A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes. Yet. My time may come…
Thank you to everyone who's reading and reviewing this story. It's now going to be at least four chapters long, quite possibly five, which is much longer than I originally anticipated. I keep getting new ideas for it which won't go away. That means I'll finish posting it after the Christmas season ends, but at least I've posted this third chapter before Twelfth Night.
If you like it, please review – and in answer to GeneHuntress's question, I want to be first in the queue to sit on Santa Gene's lap!
Gene proceeded into the hall, a sack over his shoulder, walking like a man on his way to the gallows. Children scampered at his heels, shrieking "Santa! Santa!". Lady Joan was close behind, shepherding the strays. They passed into the play area, where a huge cheer greeted his arrival.
Alex heaved a huge sigh of relief. By some mercy, he had not seen the Judds. A plan had already formed in her mind, and she might just have time to carry it out while he was occupied holding court in the play area. He would roast her with the turkey later on for going over his head, but if this worked it would be worth a ticking-off from Gene. Goodness knew, she was used to those.
Lady Joan, who had spotted the Judds, breezed up to them.
"Excuse me for interrupting you, but Father Christmas has just arrived. Wouldn't your little girl like to see him and get a present?"
"Want to stay with Daddy," Megan declared mutinously, but all the adults could hear the longing in her voice. She's been living in hiding for months, Alex recalled, and there hasn't been any money for toys.
"Off you go, pet," Judd said reassuringly. "It won't take long. Daddy will be here when you get back."
Lady Joan's eyebrows raised as she recognised the voice of the man who had thanked her for her soup on the Silver Lady run four nights earlier, but she was careful to show no other signs of surprise.
"Come with me, dear." She took Megan's hand and led her away.
Bingo, Alex thought. Judd won't move an inch until Megan comes back. She moved away, careful not to pass the Judds, and encountered Lady Joan as she emerged from the play area in search of further stragglers.
"May I use a phone, please?" she said softly. "It's urgent."
Lady Joan did not need to be told that the phone call must not be overheard. "My office. Room 3, to the left of the entrance hall. Here's the key."
"Thank you." Alex took the key and fled.
-oO0Oo-
Like a sleepwalker, Gene mounted the dais and sat in the storyteller's chair. Utter terror consumed him as he looked out over a whole sea of ecstatic young faces. The horrendous noise level was making his head spin. What the bloody hell was he doing here? Why had he ever let a posh old bird talk him into this? He conveniently ignored the small part of his brain telling him that he had not wanted to refuse in front of Alex. More importantly, what was he doing to do now?
Lady Joan clapped her hands for silence. "Boys and girls! We all want to thank Father Christmas for coming here today, don't we?"
"YEEESSS!" they shrieked.
"Good! Now, get into a queue, just as you do when you're waiting for a bus, and you can tell him what you want for Christmas and he'll give you a present. NO, dear, I said a QUEUE! That's a line of people, isn't it, all waiting their turn. NOT all running forward at once. That's right, dear, you've got the right idea! As you're so good, you can go first."
A small, thin, terrified-looking boy climbed onto the dais and timidly approached the dazed Father Christmas.
"Er - Ho, ho, ho."
Gene focused on the newcomer. Kid couldn't be more than eight years old, but he had the look of a wary old man.
"Come 'ere, son. What's your name?"
"Stuart."
"Stuart?" Gene's heart swelled as memories engulfed him. "How old are you?"
"I'm eight."
Christmas Day when Stu was eight. We'd wanted a football and roller skates. Mam said Father Christmas would try to bring them for us. She managed to get the money together for them, but on Christmas Eve Dad sold them for beer money and when Stu cried because he hadn't got a present, Dad gave him a black eye. We never believed in Father Christmas after that.
"An' what would you like for Christmas, Stuart?"
"I want us to 'ave somewhere to live," the boy confided. "We've been livin' under a railway arch since Dad left an' Mum got behind with the rent, an' it's cold an' wet there."
