Charles Hope ran the family business from an imposing building by the docks. Gwen flipped her warrant card at a security guard by the gate, and was allowed to drive on through into the car park. Tosh smiled.
"Very Starsky And Hutch."
"Flashing my ID at people is fine. I'll leave Jack and Owen to go bursting through doors and waving guns around, if that's okay." She drew the car to a halt in a corner parking space. "You happy about this?"
"Of course. It's just asking questions." Tosh climbed out of the car, straightening her coat. "This business about his brother's death gives us the perfect opening."
"True." Gwen rifled around in the back of the car, and came up with a a couple of old files. She tidied one up to use as a prop, and tucked it under one arm. "Shall we go, then?"
"Absolutely." Tosh still seemed rather excited, leading the way up the front steps and into the building. A young, bored and glamorous-looking woman at an imposing front desk eyed them sourly as they entered, but dragged up some grudging respect when Gwen introduced herself and showed her warrant card.
"We'd like to speak to Mr Hope," she said, in her best Police Officer On Duty voice. The girl didn't look impressed.
"Got an appointment?" she asked. Gwen glared.
"I think that official police business rather pre-empts regular appointments, don't you?" The girl apparently didn't think so, and flipped idly through a large book on her desk.
"No appointment, no entry." She pointed at the book. "And you're not listed, so you don't have an appointment."
"You don't understand, Miss..." Tosh stepped forward, noting the girl's name on its neat black badge. "Miss Rogers. Mr Hope is in the middle of a legal tussle at the moment, and I represent his insurance company. PC Cooper is assisting us in our investigations. You are aware that Mr Hope's brother went missing some years ago, and has recently been declared dead?"
"Yeah." Miss Rogers clearly knew nothing of the kind. "So this is important?"
"I think that if you call Mr Hope, and tell him that we're here, he'll be happy to see us, yes." Tosh smiled patiently, kindly, and with none of the irritation that she was feeling. The girl shrugged.
"Okay. I suppose. Hang on then." She reached for a telephone, dialling a number. Gwen offered her companion an admiring smile.
"Nice work."
"If there's one thing I've learnt from dealing with Owen, it's that sometimes the best approach is to use a lot of information." She smirked. "Confuse them into co-operating."
"I'll remember that." Gwen turned back to the desk at the sound of the telephone being hung up again, and raised a questioning eyebrow. The previously sullen Miss Rogers was smiling brightly now.
"You're to go on up," she said, clearly now seeing them as worthy of at least a modicum of respect. "Floor four. End of the corridor."
"Thankyou." Tosh gave her a bright smile, and led the way to the lift. "We appreciate the assistance."
"And aren't really imagining feeding you to a Weevil," muttered Gwen. The lift doors closed just in time, as Tosh couldn't help but laugh at that remark.
"For a police officer, you don't have all that great a manner with the public," she commented. Gwen laughed.
"You lot have taught me bad habits."
"We're good at that." The lift car lurched on upwards, and Tosh straightened her clothing again, trying to get into character. "I don't know a lot about insurance. Maybe I should have said I was somebody else."
"You won't have to know anything. We're just here to ask questions. Ninety percent bluster, ten percent intelligence, is this. You'll do fine." Gwen checked the file under her arm, making sure that she would be able to consult it if necessary without displaying to the world that it wasn't even nearly what it was supposed to be. "Just remember to stay on his good side. Always supposing he's got one." The car came to a halt, and the doors opened. "Make him think his claim is as straightforward as possible. That'll make him happy."
"Yes. Because it's lovely to claim that your brother is dead." Tosh summoned a smile in readiness for their meeting, her personal feelings about family pushed as far to the back of her mind as she could put them. Gwen nodded.
"That's about right. What's a brother when you have millions of pounds to think about?" She took the lead, heading for the door at the end of the corridor. "Come on. Let's get this done."
"Right behind you." Gwen's knock was sharp and precise, and the voice that called for them to enter was just as sharp, just as clear and exact. Gwen opened the door, straightening her shoulders as she did so, and slipping back into the old parade ground walk of her former career. She didn't smile, but kept her expression formal and detached.
"Mr Hope? PC Gwen Cooper. This is Toshiko Sato, who I believe represents one of your insurance companies."
"I'm a legal consultant," filled in Tosh. "I've been assigned to your brother's case."
"Fine. Fine. I've been hoping to meet with somebody." Charles Hope jumped to his feet, stepping around his desk to shake hands with the pair of them. He bore a strong resemblance to his brother, though his build was different, his eyes with an altogether different kind of spark. "Sit down, ladies, please."
"No thankyou." Deciding that her character was going to be as officious as possible, Tosh stood stiffly. Hope smiled too, clearly feeling that he couldn't sit down now either. That was rather what she had been hoping.
"So what is it that I can do for you?" he asked. Gwen smiled breezily.
"Just some details to clear up, Mr Hope. Your brother was listed as missing for a long time before his death was officially declared. Who reported his disappearance?"
"My father. Steven was supposed to join us for a meeting about the business one morning back in 2001, but he didn't show up. He was never particularly interested in these things, but he always turned up. For the family, you know. We never saw him again after that. He and I both lived with our father in those days, in the old family home, and he just never came back."
"I see." Gwen appeared to be concentrating on her host, but her eyes had taken in much of the room. No family photographs. No sign that Steven was a brother missed. "It must have been hard for you to finally take this step and have him declared legally dead."
"Ah, well. No, not really." Charles fidgeted slightly. "You see, constable, I knew all along that Steven was dead. I kept it from my father, for the sake of his health. Once he died, though, things changed."
"No doubt." Tosh's lips twitched in a bare imitation of a smile. "How did you know that he was dead, if you don't mind me asking?"
"No, not at all. That's why you're here." He perched on the corner of his desk, looking as though he would much rather be back in the supportive confines of his big leather chair. "I found a suicide note, Miss Sato. It was unmistakably in my brother's handwriting. He had very distinctive writing, you know. Very distinctive. And it's not as though anybody would have wanted to fake something like that anyway. My brother didn't have any enemies. He was..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely in the air. "Well, he was nice. Quite the academic, and something of a partygoer. Most people seemed to like him."
"He was an electrical engineer, I believe?" asked Gwen. Charles nodded slowly.
"Well, sort of. It was his big love, certainly. He wanted to work in aviation, or teach if that didn't work out. I don't think he ever had any great intention of running an import business, whatever our father might have hoped."
"It must be awkward when the heir has no interest in the business." Tosh smiled blankly. "He was the heir, I believe? The eldest son?"
"Yes, he was." Charles fidgeted a bit more. "My father declared him the heir to everything. He was quite the traditionalist in that way. Steven never showed any great desire for the money or for the business, but that didn't matter. There are ways of doing these things."
"Quite. Tradition is often important to the older generations." Tosh nodded slowly. "Perhaps that was why your brother killed himself? The pressures of a destiny he didn't want?"
"Yes, I suppose so. The note wasn't very clear on his motives, but that would make sense, I... I suppose." Charles shifted, clearly not very comfortable. Gwen offered him a reassuring smile.
"Well, it's not necessarily our business to know why he killed himself, is it. Do you still have the note?"
"I'm not sure. I was quite upset at the time, you understand, and I didn't want my father finding it. But I suppose I might still have it. Is it... is it very important?"
"It might help finalise the proceedings, Mr Hope. Help to hurry through the last bits of business, that sort of thing." Tosh kept up her blank, inscrutable smile, and wondered how Ianto did it. Nearby Gwen flipped through the contents of her file, apparently checking details, and nodding to herself.
"Perhaps you could tell us about the last time that you saw your brother?" she asked, closing the file as snappily as a cardboard file could be persuaded to snap. Charles nodded.
