Son of Lynley: A (proposed) Masterpiece MYSTERY! Original Series
Episode 2: "Illumination"
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters of Thomas Lynley or Barbara Havers, much as I might wish to, and I mean no disrespect to Elizabeth George, nor infringement of copyright, in creating and posting this project. I am neither a professional screenwriter nor a resident of the United Kingdom just yet (though I did enjoy the privilege of living there for several months) nor formally acquainted with police procedure in the United Kingdom or otherwise, so kindly overlook any shortcomings in those departments.
**ALSO: While the theological college depicted in this episode is strongly based on Oak Hill College, which I had the pleasure of attending for the fall semester of 2000, all characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, real stores, or real educational facilities is purely coincidental.
EXT. CENTRAL LONDON – EVENING.
A familiar vintage vehicle – DETECTIVE INSPECTOR LYNLEY's 1968 Bristol 410 – drives through the rain-swept, lamp-lit city.
EXT. BELGRAVIA. LYNLEY'S FLAT – EVENING.
The Bristol pulls up before the contemporary façade of a handsome two-story residence, nestled amidst similarly posh, contemporary housing.
INT. LYNLEY'S CAR – EVENING.
Detective Inspector THOMAS LYNLEY, looking rather the worse for wear in his dark suit from ADELE's funeral, stills the engine but makes no move to leave the vehicle. Seated opposite him in the passenger seat is Detective Sergeant BARBARA HAVERS, also still in her funeral wear and looking like she needs a good lie-in, and the back seat is occupied by Detective Constable THOMAS CRAWFORD, who is propped against the window, half-asleep and at the brink of exhaustion.
HAVERS
Are you sure this is such a good idea, sir?
He looks over at her pointedly.
LYNLEY
It had better be – it was yours.
HAVERS
(with no small awkwardness)
Right, well…I've been thinking…There'll be gossip enough just havin' him in town. If he's staying with you –
LYNLEY
(fairly)
Where else would he go, Sergeant?
HAVERS
(practically)
To mine. It'd stir up less chat than he would stayin' here –
(under her breath)
- never mind he's gorgeous.
LYNLEY
I'll pretend you didn't just say that about my son.
He unlatches his seat belt and opens the car door, while HAVERS reaches into the back seat to lightly tap at THOMAS' knee.
HAVERS
Right, you. We're home.
He opens heavy-lidded eyes at this remark and she flashes a quick, albeit weary, smile.
INT. LYNLEY'S FLAT. GUEST ROOM – EVENING.
THOMAS, fully clothed in jeans and a t-shirt, is lying on the bed in exhausted slumber, his two bags of belongings safely deposited on a bedside chair. HAVERS draws a expensive-looking ivory duvet – doubtless, of an astronomically high thread count – over him as LYNLEY looks on, then she brushes THOMAS' cheek with her fingers before following LYNLEY out into the corridor.
INT. LYNLEY'S FLAT. CORRIDOR – EVENING.
LYNLEY turns to HAVERS, looking utterly steamrolled and gray.
LYNLEY
Thank you, Havers.
She gives a shrugging sort of half-smile.
HAVERS
Anytime.
LYNLEY
Well. Good night, then.
He turns, rather unthinkingly, and begins walking down the corridor to his own room.
HAVERS
Um…sir?
He turns and looks back at her, as though he'd forgotten she was still standing there.
HAVERS, CONT.
Sofa?
LYNLEY
(sighs)
Ah yes, then there's you.
HAVERS
(dismissively)
I can see m'self home, sir, no problem –
LYNLEY
I was meaning to ask…
Words are even harder to come by when one is both grieving and exhausted…
LYNLEY, CONT.
It's not escaped my notice that my – that…Thomas – is rather attached to you.
HAVERS
(attempting cheekiness to lighten the mood)
Can't help bein' irresistible, sir.
LYNLEY acknowledges this remark with a small, bittersweet smile.
LYNLEY
I think you remind him a bit of his mum, actually.
HAVERS
(carefully)
And – forgive me, sir, but – are we sayin' that's a good thing right now?
LYNLEY
Anything that keeps him off the roof of New Scotland Yard is a very good thing.
HAVERS
He's not the type. If he was gonna off himself, he'd of done it the night she…the night it happened. Instead, he came to me, which means he's gonna try and live through it.
LYNLEY gives her a long, considering look.
LYNLEY
I don't suppose I could persuade you to stay forever?
A lengthy silence falls, broken finally by HAVERS' awkward, self-deprecating reply:
HAVERS
I'm far less irresistible in the morning, sir.
LYNLEY maintains his considering look.
LYNLEY
Moreso, I should think.
