A/N: Unfortunately I didn't get A2A in my Christmas stocking, so Kudos and the BBC are still the overlords.
Many thanks to everyone who's read, faved and followed this story, and especial thanks to my three lovely reviewers, Hiddenashes83, GeneHuntress and Katie Duggan's Niece. Ladies, your comments were Christmas presents! Please keep the feedback rolling in.
I'll post the next chapter as soon as I can, but it's not quite finished yet, and there will be at least one more to follow.
If I don't post again before Wednesday, a happy, healthy, wealthy, Ashy New Year to all my readers!
Shortly before departing for the party at Luigi's on Christmas Eve, Gene took a phone call.
"Gene? Lady Joan here. Merry Christmas."
"An' the same to you, m'lady. 'Ow's business?"
"Doing nicely, thank you. The shelter's packed and more may be coming tomorrow. No sign of any of the gentlemen in your photos yet, but it doesn't mean that they mightn't arrive for Christmas Day."
From the obliqueness of her reference to the police mugshots, Gene guessed that she might be overheard. " 'Ere's 'oping. See you tomorrow."
"I look forward to it, dear boy. Please wish a merry Christmas from me to your lovely lady friend."
Gene went as scarlet as Santa's robe with embarrassment. "I'll, er, I'll do that. 'Night, m'lady."
-oO0Oo-
Given that they would be working undercover, Alex decided against wearing her usual work clothes to the shelter. The jeans were discarded in favour of a below-the-knee skirt, full enough to allow easy movement. She added the tie-neck "librarian" blouse she had worn when Lord Scarman visited the station and the new long cardigan to which she had just treated herself, which was loose enough to conceal her gun and had a deep pocket for her radio. She finished the outfit with strappy, low-heeled shoes. The loss of height made her feel less in control and she disliked the fact that Gene would be able to look down on her, but they would give her extra speed if she had to run after villains.
At 9.00 precisely, she heard a knock on the door. She answered it to find Gene, in a blue and white check shirt, black leather jacket and jeans, with his crocodile boots. Apart from the fancy dress party, it was the first time she had seen him wearing anything other than a suit. She was conscious that she could not stop staring.
"Morning, Bols. What's the matter? Got a pimple on my nose?"
"No, it's - " My God, I'd never dreamt he'd look so good in casuals. "Er - that leather jacket, I thought I recognised it. Is it Sam Tyler's?"
Gene's face hardened. "No. That's in the evidence room at GMP. Found in the back seat of 'is car when it was winched out of the river."
She could have bitten her tongue off. "Oh, I'm sorry. I should never have mentioned it."
"No. You shouldn't." There was a short, difficult silence. "Well. Are you ready to go?"
"Just about. I have a few donations for the shelter, food, a blanket and so on. I thought we might look more authentic if we turned up with some contributions."
"Hm." Plainly Gene had not thought of anything so generous. "Where are they?"
"In a box on the coffee table."
He swept past her, barely giving her a chance to step aside, strode into the living room and picked up the box, and marched out. He said nothing, but she thought that she had caught him looking around the room, taking in the glittering tree, crib set, swags of tinsel and vases of holly, and that he might even have been slightly impressed. Not that he'd ever want to appear to be a Jessie by saying so.
With the streets virtually empty, the Quattro made good time on the route to the shelter. Alex, who had expected a run-down church hall or derelict factory, was impressed to see that their destination was a well set-up university building, which she guessed had been offered to the charity to use while it was empty for the holidays.
"Hope they locked up the chemistry lab before they let the tramps an' crooks in", Gene grunted, taking Alex's box from the boot. "God knows 'ow many small-time crooks we've got 'ere with form for explosives."
"Yes." Alex shuddered, remembering Layton.
As soon as they walked through the door Lady Joan bore down on them, without her placidity.
"Thank God the two of you are here!"
"Why?" Gene demanded. "Someone we know?"
"Half a dozen people who had promised me faithfully that they'd be here today, have sent their apologies. I've nobody to serve breakfast. The kitchen staff have their hands full cooking it, and they'll have to start on dinner directly afterwards. I'd hoped to keep you two on backroom duties, but the situation's desperate!"
"That's no problem," Alex said cheerfully. "Just tell us what we can do."
"I can't," Gene muttered. "Judders knows my face."
Lady Joan smiled like a searchlight. Alex did not need her degree in psychology to recognise the depth of guile and manipulativeness behind that smile.
"In that case I have just the job for you. You can move around the shelter all day and nobody will spot you. One of the fellows who's let me down was going to be Father Christmas."