"Of course. Well, as I said, he was supposed to join us for a meeting. The previous evening we'd been celebrating our father's birthday. Quite a big occasion. There were a lot of local businessmen there, and one or two politicians. A lot of alcohol, a lot of food, a lot of entertaining. You know the sort of thing."
"Of course," said Gwen, who didn't. "And then?"
"And then we went home. Or rather Steven did. My father went off with some of his old friends. Some sort of nostalgic tour of the city, revisiting early points in his career. He was a self-made man, you know. It was the 14th of August. A warm night. I'd drunk rather a lot, so I took a walk along by the bay. When I got home there was no sign of Steven. The house was unlocked, so I assumed that he was in; but when he didn't turn up for breakfast, I checked his room, and his bed didn't seem to have been slept in. Odd, though. His coat was there, so he must have been back after the party." He frowned. "Actually, it was all a bit odd. The house has some rather big gardens, so it wasn't for several days afterwards that I noticed, but one of the trees had been knocked down. There was a place there where Steven liked to go to read, and the bench he always sat on was broken in half. Looked like some kind of vehicle was responsible. There was quite a furrow in the ground. I never did work out what could have happened. Anyway, that was the last I ever saw of my brother. I found the suicide note at round about that time; a few days after he disappeared. I couldn't say anything, though. It wasn't all that long since my mother had died, and I didn't want to upset my father."
"Quite." Gwen consulted her imaginary records again, and nodded. "Well, everything seems very straightforward, Mr Hope. I have to say, the police have never considered there to be anything suspicious in this case, and after all this time... well, it all seems perfectly reasonable. I hope you can get the details with the will sorted out quickly now."
"Thankyou." He seemed ready to break into a big smile, but looked to be fighting the impulse. "And Miss Sato?"
"Insurance and such legalities are a complicated business, Mr Hope." Her blank smile had finally caved in. "Your father's will is the real barrier. Wills are difficult to contest, as you've no doubt discovered."
"Indeed." His vestigial smile disappeared. "But now that my brother is officially dead, the case is fairly straightforward, yes?"
"Oh yes." She nodded, still finding it hard to be polite to a man who seemed so devoid of feelings towards his brother. Perhaps he saw something of that in her eyes, for he looked away briefly, out of one of the windows, and sighed.
"This hasn't been easy. But I feel that it's time to move on. You understand?"
"Of course." She nodded again, not believing him for a second. This wasn't a man who simply wanted to move on with his life, and put a tragedy behind him. Somehow that fact seemed to ooze out of his every pore. It was a wonder that he had got anybody to believe him. "Well, once I file my report, hopefully we can get all of this dealt with once and for all. Thank you for your time, Mr Hope."
"No, no. Not at all. Thank you." He sounded too eager; too excited. Gwen shook his hand, half-expecting his palm to be slick with sweat. It wasn't, but she thought that she detected a faint tremble. Keeping up her polite, formal smile, she let go of his hand, and left as quickly as she could.
"What do you think?" asked Tosh, as they rode the lift back down to the front entrance. Gwen mimed wiping her hands on her trousers to remove the traces of his touch.
"Told you he was a creep. And I don't buy that about a suicide note."
"Neither do I. Why did he wait so long before producing it? How long do you have to wait before you can have somebody declared legally dead?"
"Seven years, officially. If he had a suicide note, though, he should have reported that. Tried to find a body. Done something. No, I don't believe that at all."
"Although on the other hand, if he's lying about the suicide note, why's he so sure that his brother is dead?"
"Exactly." They fell silent as they walked past the still-bored Miss Rogers, and picked up their conversation again in the car park. "He really did seem very sure, didn't he."
"Suspiciously sure. So are we back to the drawing board? I mean, if Charles killed Steven, it can't be Steven who's stealing things, can it."
"I honestly don't have a clue." They climbed into the car, and Gwen reached back to toss the file onto the rear seat. "What did you make of that story about a broken bench?"
"The tree and the furrow, you mean? That was weird. It didn't seem to make sense as part of his suicide story."
"No, exactly. It sounded like the truth." Gwen sighed. "Oh, I don't know. Let's go back to the Hub, and see if Jack's surfaced yet. Maybe we can get some answers from him."
"He's not always very good at answers." Tosh reached around for her seatbelt, and clicked it into place. "But I suppose it's worth a try. I just hope he's not cross with us for investigating all of this."
"Depends what 'all of this' is, doesn't it." Gwen switched on the ignition, and began to reverse the car out of its space. "And probably what sort of mood he's in, too."
Jack went straight back to the Hub, his thoughts lingering on Steven. There were things that needed doing, though, and he had to check in with his team. Stolen tools and generators would have to take their place on the list. So it was that he arrived back shortly after Gwen and Tosh, and rode down on the secret elevator into a scene that looked like something from an espionage movie. His four colleagues were huddled together at Tosh's desk, talking in low voices; and even Myfanwy seemed eager to get in on the act. She swooped low down over them as they talked, welcoming the lift, or possibly screaming Mesozoic obscenities at it. Sometimes her behaviour was extremely difficult to read.
"Jack." Tosh sat up straight as the lift approached the floor, her whole demeanour suggesting guilt. He took off his sunglasses.
"Meeting of the Women's Guild?" he asked. Ianto took his coat, folding it neatly, and laying it over the back of an empty chair.
"More like the Famous Five," he said in answer. "Can I get you some coffee, sir?"
"No. And I think you might want to review your analogy. I may not be the most in touch guy ever, but I do get some cultural references. And one of the Famous Five is a dog."
"Myfanwy's standing in for Timmy, sir." Ianto was in full butler mode again, his voice dry and dispassionate, his bearing painfully correct. Jack wasn't sure whether to slap him or kiss him.
"Just tell me what's going on, yeah?" He looked at each of them in turn, and rather as expected, Gwen caved in first. She held something up, and he recognised it straight away as the piece of paper he had thrown in the bin several days before. Ianto's pet concern; the missing tools that were allegedly so hi-tech. "You didn't let it go."
"No, we didn't. I didn't."
"Owen and Ianto didn't have anything to do with it," added Tosh. Owen shrugged.
"We're all in it now, I reckon. So what's the story, Jack? Who's Steven Hope, and what's going on with his brother and this stolen gear?"
"His brother? Oh, you mean the being dead thing." Jack sighed. "You know, usually when I tell you to butt out of something, I do it for a good reason."
"So you can cover up a theft?" asked Gwen. He shot her a sharp blue glare.
"It's not theft, it's borrowing. They'll get it all back. More or less. Listen Gwen, I'm as entitled to a private life as the rest of you, you know."
"Most of us don't have private lives involving thieves with teleports," she pointed out. He sighed.
"You worked that out, huh."
"Tosh did something clever with some numbers and some computer stuff." Owen gestured vaguely at her banks of computer equipment. "Traced an energy signature to an old house. So come on. Who is Steven Hope, and what's all this stuff about him disappearing? Tosh and Gwen reckon his brother killed him for the inheritance."
"Really?" Jack's eyebrow quirked. Tosh nodded slowly.
"We went to speak to the brother. He's so convinced that Steven is dead, we wondered if he might have a reason for thinking it."
"He was making a lot of alarm bells ring," confirmed Gwen. Jack shrugged, and sat down in a nearby chair.
"Well if he's knocked off some guy, it's not his brother. Steven was looking pretty lively when I last saw him.
"Who is he?" asked Gwen. It was a very different question to Owen's, somehow, even though the basic gist of it was the same. She stared straight at Jack, her gaze very direct. He sighed.
"You're not going to let this go, are you. Any of you."
"Not in a hurry, no." Owen sat down nearby. Tosh and Gwen were already seated. Ianto lurked behind Jack. "Go on."
