I've upped the rating to M from here on for violence and disturbing imagery

Thanks as ever to Emzi.x for her beta skills

Disclaimer: Characters own Kudos and BBC

Chapter Five

Friday 23 April, 1982

DCI Gene Hunt needed a miracle. They had been on the case of this murdering bastard for nearly three months. Now he had five days to prevent another murder. He stood at the spot where Alex had last been seen, smoking a cigarette and surveyed the view around him, peering up into the uniform blacks of flats through narrowed eyes. "Where the bloody 'ell are you, Bols?" he muttered. Alex had been right; she had acted as bait and eventually he had been tempted. The psycho had been watching Alex. One slip in her routine; one failure of his useless DS and DC – Gene could not bring himself to even reprimand them, his fury was so heightened – and the scumbag had pounced and instead of catching the bastard in the act he had whisked her away into thin air. Gene imagined her sitting at the bus-stop. What had gone through her mind when she decided to give up on her wait, he thought. His response to Ray's shameful telephone call two days previously had initially been of denial:

"'Ow can you bloody lose 'er? What the bloody 'ell were you two useless nonces doing! She was waiting to catch a bus for Christ's sake! You were supposed to nick the bastard not actually let him kidnap your DI!" he had blustered, his questions tumbling from his lips uncontrollably, his face reddening with every syllable. He had rushed into the team room. "Right everyone, we are go! The bastard's made his move. Now we catch 'im and staple him by his scrotum to the back of the Quattro and parade him through the local WI convention!" He ignited every department, his usual controlled demeanour displaced by a manic excitement that disturbed his colleagues. He couldn't possibly get away from them, she wouldn't come to any harm, he had reassured himself.

Police had cordoned off the area. Every flat, house, garage was being combed within a two-mile radius of Alex's undercover flat and the school. As twilight set in and no trace of the pair had been discovered, Gene had drifted around Alex's temporary flat, alone. He was seething, feeling himself losing control, needing to lash out at someone or something. A deadening feeling hit his stomach as he realised they had failed. Three months and three murders and he had evaded their net so far. They had a profile that could identify what toothpaste he uses but in a city of millions of people, he was utterly elusive, a ghost. Without Alex, how could he possibly find her before the fatal deadline? He was not accustomed to feeling this out of control, this useless. As Sam and Alex had never tired of telling him, he couldn't bear to be wrong; and he couldn't let the rest of the team witness his doubt and his fear. Alex needed him to be strong, to not give up in the face of the seemingly impossible. He had to maintain authority. He had straightened himself to his full height and left the building, the figure of determination.

It was Ray who had broken the door down to the third floor flat in the block opposite Alex's. It was unfurnished, and unoccupied. And was the perfect vantage point to watch the building opposite, he realised, awakening his suspicions immediately. Forensics were analysing every last fibre.

"Molly! Molly, sweetheart, we're going to be late." Alex yelled up the stairs to her daughter.

"Coming, Mum! Have you seen my Ninetendo DS? The dog needs a feed." Molly's muffled voice came from the upstairs hallway, over the banister.

"And this is why we don't have a pet." Alex muttered under her breath. She collected her pile of papers strewn across the living room coffee table, stuffing them chaotically into her bag and simultaneously trying to tie her hair back with one hand, getting the band tangled up in the process. Molly bounded down the stairs, throwing her school bag on the floor, shoes in one hand, her shirt messily untucked from her skirt, her school tie hung loosely untied around her neck, her untied hair sweeping in front of her eyes. Alex pulled her daughter to her, brushing the hair out of her face. She inhaled the fresh smell of her hair and kissed the top of her head.

"Mols, help me with this hairband, it's got all caught up." Molly rolled her eyes: "Mu-um!" she whined jokingly. Molly skipped up two steps to reach her mother's height.

"I can't get the bastard thing…Molly, ow, that hurts…Molly, you're pulling too hard…Ow! You're hurting me!"

Alex awoke with a start. She moaned through the gag, her head was pulled back by her hair, she felt like her neck would snap. The chair she was tied to was tipped onto its back two legs slightly.