HAVERS
(deliberately)
One thing's for sure: you need a good night's sleep. I'll see myself out.
She turns to walk away.
LYNLEY
(very softly)
In the morning, if you please.
HAVERS
(softly concedes, without turning back)
In the morning.
She walks down the corridor to the stairs.
INT. OXFORD. THAMES VALLEY POLICE STATION. INTERVIEW ROOM – LATE MORNING.
(FLASHBACK)
Everything is tinged with haze – perhaps the pain of the memories – as HAVERS' dreaming mind recalls intensely the events of the past few days.
LYNLEY, V.O.
(very quietly)
I love her.
HAVERS comes fully awake in her dream and stares up at LYNLEY in neither disbelief nor horror but the pure agony of realization, her breathing heavy in her ears.
HAVERS
You just met her.
LYNLEY
No, I didn't.
The scene abruptly flashes to a later moment.
INT. OXFORD. ADELE'S FLAT – EARLY EVENING.
HAVERS, in a dressing gown and hot rollers, is sitting on ADELE's bed as ADELE – also in a dressing gown, though her hair is threaded through with pearl strings and her makeup exquisite – turns from the mirror to address HAVERS.
ADELE
(thoughtfully)
Anyway, I don't know. Somehow I think Thomas would deal better with a stroppy little redhead. Somebody who didn't adore him quite so much and wasn't afraid to say when he was being a prat.
She cracks an impish smile, the sort that serves as the bane of such existences as HAVERS'.
ADELE, CONT.
I mean, surely you've got a set of tweeds and a pony back home?
HAVERS almost retorts her reply in a combination of startlement and hurt.
HAVERS
Hey! I was bein' honest!
ADELE
(lightly but directly)
So was I.
INT. GILCHRIST'S GALLERIA – EVENING.
ADELE and HAVERS are lingering at the wine table when ADELE remarks with feigned nonchalance, looking anywhere but at HAVERS:
ADELE
It's pathetic, I imagine, asking someone to be your friend, especially when you both fancy the same bloke…
Her eyes reluctantly flit to HAVERS.
ADELE, CONT.
But that's exactly what I'm doing.
HAVERS' smile, though minute, is genuine –
HAVERS
I'd be honored.
- and ADELE's relief is plain to see.
ADELE
Really?
HAVERS
Really.
ADELE, grinning merrily, hands her a glass of wine.
ADELE
You're not gonna take exception to my implication that you fancy your boss?
HAVERS
(deadpan)
What's the point? You've got a lot of jumpers I'd like to borrow.
She grins suddenly at ADELE and takes a hearty draft of the wine – but the respite of this memory is quickly shattered with a gunshot.
INT. GILCHRIST'S GALLERY. SIDE CORRIDOR – EVENING.
ADELE cries out in pain and slumps against LYNLEY, the bodice of her white gown a sodden mass of blood. HAVERS' breathing is ragged and frantic as she stares at them, momentarily immobilized with horror.
CRAWFORD, O.S.
(muted)
Nooooo! What've y'done, y' stupid girl?
LYNLEY, cradling ADELE against him, shouts to HAVERS, startling her out of her paralysis.
LYNLEY
Havers!
Her heart thundering thickly in her ears, HAVERS leaps on the horrified CRAWFORD, wrestling him to the floor with the strength of a madwoman and kicking away his gun. She looks back at LYNLEY and shouts back with grim triumph –
HAVERS
Got him, sir!
- but LYNLEY does not acknowledge her, being focused entirely on lowering a deathly pale ADELE to the floor. As HAVERS looks on, THOMAS runs forward and falls to his knees beside his mother. Their dialogue is a muddle of murmurs to HAVERS, broken only by THOMAS' sudden scream.
THOMAS
Somebody call an ambulance! Now! McAllister!
HAVERS does not move but looks up with mild surprise as MCALLISTER and ROTHEBY push their way through the crowd she did not realize had assembled. They take one appalled look at the scene before springing into action, with the help of the other CONSTABLES, shoving back the REPORTERS, PHOTOGRAPHERS, and other curious onlookers, but no one seems to notice HAVERS – not even CRAWFORD, who whimpers beneath her death-grip. LYNLEY and THOMAS both lean nearer the fallen ADELE, addressing her inaudibly as they take hold of her hands, touch her face, anything to hold her a moment longer in this world, but all too soon the futility of these measures is made obvious. THOMAS takes ADELE by the shoulders and pulls her body to him, sobbing even as he screams:
THOMAS, CONT.
Noooooooooooo!