"He's just a guy, Owen. I don't know what you're expecting, but he's just a guy. Okay, so he's a guy with a spaceship, but he's still just a guy."
"A spaceship?" asked Gwen. Jack nodded.
"If you've done your homework then you already know the rest. Born 1965, good education, disappeared 2001."
"Committed suicide, according to the brother," filled in Gwen. "He says he found a note."
"Then he's lying. One night in 2001, Steven was at home alone, and a spaceship crashed in his back garden. He went to take a look, found that it was empty, and got inside."
"And flew off?" asked Tosh. She sounded rather disbelieving. He grinned at her.
"Sure. Wouldn't you? He's a natural. Flies that thing like he's always done it."
"And that's where he's been since 2001? In space?" Owen reached for a nearby mug, and reacted with distaste when he discovered that the coffee inside it was cold. "You don't expect us to believe that?"
Jack shrugged. "It's true. He visits Earth sometimes. Has a place in the south of France, I think. For the most part, though, he lives up there." He pointed upwards, to the ceiling, and to everything that was above it. "And he's definitely not dead."
"But he is a thief?" pressed Gwen. Jack sighed.
"Yeah, okay. He's a thief. He's been robbing and double-crossing his way across the galaxy for years now. Crooked dealings are something of a family trait. In case you hadn't noticed, though, Earth doesn't have an extradition treaty with anybody out there. Not yet. So it's not our problem."
"The tools are, though." Owen shifted slightly under the force of Jack's gaze. "I'm sorry, Jack, but humans using alien technology to commit crimes are part of our jurisdiction. He's just the sort of person we're supposed to stop."
"Yeah." Jack leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him, and folding his arms. "I know. I told him to pack it in. Had to go back for that generator, though, didn't he. Now the police think they have security camera footage of him disappearing into thin air. Stupid idiot."
"What do we do?" asked Gwen. Jack shrugged.
"Kathy Swanson said it was old and jerky footage. One of us can stop by sometime and rough the camera up a little. If they think it's faulty, they won't ask any more questions about people disappearing."
"I meant about your friend," she clarified. He nodded.
"I know. I meant what I said, though. Those companies will get their stuff back. It won't be theft, so there won't be any crime. Not technically."
"I doubt the police will see it that way." Gwen leaned back in her chair with her arms folded, unconsciously mirroring Jack's pose. "If they were to really investigate, how much would they find out that he's stolen? On Earth."
"This. That." He shrugged, his turn now to look a little uncomfortable. "I don't know. Engineering equipment mostly, usually out of warehouses. Stuff that gets put down to normal pilfering. Maybe a bottle of wine here and there. Electricity. Never money, though; not on Earth. He's never needed to steal that here."
"Will do now he's dead," commented Owen. Jack nodded.
"Yeah. He said he was expecting financial problems. Being dead complicates stuff, I guess."
"He gonna want to stay dead?" asked Owen. Tosh looked up at that.
"Charles is going to be an obstacle there. Honestly, Jack, I'd swear that he really believes Steven is dead. He's killed somebody, I know he has."
"Then I believe you." He toyed with his old watch, on its gleaming chain. "Makes me wonder, though."
"Who he's killed, you mean? How can you mistake a stranger for your own brother?" She looked away briefly, as though searching for the best way to phrase her next question. "Jack... is there any way it could be Steven that he's killed? Does Steven have any sort of time travel device?"
"No, he won't touch that stuff. Hates the idea of time travel. Steven's a twenty-first century guy - it's what he always says. He might fly a spaceship, but it's hardly futuristic or alien inside. Not anymore. I offered him the chance to travel in time more than once in the past, but he'd never take me up on it." He was silent for a moment, staring into space. "It'd be easy enough to check, though. If there's a body, we can soon see if it's his."
"You're really suggesting that Charles could have murdered some future version of Steven?" asked Ianto. "I mean... doesn't it seem a little farfetched?"
"Hello? Torchwood?" Owen's voice was the verbal equivalent of sticking out a tongue. "Of course it's bloody farfetched. Not impossible, though."
"But highly unlikely. Does give me a very nasty theory of my own, though." Jack got suddenly to his feet. "Tosh, Owen. Get some equipment together. Go on over to the Hope house, and take it apart if necessary. If there's a body hidden there, find it. If you see Steven, tell him you're with me, but don't let on what you're doing. He'll probably stay out of sight anyway. Gwen!"
"Yeah?"
"Start going through records. Pull up all the police files on missing people that you can get hold of, and find me somebody. Anybody who looks enough like Steven that Charles could have made a mistake like that. Give us an easy explanation for all of this. Ianto, you're with me."
"Where are we going?" The younger man picked up Jack's coat, shaking it out and holding it for him to slip into. The movement was so natural it was as though he had been doing it for years.
"What's the best way to get an answer to a question?"
"We're going to talk to Charles Hope?" His young colleague blinked. "Isn't that a little... dangerous?"
"I'm not going to barge in there accusing him of murder, Ianto. Or not initially, anyway. Come on." He was already heading for the lift, but he stopped to look back before he was halfway there. "To work, people. Jump to it. And if Kathy Swanson calls..."
"Yes?" asked Gwen, who was already busying herself at her computer. He grinned suddenly.
"Never mind. Wouldn't sound the same coming from you. Just put her off as best you can, and don't get chatty. Come on, Ianto." And with a swirl of his coattails, and a tap on the band strapped to his wrist, suddenly he was rising into the air. Ianto had to scurry to reach him in time, grabbing hold of Jack to avoid falling back down.
"I do wish you wouldn't do that, sir," he said, trying not to sound too flustered. Jack just smiled, and pulled him into a teasing embrace.
Alison Rogers was bored, much as always. She had thought that it would be exciting working in reception, meeting people, dealing with enquiries, handling the stream of clients that would surely be going in and out of a big company's offices every day. In practice she seemed to do very little. Most business seemed to be done over the internet nowadays. Her job consisted almost solely of polishing her nails, and wishing for the door to open. It wasn't fair.
"Hi." Striding in through the doors, a long blue coat swirling around his legs, came a man to startle her back to life. She blinked at him, taken aback, whilst he leaned on the counter and grinned at her like an old friend. "Captain Jack Harkness. Ianto Jones. Charles in?"
"Yes. I... hang on." Somehow he had her appointments book in his hands, and was flicking through it.
"Nobody with him at the moment? Good. We'll go right on up."
"You can't do that." She was struggling to regain her composure. "He's busy. He's always busy. You can't go up without an appointment."
"Oh, he'll want to see us." Jack smiled on in the face of her discomfiture. "What floor?"
"The fourth." She frowned, not sure why she had told him that. "But you can't--"
"I told you; he'll want to see us." Jack caught her hand, gave it a quick kiss, and headed towards the elevator. Ianto was already there, and had somehow contrived to have the car waiting and ready.
"But you can't do that!" Torn between wanting to run after the strangers, and thinking about calling security, she started to follow them; then moved back towards the phone; then looked back to the lift. The doors were closing, both men inside. Jack waggled his fingers in farewell just before he disappeared, and her shoulders slumped. She was going to lose her job over this, she was sure. All the same, she didn't make the call to security. Instead she thought of that smile, and felt a pang of jealousy towards Ianto Jones. Some people had all the luck.
"What do we do if she calls security?" asked Ianto, as the lift went up to the fourth floor. Jack smiled.
"You don't think the two of us can handle a few guards? Ianto, I'm disappointed in you."
"It's a character flaw, sir, I know. I just don't like getting arrested."
"They wouldn't have us arrested. They'd just throw us out. And being thrown out of buildings is a vital part of your education, Ianto my boy."
"Possibly. But it's not going to get this done any quicker, is it."
