A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes... you know the rest.

Very many thanks to everyone who's been reading this story and especially to the five lovely people who reviewed Chapter 6. As promised, here's the final chapter in time for Twelfth Night, and I'll resume "The Beginning of an Era" as soon as I can.

As always, feedback would be so welcome...

Gene was reaching from his coat when the phone rang again. Cursing mightily, he lifted the receiver, wondering if Mac was calling back.

"Hunt."

"Ah, Gene, I wondered if I'd catch you. Lady Joan here."

"Oh, 'ello, m'lady."

"I thought you'd like to know that I've located the Irish gunman's wife and son in the shelter."

"Patrick O'Neill's family?"

"Yes. Poor woman, she was distraught when she couldn't find her husband, but when I took her into my office and told her what had happened, she didn't seem surprised, only resigned. I think she'd guessed why he'd taken them there."

"Yes."

"I know you can't do anything about protection for them, but they're likely to be in just as much danger as the Judds. Leary and his gang might try to use them to stop O'Neill talking."

"He already 'as. Sung like a Christmas choirboy."

"Might be in danger from reprisals, then. Anyway, for safety's sake I've moved them out of the shelter. They can stay with me tonight and tomorrow. If anyone tries to get into my flat, I'll land them one with my frying pan. I've just had a word with my old school chum, Deborah. She and her husband run an ancestral pile down in darkest Devonshire. Guided tours, sporting events, weddings, that sort of thing. She'll give Mrs O'Neill a job in the farm shop, and the little lad can go to the village school. I'll drive them down there on the twenty-seventh. Not as good as witness protection, but they should be all right. Nobody will look for them there. Best I can manage at such short notice."

"An' a chance for a fresh start away from that bastard. Thanks, m'lady. As always, you're the good angel of London's 'omeless."

"Oh, tosh."

"Just one more thing."

"What's that?"

"One of the kids I saw today. His name's Stuart, 'e's eight years old. Said 'is family are living under a railway arch. Can you do something for 'em?"

"By all means, Father Christmas. It's what I'm here for. Don't worry, I'll see to it."

"Thanks, m'lady."

"Think nothing of it. Thank you for all your help today, and please pass on my thanks to Alex. She was wonderful, serving breakfast when nobody else was available and reading to the children. Merry Christmas to both of you."

"Thanks, m'lady, an' the same to you."

-oO0Oo-

Alex returned to the main office to find it deserted. Peering through the glass of his door, she saw that Gene was still on the phone. She took her cardigan and left, knowing that he would follow when he was finished.

Never come between him and his work. Even on Christmas Day.

She entered her dark, cold flat, put the lights on, and looked about her in despair. The place was empty, the open curtains made it bleak and cheerless, and the decorations in which she had taken such pride looked tawdry. She sank to her knees and gave way at last to the misery and longing which had been threatening to engulf her all day.

"Oh, Molly..." She buried her face in her hands and gave way to the luxury of tears. "It's Christmas and I'm not with you... I'm sorry, my darling, I'm sorry, Mols, I'm fighting to get back to you, I still am, I'll never give up, never..." The words emerged as an incoherent jumble amid her choking sobs.

After a couple of minutes, she pulled herself together. Gene would be arriving soon, and she would never hear the last of if he found her like this. She hauled herself to her feet, went into the bathroom to bathe her face and eyes in cold water, and closed the curtains, instantly making the place look more cheery. She found a tape of Christmas songs and jammed it into the cassette player, then nipped into the kitchen to seek out the booze and glasses. If she could keep herself busy, maybe she would be able to keep her grief at bay for a short while.

A knock at the door made her jump. Plastering a bright smile across her face, she squared her shoulders and went to open the door. Gene was leaning against the doorframe, a dark red velvet Santa robe draped around his shoulders, an empty sack draped over his arm, holding a bottle aloft in one hand and two glasses in the other.

"Ho, ho, ho. Look what Santa's found in the bottom of 'is sack for you. 'Ave you been a good girl or a bad girl this year, Bolly?"

Her smile became genuine. "You said earlier today that you'd rather I was a bad girl."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Is that an offer?"

"In your dreams, Santa Hunt. Come on in and have a drink."

A couple of minutes later they were sitting side by side on Alex's sofa, sipping the red wine which Alex was convinced that Gene had nicked from Luigi's bar downstairs.

