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Alex threw open the doors and stalked into CID, movements tight with anger and barely-contained hurt. She could sense Gene behind her, footsteps falling just out of time with hers, but she ignored him, just dropped into her seat and tried not to flinch as the door of his office slammed shut behind him.

Her heart was pounding. She was aware that the eyes of CID were on her, some curious, some faintly amused, some irritated by the arrival of another Guv-Drake row, and she kept her head down, frowned at a sheaf of papers as though they contained the secrets of the universe. She noticed vaguely that her hands were shaking. Christ.

Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths. All of a sudden everything felt too frenzied, too intense, as though someone had taken her world and shaken it like a snow globe, until feelings and friends and relationships rested in tatters around her. First her night with Gene, then Shaz's disappearance, and now this. She opened her eyes. Shaz. She was the priority. Everything else could wait.

She forced herself to concentrate. She flicked through the list of Shaz's friends, noting odd notes that had been scribbled in the margin or names that had been resolutely struck off. Nothing untoward, nothing that set alarm bells ringing. Shaz had simply disappeared.

She put the list of names to the side and got to her feet again, moving to the map stuck to the whiteboard. A line of red marker pen was inked along Shaz's path, and Alex followed it with her finger. She was barely five minutes from home, for Christ's sake.

As she stood there in thought, she registered somewhere in the back of her mind that the door of Gene's office had clicked open again. She could hear him moving around behind her, checking on progress, gruff voice tired and irritable and edged with worry, and as he skirted round her to reach Poirot, she snuck a glimpse at his face. It was closed off, hard. He didn't so much as glance in her direction.

She shivered suddenly. She felt so cold, chilled by his betrayal and his rejection, shaken by Shaz's disappearance and the sheer hopelessness of it all. She had the fierce, silly, childish urge to walk over and wrap herself up in him, breathe in that familiar smell of whisky and smoke and man that felt like safety. She remembered the way he had shut down at her words, at her accusations, almost as if she was the one disappointing him instead of the other way round, and felt sick at heart. This was all so desperately complicated.

The phone rang on her desk and she hurried over to answer it, mind still on Gene as he leaned over Terry's desk to read through a file.

"Drake."

"Still haven't found me then?" The voice at the other end of the phone was sing-song, gleeful, though indistinct somehow, muffled by a persistent roar in the background. "I've been watching you, you know."

Alex felt herself go cold from the inside out. "Who is this?"

She was vaguely aware that the noise and bustle of CID had fallen abruptly away.

"Oh no, I'm not making this easy for you." There was a giggle, childish, high-pitched. "Hide and seek." There was a pause, and then the tone changed, turned troubled. "But you're not playing it right. You're looking in all the wrong places!"

Alex considered for a moment. "Why don't you give us a clue?"

"No!" The childishness was gone, replaced instead by impatient, irrational anger. The background noise became briefly more distinct. There was the blare of a horn. "I've waited too long! You're losing! And she's so pretty." The voice lilted again into light, chilling affection. "So, so pretty."

Alex swallowed back a wave of horror. How could they have ever thought that Shaz's disappearance was anything other than sinister? She was suddenly aware that Gene was beside her, blue eyes hard and determined. There was guilt there. She wondered if it was reflected in her own expression.

"You're right, you are winning." She swallowed. She needed to think clearly, to tap into her training, to his state of mind. "The other girls...was that you too?"

"Shut up! You're so stupid! You're just...you're...Christ!" He was getting worked up, his voice loud now and wild with frustration, and she fought to regain control.

"I know. We're losing. You're too good." There was a pause, and his heavy breathing lightened, slowed. Gradually, she became aware that he was humming, singing something under his breath. "What's that you're singing? Can you tell me?"

There came a horrible laugh, so cold that it twisted her stomach. "There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin, and if you'd like to rest a while, I'll snugly tuck you in!"

Alex swallowed down a wave of dizzying nausea. He was unravelling. She opened her mouth to reply but then he spoke again, voice a high-pitched whisper.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

The line went dead.

She placed the receiver back in the cradle with a trembling hand. She realised suddenly that she was shaking, shaking so hard her teeth rattled in her head, and when she looked up at Gene, she saw that the colour had drained from his face.

"He's...that was...he's got Shaz. It's the rapist, the one we've been trying to track down for weeks now." She got suddenly to her feet, furious at herself, at him, at all of them for being so naive. "Jesus Christ, Gene, he's been right under our noses all along! He's got Shaz and we've been running around doing sod all to help!" She dragged her hands over her face. "We need to get out there...we need to...I don't know..."

"Bolly." Gene's voice was calm, anchoring her to the earth again, tying her to this reality. "What did he say? Think."

