot to deal with."
"Not really. I've been living with your daughter for months, after all," Tom shrugs.
Hardy blinks, thinking he hadn't expected to hear those words for at least another five years and shakes off a sudden urge to laugh.
"Has she been softening you up about me then?"
"Na, it just means I've got used to having you around."
Hardy carefully leans back in his chair and thoughtfully sips his tea. "Good enough," he says.
Tom gives him a small smile, nods, and sips his own tea.
*/*/*/*
Ellie
There's a steady trickle of visitors over the weekend once word gets out about what happened and that Hardy's in town to recuperate. Ellie can't help but smile at his appalled bemusement as one visitor leaves only to be replaced by two more, only to be replaced by someone else.
Monday is the first day of summer holidays for Tom and Daisy, and Ellie goes to work feeling vaguely worried, wondering how she's going to make things work with Hardy once they're back to only seeing each other on weekends before she shakes her head with puzzled disgust, telling herself there's nothing to worry about.
He's alive, Sophie's behind bars, and between them, they'd figure things out. Besides, they aren't twenty, and she isn't Tess and he isn't Joe. She frowns as she pulls into the parking lot and gets out of the car. Joe's not a good comparison. She thinks of Beth and Mark and nods. He isn't Mark, either. She thinks they'll make it, even if they're living in different towns.
Although maybe she'll look into renting that little blue shack so they have a place to go that's just for the two of them. After all, morning sex in the kitchen is well-nigh impossible with three kids needing breakfast.
She blushes at the thought and gives a slightly embarrassed smile to her DSs as she walks towards her office and hopes nobody asks what she's thinking about.
*/*/*/*
Hardy
The week drifts by.
Daisy leaves early every morning to put the final touches on the stage dressing for the play that's going to be performed on Friday. Miller goes to work and takes Fred to the child-minder's since Hardy can't lift the wee boy, and Tom goes to football camp each day. The camp's only for the first week, then he's free for the rest of his holidays, while Daisy starts work at Traders on Monday.
Hardy, to his disgust, is grateful to spend Monday and Tuesday dozing on the sofa, feeling as weak as a kitten and about as useful. While the cut isn't deep enough to cause major damage, it's still sore enough to make it difficult to do much.
It makes him restless and growly and on Wednesday as one by one the others leave and he's finally alone, he decides enough with the invalid horseshit. He showers, puts on fresh bandages and clean clothes, and makes his way to Miller's home office to check in with Stonebridge and do some bloody work.
*/*/*/*
He's still working when Miller comes home that evening and finds him. She leans against the door jamb, arms crossed, a stern look on her face. He blinks owlishly from behind his glasses and says, "Don't start, Miller."
She rolls her eyes. "Unbelievable." She walks into the room and gives him a quick kiss. "Daisy and Tom will be home soon, and then I'm off to pick up Fred. Try to be done by then, yah?"
He quirks a half-smile and nods, then tugs her down for a slower, deeper kiss.
*/*/*/*
To Hardy's surprise, Murray arrives on Thursday evening, his voice booming through the house as he greets Miller at the door, lifts Daisy into a bear hug, grips Tom's hand in a crushing handshake, and gives Fred a much more gentle handshake that leaves his chubby face wreathed in smiles.
Hardy watches all this from where he's standing in the hallway, hands on hips.
"What are you doing here?" he says.
"Hardy!" Miller chides but Murray laughs.
"Your sweet Daisy invited her Uncle Murray to come watch her play. I thought, I've never been to Broadchurch, so why not."
Daisy grins. "I'll tell you which bits I built and painted after the play, Uncle Murray," she says.
"I already know which ones," he says and grins at Hardy. "Do you?"
"Aye," Hardy says promptly, "the best ones."
Daisy rolls her eyes. "You're so soppy, Dad."
*/*/*/*
Miller invites Lucy and Ollie for dinner and Murray, never one to ignore a beautiful woman, flirts with gusto with both sisters, much to their enjoyment and Ollie and Tom's appalled disbelief.
To save the boys' sanity, Hardy takes Murray for a walk along the cliffs and then to the beach.