"What d'you think of the potion, Bols?"

She pretended to consider the question. "Well, it matches your robe, Father Christmas. Where did you get that one, anyway? It isn't the one you were wearing at the shelter."

"Got it from the evidence room. Remember when Ray nicked Artie Matthews last week for fraudulent collecting for War on Want in Oxford Street? This was 'is cunning disguise."

"It's very appropriate, anyway."

"Yeah, Christmas isn't over yet." He set his glass down, reached into the apparently empty sack, and pulled out a tiny gift-wrapped box. "Ta da. Merry Christmas, Bolly."

"Oh, thank you, Gene! You shouldn't have."

"No, I probably shouldn't, but there you go." He handed it to her.

"Thank you, Santa. In that case I probably shouldn't have got you this, either." She put her glass down, reached down beside the sofa, and picked up a gift-wrapped bottle. "Merry Christmas, Gene."

His eyes lit up. "Thanks, Bols." He ripped the paper away to reveal a bottle of 38-year-old Talisker. "Bolly, you 'ave taste."

"Don't drink it all at once, now, that's a vintage brew. It was distilled in Coronation year. Sorry it isn't very original, but what does one give to the man who has everything?"

"What you've just given me." He helped himself to a couple of whisky glasses on the table, opened the bottle, and poured out two snifters. "Come on, open yours." He seemed faintly nervous, as though afraid that she might not like it.

She unwrapped her present to reveal a small jewellery box containing a pair of blue anchor-shaped earrings with tiny chains wrapped around them.

"Oh, Gene, they're lovely! Thank you so much."

He blushed slightly. "Hope you like 'em. The bird in the shop said that they're the latest. Thought that would do for you, I've 'eard Shaz say you always know what's goin' to be the next in thing for birds' clothes."

So I do, and I remember how big nautical stuff became around this time.

"You've just given me an excuse to buy an anchor blouse I saw the other day. They'll look great together. Thanks."

They're appropriate for another reason too, she reflected. He is my anchor in this mad world. The one thing I can rely on, no matter what happens.

"Oh, er, good. Glad they're what you want."

Tears filled her eyes suddenly. "You can't give me what I really want. Nobody here can, nobody..." The earrings fell, forgotten, into her lap as she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

"Hey, c'mon, Bols, that's not allowed. It's Christmas, remember?" He was obviously ill at ease. "Here, 'ave some of this." He put a glass of Scotch in front of her, reached under the robe into his suit pocket for a noisome handkerchief, and pushed it into her hand. She blew her nose, heroically overcoming her revulsion, and wiped her tears away as they continued to fall.

"What is it that Santa Genie can't get you, then?"

She swallowed hard. "I want to see my daughter again. I miss her, I miss her so much." She dabbed at her eyes and took a sip of whisky, willing herself to relax.

"An' is that so difficult? Cars an' buses an' trains an' boats an' planes can't get you to 'er - or 'er to you? I could give you a lift in the Quattro, take you to see 'er."

"No, no, it's - it's complicated. I'm afraid I can't tell you."

"Oh." He drew back slightly, clearly offended at her apparent rebuffing of his kindness. "Please yourself."

Alex felt the tension in the air and changed the subject. "Thank you for looking after the Judds until DCI Bishop arrived. It will have meant so much to them."

"Least I could do," Gene muttered, embarrassed. "Now that kid'll go on waiting an' waiting for 'er Dad, an' 'e won't come back."

And my daughter's waiting too, not knowing if I'll ever return. Alex felt the tears smarting at her eyes again, but she willed them down. She knew that Gene needed her reassurance.

"Remember, it might not be for long, as he's helping us," she said as lightly as she could. "And DCI Bishop did say that if at all possible she'll recommend for him to join his family when he's released. And in the meantime, they're all safer where they are than where they were, on the streets or in the shelter with gangsters gunning for them."

"Yeah." Gene sighed heavily. "They're where they should be. Even if they aren't where they want to be. And they might not be the only ones like that."

He looked at her, long and steadily, his blue eyes full of compassion.

Alex had a sudden flashback. He looked at me like that the morning my parents died. When he said...

I'm everywhere. I was needed, and I was there.

Then, as now, it was as though he had understood her thoughts. She felt the ground shift beneath her.