"Wha - ?" Gene was for once bereft of speech. Alex had never seen him look so straightforwardly horrified. She had to control the urge to giggle.
"She's right. It'll be the perfect disguise." Gene gave her his best I'll-have-your-badge look.
"Go on, old boy, be a sport. We can't possibly let those poor children be disappointed."
"No, no, no..." Both women recognised that his protest was at best a rearguard action.
"Come on. Christmas spirit and all that," Lady Joan said breezily.
"I'm a police officer," Gene muttered desperately. "Not a fat ponce in a red suit!"
"Come on, I know all about undercover work." For the first time Lady Joan let an edge of she-who-must-be-obeyed creep into her voice. "Can't get any more undercover than this. Alex can, er, man the breakfast servery. Changing room's over there, Room 20. Here's the key." She thrust it into Gene's numb hand. "I'll give you half an hour to make yourself decent while I show Alex what to do, then I'll drop in on you and we can run through the schedule for the day."
She swept Alex away, leaving Gene to slink off to Room 20. Alex quite distinctly heard him mumble "Bloody women" as they passed. Lady Joan deliberately heard nothing.
"So glad you could come to join us today, my dear," she boomed. "Dining hall's this way." They strode along a corridor with closed doors on either side, each labelled with their temporary function. Alex noted with approval the wide range of services available.
"We don't just take people in and chuck 'em out on New Year's Day," Lady Joan observed. "We do all we can to make them feel human again. A warm, dry bed and food's just the start. Baths, shaves, haircuts, dentistry, podiatry, physiotherapy, massage, optometry, we wash their clothes and other stuff and give them new where they need or want it, we run classes and give advice to help get them into accommodation and a job. Some of them don't want that," she added sadly. "The streets are a way of life to them and they don't want to change, especially if they've lived rough for too long. Some have become so scared of being inside four walls that I have a job of it persuading them in here, even for Christmas. Some are too proud to accept charity, even when they've sunk so low. But most of our guests are desperate to get off the streets. We don't always succeed in getting them back to normal life, but I'm proud to say that one young man who was here as a guest last year has returned as a helper. Says he wants to give something back."
"You do wonderful work here," Alex said warmly. "And I know it will continue for many years to come." She knew that Crisis at Christmas would still be at work in 2007 and would have expanded its operations by then.
"Well, I certainly hope so." Lady Joan opened a door. "This is the refectory." She closed it. "Let me take you backstage to your theatre of war." She opened a side door which gave onto an industrial sized kitchen where the staff were already toiling over piles of sprouts, potatoes and parsnips and a pungent vat of cranberry sauce.
"Morning, boys and girls." The kitchen staff looked up. "This is Alex. She's come to serve breakfast. Can you tool her up and show her what to do?"
"Sure thing, my lady." A bright-looking young man, who appeared to be in charge, stepped forward.
"I'll leave you, m'dear. You're in capable hands." Lady Joan patted Alex on the shoulder and left.
"Hello, Alex. I'm Michael Moore. Hope you don't mind if I don't shake hands, I'm preparing food."
Alex smiled. "Of course not. Just show me what to do, and I'll get to work."
"Locker's over here. You'll need to put on an overall and cap before you serve anyone, and make sure you wash your hands thoroughly. You can keep your own things on underneath. Thank God you're here. Lady Joan had said we'd have four servers for breakfast, but you're the first to show, and it's almost feeding time."
"Lady Joan said that six people had let her down. It looks as though I'm all you'll get."
"In that case, do you mind starting alone? We simply have to give priority to getting dinner underway. One or two of us should be able to join you in about ten minutes. We've already cooked breakfast and left it in the heated trays. The fried eggs will be a bit leathery, but everything else should be all right."
"Fine." Alex buttoned up her overall and added an apron. "What are the portion sizes?"
"One egg, two rashers of bacon, one each of everything else - sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, hash browns, potato pancakes. But if someone only wants two or three elements, you can be a bit generous with them. I'll leave it to your judgement."
"Right. I'm off."
There was already something of a hubbub in the dining room, which grew to a cheer as she emerged behind the servery and removed the covers. Through it, she heard Lady Joan bellowing "Take your trays from there and FORM AN ORDERLY QUEUE! Tell the lady what you want and you'll be served quicker!"
"Move right down the bus there!" a mocking voice shouted in retort.