They stand beneath the magnificent orange cliffs, watching the waves roll in and Hardy says, "Why are you really here?"
"To check up on you, laddie. You seem to have a penchant for getting stabbed."
"Twice, Murray. Just twice."
"Twice is more than I've ever experienced, and twice more than I ever plan to experience. You need to stop getting in the way of those bloody things."
Hardy slides him an amused look. "I'll do my best, just because you've asked so nicely."
"Glad you're still listening to your old partner."
They watch the ocean in silence, then Murray says, "I'm starting to look for a village of my own. I wouldn't mind getting out of London, now that I'm retired off the force. I start my first cold case next month in York."
"So why start looking at Broadchurch?"
"Well, I'm not going to settle in bloody York! Besides, I can work from anywhere, really, and it's always good to stay close to those who owe you favours. Now that I've been here, I find I rather like the scenery and I'm not talking about the cliffs or the ocean view."
Murray gives him a broad grin and winks.
Hardy stares at him with dawning horror. "Oi."
*/*/*/*
Tess arrives in time for Daisy's play, takes one look at Hardy's face and says, "For God's sake, Alec, this is the first time I've seen Daisy in months, and I'm not squandering it by talking to you about work."
He glowers, then shrugs. "Fine."
*/*/*/*
Every seat in the small theatre is filled, and the play is surprisingly good, considering it's put on by a group of students pulled together over the last few months to do it for extra school credit. As they stand chatting on the street afterwards, Beth tells them half the proceeds from the play are going to Danny's charity that's being officially launched the next day with a small press conference on the beach where Danny was found.
"Ten o'clock," she reminds them with a sad smile. "Don't be late."
*/*/*/*
There's a respectable crowd to listen to Beth Latimer announce the Daniel Latimer Foundation, a charity to support youth shelters and other safe places for children and teenagers, places they can go to when they feel they have nowhere and no one else.
Paul Coates stands beside her with Mark on her other side. Miller had told Hardy on the way to the beach that although Beth and Mark are going forward with a divorce, they're doing their best to stay cordial for their living children's well-being, and in honour of Danny's memory.
He feels a wave of empathy for the estranged couple and glances over at Tess and Daisy, but his attention is caught by the figure he sees behind them. His eyes widen, then he turns to Miller and says, "Shawn Buchanan is standing on the other side of Tess and Daisy."
She turns sharply to stare at him. "What?" she hisses.
He gives a subtle tilt of his head in Shawn's direction. She leans round him and takes a look.
"Oh my God," she breathes.
*/*/*/*
Once the press conference is over, they send Murray to distract Tess and Daisy and make their way towards Shawn.
Shawn notices them and bows his head, watching them from the corners of his eyes.
"Shawn?" Hardy growls. "I'm surprised to see you here."
"Reverend Paul invited all of us who work at the Shelters of Hope," Shawn says, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "I had the day off, and I'd never been to Broadchurch. Thought I'd take a holiday." He slides a look Hardy's way, and Hardy's blood runs cold, because Shawn's eyes aren't nervous.
They're almost amused.
"Is that a crime, DI Hardy?"
Hardy holds his gaze without wavering. "You tell me," he says.
A small smile curves Shawn's lips as he keeps his head bowed as he turns away. "I'll see you both around."
They watch him walk away and Miller shudders.
"If he's not the South Coast Killer, then he ought to be," she mutters.
*/*/*/*
Ellie
Hardy's still moving gingerly when he stalks ahead of Ellie into the South Coast Killer war room on Monday morning and stops short at the sight of Dave and Tess talking with Sal and Webster in front of one of the murder boards.
"Really?" he demands.
Tess rolls her eyes and Dave smirks while Sal gives him a welcoming grin. "How are you feeling, sir?" Sal says.
"Fine," he growls. "Anything new?"
Webster sighs. "No, sir."
He scowls, hands on his hips. "Right. Well, get Shawn Buchanan back in here for another interview—"
"I still can't believe you think he's a viable suspect," Dave says. "He's just a nothing kid."