How much does this man know? He's at the heart of this world. Is he the key to my way home?

He looked at her oddly. "You OK? Look like you've seen Marley's Ghost."

She shook her head as though to clear it. "Yes. Yes. I'm fine. It's been a long day."

He emptied his glass and refilled it. "Yeah, it's a hard life, nicking the unjust an' tending the just. Lady Joan's told me 'ow you fed the 'ungry an' read to the kiddies."

She was able to smile again. "I wish I'd been a fly on the wall when you were playing Father Christmas. The only Santa in the world wearing crocodile boots."

"You'd 'ave been a fly on the wall, I'd 'ave swatted you."

Her eyes widened. "Why? I'm so proud of you. You should be proud of yourself."

He snorted. "What, for sitting with smelly kids on my lap, waiting for 'em to piss or puke all over my scarlet robe? Give me a nice, peaceful gun battle with drug runners any day of the fortnight."

"Those poor children have so little, but you gave them happiness," Alex said earnestly.

Gene looked at the ground. "Could 'ave done that just as easily by bunging Lady Joan a few quid to get them some more toys an' some warm clothes."

"There's more than one way of giving," Alex said gently. "What you gave them was something you couldn't have bought them simply by putting a donation in Lady Joan's collection tin. You gave them yourself. Your time, your effort, your kindness. You could not have given them anything more precious."

Gene shifted uncomfortably. "Wasn't much."

"It was everything." Something in her voice made him look up at her. The warmth of her smile, the closeness of that moment, was something that he would secretly cherish in the months to come. "Today you've given hope to a family who had none, and happiness to children who had none. Remember St Paul's First Epistle to the Corinthians? "And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three. But the greatest of these is charity.""

Epilogue

Shortly before midnight, DCI Bishop stopped her car outside a small house and killed the engine. She looked behind her. The mother and child in the back had been asleep for hours. Which was just as it should be.

"We've arrived," she said softly. Mrs Judd stirred.

"Wha - ?"

"We've reached your new home. Come on in."

She got out, opened the back door, and helped Mrs Judd to lift the slumbering Megan out of her seat. With the child in her arms, Mrs Judd stood in the moonlight looking at the house. It was detached, with a neatly tended front garden and driveway. The lights were on, and a Christmas tree twinkled in the bay window.

"This...ours?"

"That's right."

"It's beautiful!"

"Glad you like it. Come in, or you'll get cold."

DCI Bishop unlocked the front door and escorted Mrs Judd inside.

"Here we are. Living room on the left, kitchen there, that one's empty but you can convert it into a playroom for Megan if you like. Bathroom and two bedrooms upstairs."

She opened the living room door. The room was comfortably furnished and was bright with Christmas decorations.

"All this for us?" Mrs Judd said in wonder. "But I thought that witness protection homes were very sparse, only the bare essentials. It's even been decorated for Christmas."

"Well, these are unusual circumstances," DCI Bishop admitted. "Normally, witness protection facilites are for suspects and convicted criminals who have agreed to testify, so we don't go to that much effort to make it comfortable. You two are being kept hidden for your own safety, so it's different."

"But I'm - " Mrs Judd began.

"As it's Christmas, and there's a child involved, I contacted my helpers and told them to get the place ready for you," DCI Bishop continued. "Making it nice might help your daughter to settle in more quickly."

"Thank you," Mrs Judd breathed.

"Leave her on the sofa for a minute, you can cover her with that rug. We have things to discuss."

Mrs Judd did as she was bidden and followed DCI Bishop into the small, well-appointed kitchen, complete with cooker, fridge, washing machine and spin dryer. DCI Bishop put the kettle on.

"You can't see much out of the window at this time of night, but there's a garden behind the house, half an acre. Space for Megan to play in."

Mrs Judd sat at the table as a steaming cup of tea was placed in front of her. "Where are we? You haven't told me that yet."

"This is Consett."

"County Durham?"

"That's right." DCI Bishop sat at the table, opposite her. "Now, I'm sorry to have to do this when you're tired, but I've got to take you through the information about your new lives here. We won't meet after today unless there's an emergency, so this is the only time I can do it." She produced a large blue folder from her shoulder bag and placed it on the table. "First things first. Here are the keys." She placed the bunch on the table. "These two are for the front door, this one's for the back." She looked very hard at Mrs Judd. "You should be perfectly safe here, but just in case, make sure that you always lock up at night. That includes the windows."