"Point." Jack shrugged. "But she won't call security."
"Hard though it may be to believe, sir, not everybody is a sucker for your charm."
"So I'm told." He grinned, just as the lift doors opened to reveal no waiting guards. "But sabotage works wonders. I'm pretty sneaky, you know."
"I know." They walked along the corridor, reading nameplates on doors. Most of the offices seemed to belong to secretaries, which suggested that Charles Hope was either extremely fond of administrative work, or extremely fond of secretaries. Eventually they arrived at his office, at the end of the corridor; the door flanked by a pair of trees in large pots. Jack knocked, loudly.
"Yes?" The voice that called to him was very similar to Steven's, if perhaps a little deeper. Jack pushed open the door and went through, smile set to dazzle.
"Captain Jack Harkness," he announced, holding out a hand to shake in greeting. "And Ianto Jones."
"I'm... happy to meet you." Charles frowned at them both. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise I was seeing anybody this afternoon."
"Something came up. Sort of an emergency." Jack sat down, and gestured to Charles's large chair. "Take a seat, Charles."
"I..." Charles's eyes drifted towards the door, where Ianto was now standing. He looked distinctly like a guard. "What's this about?"
"Steven." Jack gestured towards the chair again. "Sit. Now."
"Well I..." Charles sat. "What is it that you want to know about my brother?"
"How he died. When he died. He's a good friend of mine - or was, I guess, if he's dead. What was it that killed him?"
"He, er... he committed suicide." Charles frowned. "Listen, Mr, er... Captain Harkness. I hope you don't consider me rude, but he never mentioned you. I think I'd remember if my brother was friends with... with some sort of soldier."
"Oh, there's a lot you don't know about Steven. So what happened?"
"He committed suicide, like I said. A long time ago now. It's taken me a long time to put it behind me, captain. I'd rather not rake it all over now. And I'm finding it very strange that this is the second time somebody has been to see me today about all of this. Who are you really?"
"A friend of Steven's." Jack's smile became narrower, more taut. "How did he kill himself?"
"I never found his body. I rather assumed that he'd thrown himself into the sea. He was always rather inclined to dramatics." Charles began to rise to his feet. "Look, I'm sorry if this has been a shock to you. It was a shock to me as well, and having Steven declared dead hasn't been easy. But he is dead, and I'd rather not talk about it."
"See it's funny." Charles had been all but telling them to leave with his voice and with his actions, but Jack didn't move. If anything he looked even more deeply rooted in his chair. "Really funny. 'Cause I was with Steven most of last night, and if he was dead, he didn't mention it."
"I--" Charles sat down, very heavily. "That's ridiculous."
"Not really. Ridiculous would be taking a dead man out for a meal." Jack straightened up, leaning forward in his chair to stare straight at Charles. "And now you're looking very nervous. Something wrong, Charles?"
"I think I'd be happy if I'd just found out that my brother was still alive," piped up Ianto. Jack nodded.
"Me too. Or disbelieving, maybe. But not ill."
"Maybe he's overcome with joy."
"Yeah. Joy's not usually so grey, though. Is it?"
"Not usually, no." Ianto came a little closer, his body language casually threatening. Jack had learnt some time ago that Ianto played a very good heavy when the situation called for it. They made a good tag team. "More sort of... pink and bouncy."
"That's what I thought." Jack turned his attention back to Charles. "Want to tell us what's on your mind?"
"I'm calling security." Charles's hand reached out for the telephone on his desk, but Jack beat him to it. Some small gadget in his hand flashed briefly, and a trail of smoke curled upwards from the wall socket. When Charles held the telephone receiver to his ear, he heard nothing but the silence of a dead line.
"You know, when I came here, I didn't know what I was going to find." Rising to his feet, Jack folded his arms, somehow managing to tower over Charles despite there not being any great difference in their heights. "I'd heard a story, about you maybe being up to no good, but I didn't pay that much attention to it. The Hope family is always up to no good. It's an old tradition. And I figured what's it matter if you try to get hold of an inheritance that Steven doesn't much want anyway?" He leaned closer. "But there's a big difference between faking your brother's death, and killing him." He paused for effect. "Or thinking you have."
"Steven is dead," insisted Charles. His voice sounded weak now. Behind Jack, slightly to his right, Ianto shook his head in a definite, smiling 'no'.
"And you know what all this means, Charles? This means that it looks very much like somebody is dead. Somebody you thought was your brother, but isn't. And suddenly it's not about the Hope family misbehaving amongst themselves anymore. It's about murder."
"Are you the police?" Charles's eyes narrowed. "No, you're not the police. You're American. Who are you?"
"Somebody with an interest in this case." Jack sighed. "And I was having such a great day. Well, aside from the police interrogation. This wouldn't be a good time to start causing trouble, Charles. It wouldn't make me very happy."
"What are you going to do?" Backing away slightly, Charles's eyes darted from one of his guests to the other. Jack threw a glance back at Ianto.
"What do you think?"
"Rather depends on who he's killed, doesn't it." Ianto had no idea what Jack's plans for Charles Hope were. Technically speaking this was a case of straightforward murder, and as such more a job for the police than for Torchwood. The business with Steven did complicate matters, though, he supposed.
"I... You can't prove that I've killed anybody." Charles backed away a little further. "I'm a respected businessman. I--"
"I don't care how respected you are. Right now we just want to talk. Don't make me want to do more than that." Jack advanced slightly, one of his hands falling casually to his waist. The long coat moved aside at its touch, showing the gun that he wore on his belt. "Why not come with us quietly?"
"Come where?" Charles took another step back, one hand fumbling at the desk's edge, as though his legs were suddenly unsteady. Jack pointed at the big leather chair.
"Sit." Charles had a point. Where could they take him? The Hub was no place for a family reunion, even with the ever-reliable amnesia pills to help ensure that it remained a secret. The Hope house, then. Being confronted by the brother that he was so sure was dead might be what was needed to make Charles talk - and Jack very much wanted to know who he had killed, and when. On the other hand, hustling the man out of the building was sure to attract attention somewhere along the line. Perhaps it would be better to get Steven to meet them here. His right hand moved speculatively to the computer on his wrist, as he thought about putting a call through to Steven's ship. Charles's right hand moved too, sliding under the edge of the desk. So sure had Jack been that the other man was no great threat, that he didn't give a thought to what was happening until Charles made a sudden lurch for something that his guests couldn't see. Ianto shouted out a warning, a second too late, and caught entirely by surprise, Jack found himself looking down the barrel of a gun.
"Get back," Charles told him. Jack took one step back, though that was all.
"Put that away," he told the other man. Charles shook his head.
"No way. You think I'm going to spend the rest of my life in prison? Or whatever else it is you've got planned. You're not the police. I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Charles..."
"Everything was going fine. I'd nearly got the money. I was that close to being the richest man in Cardiff, more or less. You think I'm going to let you ruin that now? Whoever the hell you are." The gun wobbled slightly in his hands. He was clearly no expert with it, and Jack didn't like the way that he was holding it; didn't like the look of the gun itself. It was big, and it was old - older even than his own - and he knew from experience that a gun like that could be unpredictable. He wondered if Charles had any idea of the sort of recoil to expect from it. If he fired it, the shot could go anywhere.
"Just put the gun down," he said, trying on his best calming voice. The gun moved from him to Ianto and back again.
"Just keep back."
"Charles--"
"I said keep back!" The shaking thumb moved for the hammer, and Jack knew that he had only a moment to react. He could try leaping at Charles, and risk the gun going off anyway, or he could move in the other direction. He chose the latter. As the hammer went back with a loud, dull click, Jack was already moving, throwing himself forcefully at Ianto. They went down in a heap, landing hard and heavy, just as a viciously loud gunshot rang out around them. A picture on the wall shattered, and somewhere down the corridor, somebody screamed. Charles swore, and Jack heard his feet thumping away across the floor. He was heading for the window.
