Disclaimer: For some reason, I still don't own anything...

Thanks Em, for the beta and the help :)

Requiem for a love affair

Chapter 7

The two men stood and watched the car gather speed as the figure in the driver's seat slumped over the steering wheel. They heard the bang as it hit the roadside fence and then the sound of the undergrowth being torn up. Shortly afterwards, there was the noise of the engine revving loudly as the wheels lost contact with solid ground. That was followed by several thuds and finally a loud explosion, which momentarily lit up the night sky. It was done. They climbed into a battered Land Rover and the driver spoke to his passenger:

"So, Newcastle then?"

"Yes, Newcastle."

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Adam's face told them the news wasn't good.

"So it's him?" Zaf asked quietly.

"It's looking like it. There's CCTV from earlier in the evening showing him and the car, at a petrol station in Keswick. Identification of the body will need to be verified by dental records though – there's not much left."

Jo's hand flew up to her mouth and she stifled a sob. Zaf moved towards her and put an arm around her shoulder. "Do the police know what happened?"

"They won't say one way or another. It could have been an accident, it could have been deliberate." Adam had sat down, suddenly overcome with weariness and grief.

"Deliberate, as in he did it himself, or deliberate, as in someone else did it?" Zaf's words were slightly muffled as he rested his cheek on Jo's head as she started to cry.

Adam was silent, lost in his own thoughts.

"Mate?"

"What? Sorry, the traffic Sergeant was non-committal. All he said was it's a dangerous bit of road and it wouldn't be the first time someone's misjudged the bend."

Jo partially extricated herself from Zaf's grasp, sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "I don't understand what Harry was doing there. Why didn't he just leave the country if he was trying to avoid being arrested?" She looked at each man in turn, hoping one of them had an answer for her. They didn't.

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Two days later, the confirmation came through. The dead man found in the burnt-out Audi in the Lake District was Harry Pearce. The call was short and to the point, and left Adam feeling numb. He'd barely put the phone down when it rang again and he was summonsed to see the DG.

When he returned, he broke the news that he was the new head of Section D, in the interim at least. As they sat in The George that evening, he told the others he hadn't wanted the job but the DG was insistent. Later on, after more alcohol had been consumed, he admitted he wasn't even sure he wanted to remain in the service. His confession elicited similar sentiments from his colleagues, the last few weeks having taken a heavy toll on all of them.

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Superintendent Anderson kicked the waste paper bin across his office and watched it spew its contents over the carpet. "I don't believe that fucking bastard cheated us."

"Let it go Ben." Hexley was tired and he despised histrionics, especially in fellow police officers.

"No Tony, I will not let it go." The bin received another violent kick and it clanged loudly against the radiator.

"It's over. Harry Pearce is dead, burnt to a crisp on a B road in the Lake District. Well to be accurate, burnt to a crisp just off a B road."

Anderson muttered something but Hexley ignored him and, pulling his jacket on, continued:

"The investigation's finished. You've seen the evidence Oliver Mace obtained; it proves Harry Pearce was responsible for the death of that Evershed woman. When Pearce found out Mace had discovered the truth, he killed him. Now, whether Pearce killed himself or died in an accident, is down to Cumbria traffic police to decide. Frankly, I don't care either way. All the loose ends, from our point of view at least, are tied up so…job done."

"I just don't understand how Pearce found out we were about to arrest him." Anderson was now slouched in his seat scowling, "and that poxy surveillance team still haven't explained how he got out of his house undetected. They keep whinging about their comms being jammed."

"Well it was probably just one of those things Ben." Hexley was by the door, gripping the handle as he spoke, "I've got to go; I have a double murder in Stoke Newington to deal with."

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Ruth knew she needed to think carefully about she was going to contact Malcolm. She wasn't going to do anything as straightforward as emailing him; the message might get intercepted or go astray. No; she would get back into the Thames House systems and leave something cryptic for him, something only Malcolm would understand. So she had found herself back in Milan, in one of the internet cafés she had used before, keeping one eye on the screen in front of her and the other on the people around her. She typed her message and then carefully covered any traces of her unauthorised visit, relieved to have completed her task.

As she finished tidying her possessions away, a website news ticker caught her eye. She clicked on the moving words and felt her world cave in as she struggled to focus on the screen in front of her: the man who died in a car accident near Buttermere in the Lake District …same officer suspended following the shooting of…suspected of being involved in the death of Oliver Mace… She blinked hard several times but it was no good. It wouldn't change the truth of what she was seeing – Harry was dead. She could feel the bile rising in her throat; she needed to find somewhere quiet to think. Managing to find the strength to stand, she headed, on very shaky legs, towards the door. The young man behind the counter called after her but she didn't hear him so he followed her out onto the pavement. She jumped as she felt a hand on her arm and looked blankly at him for a few moments until she realised he was holding her bag.

Ruth mumbled her thanks, took the small backpack from him and started walking. She had no idea where she was going but ended up outside the Duomo and something compelled her to go inside. The cool interior was a contrast to the heat of the city outside and she found herself a seat away from the chattering visitors exploring the building. All her plans had been rendered futile; there was no point checking Malcolm had got her message; no point telling him her idea to help clear Harry's name. It was too late.