Mrs Judd shuddered. "Understood. I know all about that. We've been living in hiding for months, dreading every day that some gangster would find us."

"Good. Now, we have a number of identities set up for protected witnesses, and I've assigned two of them to you and your daughter. From today, your name is Helen Elizabeth Walker. Your daughter's name is Margaret, that way you can call her Meg. At least it's short for Megan. It's imperative that you train her to use only her new name."

"That's the bit that's worrying me. She's been as good as gold all the time we've been in hiding, but how can I impress upon her how important it is for her only to use her new name? She's so young, she can't possibly appreciate how important it is. She could slip up so easily."

DI Bishop smiled. "Why don't you make a game out of it? The longer she remembers to use your new names and doesn't use the old ones, the bigger the prize she'll get at the end of it. You can keep the game running for years. Children like that."

"Thank you. I'll try it."

"Anyway, Mrs Walker, your husband, Alan, is working in Saudi Arabia as advisor to an oil company. The company details are in this folder, in case anyone asks you. We've set up a job for you as secretary to Stephen Clerk, he's the chief executive of a boiled sweet factory on the edge of town. You start on the second of January,"

"Without an interview, and he doesn't even know me? How come the job's available?"

"Luckily your predecessor left just before Christmas to get married. I happen to know Mr Clerk. He's given you the job on my recommendation. You can do secretarial work, I hope?"

"Oh, yes. I'm a trained shorthand typist."

"That's good. There's a letter of appointment in the folder. Now, a bank account has been set up in the name of Helen Walker. There's £500 in it, enough to keep you going until you're paid your first month's salary. The cheque book and papers are in the folder. You can set up a credit card account and a building society account if you want them. Meg has been enrolled at the Shining Star nursery school, details are in the folder. There's a map of the town there, too, and as you haven't got a car I'm giving you the local bus and train timetables. No passport, because we can't allow you to leave the country, at least not until after the trial. All right so far?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Now to the serious bit. I cannot emphasise strongly enough that you and Meg must not contact anyone who knew you as Susan and Megan Judd. If you do, we won't be able to protect you any longer. We'll tell your family that you're in witness protection, and in time we can arrange for you to meet them, but only at the times and places we say."

Mrs Judd - no, Mrs Walker - sighed. "I guessed that it would be like that. My only family is a sister in Canada, I'll give you her address. Can I write to her?"

"Send the letters to us and we'll post them. Address in the folder. What about your husband's family?"

"They'd want to see Megan - sorry, Meg - but they never approved of me. His mother accused me of making him run the scam that got him jailed."

"And did you?"

Mrs Walker lowered her eyes from that kindly, perceptive gaze. "No. No, I didn't, but when I found out what he was doing I didn't stop him. That makes me a criminal, too. We were so desperate to get treatment for - Meg - we'd have done anything."

"You and your husband sinned out of love," DCI Bishop said gently. "I think you'll find that whatever justice is like here below, such sins are often pardoned above."

"Thank you," Mrs Walker whispered. "I hope so."

"I'm afraid you'll both have to use the clothes you stand up in until the shops are open," DCI Bishop went on. "Hopefully you should be able to kit yourselves out in the sales, but don't buy too much. My helpers will pack up your things from your old address and send them on to you, you'll get them in about a week's time. They'll pack all Meg's toys, too."

"We'd been living in hiding and didn't have very much at that place, so it shouldn't take them long, I'm afraid. We had to abandon our home when Mike went on the run after Neary was arrested."

"I know. The police have been through your house for evidence, but they won't want a woman's and a child's clothes or her toys. I'll make sure you have them by the turn of the year. Now, we'll be keeping in touch with you, but very discreetly, in case you're watched or phones are tapped. I've given you code words in the folder along with an emergency number, so when the police contact you, you'll hear one of those words. If you don't, it doesn't come from us, and you should call your emergency number at once. We'll also call you using the codes, to arrange meetings with family members and when we need to take you to court for the trial. When that happens, you'll be given a police escort from here to the courtroom and back again, and the house - and Meg - will be guarded in your absence. Right, any questions?"

"Yes. First, apart from using our real names, contacting anyone we know and going abroad, is there anything else we can't do?"