"Ow," said Ianto beneath him. Jack glanced down.
"Sorry." He had landed on top of the younger man with enough force to have done considerable damage to anybody less resilient. Fortunately, Ianto was built well. He clambered off, rising to his feet just in time to see Charles's head vanish beneath the window frame. A fire escape, apparently. Damn. "You okay?"
"In one piece. Thankyou for that." Ianto sat up, a little shakily. "Where did that bullet go?"
"Too close for comfort." Jack hauled his companion to his feet. "Come on. He's getting away."
"I thought I heard a scream..."
"I guess somebody knows the sound of a gunshot. Don't worry, there's no way that bullet went far after hitting the wall. Now come on, before we have security to deal with." As though to add weight to his words, there was immediately a heavy knocking on the door.
"Window?" asked Ianto. Jack nodded, already on his way there. They could see Charles struggling awkwardly on a fire escape that didn't look as though it would pass many inspections. Jack drew his gun, and fired once after the retreating figure, but he couldn't get a clear shot. There was too much twisting ladder in the way.
"Jack!" Ianto pushed the gun down, aghast. "You have got to stop firing that thing in public places."
"There's a murderer getting away, Ianto." Jack didn't object further, though, and instead clambered out of the window. The knocking on the door had ceased at the sound of the second gunshot, but a moment later it started again. Somebody was calling Charles, in an increasingly urgent voice.
"Long past time for us to be gone. Come on." Jack began bounding down the ladder as though lurching metal steps were one of his most favourite things. Ianto followed a little more slowly, finally hearing the office door open as he cleared the first flight of stairs. Somebody leaned out of the window and shouted something, but he didn't look back. Charles did, sending a shot up at a random point above him. Ianto ducked. Lower down, Jack fired back.
"Somebody call the police!" The voice echoed from back in the office. Ianto groaned. They'd get here quickly, too, as soon as the guns were mentioned. They always did, especially nowadays. Beneath him, Charles had reached street level, and hared off between two buildings on the other side of the road. Giving up on the steps, Jack vaulted the banister and leapt down after him.
"Jack! Hang on!" The captain made no response to Ianto's plea, and instead disappeared after his quarry. Ianto muttered imprecations to the god of foolhardy sidekicks, and clambering uncertainly over the railing, jumped as well. He hit the ground hard, falling onto his hands and knees, picking himself up in a rush and racing to the SUV. The idea of Jack and Charles dashing down an alley, shooting at each other in broad daylight, made him wince. Jack had given Owen a hard time for ordering pizza under the name of Torchwood - but it wasn't Owen who ran around Cardiff with an antique pistol, shooting at anything he felt needed to be shot at. Screeching around a corner, listening out for the inevitable sirens, he met Jack just as he burst out of the other end of the alley, gun still in his hand. Pedestrians blanched, and either dived for cover or looked for the cameras. True to form, Jack saw nothing odd in his behaviour.
"Jack!" Opening the door of the SUV, Ianto gestured for him to climb in, at the same time sliding over into the passenger seat. Jack flashed him a gigantic grin.
"Ianto. What would I do without you?"
"Get arrested, probably." As if on cue, the sirens started. Jack grimaced, and gunning the engine, sped off down the street. Only when they had put some distance between themselves and the offices of Hope Imports did he bring the vehicle to a halt. Ianto breathed a sigh of relief.
"You drive like a maniac," he said, conveniently oblivious to the fact that he had just been doing that himself a few minutes before. Jack shrugged.
"You wanna spend the rest of the day in police custody, explaining what the hell's going on, that's fine by me."
"I don't know what's going on! One minute you're telling me to forget about a theft, and the next Gwen and Tosh are talking about some businessman murdering his brother, and you're talking about spaceships and time-travel. Which is a fairly ordinary conversation from you, I suppose. It just doesn't usually lead to us chasing some bloke out of a window."
"You're cute when you're exasperated." Jack smiled blithely, unmoved by Ianto's glare. "I know it doesn't seem like our usual sort of case. Steven's a friend, though. And I have a hunch."
"Want to let me in on it?" He had softened his voice now that his initial outburst was over, and Jack responded to the change in tone, reaching out for the other man's hand.
"Later. I need to be sure of some things first." He sighed. "And in the meantime, we have a murderer to catch."
"I believe we have to consider him innocent until we prove otherwise, sir." Ianto reached for his seatbelt, which he hadn't had a chance to do up before. He buckled it now, rather pointedly. "But if you want to find him, I'd guess that he'd go to the scene of his crime. Check up on the body, now that you've made him think it might not be his brother after all."
"Yeah." It clicked suddenly where the most likely location of that crime had always seemed - and who was investigating it now. "Damn. Call them up, Ianto. Tell them to be careful."
"On it." Ianto was already reaching for his earpiece, contacting Owen and Tosh. Beside him he could hear Jack muttering to himself, the way he sometimes did when things weren't going well - though they were rarely words that Ianto recognised. Revving the SUV to new heights of ferocity, Jack spun it around and roared away, heedless of nearby sirens and possible pursuit. He'd be damned if he'd let Tosh and Owen suffer because he had dropped the ball. He wasn't going to let anything distract him now.
The Hope house had an unpleasant aura about it, decided Owen. Tosh rather liked it, with its ivy-grown walls, and old-fashioned outbuildings, but Owen just scowled and called her a romantic.
"Why don't people ever hide dead bodies in nice modern houses?" he asked. Tosh quirked an eyebrow.
"They do. Quite often, actually."
"Alright, fine. Then why do I never get to go hunting for those bodies? It's always the creepy places that I get sent to."
"It's not creepy. Just empty." She led the way up the garden path, looking out for any sign of Steven. She couldn't see anything that suggested the place had been inhabited recently. "Could well be ghosts, though. Old place like this."
"Ghosts I don't mind. Old ones, anyway. It's looking for dead bodies that I don't like."
She laughed at that. "You're a doctor, Owen. You shouldn't be worried by dead people."
"I'm not! Usually. I just like my corpses on slabs, not buried under floorboards." He sighed, knowing full well that he was looking for sympathy from entirely the wrong person. "Let's get this over and done with, then. Where do you want to set up the equipment?"
"Somewhere central, I suppose. Ground floor, somewhere towards the middle of the house? Then if necessary we can try again on a higher floor."
"Four storeys. Assume a cellar as well. We might be alright staying downstairs." He hefted the large metal case in his hand. "Goodness knows this is heavy enough. Must be powerful enough to find half the bodies in Cardiff."
"Not quite." They had reached the front door, which Tosh made short work of with a lock-picking gadget from the Hub. Technically they weren't supposed to take such things out with them, even if they could be useful, but Jack had given it to her this time. He seemed to think it impolite to make a mess breaking into a friend's house; at least if the friend in question was watching at the time.
"This way," announced Owen, striding into the house as though he knew it well. Tosh followed rather more slowly, as charmed by the inside of the building as she had been by the outside. The carpet was beautiful; the walls covered with paintings and aerial photographs of Cardiff. She stopped to look at some of them, wondering who the faces in the portraits belonged to, and when the aerial photographs had been taken. A long time ago in some cases, she could see.
"Come on, Tosh. We're here to dig up dead bodies, not sightsee." Owen was striding ahead, struggling now with the heavy equipment case. Tosh wanted to offer to share the load, but she knew that he would only turn her down. Jack seemed to carry it so effortlessly. Owen wouldn't want to admit that he could barely manage.