Accustomed as she was to organisation, Alex found herself able to process the queue quite quickly. She was struck by the variety in the people she was serving. A few were obviously hardened old gentlemen and women of the road, and she guessed that they were the ones whom Lady Joan had difficulty in persuading to come indoors for Christmas. A couple looked slightly claustrophobic. Far more of them were young, some cocky and pugnacious, others plainly afraid of their surroundings, as though they feared at any moment to be mugged for their few belongings. Perhaps some had run away from home or had been thrown out by their partners. One started violently when she asked him if he wanted one rasher of bacon or two. He didn't look as though he was on drugs, which Gene had told her were banned from the shelter, but she guessed that he was suffering from withdrawal symptoms. Life on the streets was taking its psychological toll. A few others were in their middle years, well spoken and beautifully mannered, possibly businessmen and women who had fallen on hard times. Alex was painfully aware that the boom years of the early 80s had their unseen victims. Then there were the harassed mothers with children clustered about them, whom she guessed might have been evicted for non-payment of rent, or maybe were trying to escape from abusive husbands and boyfriends. She hoped that the Crisis advisors would be able to help some of these people escape from the vicious circle of living rough.
She made a point of giving each and every one of them her individual attention while she served them. These were people who had been brought very low. It was important that they should see someone prepared to make them feel that they mattered. She knew from her work as a negotiator that a reassuring smile could work wonders. Not only that, but if she had to go among them to seek information about Judd later in the day, it would help enormously if she had already gained their trust.
"Thank you, my darlin'," one sharp-faced Irishman thanked her when she had heaped his plate. "And what might your beautiful name be?"
"I'm Alex. A merry Christmas to you."
"I'm thinking Santa's brought me my present already with your lovely smile," he said gallantly and bore his plate away.
With two of the girls joining her about a quarter of an hour later, they were able to serve everyone within half an hour. When the last person to join the queue had made his way to the table, they looked at each other and simultaneously said "Phew!"
"Thanks so much," one of the girls said. "I don't know how we'd have managed if it hadn't been for you."
"That's what I'm here for. Do you want to get back behind the scenes, and I'll deal with any latecomers?"
"No, that's fine. You've done more than enough. You'd better hand in your overall and get away to find out what Lady Joan wants you to do next, before Mike finds something else for you to do."
"You're sure I can't help?"
"Not unless you're a cookery student, which most of us are. Our whole class offered their services. The way we see it, if we can feed this lot and live, cooking in a restaurant should be a doddle."
Alex laughed and left them to it. She had been keeping a sharp lookout for Judd, but greatly to her disappointment nobody in the queue resembled the mugshots which were their only photos of him. Perhaps Mac was right and they were wasting their time. But she had not discounted the possibility that he might be skulking somewhere with another guest bringing him food. She presumed that Gene had not found him yet, as if he had, the commotion would surely have been heard in Fenchurch. Despite all Sam's efforts, Gene would never be a softly-softly operator.
-oO0Oo-
Gene located Room 20 and found the full Father Christmas kit awaiting its wearer. He noticed with approval that it was a traditional hooded full length robe rather than a short belted coat and breeches, which meant that he should be able to keep at least some of his own clothes on underneath and could wear his holster. It also saved him the indignity of wearing a poncey bobble hat. He donned the white curly wig and beard, which he had the sense to anchor in place with a little spirit gum, added the robe, pulled the hood up, looked at himself in the mirror, and had to admit that it was a most effective disguise. Just so long as he could make this convincing. He looked in the mirror again.
"Ho, ho, bloody ho."
Under the dressing table was a massive sack full of presents. Looking inside, he saw that they were all wrapped in blue or pink. Colour coded.
This should be simple. He could hand out the pressies on autopilot while looking for a naughty little boy called Judders.
He heard a tap at the door and Lady Joan came in.
"Ah, Gene. Good job you're decent. That outfit's a splendid disguise, I must say."
"Just don't tell me I'll be stuck in a bloody grotto all day," Gene growled.
"Well, you'll be handing out presents to the children at noon. Best way to keep them happy until dinner's ready. I'll get them all gathered together in the play area so that you can do your stuff. After that, the day's yours. Just remember, no smoking, no bad language and no violence in front of the kiddies, and don't let them see you without your beard. God knows we all lose our illusions soon enough, don't want them to lose theirs before they have to."
Gene glanced at the clock. 10.30. He chafed at the thought of being marooned out of sight for the next ninety minutes, but at least after that he would have the run of the place. And in the meantime, Alex would be out there searching for Judd.