CRAWFORD jolts at this cry, realizing at last the enormity of what he has done, but HAVERS, though she is ashen and trembling herself, wrestles him to his feet, merciless and terrifyingly calm.
HAVERS
John Crawford, I'm arresting you for the murders of Davey Gilchrist and Adele Crawford –
CRAWFORD gives a painful cry at his daughter's name, but HAVERS only wrenches his arms more tightly behind his back and continues by rote.
HAVERS, CONT.
You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say will be used in evidence.
She looks at LYNLEY for a split second, and the sheer agony in his face knocks the breath from her body. Breathing raggedly – a sound abnormally loud in her ears – she turns CRAWFORD sharply about and shoves him toward the assembly of CONSTABLES, rushing them both from the corridor as quickly as possible, even as THOMAS' screams resonate in her ears:
THOMAS, O.S.
Go away! Go back to London and your wife and your mansions! I hate you! Hate you!
INT. OXFORDSHIRE MORGUE – NIGHT.
HAVERS, still in her crumpled evening wear, walks down a dimly lit corridor, approaching, as in a dream, the room to which ADELE'S BODY has been delivered. As she nears the slice of gray-white light that is the doorway, LYNLEY's sobs tear at her ears and her heart.
LYNLEY
Oh, Adele…why? It should've been me – it was supposed to be me…!
HAVERS walks through the open doorway, guarded within by a stone-faced SEVERN and FAIRCHILD, just as LYNLEY leans down to kiss ADELE yet again, desperately amid his sobs.
LYNLEY, CONT.
I love you, Adele. Love you more than I could've ever dared to say…and now you'll never know…
A sudden lone tear snakes down HAVERS' cheek at the sight, the barest hint of the sorrow ripping her apart inside, though she quickly dashes it away with a cursory brush of one hand and a grim expression. She exchanges glances with the OFFICERS, then approaches LYNLEY, who is oblivious in his grief to their presence. She brings a hand to his shoulder – the first time she has touched him since ADELE's death, and certainly the most intimate touch she has ever initiated.
HAVERS
Sir…
He shrugs away her touch.
LYNLEY
No.
HAVERS bites her lip against the threatening tears, stirred up by his rebuff, and tries again.
HAVERS
Sir, you need to –
LYNLEY
(agonized)
Leave me!
She draws a very long breath before making, perhaps, the bravest denial in her life to date.
HAVERS
(quietly)
No.
The insubordination is enough to rankle, and LYNLEY straightens slightly to look back at her.
LYNLEY
(echoing in disbelief)
No?
HAVERS
(with calm resolution)
I am not gonna leave you alone, sir. Not on this of all nights.
His reply is autocratic, despite the tear-ragged edge to his words.
LYNLEY
And do you want to be looking for a new career, tomorrow of all mornings?
HAVERS
Whatever it takes, sir. I'm not leaving you alone tonight.
INT. OLD BANK HOTEL. LYNLEY'S ROOM – NIGHT.
True to her word, HAVERS lies in LYNLEY's bed, her arms curled tightly around him as he sleeps – and she sobs out her own grief. Even in this stolen moment she must be subdued, however: though she makes no effort now to staunch the tears – tucking her face against his hair as a gesture of mutual comfort – little sound can be heard besides her uneven breathing and the occasional sniffle. As she holds him to her – or herself to him; which it is is unclear – recollections race through her mind:
HAVERS, V.O.
I haven't spoken to anyone and you should know by now that I won't, but McAllister's not above bringing you before a tribunal.
With a sniffle of denial, she tucks herself more snugly against him, but the words do not cease.
HAVERS, V.O.
I meant it, sir – what I said this morning. I'll defend you to the death, but there's not a lot I can do if the two of you show up on the cover of The Sun tomorrow.
CRAWFORD, V.O.
If his superintendent don't sack him for shagging a witness – and face it, Sergeant, everyone knows, even that idiot Malvern – then his reputation will be pissed to the wind when word gets out about his bastard son.
(END FLASHBACK)
CUT to INT. LYNLEY'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM – EARLY MORNING.
HAVERS comes awake of a sudden and is momentarily disoriented in the realization that she is lying alone on a sofa and not in bed with her grieving colleague. She shivers, both from the recalled horrors and the absence of the warmth of LYNLEY's body, and tugs her coat – in lieu of a blanket – up to cover her body, still fully clad in her dark funeral wear. She lies like this – curled restlessly on her side beneath a slightly tatty peacoat, her head propped on an incalculably expensive throw pillow – for a few moments, as her last memory of CRAWFORD quietly echoes in her brain.
CRAWFORD, V.O.
If his superintendent don't sack him for shagging a witness – and face it, Sergeant, everyone knows – then his reputation will be pissed to the wind when word gets out about his bastard son.