They chose the sitting room to set up in. It was a large room, quite modern in its furnishings, in contrast to the entrance hall and the corridors. A large leather sofa ran across the middle of the room, with several matching chairs, a large widescreen television, and a gigantic cabinet full of DVDs. Tosh didn't bother going closer to look, but they seemed to be mostly documentaries, and mostly about business - nothing that caught her interest.
"Nice TV," observed Owen. She nodded.
"And in an empty house, too. Either they don't care if it's stolen, or they're pretty certain it won't be. Do you suppose we've set off a silent alarm?"
"You couldn't have thought of that before we came in?" He sighed. "Bugger. Well, get started. If somebody turns up, we can play the Torchwood card and hope for the best."
"The Torchwood card seems to be carrying less authority with the police every time." All the same she set to work, busying herself with connecting all sorts of boxes and wires together. Owen still wasn't entirely sure how half of it worked, and that annoyed him. Tosh's preparations left him none the wiser, and he slunk off to browse through the DVDs. His job was to look at the body when it was found - if there was a body, and if it was found - not to do the looking. Ignoring the hum of the gadgetry behind him, he moved away from the DVDs, and started to look through the CDs on a shelf nearby instead.
"Don't go working too hard, will you Owen," called out Tosh, currently kneeling on the floor beside an instrument, twiddling knobs with far too much enthusiasm for Owen's liking. He grunted.
"I'd offer you a musical accompaniment, but all that's here is opera," he said by way of answer. Tosh smiled.
"I rather like opera," she told him. He glowered, and muttered something that sounded like 'Figures'.
"Looks like this is the bookshelf that that picture of Steven was taken in front of," he said, moving on from his perusal of the Hope family CD collection. "I recognise some of the titles."
"I'm sure that the contents of the bookshelf is fascinating, Owen..." Tosh was busy scanning the house now, gazing intently at a little display screen, and making notes on a small datapad. Owen pulled one of the books off the shelf.
"More interesting than that machine," he told her, and began to leaf through the book. "Anything yet?"
"A dead bird on the ground outside the window over there," she told him. He wasn't entirely sure whether or not to take her seriously.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Quite a big one, I'd say," She went back to studying her screen, and unable to resist, he crossed to the window. Sure enough, on the ground outside, lay a dead crow. Not remotely useful in helping to solve a possible murder, but impressive enough he supposed. He nodded slowly.
"Nice work."
"Not really, no."
"I'm sure the crow appreciates it." He wandered back to stand next to her. "On the other hand, not that I want to sound critical or anything..."
"Hurry up?"
"Yeah. If you were right about alarms, the police could be here any minute."
"I'm sure we'd have heard something by now if they were coming. Unless there's something big happening at the moment, they'd have come over straight away, wouldn't they?"
"Maybe." He felt restless, unable to help just yet. "If we do get arrested, though, I'm telling them that it was you who broke in."
"Let's just hope that they don't ask how." She turned another dial, gazing expectantly at the screen, and wishing that Owen would settle down. He sighed.
"I hope this isn't some wild good chase."
"I'm sure it isn't. You didn't speak to Charles Hope. He's killed somebody, and you'd know it too if you'd been there with him."
"Maybe." Owen threw himself onto the big leather sofa. "Doesn't mean he buried the body here, though, does it."
"Seems the most likely place to run into your brother, though. This was Steven's last registered address. Charles was here, saw Steven - or somebody who looked a lot like him - and killed him. Why would he bury the body somewhere else?"
"Maybe." Owen put his feet up on the sizeable coffee table, and leaned back with his hands behind his head. "It'd explain why the place has been left, I suppose. Who'd want to live in a house they'd just hidden their brother's body in?"
"Exactly." As if in agreement, Tosh's machine emitted a faint beep. Owen sat up straight.
"You got something?"
"Yes. Yes, I think so." She adjusted things, as usual being painstakingly precise. "Yes. Ground floor. That way." She pointed over to her left. "Quite a way away. The far end of the house, I think."
"Then let's go. And don't forget the tools." Owen jumped up, heading for the most likely looking door. It led out into another corridor, plainer this time. Some sort of servant's access, he supposed. They followed it past several other doors, and a large, old-fashioned kitchen, to a grimy-looking door at the far end of the house.
"Through here, I guess." Tosh put her hand onto the door handle, and tried it. The door proved to be locked, but once again her alien gadget made short work of the lock. Owen took the lead then, pushing open the door, and stepping through. He found himself in a dusty storeroom, with wide wooden planking on the floor, and cobwebs gathered a-plenty in the corners. Tosh came to stand next to him.
"Lovely," she said. Owen nodded.
"Great place for a corpse hunt, yeah. Lucky us."
"If I'm honest, I don't think I'd like to go digging corpses up in a nice shiny new place, either." She looked around. "Where do we start?"
"You're the one with the fancy equipment."
"It told us what room to look in. Isn't that enough?" She began to move about, peering at the floorboards. "Any chance of more light?"
"Yeah, hang on. So long as somebody's up to date with the electricity bill for this place." He headed over to the light switch - a big, antiquated affair with a metal facing - and clicked it on. A dull, unenthusiastic glow filled the room. "Better?"
"Hardly." She could see more detail now though, and as she peered at the floor, she soon spied what seemed to be scratch marks on several of the boards. She pointed. "Look. There."
"Where?" He joined her, and crouched down on the floor. "Oh yeah."
"Well you could at least look slightly pleased."
"That it's time to dig up the dead body? Oh, I am. Delighted." He opened their tool bag, and pulled out a crowbar. "Wish me luck."
"Just think of it as any old autopsy." She waited with him as he pried up one of the floorboards, as much to provide some moral support as to see what was beneath. Owen nodded.
"Any old autopsy carried out in a haunted house, yeah." He levered up another board. In the dark space beneath, something was clearly visible. It looked like sackcloth. "Should have brought a torch."
"Now he thinks of it." She rummaged in the bag, but was only able to find a pencil light. It was better than nothing, though, sending a narrow beam of bright blue light into the hole. Definitely a sack, although they still couldn't see it clearly. Owen pulled up a third board, and then together they heaved the sack up.
"Destroying forensic evidence," he pointed out. Tosh nodded.
"Somehow I don't think Jack was planning on bringing the police into this anyway." She turned off the torch. "What do you suppose he is planning?"
"He's Jack. Who knows." Owen began to open the sacking, and paused when a low beeping in his headset told him that he was getting a call through from another member of Torchwood. "They calling you too?"
"Yes. Don't worry, I'll take care of it." Tosh moved aside to answer the call, watching from a distance as Owen pulled open the sack. A skeletal form was revealed, nothing of the flesh left, and little enough of anything that looked like it could help with identification or investigation. Owen scowled.
"Brilliant." He made another discovery. "It's been gnawed half to pieces. Rats. This place must be full of them. Oh, great. I love my job."
"You're going to love it even more in a minute." Tosh was hanging up, the call clearly only a quick one. "That was Ianto. Charles pulled a gun and made a run for it. They think he might be heading here."
"Oh, terrific." Owen looked down at the body, then with a scowl drew the sack back over its grinning face. "Come on, then. Give me a hand."
"You're carrying that out of here like that?"
"You got any better ideas? Look, any minute now we could be up to out eyeballs in gun-toting psychopath. That's not the way I usually like to conduct my autopsies. We've already screwed the forensics, so we might just as well take this poor sod back to the Hub, and do things the new-fashioned way. Right?"
"Right. I suppose." She bent, helping Owen to lift the dead man, the pair of them carrying him like a wounded comrade back through the house. Bones shifted and grated, and Tosh was certain that the skeleton was falling apart as they walked. It offended the scientist in her, but Owen did have a point. Besides - as far as she could see, this wasn't anything like the usual kind of murder investigation. They weren't trying to establish guilt, and she doubted that Jack would be especially interested in learning how the victim had met his end. This wouldn't be ending up in court, either.