"Wakey, wakey Drakey. Thought you'd sleep forever." He dropped her head and she fell forward, the chair almost tipping in the opposite direction, her chin virtually hitting her chest. She lifted her head groggily. She was tied to a chair in a large empty room. She had guessed correctly that it was the top-floor of a high-rise block of flats – she could see the sky from the windows and she was sure she wouldn't be placed where someone could see in through the windows. She was bound to the chair by her ankles, with twine which cut into her flesh. Each leg was attached to a chair leg, and twine linked her legs. She could just touch the floor with her big toes but she had barely any feeling in her feet. She knew she wouldn't get very far if she managed to miraculously escape. Her hands were tied behind her back, also fixed to the chair. She was still wearing her knee length skirt and pale pink silk blouse she had put on two days ago.

"Wakey wakey." he taunted her. "It's no fun if you sleep through it all." She eyed him through semi-slit eyes, her head lolling on her neck. She was hungry, tired, and thirsty; and in pain. The bang on the back of her head had left a strong, dull ache, pounding when she moved her head and clouding her vision; she was stiff from being in one position so long. The cuts from her bonds at her hands and feet cut deeper if she tried to shift within them. And her shoulders, neck and collarbone stung from the razor-blade slices he had made, thin and shallow, barely more than scratches, enough to allow the deep red blood to bubble to the surface.

Alex had revealed her identity to him within hours, hoping that it would cause him to panic and flee. She risked that she had profiled him correctly, surmising that he wouldn't simply kill her; that death was a by-product not his ultimate goal. The drowning had led her to that conclusion: it was a sudden death after a drawn-out process, ending it quickly when their bodies were of no more use to him. But she had misjudged him. Caught up in the thrill of his fantasy, his excitement was trebled by his catch. Despite his assurances to himself in his 'rational' moments that he would not risk being caught, now in the heat of the moment, the idea of putting one over on the people trying to catch him, well, it sent his ego into hyper drive. Now it was a game. He could have his pleasure, confident that his hiding place would not be discovered; only afterwards would he have to worry about where to dump the body. But that was five days away.

"It's lunch time, Detective." he said, holding a glass of water to her parched lips, removing the gag down to her neck. She had not eaten for two days. He gave her a small glass of water every nine hours and untied her from the chair, her wrists and ankles remaining bound, every six hours to take her to the bathroom. Not that she would need to make use of the toilet soon, she thought bitterly.

The drink coincided with a 'toilet break'. Alex stretched her aching limbs as best she could as he pulled her roughly to her feet.

"Guv, Guv, we've got something!" Ray shook the radio. Gene heard the enormous radio crackle to life from within the inner pocket in his coat, disturbing his contemplation. As he stood at the bus stop he stilled himself, blocking out the distant noises of the neighbourhood.

"Raymondo?" Bloody useless, fairy, crackpot technology. Gene twisted the knobs on the enormous radio. The radio crackled again, Ray's voice breaking through: "We've got something." is all he heard.

Gene threw his cigarette to the floor and ran to the red Quattro, ignoring as many road laws as possible on his race back to the station.

"Pull yourself together, Alex." she fought inside her bleary head. She could barely see, as he led her to the bathroom. She blinked, closing her eyes tightly a few times, trying to open them wider, to clear the fog of pain and weakness. This was her eighth visit to the bathroom. She had struggled the first few times he had released her and he had reacted violently, slapping her in the face, throwing her over his shoulder on one occasion, blindfolding her on another. This was her last chance. Her survival instinct was dwindling fast: she had allowed herself to fall into regular unconsciousness and dream of Molly and home instead of keeping her mind alert, trying to find a way out of this mess. And her feet were in agony. If she was going to make a move, it had to be now.

He supported her as they walked, convinced her will was broken as her knees buckled and she tripped on her ankles and made no resistance, instead leaning into him and dragging her feet until he righted her. As he positioned her so the loo was behind her and he bent down at his knees to lift her skirt she shifted her body weight backwards, falling with a crack onto the porcelain bowl. Before he could react, she brought her knees to her chest and with the all the strength she could muster she kicked him with both feet full in the face as he bent forward instinctively to catch her. She screamed a deep scream from the depths of her lungs and breathed deep ragged breaths, adrenaline pumping through her body, giving her strength she knew she didn't have.

"Spit it out, then." Gene stood in the middle of CID, his coat still on, his hands on his hips beneath the silk seam of the coat.

