Son of Lynley: Illumination

by Mejhiren

Sequel to Sins of the Father. Lynley and Havers return to London with Tom Crawford, but what repercussions await them there? Rated M for subject matter and a bit of content down the road.

3. Repercussions

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. JULIA'S HOUSE – MORNING.

The day is gray, cold and misty outside JULIA's house, which, despite its initial interior impression, is a generous two-story dwelling of somewhat contemporary construct with a lone dormant rosebush set in the pavement "lawn" betwixt the sidewalk and the house. Inside the police cordon, DETECTIVE CONSTABLE WINSTON NKATA talks with two SCENES OF CRIME OFFICERS as HAVERS approaches.

WINSTON
Sergeant Havers.

The SOCOs look up curiously in her direction, while HAVERS, genuinely glad to see WINSTON, banters a reply.

HAVERS
Who said you could come?

WINSTON
Well, there's a rumor goin' round that you might be working solo for a bit; I thought you might need a hand.

HAVERS
(dryly)
Who started that, I wonder? And –
(lowering her voice; with a sidewise glance at the SOCOs)
- why does everyone find me so bloody fascinating today?

WINSTON laughs shortly, but at the absence of either humor or understanding in her expression, replies in a like manner.

WINSTON
Well, um…it might have somethin' to do with your debut in The Sun yesterday…

HAVERS
(puzzled)
My what?

WINSTON
There was a picture of you drinking wine with that, um, artist – just before the murder, it said. You were described as "an unidentified redhead."

HAVERS
Thank God for small mercies.

WINSTON
(awkwardly)
Yeah, well…it didn't serve to confuse too many people…You've sort of become the Met's favorite pin-up overnight.

HAVERS
What?

WINSTON
(with a thread of merriment)
Well…I'd be lying if I said you didn't look a bit foxy – um, ma'am.

HAVERS
(dubiously)
Next to Adele Crawford? Oh God.

She groans as all the horrors of the previous days return in a rush.

HAVERS, CONT.
Look, just catch me up on Julia Hanover; I'm sure we'll have ample opportunity for gossip later.

WINSTON
Fair enough, ma'am.

INT. JULIA'S KITCHEN – MID-MORNING.

JULIA'S BODY, bluish pale in death and covered only by the lavender dressing gown, is lying on the kitchen floor, eerily serene but for the thin, dark ligature mark across her slender throat. HAVERS crouches down to trace the mark with gloved fingertips and not a little regret.

HAVERS
She's lovely.

WINSTON's expression betrays similar feeling, though his voice remains professional.

WINSTON
Julia Alexis Hanover, thirty-five. Presumably strangled at some point during the night.

HAVERS
Any sign of the weapon?

WINSTON
Not as yet, ma'am, though SOCO's combing the place, inside and out.

HAVERS' gaze returns to JULIA'S BODY.

HAVERS
The mark's a bit ragged…What d'you reckon? A thin rope? Or chain, maybe?

She glances up at WINSTON, who shrugs, then she turns back to span JULIA's delicate neck with her thumb and forefinger.

HAVERS, CONT.
(to herself)
Like snapping the head off a dandelion.
(to WINSTON)
Any idea whether the killer was male or female?

He shakes his head.

WINSTON
Not yet. As you say: considering the build of the victim, almost anyone could've done it.

HAVERS' eyes follow the line of the dressing gown down JULIA'S BODY which, while not unduly exposed, is bared from the thighs down by the fall of the fabric. She winces before asking:

HAVERS
Any sexual assault?

Her eyes are on JULIA'S BODY and so she does not see the wry, considering expression flicker across WINSTON'S face.

WINSTON
Not as such – or rather, I should say: not so far as we can tell yet.

Momentarily satisfied, HAVERS rises to her feet and leaves JULIA'S BODY to look about the kitchen – namely, at the oversteeped herbal tea still sitting on the counter.

HAVERS
Was the house broken into?

WINSTON
Doesn't look like it. The murder was reported by Gareth Robson, boyfriend of the victim's daughter. He was on the phone with Julia at about 9:00 when the call ended abruptly from her end. This struck him as suspicious, so he came to the house, found the front door unlocked, went in and discovered the body, and rang the police straightaway.

HAVERS looks at him in surprise.