With a restive, frustrated sigh, she peers up at a smartly contemporary wall clock, which reads a minute or two till 5:00. She sighs again, this time with determination, and tosses back her makeshift coverlet.
INT. LYNLEY'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM – EARLY MORNING.
HAVERS, having extricated herself from the sofa and slipped her coat back on, awkwardly plumps and replaces the throw pillows in a feeble attempt to tidy up. She then picks up and slings a duffel bag – her only luggage from Oxford – over one shoulder and walks through the dark flat, hesitating a moment at the door to look back, almost regretfully, into the darkness, then she exits the house, quietly closing the door behind her.
INT. GILCHRIST'S GALLERIA. SIDE CORRIDOR – EVENING.
(FLASHBACK)
This time, the memory is LYNLEY's. A gunshot sounds and ADELE snaps back against him, crying out in pain. LYNLEY cradles her to his chest, his heartbeat deafening as he watches the bloodstain spread across the bodice of her gown. The dialogue around him is consequently muted and distant:
CRAWFORD, O.S.
Nooooo! What've y'done, y' stupid girl!
LYNLEY shouts to his sergeant –
LYNLEY
Havers!
- but neither listens nor looks for her reply. He lowers ADELE onto the floor, aghast at the sight of her blood-soaked gown and increasing pallor. THOMAS falls to his knees beside her, but LYNLEY does not notice as ADELE looks up at him through pained, half-closed eyes.
ADELE
Thomas…
It is impossible to tell in this moment which of them she addresses, but her son assumes it to be himself and responds accordingly, bringing a trembling hand to her cheek.
THOMAS
I'm here, Mum. I'm here. You're gonna be fine.
Promptly giving the lie to this gentle reassurance, he screams down the corridor:
THOMAS
Somebody call an ambulance! Now! McAllister!
LYNLEY automatically takes out his mobile and is dialing 999 when ADELE's hand catches his.
ADELE
Let it go, love…it's too late…
LYNLEY slowly, thoughtlessly returns the mobile to his jacket pocket while his other hand curls around ADELE's. His eyes do not leave hers, despite her ensuing dialogue with THOMAS.
THOMAS, O.S.
Don't say that! We can have you at hospital before –
She closes her eyes and draws a rasping breath, prompting LYNLEY to tighten his grasp on her hand – a feeble attempt to hold her life a moment longer.
ADELE
You have to forgive him, Tommy…
THOMAS, O.S.
What – Granddad? I'll never forgive him, Mum – never as long as I live – !
ADELE
You have to forgive…your father…
She looks at LYNLEY then, her eyes welling in tears that have nothing to do with her physical pain, and he chokes on a sob, the same grief mirrored in his own eyes. Her eyes fall closed once more, causing THOMAS to prompt tearfully:
THOMAS, O.S.
But you never –
ADELE
I love you…
Her eyes open briefly and flicker between LYNLEY, who still holds her hand, and her son.
ADELE
Love you both…so much…
Her eyes fall closed for the last time.
(END FLASHBACK)
CUT to INT. LYNLEY'S BEDROOM – EARLY MORNING.
LYNLEY wakes up with a cry.
LYNLEY
Adele…!
He sits up, breathing frantically, and looks about him at the dark and empty confines of the bedroom. With a groan, he brings a hand to rub at his eyes, stifling the grief even in private. The nightstand clock reads 5:30, and once his breathing has slowed, he gets out of bed and drags on a t-shirt.
INT. LYNLEY'S FLAT. STAIRWELL – EARLY MORNING.
LYNLEY, wearing boxers and a t-shirt and looking like death warmed over, walks quietly down the glass-enclosed spiral stairs. He pauses at a sound, halfway down, and calls in a whisper:
LYNLEY
Barbara?
No reply comes, so he continues down to the landing and walks into the living room.
LYNLEY, CONT.
(softly)
Barbara?
Even in the darkness of a winter morning, it is clear that the sofa is empty. He stares at it for a long moment, his brokenness intensified by HAVERS' abandonment, for he cannot know that her departure took place only minutes before, nor guess the reason for it. He sits wearily on the sofa and stretches out to lie on his side, resting his head on the same throw pillow HAVERS had used barely a half-hour before.
EXT. SLOANE SQUARE TUBE STATION – EARLY MORNING.
HAVERS, looking washed out but resolute, her hair long since knotted back against a damp and miserable morning breeze, is standing outside the station as the gate opens. The ATTENDANT greets her briefly –
ATTENDANT
Ma'am.
- as she walks past him into the station. She acknowledges him with a glance but does not speak.