There's a sudden hush in the room that causes Dave to look around with a mildly curious, confused face.
"You know Shawn Buchanan?" Hardy says, his voice dangerously soft.
"Of course. I had a chat with him in Sandbrook weeks ago and immediately eliminated him as a suspect. Didn't even need to do a formal interview. He was almost in tears just from waiting in the hallway!" He snorts. "He's no serial killer. Besides, just look at him! A sharp breeze would snap him in half. Is he even strong enough to transport the bodies?"
"He's the only man in the shelters who's been in the same location as every victim," Hardy says flatly. "Every victim, Dave."
"Oh, please—he's just a skinny, nothing kid and not too bright, at that!" Dave frowns suddenly. "Wait—every location? Every time?"
Hardy nods, lips curled with contempt.
Dave frowns. "I don't think I had that information," he mutters and pulls out his notebook and begins flipping through it.
Hardy rolls his eyes and turns away. "It doesn't matter. Shawn Buchanan was overlooked, but we're looking at him now."
*/*/*/*
Tess and Dave return to Sandbrook the next morning, and no one is sorry to see them go.
"They're all right, I suppose," Sal mutters to Ellie as they watch them leave the squad room, "but I'm glad Hardy's back."
"Really?" Ellie asks skeptically.
Sal grins. "You've got to admit, he livens things up."
Ellie agrees with a rueful grimace.
*/*/*/*
She and Hardy go to the pub on Wednesday night but Missy doesn't arrive. They're walking back to where she'd parked the car, in the opposite direction of where he'd been stabbed because neither of them can yet bear to walk past it, when Hardy's phone rings.
He looks at it. "Webster," he tells her and takes the call. "What?"
The slight smile he's had on his face as he strolls beside her is instantaneously wiped away. "Missy's where?"
*/*/*/*
They run to the car, and Hardy's pale and sweating, doubled over with one hand pressed to his abdomen by the time Ellie squeals out of the parking spot. He briefs her as she drives: Missy had seen a woman go into the shelter the night before and not come out. She went in tonight to take a look around. She'd just called Webster, telling him she thought she'd found something when Webster heard her cry out and the phone went dead. Webster and Sal along with backup and ambulances are on their way to the shelter now.
"Why did she call him?" Ellie asks as they pull up to the shelter.
"Believe me, I'll be asking," Hardy growls, and is out of the car before they've come to a complete stop. Ellie grits her teeth and turns off the car. Sal and Webster pull in as she opens her door and they run to the shelter together.
She hears the screams as soon as she sets foot in the door.
*/*/*/*
Hardy
Hardy follows the screams to the kitchen and into the basement. There he finds an open square in the floor. He shouts for Missy, then jumps into the sub-basement and is almost immediately knocked back by Shawn hurtling into him with a bone-jarring tackle. Hardy goes down, grabbing at his attacker, taking him with him. He vaguely notices the searing pain as his stitches give way, but he's too busy grappling with the other man, unable to tell in the dim light and the confusion if Shawn is armed, if there's another exit, where any of the others may be, and what it meant now that the screams have stopped.
Shawn is eerily silent, his lips drawn back, teeth bared, as he tries to get his hands around Hardy's throat, and Hardy's blood runs cold as he slams a fist into Shawn's cheek making his head snap back, and then Miller, Sal and Webster are grabbing Shawn and yanking him off, leaving Hardy gasping and trying to ignore the pain in his stomach. Hardy sees Webster handcuffing the other man to a steel pipe anchored solidly in the wall as he forces himself to his feet, his shirt sticking to the blood trickling down his stomach, and hurries after Miller and Sal as they explore the dark corners of the sub-basement, searching and calling for Missy and the unknown woman she'd been trying to rescue. He sees the open door the same moment they do and rushes through after them.
He steps into a chamber of horrors, and Hardy takes in the bright red splotches on the walls and ceilings before he focuses on the bed with a filigree headboard, upon which is a spread-eagled bloody woman, her hands and feet bound to each corner with Sal bent over her, checking for signs of life. He looks to his left and sees Miller kneeling beside the crumpled figure of another woman and he realizes it's Missy just as he finally hears, muffled, the sound of sirens.