"Mind the furniture," Owen told her, as they passed through the living room. She was walking backwards, and nearly tripped over her own equipment. "Oh, and that."
"Thanks, Owen." They lowered the body to the ground. "You go back and get the tools. I'll put this lot away. Then we'll see about getting it all back to the car."
"Should have brought the SUV. We'll have a job fitting John Doe here in my car with everything else." Owen winced at the idea of having to put a corpse into his beloved vehicle. "Be as quick as you can."
"I don't intend on hanging around to greet the psycho brother," she assured him, already at work. He went back for the tools, arriving in time to help her pack away the last pieces of equipment into their metal case. "Now what?"
"Depends how quick you want to be," he told her. She raised an eyebrow.
"Gun-toting psychopath on the way? Very quick."
"Right." He slung the tool bag over one shoulder, then hauled up the dead body in its sack, and slung it over the other. The bones tumbled apart, but he hung on as they rattled against each other in their bag. "Think you can manage that case?"
"I'll have to." She picked it up, wishing for arms like Jack's, and led the way to the door. Behind her Owen was already struggling, but of course he would never complain. Not about something like that. Outside the air seemed sharper than before, the sky darker with the approach of evening. The pair began to hurry down the long drive. They were halfway along the path when the large, wrought iron gates at the end of it began to swing open.
"Run." Owen was pushing Tosh onto the overgrown grass at the edge of the drive, even as a long, dark blue car came through the gateway. She stumbled, dropping the equipment case, and began to run towards the nearby trees. The car ground to a halt, and she heard a yell.
"Just keep going," Owen told her. She would have shot him an annoyed look had the moment allowed for it.
"I'm not going to stop, am I!" She grabbed the tool bag off him, trying to lighten his load. The skeletal remains of whatever poor soul Charles had murdered, banged and rattled on Owen's back, the noise decidedly off-putting. A gunshot rang out.
"You'll never get out of the grounds!" Tosh recognised Charles's voice from earlier in the day. "Give me that bag, and I might forget I saw you."
"Like hell." Owen looked left and right. "Where do we go? This place is like a sodding jungle."
"We go right." Tosh started to head in that direction without giving him a chance to argue. It took them away from the gate again, but she was sure that some of the outbuildings had lain in that direction, and they might give some opportunity to hide. Another gunshot rang out. The bullet hit a tree near Owen's head, and he swore.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Tosh," he told her. She didn't answer. A shot went past them with a sharp crack, and fighting the urge to panic, Tosh led the way out of the thick trees, and onto a gravel path. Sure enough there were outbuildings there, along with a small vintage car sitting jauntily in front of a garage. It seemed odd to see it there, outside, when the grounds were supposedly deserted, but she wasn't going to wonder too much about that now. Redoubling her speed, she ran for the outbuildings - only to collide bodily with a man who had stepped out of nowhere. For a moment she thought that it was Charles, until her vision cleared slightly - noticed lighter hair, better defined features. Steven.
"What the bloody hell is going on?" he asked, in a voice that was almost his brother's. "Who's shooting at you?"
"Your sodding twin." Owen cannoned past the elder Hope brother, bag of bones rattling furiously. "Long story, but if he sees you, you're a dead man. Run."
"What? Who are you people?" Steven's eyes were drawn to the bag on Owen's back. "Thieves?"
"We work for Jack!" Tosh tried to push him into the shelter of one of the buildings, but before she could do so, Charles appeared, gun still held high. He jerked to an uncertain halt when he saw Steven, and the gun wobbled in his hand.
"You," he said. Steven nodded.
"Hello, Charles. Look old man, what's all this with the gun? I'm sure these people didn't--"
"You're dead." Charles stood stock still now, barely a muscle moving save those of his throat. "You're dead."
"No. I've not been around much lately, granted, but--"
"No. No, you're dead." Charles took a shaky step forward, and the gun swayed. "I killed you."
"Told you," muttered Owen. "Long story." Steven, understandably, didn't seem to comprehend.
"Charles..." he began, taking a step forward. The gun moved with sudden, unexpected stability, and pointed straight at his chest. "Now hang on a just a second."
"It was you. I know it was you." Charles advanced slightly, careful to keep a watch on all three of the people in front of him. In the distance, a police siren wailed.
"Well that's as maybe." Steven didn't have a clue what his brother was talking about, but he was happy to play along. "But this is me too. See?"
"I... No, I--"
"Charles!" Jack's voice, sharp with authority, came from between the trees. "Put down that gun. The police are on their way."
"I can still kill the lot of you before they get here." Charles didn't seem remotely surprised to hear another voice coming from behind him. Slowly Jack walked out into the clearing, circling around towards the others. His gun was in his hand, and his aim, unlike Charles' at that moment, was steady and true. He smiled a cold smile.
"Ya think? Put down that gun, or you're a dead man." A second police siren screamed out, closer this time. There was the sound of car engines too now - several of them, speeding up the drive. "I don't know why they're here. Maybe they followed me. But at any rate, they're not going to let you get away if they start hearing gunshots. Now put that thing down, and stop being an idiot."
"Jack, go easy." Steven took another step forward, and the gun in Charles's hand gave a jerk. "He's my brother, for heaven's sake. What are you going to do?"
"This is the police!" A male voice, stentorian and hard, magnified many times by a loudhailer. The gun gave another jerk, Charles with it this time. Jack closed in slightly, determined to have this over with by the time that the police arrived.
"Steven, get back from him. I don't care what you think; he's dangerous."
"He's my twin brother. He's not going to hurt me." Steven held out his hands, the way that he had seen others do, on many worlds, right across the galaxy. Almost every race understood that gesture. "Charles, come on. Neither of us really wants to get shot..."
"This is the police!" came the voice again, more forcefully this time. Jack threw an annoyed glance back towards the source of it. Goodness knew how well informed they were about the situation, or if they were even shouting in the right direction. He had told Ianto to stay out of sight in the SUV, so the police certainly would have had no opportunity to ask him what was going on.
"Gunshots have been reported!" continued the voice. "If there are any weapons, you are advised to put them on the ground and walk towards the sound of my voice with your hands in the air!"
"They'll come soon," said Tosh, rather quietly. Charles threw her a disinterested glance.
"I know you," he said, a blank look on his face - then in a moment the look had cleared. "But you're not who you said you are, are you."
She paled. "I--"
"And if you're not who you said you are, then it's not a secret anymore, is it. People know. They must."
"Well I don't." Steven was exasperated and confused, and it was showing clearly. "Why don't we just--"
"No!" In a blur of motion, grim expression chasing away the emptiness in his eyes, Charles swung back to his brother and pulled the trigger. So did Jack, in the same instant, his own reflexes sharpened by some hundred and fifty years worth of adventuring. Charles jerked, his shot went wild, and gripping his shoulder, he fled. Steven shot a look at Jack that might have said anything, then raced after his brother.
"Damn." Jack put away his gun, mindful of nearby policemen. He didn't usually hide it for their benefit, but there was no telling what sort of mood they were in now, after two consecutive gun scares. "Time to get out of here, people."
"Fine by me." Owen snatched up his sack, just as, guns drawn, two police officers barrelled into the clearing. They were wearing body armour, and looked as though they were ready to shoot anything that moved.
"Armed police! Thrown down your weapons!" demanded the first. Jack sighed.
"No weapons," he told them. "The weapon ran away." He pointed, helpfully, in entirely the wrong direction. "Captain Jack Harkness. I'm with Torchwood. And you really shouldn't be here."