"They've found fibres. Clothing, shoes marks, 'air. We can find 'im, and 'er." Ray said breathlessly. Since his DI had been taken, Ray had been racked with guilt. Gene wouldn't look him in the eyes. Chris had stutteringly tried to explain to the Guv what had happened and Ray had kicked him in the shins. He may throw his weight around, take the piss out of DI Drake's moods and bizarre methods, but he knew this was his fault and he was determined to rectify it. Like the rest of the team he was horrified by the torture these women had suffered and he ached at the thought that Alex would undoubtedly be suffering the same, and he was responsible.

Gene pouted and nodded at the team. He addressed them slowly, emphasising every word, his low voice quiet, menacing and forceful: "I want every last bastard here on this. We go through every damn file, pull in anyone 'ho so much as looks us the wrong way!" He thumped Alex's desk. "No one goes 'ome til she's back here getting on our tits."

Gene sat down behind Alex's desk. 'What are you waiting for?" he roared. Everyone jumped from their positions and the office buzzed with the sound of shuffling papers, phones being dialled and Chris and Ray crashing into each other, knocking objects from Chris's desk to the floor. Shaz scuttled over to help clear up, nervously avoiding the Guv's glare.

"You knew this man, you said." Gene whispered to himself. "The answer must be here." He surveyed the neat pile of folders on the desk. Stationery was tidied away. Alex had left the desk in an impeccable condition before she left, not knowing how long it would be before she returned. Gene sniffed. He looked down at the drawers, and opened the top one. Not much there, he thought, ignoring the unopened packet of tampons discreetly placed at the back. He opened the second drawer. More stationery – Christ, how many staplers can one person use? He was just about to shut the drawer when his eye caught sight of it: a small tape. He picked it up and, placing his elbows on the desk, slowly turned it over in his fingers.

"Chris! Get me one of those talky-tapey things." Chris looked at his boss with confusion. "Erm , Guv? I…er?" Chris stuttered, looking round the office for help. Gene waved the tape at Chris. "I need to listen to this." "Oh, yeah, right. We got loads in the lab." Chris voiced his recognition. He turned to Shaz. "I could get yer one, y'know, for yer birthday, if yer wanted."

"Chris! Am I surrounded by complete idiots? We are in the middle of a bloody murder investigation! Will you get off your useless arse and get me one so I can listen to this damn thing!" Chris scampered out the room and returned almost instantly with a dictaphone.

Alex clambered to her feet, stepping unsteadily around his sprawled body. He was out cold, blood running down his nose. She stumbled towards the exit. She turned her back to the door knob, and worked the twine binding her hands up and down along the ridge. "Come on, come on. Yes!" It snapped, releasing her arms. She gasped from the pain of her arm muscles changing position, hugging her wrists to her chest as the blood flowed back to her hands agonisingly.

"Forget the feet." she told herself and rattled the door knob. Locked, of course. She looked around the empty apartment. She hobbled to the kitchenette, breathing quickly and heavily, her head spinning. She knew she had just a few minutes, if she was lucky, before he came round. She just needed to get out of the building, into the light, bang on someone's door, before she collapsed from exhaustion – a couple of days without food had weakened her more than she cared to admit . She opened all the drawers in the kitchen and finally found what she was looking for. She returned to the front door and bent to her knees, and started to work the lock twisting the thin silver wire in different directions.

It wasn't budging. Alex swayed. She was shaking, she hadn't yet got full command of her fingers, and she dropped the wire. "Shit, shit." she breathed. She looked over her shoulder desperately. Could she hear him moving? Her vision swam. She leant her head against door, taking a few deep breaths. "Come on, Alex, you can do this." She picked up the wire and with every ounce of concentration she managed to unlock the door.

He lunged at her just as she made it past the door. They tumbled down the stone stairs in a heap. She clawed at him blindly but in her weakened state she was no match for his fury. He grabbed at her arms, pulling them roughly behind her and dragged her back up the stairs, saying not a word. She screamed and shouted: "Help! Help me!" He threw her to the floor, slamming the door behind them. He towered over her and lifted her to his face by her shoulders: "You stupid, calculating, little fucking whore." he seethed, droplets of spit landing on her face.

"You won't win, they'll find me and they'll kill you. Every officer in the London Met is out there looking for me." she defied him through clenched teeth, looking him square in the eyes, her voice shaking. He raised his fist.

"For God's sake, I'm pregnant." she pleaded hoarsely.

"I don't care." he replied.

She didn't feel the left-hook that crunched into her right cheek knocking her out instantly.

TBC...

A/N: all reviews welcome!