He turns to Webster who'd just skidded to a halt behind him. "Go. Direct them down here, and call for more ambulances if they haven't brought enough."
Webster nods and runs back the way they'd come.
"Tell them to hurry—this one's alive!" Sal screams over her shoulder.
"So's this one!" Miller shouts, and Hardy goes limp with relief.
"Who needs me?" he says.
"Me, sir," Sal says, and he hurries to her side, where they work on the thankfully-unconscious woman until the paramedics arrive.
*/*/*/*
Ellie
As the women are loaded into an ambulance, Ellie listens as Webster explains to a wide-eyed, angrily vibrating Hardy that Missy was Webster's paid informant, and in Hardy's absence, they'd agreed that the next time she noticed a woman hadn't returned from the shelter, she'd go in after her. She just wasn't supposed to get caught.
Hardy's face twists with furious contempt as he tells Webster to go away, then tells Ellie he needs one of those paramedics himself and sags to sit on the curb.
Hardy gets his re-opened stomach wound photographed and documented to explain why his blood will be found mixed with the other evidence in the killing room, but even with that contamination, they all know it's going to be a treasure trove of physical evidence. While the results of the forensic tests are weeks in the future, Ellie has faith they'll find enough DNA to link Shawn to all of the Stonebridge victims: the two survivors, Desiree Blair and Missy George, and the five murdered women: Rolanda Cunningham, Patricia Randall, Laura Drysdale, Patti Johnson, and Marney.
The other police territories with victims begin searching the shelters in their cities, but Shawn refuses to admit to anything outside of Stonebridge, although he confesses to those readily enough. He has no room for denial, really, Ellie thinks with disgust.
He tells his story in a flat voice, his eyes as soulless as a shark's, reflecting the emptiness within him where humanity should be. Ellie struggles to hide her horror as she watches and listens, because she knows, truly knows, she's sitting across from a killing machine that happens to wear a human face.
His confession takes several days, with the four of them—her and Hardy and Sal and Webster—rotating in and out of the interview room. In the end, they're all drained, and they end up at Hardy's flat with beer and scotch and a burning desire to cry or scream or to take Shawn Buchanan out and do to him what he'd done to all those poor women.
Instead they sit, mostly silent, with Webster drinking steadily until Sal takes him home. Hardy and Ellie crawl into bed and she curls into his uninjured side, and weeps for all the lost lives that had already been so tragic, and didn't deserve to end the way they had.
Hardy silently presses his lips against the crown of her head and hugs her close.
*/*/*/*
Hardy
It's Monday morning by the time they finish the paperwork and Hardy sends a reluctant Miller home to Broadchurch. He kisses her good-bye in the parking lot, wishing he could hold her as tightly as he wants, wishing he didn't have to send her back alone. He settles for kissing her again, telling her he'll see her on Friday when he gets to Broadchurch and that he loves her. Her 'I love you too' sinks into him like a raindrop on parched ground.
He watches until the car is out of sight, then returns to the station and goes to see Jake.
"Good work on this, Hardy," he says.
"It was a team effort."
"Hm. Do you stand by Webster's actions, to send an untrained civilian into a potentially dangerous situation without backup?"
Hardy stares impassively at him. "He's my DS. He's on my team."
"That doesn't answer the question."
Hardy's expression doesn't change.
"Or maybe it does," the other man says and smiles a little. He leans forward, hands loosely clasped and resting on his desk. "Webster got lucky this time. Both those women are going to survive, and we managed to catch a dangerous predator in the act. But any more half-arsed ideas like that one and he's off the force." He leans back. "Tell him that."
*/*/*/*
Hardy does tell him, at high volume and with several colourful curses that has everyone outside his closed office raising eyebrows, making notes, and wondering if he's going to burst his stitches for a second time. Sal presses her lips together and keeps her eyes on her desk.
Webster's pale and shaken but to his credit he doesn't flinch or argue.