"A burglary alarm went off, and gunshots were heard." The second police officer lowered his gun. "It's alright, Stan. I recognise them. They're all Torchwood. And we can't shoot them no matter how much we might like to."
"Thanks." Jack beamed. "So you just go off after the bad guy with the gun, and we'll be on our way."
"Not with that sack, you won't." Lowering his weapon somewhat begrudgingly, the first officer indicated Owen's burden, whilst the second disappeared back through the trees. "What is it?"
"Top secret equipment. And unless you've got a government security rating of at least a nine or ten, you're not seeing it." Jack nodded at Owen and Tosh. "Get out of here, the pair of you."
"I left my equipment case--" began Tosh, but Jack nodded at her.
"I'll get it. Go."
"Now look here..." began the policeman. Jack smiled patiently at him.
"You wanna call the Home Office, and argue this out with them, that's fine. Really fine. Although honestly? It seriously pisses them off. See, they don't really know what we are either, and if you think that annoys you..."
"Well surprise, surprise." It was Kathy Swanson, appearing now with half a dozen uniformed officers, obviously having been briefed by the second armed policeman. Jack smiled at her, though inside he was less cheerful. As a general rule it was always good to see Kathy Swanson. Right now, though, he had a killer on the loose, and a good friend chasing blindly after him. He needed to stop them both. Owen and Tosh took the opportunity to leave, though he noticed that they didn't head back towards the drive. Intending to avoid the crowd and go over the wall, then. He definitely approved.
"Kathy!" A past master at keeping his feelings from showing, he greeted her as though he had been eagerly awaiting her arrival. "I didn't think this was your sort of thing."
"Whenever I get a report of your macho-mobile speeding through my city, I make it my sort of thing." She looked around. "Steven Hope not at home, I take it?"
"Not lately, no."
"I should probably take a look around."
"Probably, yeah." He thought of the purple and silver spaceship, and wondered what she would make of it. It might almost be worth telling her about it, just to see. "No offence though, Kathy, but I have to get back to work. Fun though this always is..."
"That's Charles Hope's car back there," she told him. "And at least one witness saw Charles running through the street outside his offices with a gun. Chased by a man who 'looked like he was making a movie'." She looked Jack up and down, without any apparent relish. "And he had a gun too. So what does Torchwood want with a pair of twin brothers, and why is one of those brothers stealing tools, whilst the other one runs about Cardiff shooting at things? You know what I think?"
"Am I about to?"
"I think it's not a pair of twins. I think whichever one of them it is was right, and the other is dead. We're not talking about Charles and Steven, are we. It's just one of them, and for some reason he's flipped." She looked pleased with the theory. "So which one of them is it?"
"Go home, Kathy." He smiled at her, in the way that he was only just beginning to learn that he had - the smile that was all Jack, but showed something of the experiences of his increasingly long life. "Have a nice hot bath, eat some chips, watch some TV. Stop thinking about the Hope brothers."
"No." Her expression was hostile. "Not if that's what you want me to do."
"That's up to you." He shrugged. "Well, good luck, then. I'll see you around."
"I haven't said you can go yet."
He just grinned at that. "Torchwood. Try to stop me."
"What does that mean, though? One of these days, Harkness, I'm going to find out just what the bloody hell it is that you do. Find out once and for all where it is that you get your authority from. We'll see what Torchwood looks like with all the secrets stripped away; and where that leaves you."
"In the same position as always." He held her gaze for a moment, letting her get, just for a beat, that near two hundred year old blue stare - then he winked and walked away. He could feel her eyes burning into his back as he walked, but he didn't look back; didn't let his easy, graceful stride lose its timing for a second. Only when he was in amongst the trees, and no longer in her sight, did he stop, and perform a brief scan of the surrounding area with his wrist computer. As usual the old gadget came up trumps.
"Ianto?" As ever it took the younger man only a second to answer. His mannered voice came sharply over Jack's earpiece.
"Yes sir?"
"The others back with you yet?"
"Yes sir. Owen is just stowing away a very rattly sack that I have some nasty suspicions about. How about you?"
"I'm taking the scenic route. Meet me on the other side of the grounds. Tell the others they can get off back to the Hub in Owen's car if they want."
"You're not expecting any more trouble?"
"We have a lunatic with a gun on the loose, who's managed to escape from me twice today. Of course I'm expecting trouble. But probably not just now, no. He's long gone."
"Then..."
"We're bringing in a prisoner, always supposing he hasn't got himself shot. Just meet me on the other side of the grounds."
"Yes sir." Ianto signed off, probably already on his way. He didn't hang around. Jack, meanwhile, pausing only to pick up Tosh's fallen instrument case, set off across the grass away from the gate, heading past the house, past the neat little clumps of fruit trees, past the once sculptured flower gardens, and the hedges that at one time had looked like swans. They looked like a strange, shaggy sort of creature now. Ice Age swans, perhaps. Whatever they were, they marked the entrance to the quieter, more secluded area of the garden. The place where, years earlier, Steven Hope had seen a purple and silver spaceship crash, and had run off in it to a new life. The furrow ploughed by the crashing ship was long gone, though the old bench still lay there, in its two halves. Steven was sitting on one of them, looking a little uncomfortable. He didn't look up when Jack arrived.
"See, it's a weird thing," he said, apparently to the ivy that was trying to engulf his broken bench. "But my brother just tried to shoot me. And then I chased him, and he had a gun, and there were policemen. Jack, I've been chased by policemen on a lot of planets, a lot of moons. You've been right there being chased alongside me more than once."
"Yeah." Jack crossed over to him, and sat down on the other half of the bench. It was crooked and leaning, and not remotely comfortable, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Still Steven didn't look up.
"My brother just tried to kill me."
"Yeah."
"I suppose asking why would be stupid?"
"Money." Jack shrugged. He had never quite got the hang of money. Once upon a time if he had needed it he had stolen it. Now that he had it by legitimate means, he was never entirely sure what to do with it. What did ordinary people do with money? He had never quite managed to find out.
"He wants the inheritance? He's welcome to it. How much of it do I need when I'm out there? It's more complicated than that, though, isn't it."
"Looks like it." Jack sighed, and rose to his feet. "Come on. You're coming with me."
"Am I under arrest?"
"Call it protective custody. I don't trust you not to do something stupid, and I sure as hell don't trust your brother. He's already killed once."
"The police could shoot him, Jack. He's got a gun."
"Yeah. I noticed that."
"And he might be needing medical attention. You shot him."
"Yeah. I noticed that, too."
"Well you could at least show a little sympathy!" The words snapped out sharply, and Steven sighed as soon as they were done. "I'm sorry. I feel like hell. My brother just tried to shoot me, there's policemen everywhere. I can't think."
"Like I said - come with me. Preferably before one of those boys in blue gets a look at you. I'll find Charles, I promise." Steven didn't respond, and he frowned. "Steven?"
"I don't want to be here anymore, Jack." His friend sounded distant; lost. "My repairs are finished, and I just want to leave. But I can't now, can I. I thought it would be nice to come home for a bit, but now it's all such a bloody mess."
"It was nice, wasn't it?"
"At first. Before the guns. I get shot at on moons half a galaxy away, and that's fine. But not here. Never here."
"Cardiff is a complicated city." Gently Jack reached out, taking the other man's hand, and pulling him to his feet. "Come on. Now."
"There some kind of rush?"
"Yeah. I'll tell you about it as soon as we're away from here. In the meantime, don't make me pull my gun on you. You're coming with me."
"Apparently I am." Steven made no objection as he was guided away across the lawns, heading for the far side of the garden. His step was slow, though - far slower that his usual almost jaunty stride. Jack sympathised, but sympathy wasn't his concern right now. He had more pressing matters to tend to first; the most pressing of all being a man who was already dead.