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Somehow, she had got herself home although she barely remembered the train journey or the cab ride to her house. She vaguely recalled the taxi driver asking her if she was alright as he had helped her out of the car and she had muttered something about feeling unwell.

The next few days passed in a similar haze as she felt detached from her surroundings. The only thing she was conscious of was the pain of her grief for the man she loved. Her misery remained unarticulated until Claudia, who had been away for a few days, called in to see her and found her crying uncontrollably. Her friend held her tightly, providing unquestioning comfort until Ruth had managed to explain, a little incoherently, the reason for her tears. It was not the unvarnished truth because, even in the midst of her despair, she knew she couldn't reveal everything.

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Malcolm blinked and looked again at the screen. It couldn't be…but it was: Ruth. Nobody else would do it – nobody else was capable of doing it, at least not without getting caught red-handed. But she had been there, in the inner sanctum, and had left him a message: Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't. His heart ached for his dear friend; she can't have known about Harry when she sent it.

In addition to the quote, there were a series of numbers, which at first appeared to be meaningless. His brow furrowed as he studied them and then he realised the first set were a date and time – probably the next occasion she intended to be online. The second set had him stumped for a while until something clicked in his head – it was a location, an electronic location. She clearly wasn't going to risk getting back into the Thames House systems so she would be waiting for him in the cyber equivalent of a doghouse. Malcolm sighed to himself. In three days time, if Ruth was online at the appointed hour, he would have to explain to her what had happened. But if she had already found out…he doubted she would make contact again. All he could do was wait and see.

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Ruth drifted through the following weeks; the numbing grief that engulfed her barely seeming to lessen. Her pain was also fuelled by her guilt over leaving Harry all those months ago. If only she hadn't gone to Maudsley's house; if only she hadn't been so determined to be the one to take the blame; if only… Her life appeared to consist of 'if onlys' that ate away at her soul.

Eventually, she agreed to spend a few days in Vieste with Claudia. The change of scene gave her something else to try and focus on, although the aching emptiness in her heart was undiminished. She knew it was time to make a decision; either she wallowed in her grief, or she tried to find some peace and concentrate on her new life. By the time they returned to Varenna, Ruth felt slightly more focused. She'd accepted that the sense of loss she felt would never go away but gradually she would push it into a dark corner of her mind and, like an old photograph in a drawer, occasionally take it out and relive old memories whilst shedding new tears.

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He scanned the crowds carefully, the welter of tourists both a blessing and a curse. She'd be easy to miss given the number of people in the town, but then so would he. The risk of being recognised was outweighed by his need to be sure he'd found the right place; that she was here. It had been a long walk from the car park and he was hot. He took his sunglasses off to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and, as he ran his hand over his face, he felt the stubble on his chin and wondered how long it had been since he had shaved. Four days? No, five; the hotel in Lugano. The last decent bed he'd had as well, not that he'd slept much recently. His joints still felt stiff from spending the previous night in the car. The exceptionally good weather and the holiday season in full swing had conspired against him and he'd not been able to find a room. On reflection that was probably a good thing; no hotel, no paper trail. Even paying cash didn't guarantee freedom from intense scrutiny of identification and an insistence on providing a receipt.

He bought a bottle of mineral water from a café at the lakeside and drank it as he watched the queues of passengers lining up for the ferry. It was a beautiful day for a trip on the water and he wondered if he'd ever be able to be an ordinary sightseer. He returned to his study of the faces around him. She wasn't amongst them so he decided to wander back through the town and return to the car. He didn't want to risk trying to find her house in daylight; judging from the map it was located near the end of a track, on the edge of a small cluster of buildings. He couldn't chance being seen so he'd have to wait until nightfall. In the meantime, he would attempt to find somewhere quiet to get a few hours rest.

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The evening was still warm and he could feel the droplets of sweat running down his back as he steered the dusty Mercedes towards the turning he needed. He switched off the headlights and relied on the moonlight to guide him along the first part of the rough track and braked gently as it widened. He carefully turned the car round so it was facing towards the main road. He knew the track came to a dead end about two hundred yards after the last building and he wanted the car pointing in the right direction in case he needed to leave in a hurry. He reversed back a few yards and parked close to the fence, locking the car with the key rather than the remote; the tell-tale flash of the lights sure to betray his presence.

He walked up the track, trying to stay in the shadows as much as possible. There were very few lights on in the buildings he passed and he realised that at least two of them were uninhabited. He slowed as he neared the house he wanted; it appeared to be in darkness and he wondered if anyone was there. He veered off the track and walked quietly along the side of the building until he reached a door. There was a faint light from an adjacent room, which provided just enough illumination to show he was looking into the kitchen. He tried the handle and found the door unlocked. He opened it a few centimetres and then stopped and listened. Silence. His heart was racing and he took several deep breaths before opening the door wider and stepping inside.

He inched forward, trying to detect any noise above the blood pounding in his own ears; there was definitely something. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he heard footsteps and then a figure appeared in the doorway in front of him.

Hmmm, it's probably a bit naughty of me to leave it there but if you send me a review, I'll try and post the next chapter quickly :)