She sank into her chair, picked up a pen and closed her eyes. She needed to stay calm, to remember exactly what he'd said. Eyes still shut, she started to write furiously, remembering odd statements, turns of phrase. Hide and seek. Winning. Losing. Pretty. Then the last bit. It took longer for her to get it exactly right, but then she scribbled it down on a fresh sheet of paper. It beat in her mind. She knew it from somewhere.

Gene peered over her shoulder at her notes and sniffed.

"This is one sick bastard."

She nodded, barely listening, eyes still raking over the last two sentences.

There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,

And if you'd like to rest a while, I'll snugly tuck you in.

"Those lines...they're from a poem." She rubbed her fingers over her temples. "I know it. I read it when I was at university. I just can't remember it..."

Gene watched her for a few moments before perching on the edge of her desk and picking up her radio.

"Raymondo?"

The radio crackled into life. "Guv? That you? We've just left Shaz's parents' place. Nothing to report there."

"We've got a lead. You need to get back here. " He paused, then added: "Pronto."

He looked at Alex. She looked back.

Telling Chris was something neither of them was looking forward to.

When Shaz was a little girl, she'd been afraid of the dark. Once, her mother had given her a nightlight to have beside her bed, hoping it would help. But all it had done was intensify the shadows that lurked in the corners of her bedroom, and she'd sat bolt upright all night in rigid fear, quaking at the thought of the monsters she knew were waiting for her, just beyond the circle of light.

Of course, she'd got over it, just as she'd got over her fear of swings, and her fear of spiders, mostly. As she'd got older, she'd learned not to be afraid anymore, and she'd even learned to love the hours of darkness she'd once dreaded. Darkness brought confidences, whispers, intimacies of friendship and trust and love. Darkness allowed you to think, and people had always said Shaz thought too much. But in the midst of her chaotic life, she looked forward to the few snatched hours of silence and peace that the darkness gave her. Sometimes, she thought she preferred darkness to light, day to night.

But that was a different sort of darkness. That was when you had things to mull over, when you felt safe and peaceful, when you had someone to share the darkness with. Not like this.

Now she felt suffocated by it, overwhelmed by an irrational sensation of claustrophobia. She could feel the darkness pressing in on her eyes and ears, filling her throat, seeping through the pores of her skin, squeezing her skull in a vice-like grip. She had no idea where she was. It had been dark when she'd been pushed into this room, and she couldn't so much as see her hand in front of her face. She knew she was curled up on a thin mattress, and she could see the faint outline of the door on the other side of the room, opposite her. But that was it. She hadn't moved from the bed; she knew it was illogical, but she had the horrible feeling that if she moved away from what was tangible she might fade into nothingness, swallowed up by the dark. She'd wrapped the threadbare blanket around herself, not for the benefit of the meagre warmth it gave her, but just so that she could have something to hold onto. She'd heard nothing for hours, nothing except the sound of her own breathing and, although she despised herself for it, the sobs she'd tried in vain to stifle in the mattress.

Scenes from last night kept playing in her head, over and over, jagged memories that cut her to the core, terrified her and brought stinging tears to her eyes. She saw herself leaving Luigi's with Chris – that she recalled with perfect clarity. They'd argued, she'd turned on her heel and left him standing there in the street, that bewildered expression on his face that she so often loved and that just as often infuriated her. Why had she walked away from him? Chris might not be the best person in a crisis, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would never have let this happen to her. At first, when she'd felt the hand on her arm, she'd thought it was him and she'd spun to face him, torn between slapping him round the face and throwing her arms around him and taking back everything she'd said. But the hand that covered her mouth wasn't Chris's, and nor was the rough voice that hissed in her ear, or the nails that dug into her arms as she was dragged off the pavement and forced into the back of the car. After that, she must have blacked out. She remembered being pushed into this room and collapsing on the mattress, terrified and confused, before the door was slammed shut behind her. But as for the bit in between, it was a blank. And now here she was, alone, frightened, and trapped in the dark.

She forced herself to think rationally. She had no idea where she was, but the Guv would find her. Wherever she was, whatever difficulties he faced, she knew the Guv would come and rescue her. That was what he did. It was only a matter of time. Or was it? Her stomach flipped. Chris would tell them all they'd argued, and what would they think? They'd think she'd just left, they'd think she'd gone to stay with someone. They wouldn't even try to find her. But surely they'd know that she'd never do that, that she'd never just abandon them all? DI Drake would know. She knew about psychology, she knew about how people's minds worked. She'd know Shaz would never just leave. And if she told the Guv something was wrong, Chris would back her up. But what if he didn't believe them? She knew that DI Drake got her way a lot of the time, but what if this time the Guv refused to listen, even to her? Could the others overrule him? A wave of despair crashed over her. It was impossible. No-one was going to come and rescue her. She must have been here for hours. If they were coming, surely they'd be here by now. All she could remember was being thrown into this room in the dark, and she hadn't seen the man who'd kidnapped her since. Where was he? Why hadn't he come back? She didn't understand. Why was she being left here?