Hardy glares, hands on hips, and growls more quietly, "You got lucky, Webster, and what you and Missy did saved that woman's life and the lives of God knows how many other women. But it was stupid and reckless and could have ended with Missy and Desiree dead, and Shawn Buchanan in the wind."
Webster clears his throat. "I understand. I thought it was a risk worth taking."
"Maybe, if it had been done right, with the Stonebridge constabulary's full back up and support to nip any dangerous situation in the bud. It should never have gone as it did. We have procedures and protocols for a reason."
"You didn't follow them with Sandbrook," Webster says with a flash of his usual arrogance.
"That was different. I had no other choice."
"Did we?"
Hardy scowls. "Go away, Webster, and be bloody grateful it worked."
*/*/*/*
Hardy walks into the hospital room to find Missy, looking battered and sore, watching telly and reading a magazine. She flinches, startled and nervous, but she quickly relaxes when she recognizes him.
"'Bout time you showed up, Scotty," she says, "Ellie's been here every day since I got here."
He rolls his eyes. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit over the head."
"Well, that's good, since that's exactly what happened."
"That and a few other things," she says and grimaces.
He glowers. "You are a very stupid young woman."
"Is that all the thanks I get?"
"After I told you how many times not to attract the killer's attention? Aye. You're also a very brave young woman, and you saved Desiree's life and who knows who else. You'll be the media's darling for the next little while, and if you ever decide to actually listen to me, you'll take advantage of the attention for all you're worth."
She smiles and winces as her swollen face protests. "Get a little nest egg for my retirement?"
"Something good should come out of all this, don't you think?"
"What about you, Hardy? What are you going to do?"
He shrugs. "What I always do. I'm going to move on to the next case."
*/*/*/*
Sal knocks on Hardy's office door on Friday morning and he frowns at the expression on her face, raising an eyebrow in question.
"I know you'll be leaving soon to catch the train to Broadchurch," she says, "but there's someone here I think you need to talk to."
*/*/*/*
The man is in his late twenties, pale beneath his dark tan, his pleasantly attractive face pinched with worry and barely contained fear.
He glances from Sal to Hardy and back again.
"I'm Chris Turner. I reported my ex-wife missing earlier this week."
"I reviewed the report," Sal says quickly, "and asked him to come in."
Hardy feels a churning in his stomach because he now knows where this is going.
"What's your ex-wife's name?" he asks.
"Marney Sullivan."
Hardy swallows. "Description? Occupation? Any distinguishing marks?"
"Twenty-six, five feet five inches tall, brown hair, blue eyes, about a hundred—hundred ten pounds. She..." Chris' mouth twists then straightens. "She's been working as a street prostitute for the last three years." He shrugs helplessly. "Drug habit. She has a dragon tattoo on her right hip."
Hardy listens, eyes wide, then he pulls out his wallet and removes the small copy of the picture they'd found in Marney's room.
"Is this her?" he asks and hands it over.
Chris looks at it then back at him with a puzzled frown. "Yes. Why do you have it in your wallet?"
Hardy leans forward, hands clasped as he rests them on the table. "Marney was found murdered on December 3rd." He ignores Chris' hissed, indrawn breath. "That's almost eight months ago. Why have you only just come forward now to report her missing?"
Chris' eyes are huge, his skin a sickly shade of green beneath the tan. "I've been in Australia since late August. My company sent me out there on a one-year assignment, to set up a new subsidiary. Things went better than expected and we—me and our daughter—got back a month early, the beginning of July." His throat works as he swallows, staring at her picture. "She didn't have a computer but we sent notes and postcards and pictures to her post office box. I didn't really expect to hear from her. Too much time and effort taken away from getting to her next high." He closes his eyes and grimaces. "When I couldn't find her over the last couple of weeks, I came here." He lifts tear-filled eyes to Hardy and Sal. "I always knew one of those punters would kill her one day," he says bitterly. "I read the news."
They sit in a heavy silence that's broken only by Chris' sniffling. Sal pushes the tissues closer to him and he grabs some with a grateful look at her.
He wipes his nose, blinks and looks up at Hardy. "Why was this in your wallet?"