"Just don't do anything that's likely to get you noticed, like entering a talent contest or a TV quiz show, or going into local politics." DCI Bishop said with a laugh. "Lie low and live completely humdrum, unexceptional lives until you're so fully integrated into the community that people don't remember a time when you weren't there."

Mrs Walker heaved a happy sigh. "With a home, a job, and money in the bank. After what we've been through, it'll be almost Heaven." She looked pleadingly at DCI Bishop. "Second. Will I ever see my husband again?"

The older woman looked at her kindly. "I know that the two of you will need him to make it really Heaven on earth. Offically, you know I can promise nothing."

"No, but..."

"Take heart, my dear." She stood up, walked around the table, and put an arm around Mrs Walker's shoulder. "Be brave for his sake and your daughter's, and you may see him again sooner than you think."

"Really?" The younger woman looked up at the older, hope unaccountably rising in her heart.

"Who knows? It's Christmas. Anything can happen. Maybe, even, a miracle. Any more questions?"

"Just one. How can I ever thank you for everything you've done for us?"

DCI Bishop smiled and helped her to stand. "By making a success of your new lives here and being happy until he comes to join you." She hugged her and kissed her forehead. "Good luck, my dear. Now I have to go. I have a long journey, and you'll be wanting to get both Meg and yourself settled in for your first night in your new home."

"Thank you so much for everything." Mrs Walker hugged her back, and they walked together to the door. She unlocked it, and DCI Bishop slipped out.

"Goodbye, my dear. God bless you." A soft kiss on the cheek, and she was gone, pulling the door shut behind her. Going into the living room, where Megan still lay undisturbed, Mrs Walker thought for a fleeting moment that she could hear the jingle of sleigh bells. The impression was so strong that she hurried to the window and drew the velvet drapes aside. But DCI Bishop's distinctive silver car had gone and the street lay silent and empty in the moonlight. Shrugging, she picked up her sleeping daughter and carried her upstairs to bed.

-oO0Oo-

DCI Bishop waited until she was well clear of Consett before switching her radio on.

"DCI Myra Bishop to Nicholas Bishop and PS Michael Clarence. You there, boys?"

"Ho, ho, ho! Loud and clear, love," a hearty voice boomed.

"Receiving you, Ma'am," a younger voice added respectfully.

"Wishing to report a successful conclusion to Operation Hide in Plain Sight."

"Well done, sweetheart."

"Congratulations, Ma'am."

"Thanks for all your help, lads. I couldn't have done it without you. Nick, please pass on my especial thanks to your little helpers. It was very good of them to interrupt their Christmas celebrations to do up Mrs Judd's new house. Just as they must have thought they had finished for this year."

"Think nothing of it, love. They know they're on duty till midnight on Christmas Day. The real party starts tomorrow."

"I know. Special cakes all round, I think."

"Can't wait."

"Isn't your waistline big enough already, after all the mince pies and sherry yesterday evening?" she said teasingly. "And please thank Stephen for me, for offering Mrs Judd that secretarial job. I know she'll work well for him."

"He said to tell you that he's glad to help. After all, tomorrow's his day."

"Anyway, please thank him. And Michael, well done for passing my number to DI Drake. It gave her and us the chance to get the Judds to safety. I'll make sure you're given credit for that."

"Thank you, Ma'am. Does that mean I might get my wings?" the younger voice said wistfully.

"Attaboy, Clarence. I'll certainly make a recommendation. Just make sure you keep Judd safe until he's transferred to jail."

"Thank you, Ma'am. Very much. Just one thing - " The voice hesitated.

"What is it, Michael?"

"Can't we do something for DI Drake? When I was in the station with her, she was surrounded by such a strong aura of unhappiness that I could taste it. She needs her daughter. Isn't there anything we can do to help her?"

"I'm afraid not," DCI Bishop said sadly. "That's outside our remit for this mission. Besides, we all know that she has her own guardian angel. Even though he doesn't realise it himself."

"Very true, Ma'am."

"He'll look after her. Just as she looks after him. They don't understand yet, how much they need each other. They will, eventually. I just hope that they find out before it's too late."

There was a short, sad silence, broken by Nicholas's hearty boom.

"So, when can we expect you back, love? Can't start the party without you."

"I'm signing off now, and I'll be with you as soon as Rudolph can get me there. Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night."

THE END