Clutching the pathetic blanket so hard that her fingernails tore through it and cut into her palms, Shaz wished the Guv, DI Drake, Chris and Ray would hurry up. If they didn't find her, if they left her here, really and truly alone, if they never came for her...what would happen then?

And then, without warning, Shaz's blood ran ice cold. She knew exactly what was going to happen to her. Hadn't she heard all this before? Hadn't she sat at her desk only a matter of hours ago, listening to the Guv and DI Drake discussing something which tallied exactly with what she was experiencing? "Sick bastard kidnaps girl," the Guv had told them. "Keeps her hidden away for roughly forty-eight hours. Rapes her and dumps her on a street-corner." Shaz crushed the blanket to her mouth to stifle the scream she could feel building in her throat.

No. No, no, no.

Squeezing her eyes tight shut, she forced herself to stay calm and consider her situation. Could she be wrong? No; she didn't doubt herself, even for a second. She knew she was right. In her head, she heard the Guv's words again. Forty-eight hours. How long had she been here, sitting alone in the dark? Twelve hours? More? Long enough to be missed. Long enough for them to do the rounds of her friends and family and realise something was wrong. Long enough for them to make the connection between the cases? If not, then they would never get to her in time. If not, then all was lost. She knew that this man, whoever he was, didn't habitually kill. But what if, just this once, he broke the pattern? What if he found out that she was a police officer, and panicked? And even if she did make it out of here alive, it wouldn't be without a terrible price. Would she be able to look the others in the eye – the Guv, DI Drake, Ray, and especially Chris – and see their pity, their guilt, even their revulsion?

A sudden scraping noise made Shaz jump nearly out of her skin. Recognising it as the sound of a key in a lock, she shrank back to the far end of the mattress, her heart beating wildly. Slowly, the door opened, and a figure stepped into the room.

"Where are you?" The voice was high, disconcertingly so, the words spoken in a sing-song voice that made Shaz want to crawl beneath the bed and never come out again. "Not hiding, are you? That really wouldn't be a good idea..." Then there was a snap and next thing she knew, a beam of light was shining in her face, so bright that she was effectively blinded. "Hello, Barbara," the voice crooned, much closer now.

"I'm..." Shaz could hardly get the words out for terror. "I'm not..." She felt the mattress sink as the man sat down beside her, too close. She tried in vain to scramble backwards, but found herself pressed into a corner, paralysed by fear. Her attacker dropped the torch onto the bed beside him, and the world was plunged into darkness once again. She felt hands touch her face, so lightly. Fingers trembled on her skin, and she could feel his breath at her throat.

Heart hammering, Shaz closed her eyes and tried to think, but no wave of inspiration came to her, nothing except panic, fear and a terrible feeling of helplessness. She shuddered as she felt his lips move to her ear. "Sweet creature," he crooned in the same lilting, almost childish voice she'd heard him use before. "You're witty and you're wise...how handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes..."

Her spine crawling, Shaz prised the fingers from her face and pushed them away, her hands shaking violently. She felt so powerless, so vulnerable...if she had a gun, if she knew what she was doing, if she could only see... To her surprise, she felt the mattress shift again as he stood up, moving away from her. Footsteps crossed the floor and the door opened and closed. Once again, she was alone in the dark. The last thing she heard before the key turned in the lock was a laugh, a light, silvery chuckle which lingered long after the footsteps had retreated down the passage away from her.

Shaz had been brought up to believe in God. Her parents had taught her, when she was very young, that God never deserted you, and that in your darkest hour he would bring you comfort. She'd stopped believing long ago. It hadn't made sense to her anymore, not with everything she saw day to day. But completely alone in the crushing darkness, choking back the tears with every ounce of her remaining strength, for the first time in years, Shaz screwed her eyes tight shut and prayed.

Alex sat on the edge of Gene's desk, wishing not for the first time that Google existed in 1982. Her head was starting to hurt and still the poem remained tantalisingly out of reach, the words buzzing relentlessly, fruitlessly around her brain.

"We should have listened to Chris." She knew she sounded defeated. She was tired and frustrated and guilty as hell, and all she could think of was how much they'd failed Shaz. She dropped her head forward and stared sightlessly at her knees.

"This isn't our fault, Alex. We couldn't have gone blundering in expecting the worst."

She looked up and found him standing directly in front of her, so close that if she were to reach out, she would feel his heartbeat beneath her palm. Their row came suddenly, abruptly back to her and she froze, eyes locked on his, breath caught in her chest. Even the memory of his betrayal hurt like a kick to the stomach.