"Very good, m'lady," he mumbled. He wasn't going to tell her that he had his gun.
-oO0Oo-
Leaving the kitchen, Alex encountered Lady Joan in the corridor.
"Ah, Alex. Thanks so much for your help with feeding the five thousand. I've another job for you."
"What's that?"
"A spot of assistance in the childrens' play area. Got to keep as many as possible of the little tinkers in one place and fairly quiet until Santa arrives at twelve. Some of the mothers are helping out, but they will favour their own, of course, and we really need someone to act as storyteller."
"Certainly. What stories do you want me to tell?"
"There's a big armchair with a selection of books underneath. Take your pick, but try to include the Christmas story if you can. It's a good thing to remind us all what today's for."
"Of course."
"Thanks, dear. I can send someone to relieve you in about half an hour, and at noon I'll be acting as whipper-in to get all the stray youngsters in there to meet Santa."
Not all the children in the play area were interested in sitting down and being read to, but Alex managed to gather together a decently sized group who were prepared to listen to her as she read them the stories of Babar and Father Christmas, followed by Spot the Dog, before launching into the Christmas story.
Shortly after she began, a tired-looking woman and a little girl with blonde, curly hair sat down at the edge of the group. The little girl was wild with excitement and fidgeted constantly, looking about her and ignoring her mother's weary attempts to make her concentrate on Alex's storytelling.
"Will Daddy be here soon, mummy?" she demanded constantly.
"Yes, darling. Not much longer. Now listen to the nice lady, and soon he'll be here."
An excited child was not unusual on Christmas morning, but there was something about this one that didn't quite fit with her surroundings.
Most children on Christmas morning are excited about presents and seeing Santa. She's only interested in seeing her father. So she can't have seen him for some time. And she's too well dressed to be in a shelter.
Judd's wife and daughter have been in hiding since he went on the run.
Suspicion grew to something like a certainty. The last picture they had of the mother was at her wedding, and at this distance it was hard to connect this careworn woman with the radiant bride in the photograph, but it was a possibility. Their only photo of the daughter showed her at twelve months old, and she was now nearly four. About the age of the bubbly, pink-clad charmer clamouring for her daddy.
It was only with great difficulty that Alex was able to concentrate enough to finish her story, but she knew that it was vital to keep up a pretence of normality. If she closed in on them now, it would frighten Judd away. She finished the Christmas story with the visit of the three Kings, closed the book, and reached automatically for the next volume on the pile. As she bent down to retrieve the book, she caught a glimpse of a child sitting among her audience.
"Molly..."
She lurched to her feet and slumped forward, dimly hearing the children crying out in alarm. Someone caught her arm. She looked up and recognised one of the mothers who had been keeping order when she arrived.
"Are you all right, miss?"
"I... I saw..." Her eyes scanned the crowd, but Molly was no longer there.
"Want me to get a doctor? Place is crawling with 'em."
"No, no, thank you. I'll be all right."
"You look all in. White as a sheet. Go and sit down an' 'ave a cuppa," the woman said firmly. "I'll take over 'ere."
"Thank you. I will."
The woman sat down and took the next book to read, and Alex moved away, shaking her head to clear it.
Damn.
The little girl in pink and her mother had vanished. Alex cursed herself, knowing that they must have used the diversion created by her near-collapse to make their getaway.
So, where might they have gone where they won't be found?
The play area was a curtained off enclave in one corner of a large assembly hall. Other parts of the hall were curtained off for other users, including a barber and a chiropodist. Alex was aware that some of them might be empty at the moment. Finding the mother and daughter in this lot would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.
She peered cautiously around the curtains of several cubicles. All were either empty or in legitimate use, apart from one occupied by the sharp-faced Irishman, who was having a quiet smoke. He looked up quickly as she entered.
"Top of the mornin' to you, Alex me darlin'. Is this a personal visit?"
It only took a split second for her to recover her equilibrium. "You aren't meant to be doing that here, and you know it. Everyone's told the rules when they arrive."
"Ah, but ye wouldn't deny me a little smoke at Christmas, would ye? Santa's gift?"
"Put that out before this place goes up like King's Cross Underground." Too late, she remembered that the King's Cross fire had been in 1987. The man looked quizzical but then tossed his fag to the floor and ground it beneath his heel, never taking his eyes from her face.
"There. All done. Looking for someone?"
Is this man able to read my mind? "Have you seen a woman with a little girl in pink?"
"Saw them passing this way a couple of minutes ago. Went thataway." He jerked his thumb to the left.