"Well, er, that's why your Mam's brought you 'ere. There's lots of nice people 'ere who'll 'elp 'er an' you find somewhere to stay." He made a mental note to have a word with Lady Joan about getting the Crisis staff to help Stuart's family. "An 'ere's a present from Santa." He plunged his hand into the sack and came up with a blue-wrapped present which he could feel contained a teddy bear.
"Th-thank you!" The boy clutched it like a lifeline.
" 'Ave a 'appy Christmas, Stu. NEXT!"
Next was a little girl who climbed onto his knee with all the confidence of Marlene Dietrich and snuggled affectionately against him while whispering her wish for a doll's house.
Should be thinking of one for you and your Mam. "Well, there's a nice one in my gnome 'ome up at the North Pole. I'll make sure you get it, soon as. An 'ere's something to be going on with." This parcel felt like a doll. With any luck, it would fit into a doll's house when her parents were flush enough to get her one.
The child left his lap with great reluctance and was replaced by a burly, stroppy boy who demanded an Action Man and tugged at Gene's beard when the proffered present turned out to be a Meccano aeroplane instead. Greatly to Gene's relief, Lady Joan had the brat removed. Soon as you find somewhere to live, I'm coming round there to stamp on all your toys.
He wondered if his ordeal would ever end.
The brat was followed by a little girl, neatly dressed in threadbare clothes who, even in the warm room, looked half-perished with cold. Her voice was so hoarse that she could barely croak out her wish for a new dress.
Poor little sod probably hasn't had one in years. If ever. He knew that the shelter helped homeless people to find replacement clothing from items donations received from the public.
"In that case you've come to the right shop, love. Get your Mam to talk to Lady Joan, the lady in the tartan skirt over there - the white 'aired one, see 'er? The one who's playin' with the little girl in pink. She'll be able to find you something." To his horror, the child burst into tears. "Hey, what's up?"
"I h- I h- haven't got a Mummy any more," the girl wailed. "She l-left us six months ago. My Daddy's looking after us now. But we h-have to live in a c-caravan because he's s-scared the S-Social will c-come and take us away!"
Gene wrapped an arm around her while she sobbed into his scarlet robe. He had started by regarding this Santa lark as a hated chore to be endured and got through, but as each tragic story succeeded the last he was becoming consumed with horror and rage at the injustice of the suffering that these children had to endure. And God knows how many more of them are out there, not even lucky enough to get into a place like this for Christmas.
My job is to make a difference. Always is, always has been, whatever I do. It isn't much, but maybe by playing Santa I can make a difference for some of these poor kids. Except for the little bastard with the Meccano.
"There, there, love. Sorry, I didn't know. Get your Dad to talk to the nice lady."
She nodded and was all set to flee the platform, but he gently held her back.
"Hey, hey, there. Don't you want a present from Santa?"
She nodded and he felt deep into the sack for a soft, pink-wrapped present which felt to him like a woollen scarf. Just what she needs.
"There you go, love, an' a merry Christmas."
He did a quick count of the kids waiting patiently, or not so patiently, in the queue. About thirty to go. He mentally mopped his brow.
"NEXT!"
-oO0Oo-
Alex locked herself in Room 3 and dialled the front desk at Fenchurch East. She did not recognise the voice answering her.
"Hello, DI Drake here. I don't suppose Viv is on duty today?"
"No, Ma'am." The voice was young, well-spoken, respectful. "He's off duty today. I'm PS Michael Clarence, I'm filling in over the holiday. How can I help, Ma'am?"
"Can you please find out for me, the phone number of the Met officer in charge of the Witness Protection Programme? It's extremely urgent that I speak to him at once, today. And please don't tell anyone that I've asked you." Because what I'm going to ask of him is going to be more unorthodox than Gene cheering for United.
"Of course I won't, Ma'am. Just hold the line, I'll get it for you."
Every second she had to wait felt like an age, filled with visions of Megan returning to her parents and the Judds vanishing. After about two minutes PS Clarence spoke again.