She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze, self-conscious now, but his hand moved out, fingers grazing so gently along her jaw that his touch was little more than the whisper of a summer breeze. He tilted her head up to look at him and she almost flinched at what she saw in his eyes. There was guilt, anger, tiredness and frustration, but there was tenderness too, an overwhelming gentle concern.

"Bolly, about earlier..." She stiffened under his touch. "I can explain everything. I swear. I was being a stupid, stubborn bastard."

She swallowed the ball of tears that burned at the back of her throat and lifted her hand to cover his where it rested against her cheek. "Maybe we should talk about this another time."

He nodded, hand slipping from her face to rub softly at a spot on the back of her neck where she carried her tension. She shivered. How did he always manage to have this effect on her?

"Fair enough." He paused. "We will find her, Bolls, and we'll make this scumbag pay. I promise."

She looked up at him again, and her eyes were filled suddenly, inexplicably with tears. She needed him so much and he was here, with her, caring about her enough to look after her, to stroke away her anxiety. She knew she needed to keep fighting, knew that it was wrong to give into him after his betrayal, but she was so tired and he was so strong. She reached out and pressed her hand over his heart.

"I know."

His fingers tickled back along her neck to her mouth, where they ran lightly across her lips the moment before he leaned in. He stopped just an inch from her mouth, eyes on hers, asking permission, seeking acceptance. She leaned forward to meet him, hands slipping up to cup his cheeks as he melted into her, moving to stand between her legs as she sat on his desk.

When they broke apart, he straightened up and cradled her against his chest, stroking lightly over her hair as they held each other. In that moment they were a team again, bearing the burden of their mistakes together as they waited for the remonstrations and accusations sure to fall from the lips of their team.

"We'll make this right," he murmured, lips kissing a slow path along her hairline to her cheek, and she sighed softly, taking comfort in the rhythmic beat of his heart in her ear. They weren't fixed. This wasn't perfect. They were just two people seeking comfort and reassurance from one another, two people who had found in each other something they'd never expected. They had a long way to go, and a lot to sort out. One of their best friends was still missing. Yet just for this moment, they had each found a sliver of peace.

Eventually, she sat up straighter and he stepped back, putting a little distance between them. She was frowning again.

"That poem. I can't get it out of my head."

"And you've got no idea what it is?"

"I don't know. It's a cautionary tale, I think. A poem that warns you away from something."

He frowned. "Like sex?"

She smiled. "I was thinking more like avarice." She shook her head. "It's driving me mad."

"You'll remember, Bolly, I know you will."

She looked at him askance, almost shy at his implicit praise. "Careful Gene, you're almost starting to sound supportive."

The corner of his mouth tipped up. "You're obviously exhausted. You can't even think straight, dozy tart." He hesitated, then reached out to take one of her hands in his, playing self-consciously with her fingers. "You're turning me into a right southern nancy, Bolls."

She tilted her head, still smiling. "Impossible."

He walked around the desk and dropped into his seat, pulling a bottle of whisky from his drawer and pouring out two measures. She watched him absent-mindedly.

"So, what could this poem be about, then? Avarice, you said?"

"Something like that."

He passed her a glass and she cradled it in her hands, thinking.

"Well come on, then. Let's have one of them brain...frazzling...sessions you're always jabbering on about."

"Brainstorming," she corrected idly. "Okay. Go for it."

"Lust?" he suggested, and she shook her head. "Envy? Adultery?" She frowned. "Laziness? Pride? Blasphemy?"

She froze. "What was that?"

"What? Blasphemy?"

"No, the one before."

He thought. "Pride?"

"Yes! I think...I think it was about pride and...and..." She squeezed her eyes shut. "Flattery! It was about the dangers of flattery!" She whispered the lines to herself over and over, feeling the answer move ever closer. It was just out of her reach, less than a hairbreadth from her fingertips. And then, quite suddenly, she had it. "The Spider and the Fly!"

Gene frowned at her. "The what?"

"The Spider and the Fly! It's a poem by Mary Howitt. The spider tries to entice the fly into its parlour and he eventually succeeds by flattering the fly into following him inside. He eats him in the end, of course." She shook her head in frustration, but her eyes were alight with triumph. "I don't know why I didn't remember it before! My godfather used to read it..." She trailed off, then pushed all thoughts of her home resolutely aside. She needed to focus.

Gene sniffed. "Knew you'd remember. Now get your arse back out to your desk and do some bloody work, woman." He followed her to the door and leaned against the frame, watching her as she sat down and turned to give him a weak smile over her shoulder. His eyes were soft, she noticed, the same way they'd looked last night, when he'd...focus.

Just then, the doors to CID flew open and Chris and Ray ran in.

It was time to face the music.