"As far as we know, the man who killed her wasn't one of her clients. Marney was the victim of a serial killer. We hadn't been able to identify her, to notify her family. Her picture reminded me that I...owed her, that I still needed to make sure she got justice and her family got some closure."
Chris' face crumples then straightens. "Thank you." He looks at the picture. "What am I supposed to tell our daughter now?"
"That her mother loved her," Hardy says promptly. "When she's old enough, tell her that the only personal thing Marney had was that picture, beside her bed where it was the first thing she saw in the morning and the last thing she saw at night. Tell her that no matter her struggles or the addictions that controlled her...she loved her daughter."
*/*/*/*
Before he leaves for the weekend, he pauses in the squad room and surveys his team.
Conversations slowly end and silence descends as they all turn to look at him with curious eyes.
"You all did good work on the South Coast Killer case," he says. "Well done." He hesitates, shrugs rather helplessly and says, "See you on Monday."
*/*/*/*
Ellie
Ellie meets him at the train station and is grateful he decided not to drive. He's blinking sleepily, still moving gingerly, and she hopes he managed to get some sleep on the way down.
He catches sight of her and his face lights up, and she grins as she hurries to meet him.
She doesn't care who's watching as she pulls his face to hers and kisses him, channelling how much she'd missed him over the last week into it.
She pulls back, grinning at his wide-eyed expression. "Come on," she says, "there's a houseful of people waiting for you."
He instantly looks hunted. "Miller!"
"Stop whining," she says as she grabs his hand and starts towards the exit. "I've left Sunday afternoon free so you can rest."
"Ah, Miller!"
They walk into the bright sun, and she grins over her shoulder, laughing at his grumpy scowl.
"I love you, Hardy," she says, overly sweet, and he pulls her to a stop.
"I don't know why, but I love you, too," he growls, and kisses her again.
*/*/*/*
Epilogue - Hardy
I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways
Maybe just the touch of a hand
...
I'm thinking out loud
Maybe we found love right where we are.
- Thinking Out Loud - Ed Sheeran
*/*/*/*
Hardy takes the train again the following weekend, but Miller's caught at the station and can't meet him.
He flags down a taxi and tosses his duffel bag on the back seat. He opens the front door and the driver says, "Where to, then, sir?"
Hardy pauses and looks towards the town. He looks in the direction of the ocean even though he can't see it from here, and smiles as he gets into the car.
"Home," he says. "Take me home."
*/*/*/*
Author's Notes
Like most (all) of us, I screamed when the screen went black, with poor Alec Hardy all alone and pondering "where to, then, sir". I screamed again (this time with joy) when the station said, "find out in series 3". However, I just couldn't wait, so set out to write a version of series 3...which I didn't really expect anybody to read.
O.O
This is the first story with a real "mystery" plot that I've ever written, and of course, I had to put in two of them...*facepalm* It's hurt my head—a lot! I've been amazed at the feedback and investment from everyone and overwhelmed with the response. I'm not sure if the story lived up to expectations, but I'm incredibly honoured you all decided to come along for the ride.
The Story - General
1. This story was supposed to be (at most) eight chapters long, plus a prologue and an epilogue with short chapters and minimal dialogue.
2. The serial killer was intended solely as the MacGuffin that brings Hardy and Miller back into each other's orbits.
3. The stalker was supposed to be someone who noticed Hardy as a result of his mild notoriety ("Worst Cop in Britain" anyone?) and became obsessed with him.
4. The epilogue was supposed to be a whole lot longer.
...I have no idea what happened...
The disadvantage of posting-while-you're-writing, of course, is that as the story evolves, there's no opportunity to go back and smooth out bumps and changes in direction. For example, Hardy was supposed to be attacked at Daisy's play but when it came time for that scene to happen, it didn't flow properly, plus I had the potential of derailing the story by re-traumatizing everyone in Broadchurch (again). So I built up Daisy's play…without the pay-off that I'd originally intended to have with it.
If I had waited to begin posting until the entire story had been written. That's something I'd be editing to smooth the story out.