"I've got the name and numbers for you, Ma'am. The Metropolitan Police Head of Witness Protection is away and out of contact over the Christmas period - skiiing in Switzerland, so I understand. The City of London Police Head of Witness Protection is covering for him. She's on leave but can be contacted at home in an emergency. DCI Myra Bishop. I have both her home number and her work number, but I don't think the work number will do you much good if you need to speak to her today."
"Thank you, Sergeant. Good work. Better give me both numbers, just in case."
He recited the numbers to her, and she rang off with a word of thanks.
It was with some trepidation that Alex dialled the home number. This was an emergency, but what she was asking would be in the nature of a favour. DCI Bishop might not take kindly to having her Christmas disrupted.
A man answered the phone, and Alex could hear a number of voices and Christmas music playing in the background. It sounded as though DCI Bishop was hosting a substantial Christmas party.
"Yes, she's here. I'll get her for you. Shall I say who's calling?"
"Yes, please say that it's DI Drake of the Metropolitan Police."
After a short wait she heard a woman's voice, warm, maternal, friendly and caring.
"Myra Bishop here. What can I do for you, DI Drake?"
"I'm with DCI Gene Hunt at the Crisis at Christmas shelter in Bermondsey. We've located a suspect who's in hiding here with his wife and daughter."
"Name?"
"Michael Judd. Former book-keeper - "
"To Simon Neary. Yes, my Force has been looking out for him too."
"You'll know the situation then, Ma'am." As the only DI in her Division, it felt strange to Alex to be speaking to a female superior officer in the 1980s. "We know that a number of gangs are after him. We haven't attempted to approach him or his family yet. If we simply move in to arrest him, he could try to make a break for it. That could create a disturbance, which in this crowded place we want to avoid."
"Understandably."
"We don't know whether any of the gangs looking for him have traced him here. If they have, and an attempt on our part to arrest Judd creates a scene, they'll be onto him. This shelter is full of women and children, and we daren't risk a shootout or hostage situation."
"Of course not."
"It isn't just arresting Judd that's important. We need to get him onside so that he will give us his information on Neary's financial empire. It could be crucial in demonstrating to the court that money in Neary's bank accounts came from bank raids in which we suspect Neary was involved. We know that Judd's terrified of putting his family in danger if he goes to the police or tries to access any of Neary's accounts to get money to send them abroad. His wife is desperate. She and their daughter have been in hiding since he went on the run, but they have no money left. She's urging him to hand himself in. I believe that if I can assure Judd that his wife and daughter will be protected, I could persuade him to assist us, which would in turn help to reduce the length of his sentence. Now, I know that as the wife and daughter aren't witnesses they don't actually fall within the remit of your programme, but insofar as a guarantee of their safety could induce a suspect to act as a witness - "
"Say no more. Of course we'll protect them. Can't leave a woman and a child exposed to danger. God knows what would happen to them if any of Neary's rivals got them. You do realise, though, that if Judd doesn't also get witness protection on his release, he may be separated from them for ever?"
"I had considered that," Alex said cautiously. "But he's unlikely ever to be out of danger, even after the police get hold of Neary's bank accounts. He could be a target for revenge attacks."
"More than likely," DCI Bishop agreed. "I know what happened to poor Harry Richardson."
Who? Oh, yes, Reeks.
"I can't guarantee what would happen at the end of whatever sentence Judd receives, but if I'm still in this job then I'd certainly make a strong recommendation for him to be given witness protection so that he can join his family, wherever they are," DCI Bishop continued. "Will that be enough for you to take as an offer to him?"
"I certainly hope so. Thank you."
"Good. Off you go and get Judd. Take the whole family to your station - "
"Fenchurch East."
"Call me again when you've got them there and keep them in the station until I arrive. I'll be making some calls to organise a new location for the wife and daughter."
"Thank you so much, Ma'am. I'm so sorry to spoil your Christmas."
"Think nothing of it. It comes with the territory. Nicholas, my husband, is always very busy at Christmas. Goodbye, DI Drake. We'll talk later."
Alex left the office, too preoccupied to notice the man who had been listening behind the door and had turned away, pretending to read a paper, as she emerged. Summers's mind was reeling with the effort of trying to process all the information he had just received.