INT. VICTORIA LINE TRAIN – EARLY MORNING.
HAVERS is curled into a corner seat on the train with the duffel bag on her lap. Seated opposite are a sleepy BUSINESSMAN in a crumpled suit and two WOMEN in tailored executive wear and stilettos, conversing quietly over their Costa coffees, next to whom HAVERS looks doubly bedraggled. The BUSINESSMAN perks up for a moment, peering over at HAVERS as though she is familiar for some reason, then thinks better of it and settles back in his seat again, eyes closed.
INT. HAVERS' FLAT – EARLY MORNING.
HAVERS walks into the flat and mindlessly locks the door behind her. Though the place is still quite dark, owing to the hour, she does not reach for the light switch; instead, she drops her duffel on the floor and simply stares ahead for many moments.
INT. HAVERS' FLAT. BATHROOM – EARLY MORNING.
HAVERS is in the shower, rinsing shampoo from her hair with her eyes closed – more in weariness than for any other purpose. Only her head and shoulders are clearly visible in the dingy light; it is a small moment of unguarded release wrought on by utter exhaustion, with no sexual undercurrent whatsoever.
INT. HAVERS' FLAT. BEDROOM – EARLY MORNING.
Now out of the shower with damp hair, wearing a dressing gown that has been roughly laundered too many times to retain any distinctive color, HAVERS goes to her closet and, after a brief moment of contemplation in the semi-darkness afforded by one bedside lamp, she takes out the hanger bearing a crisp dark trouser suit – the only one of its kind in her wardrobe and clearly reserved for the weightiest occasions.
INT. NEW SCOTLAND YARD. OFFICE CORRIDOR – MORNING.
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER HILLIER is approaching his office when he sees HAVERS waiting outside it, all-but-immaculately turned out. She is wearing a small amount of painstakingly applied makeup and her hair is clipped back at her temples in a semblance of neatness.
HILLIER
Sergeant.
HAVERS
I'd like a word, please, sir.
HILLIER
(dripping sarcasm)
And here I thought you wanted first crack at the Hanover case.
HAVERS
Hanover can hang for all I care, sir.
HILLIER
(curiously)
Hanover did, more or less – garroted in her kitchen, late last night. Sure you wouldn't rather have a chat about that?
HAVERS
I'm afraid not, sir.
HILLIER considers his watch.
HILLIER
Five minutes, sergeant.
She follows him into the office and closes the door behind her.
INT. LYNLEY'S BEDROOM – MORNING.
LYNLEY slowly paces across the room as he talks on his mobile. He has clearly taken the same, if not greater, pains with his appearance than HAVERS: he now wears a severe suit of solid, unrelieved black with a pristine white shirt, buttoned snugly to the collar. These efforts, however, little lessen the effects of the past few days on his face: his eyes are still shadowed and his complexion maintains a gray cast of grief and soul-deep exhaustion.
LYNLEY
(in the pleasantest voice he can manage)
Thank you for accommodating at such terribly short notice….Yes, of course, that will be fine…I'll deliver it round this afternoon…Goodbye.
He ends the call and pockets his mobile, then turns his attention to the sheet of paper and pen on his nightstand. The page is blank but for two words along the top: "Dear Tom". With a sigh, he sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for the pen.
INT. NEW SCOTLAND YARD. HILLIER'S OFFICE – MORNING.
HAVERS is seated opposite HILLIER at his desk, her face impassive. There is a moment of silence at he sits forward to contemplate her, or perhaps the remark she has just made.
HILLIER
Would you repeat this under oath?
HAVERS
(without hesitation)
Yes, sir.
HILLIER sighs and settles back in his chair.
HILLIER
Take the Hanover case, Sergeant.
HAVERS
(with surprise)
With DI Lynley, sir?
HILLIER
That remains to be decided. Until you hear otherwise and from me alone, you have authority on this case. Is that understood?
HAVERS
Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.
Her thanks is genuine, though it betrays no relief.
INT. NEW SCOTLAND YARD. OFFICE CORRIDOR – MORNING.
LYNLEY is approaching HILLER's office just as HAVERS walks out. For a moment they simply stare at other, HAVERS maintaining her expressionless mask while LYNLEY's face registers, in a span of seconds, shock, betrayal, and gratitude, but before either of them can speak a word, HILLIER appears in the doorway behind HAVERS and observes LYNLEY with an unpleasant smile.
HILLIER
Lynley. You've saved me a phone call. Do come in.
He turns dismissively back into the office. LYNLEY gives HAVERS a last, lingering look, not unlike a condemned man ascending his gallows, and goes into the office as well.