On the other hand, there may now be a sequel and/or some bonus scenes because of a few of those story bumps so...not all bad, right? :)
The South Coast Killer
I watch far too many true crime documentaries.
The idea of a serial killer operating over a large geographic area is, unfortunately, based on real cases. There's the I95 killer in the United States, for example, and here in Canada, we have the Highway of Tears. The Highway of Tears is an 800 km stretch of highway in British Columbia where one or more serial killers have been working for decades, with the number of murdered or missing women is anywhere from 18 to into the 40s. The area is so dangerous, there are/have been signs all along the highway warning women not to hitchhike. They did catch one guy and identified another man as a possible perpetrator (he's now dead) but as far as I know, they haven't managed to solve all of the murders/disappearances.
One of the things that have always struck me about serial killers is how insignificant they seem when they're finally revealed. If you've ever seen pictures of Gary Ridgway, aka the Green River Killer, then you'll know exactly what I mean. It's why they're so successful, I suppose: the fact that they seem so harmless. I wanted my killer to be just like that: the floating log that turns into an alligator; the hidden tiger before it pounces; the guy you'd never consider dangerous...until he is.
While I let Hardy and Miller immediately see the predator beneath Shawn Buchanan's benign surface, I can only wish it worked that way in real life.
Claire
Claire's manipulation of Sophie is inspired in part by the fact that Claire is just a manipulative character, and in part by the real life drama surrounding Jodi Arias, a woman in Arizona who was convicted of the 2008 murder of her friend-with-benefits.
Her trial was in 2013 and she was on the stand for eighteen days in her own defense. I was fascinated by her obvious—and clumsy—attempts to manipulate the facts and the jury's emotions while she threw everything—and I mean everything—at the victim in order to discredit him, with no proof to support any of the claims other than 'because she said so'. Unfortunately, she has a legion of fans who believe her stories without question.
She was recently sentenced to life without parole in Arizona (after escaping the death penalty by one juror). Her jail privileges were revoked for a time because she was caught on video phone (apparently) telling two fifteen-year-old female 'fans' how to steal their parents' credit cards so they could continue calling her against their parents' wishes. Another fan was arrested on his way to (allegedly) murder Nancy Grace from HLN because...Nancy Grace didn't like Jodi Arias. (I'm over-simplifying—a lot.)
When the stalker portion of the story evolved into what it became, the idea of Claire convincing Sophie that Hardy is a really bad guy and deserves to be punished didn't seem that far-fetched.
I won't get into the women who fall in love with and marry convicted serial killers and are completely convinced of their innocence...
(On another note: if you want to see a star prosecutor in action (Chibnall!), watch Juan Martinez during the Jodi Arias murder trial. He questioned and cross-examined all of the witnesses and made his opening/closing arguments…without notes and with no other lawyer to help him. Jocelyn Knight doesn't even come close.)
The Title
The title comes from the song Against All Odds by Phil Collins (one of my favourite songs):
So take a look at me now, oh there's just an empty space
And there's nothing left here to remind me
Just the memory of your face
Oh take a look at me now, well there's just an empty space
And you coming back to me is against all odds and that's what I've got to face.
There's a beautiful Alec/Ellie video on YouTube set to this song, and you should go watch if you haven't seen it already.
*/*/*/*
And so this particular journey comes to an end. I'm actually feeling pretty broken-hearted about it, because I'm going to miss writing this story and seeing what these two crazy kids are going to do next.
Which doesn't mean I'm going to stop writing about them, just that the bulk of this particular story is finished. As for me, I'm going to:
- play on Tumblr again;
- finally delve into all the fic I've been avoiding while writing this;
- finish the novel that should have been published two months ago *whistles-avoids-eye-contact*;
- write a few bonus scenes for this story;
- maybe write a short (short, I tell myself, short!) sequel;
- start an entirely new Broadchurch fic (just had the idea last week) and see if it evolves into an actual story;
- re-watch the series; and
- fall in love with Alec and Ellie all over again.
Oh, and move to a cheaper place.
It's going to be a busy summer... ;D