"Thank you." Alex darted away, leaving Martin Summers to ponder. How could this woman know about an event which would not happen for nearly six years? Did this mean that he was not the only person in this world who came from the future? He would have to find out more about her.
Emerging from the cubicle, Alex looked about her. Guests and helpers were moving in and out of the cubicles, and quiet groups sat at tables and on piles of spare canvas, drinking tea and talking. She picked up a bin bag and moved about, picking up debris and checking every group. Gut instinct told her that the two of them could not be far away.
As she passed by one cubicle, she spotted a bulge in the drapes, as though people were sitting in an impromptu tent amid spare folds of fabric. A change of angle confirmed for her that one of them was the woman, and that the other was a scruffy, unshaven man, his head hanging low and his cap pulled down over his face. She passed them without looking in their direction, nipped into the cubicle behind them, which by great good fortune was empty, and crouched behind the canvas to listen.
"Darling, shouldn't we go in there?" the woman was whispering urgently.
"No need," the man responded, keeping his voice low. It had the harsh tone of someone who had been sleeping in the open for a long time, in wet, cold weather. "If there's one thing I've learned these last months, it's that you're less likely to be found if you hide in plain sight. Where's Megan?"
"I sent her away. I told her you might be waiting for her in the play area. Please God one of the helpers will keep her there for a few minutes, or she'll find something to distract her."
"What the hell did you do that for?" Alex could hear the anguish in the man's voice. "Don't you realise how desperately I need to see her?"
"We need to talk." The woman sounded terrified but firm.
"What about?" The man sounded mutinous.
"We can't go on like this."
"You can't? What about me?"
"Our money's gone. We have to keep indoors in case anyone sees us, so I can't get a job. I rely on neighbours to bring us food, but there's nothing left to pay for it, nothing for electricity, gas, rent, we're penniless. Megan's been wonderful through it all, but even she's starting to complain that she's always hungry."
"And what am I supposed to do?"
"For God's sake, Mike, turn yourself in. Otherwise you'll die of pneumonia on the streets and we'll be left helpless."
"You know I can't do that."
"Tell the police where the money is and they'll treat you right," the woman pleaded. "All right, so you'll get a few years inside, but at least you'll have a roof over your head, food, medical care. You'd be safe from all the other gangs who are looking for you."
"And what if I'm killed or tortured in jail?" he said savagely. "Criminals hate a traitor. And you'd still both be out here, a target for anyone who wants revenge."
"Get enough money out of one of Neary's accounts for Megan and me to go abroad. South America. You know I've worked as an interpreter before. We'll make a new life for ourselves out there and you can join us when you're released."
"I can't. If I access any of his accounts, the whole underworld will get to hear about it. These people have eyes and ears everywhere. I'll be traced, and that's bound to lead back to you."
"Or is it because you're still too honour bound to that thug to rob him?" the woman snarled. "You care more about him than about your own family."
"God forbid!" the man said violently. "It's too dangerous for all of us for me to go anywhere near that money. You two could be kidnapped to make me disclose where it is. We could all be killed."
"And what sort of life do we have now?" The woman burst into tears. "It's like a living death. Oh, how I wish to God you'd never got mixed up with all this. You've ruined all our lives."
"And if I hadn't, would Megan be alive now?" he said sharply.
"What sort of life have you saved her for?" the woman wailed. "There's no way out of this, not for you, not for any of us..." She broke down into inarticulate sobs.
Before the man could reply, the air was rent with a joyous shriek of "Daddy!" The little girl came racing towards them and launched herself into her father's arms.
"Daddy, my Daddy!" she sobbed into his lap.
"It's all right, precious," he murmured into her hair. "I'm here. Daddy's here."
Alex had to back away, her hands pressed to her mouth and tears rolling down her cheeks. Even this fugitive has his daughter back for Christmas, and I can't have mine. Oh, Molly...
She pulled herself together. It would be safe to leave Judd for a few minutes. He had nowhere to run to, and he would not leave his wife and child. She should find Gene at once and tell him that she had located Judd. But how could she bear to arrest him, just as he had been reunited with his family after so long? What would become of his wife and daughter, penniless and unprotected while he was in jail?
Drying her eyes, she steeled herself to do her job. But as she emerged from her canvas cocoon, she froze at the sight in front of her.
Gene, walking into the hall. Gene, dressed as Father Christmas, all ready to bear down on the reunited family like the wolf on the fold.
Alex groaned inwardly. Someone was not going to have a merry Christmas.
TBC