DI Drake. DI Alex Drake. The name of the woman in the room next to mine in the hospital. In 2008. The DI who's been shot in the head. Her daughter Molly is on her way to see her.
Was it coincidence, or could the two women possibly, just possibly, be one and the same?
This Alex Drake knows that the King's Cross fire is going to happen.
More than ever, he felt that he could not be the only person from the real world in this Godforsaken place. He felt a surge of fellow feeling, a lessening of his terrible loneliness.
It might be a mistake. She might be referring to another fire in the past that I don't know about.
I know her station now. Fenchurch East. I know how to find her again. I must find out more about her. See if she knows any more about the future. About the real world.
When he'd first arrived in this place, his natural instinct had been to go undercover. Now it looked as though it was going to start paying off.
-oO0Oo-
On returning to the assembly hall, Alex was deeply relieved to find that the Judds were still in the same place and that Megan had not returned. She had to hope that Lady Joan was keeping an eye on the child while she spoke to the parents.
She approached them and they looked up, both starting like nervous horses. She gave them her most reassuring smile.
"Hello. I'm one of the helpers here." That at least was true. "We're dedicated to helping people to get off the streets and into accommodation. Can I have a word?"
"No, no, thank you," Judd muttered nervously. "We're all right."
"I hardly think so, if you need to ask a charity to shelter you at Christmas," Alex said gravely. "To be here means that you need help. Can we have a word, please?" She motioned to the empty cubicle behind her.
"Later, maybe." Mrs Judd spoke with an effort. "We're waiting here for our daughter. She's been taken to see Father Christmas."
"Now, please." Alex allowed an edge to creep into her voice. "Then we can finish before your daughter comes back."
Judd's face showed that he knew that the game was up. He nodded, muttering something, and he and his wife followed Alex into the cubicle, which was furnished with a table and three chairs.
Careful to place herself between the Judds and the entrance, Alex produced her warrant card.
"Michael Judd, you are under arrest under suspicion of money laundering, handing stolen money, concealment of evidence - "
"Oh God..." Mrs Judd sank into a chair. Judd remained standing, blazing with defiance, yet Alex thought that she could detect a sense of relief at the decision having been taken out of his hands.
"I know you," he snarled. "You're DI Drake, aren't you? The woman detective. You and that ape Hunt took Simon Neary down. You're the one who got Marcus Johnstone to betray him. So why do you think I'd want to talk to you?"
"Because I can help you," Alex said calmly.
"Hah!"
"I know that your chief concern is not for yourself, not for Simon Neary or for the money you administered for him. Your concern is for a treasure infinitely more precious and more vulnerable. Your wife and your daughter."
"Fancy words from a traitor cop," he scoffed, but she noticed that he made no move to try to leave.
"Listen to her, Mike," Mrs Judd urged.
"I know that you dread that whatever action you take might expose them to danger and that they are living in desperate poverty."
"So?"
"I have just been speaking to the acting Head of Witness Protection for the Metropolitan Police, who has guaranteed that if you co-operate with the police in our case against Simon Neary, your wife and daughter will be protected. They will be re-located and be given a new home and new identities. They will be safe from anyone seeking them to gain information from you."
"A new home... Oh, Mike..."
Judd's face was carefully expressionless. "So you'll protect them but throw me to the wolves?"
"No. You'll be kept in custody until your trial, and my DCI and I will see to it that you are not placed in any jail in which Neary or any of his associates are inmates." And if Gene doesn't make good on that, I'll pour sugar into the Quattro's engine. "What sentence you receive and how long it is would be a matter for the courts, but it would take into account any assistance you give to the police."
Judd was very still. "And - afterwards?"
At least he isn't rejecting the offer out of hand. But here's the difficult bit. "I'm afraid I can't guarantee that. All I can say is that if, as seems likely, you are still considered to be in danger following your release, then there would be a very strong possibility that you would be recommended for witness protection, so that you could join your wife and daughter."
Her words hung in the air. Mrs Judd had gone very white and reached out to grip her husband's hand. Judd stood still, his head bowed. Alex waited.
TBC