HAVERS
Who calls their girlfriend's mum at that hour? Did he say why?

WINSTON
Julia's daughter – Megan, she's called – was apparently in a bit of a strop with him. Gareth rang up to explain to Julia, he said, and after about thirty seconds of conversation, she - or, more likely, her killer - hung up on him.

HAVERS
My money's on Julia - probably didn't want to get involved in the dating drama.
(under her breath)
Little prat.

WINSTON
And that's not the most interesting bit. Between the time of Gareth's call and his arrival at the house a half-hour later, two 999 calls were placed from Julia's landline – both hangups. By the time he arrived to find the body, police were already on their way.

HAVERS
Could Julia have detected a prowler and made the calls herself?
(thinking aloud)
But then, why wouldn't she use her mobile? This kitchen's not exactly the most inconspicuous place to make a call, I'm guessing – and she's in her dressing gown, so she would have had to be coming from somewhere else: bedroom, bathroom maybe –

WINSTON
That's the second interesting bit.

INT. JULIA'S BEDROOM – MID-MORNING.

WINSTON and HAVERS stand over the unmade bed – resplendent even in disarray, with its ornate iron frame, lace-trimmed sheets and burgundy brocade comforter – while SOCOs excavate the rest of the room, itself warmly earth-toned and furnished with mismatched but complementary antiques.

WINSTON
Julia wasn't married, but she definitely had company last night.

HAVERS frowns in thought.

HAVERS
Somebody did, that's for sure. I'm sure Lafferty will be more than happy to enlighten us on that point.

She turns to WINSTON.

HAVERS, CONT.
(frankly)
What d'you think: the lover killed her or the lover was a witness and called 999?

WINSTON
But why not talk to the police, if he'd bothered to call?

HAVERS
Maybe he was cheating on his wife and didn't want to be found out – or he might've been scared out of his wits, if he saw the murder take place.
(thoughtfully)
Speaking of which: Julia's daughter – did she come home last night?

WINSTON
That's interesting point number three. Megan doesn't live with her mum; she goes to the Bible college just up the road and has a room in the dorm, which, according to Gareth, she left around half-seven last night. She hasn't answered her mobile ever since – and she didn't show up for class this morning.

INT. NEW SCOTLAND YARD. HILLIER'S OFFICE – MID-MORNING.

HILLIER has apparently strung out LYNLEY's nerves for several minutes, for he is casually completing a phone call as LYNLEY sits opposite him, still impeccably presented but turning grayer with each moment, the shadows in his face deeper than when he arrived.

HILLIER
Excellent - thank you...Yes, that will be perfect...Goodbye.

He ends the call and carefully sets the mobile on his desktop before calmly looking over at LYNLEY.

HILLIER
(with a chilly sort of pleasantness)
Well. I daresay I needn't tell you, Lynley, about the piss-poor outcome of the Gilchrist murder investigation.

LYNLEY
(wearily; clearing his throat to speak)
No, sir – though I daresay you'll wish to just the same.

HILLIER continues as though LYNLEY hadn't spoken.

HILLIER
A single murder! By a criminal mastermind hiding on the fringes of society? No! By the plainly visible father of the key witness, Adele Crawford.

LYNLEY winces at the mention of her name.

HILLIER, CONT.
(with relish)
Oh yes, Miss Crawford. A stunning artist with a brilliant Detective Constable for a son.

From the topmost drawer of his desk, he removes a copy of The Sun, the garish cover of which features, among the usual celebrity gossip, a photo of ADELE at the exhibition with the caption "Tate's Rising Star Killed in Oxford Galleria." He throws the paper on the desk, facing LYNLEY, then opens it to a marked page with the blatant headline "Tragic End for Tate-Bound Beauty" and myriad pictures of ADELE, exquisite as ever, posing and smiling with other guests from the exhibition. (One such includes ADELE and HAVERS lurking fashionably with their wine.) LYNLEY makes a choked sound and quickly looks away from the page, prompting HILLIER to continue on with pleasant relentlessness.

HILLIER, CONT.
Where was I? Ah yes: Tom Crawford, Adele's belovèd son.

He removes a file folder from the same desk drawer and sets it pointedly over the unfolded tabloid, opening the file to reveal it as THOMAS', as clearly indicated by a photocopy of THOMAS' Thames Valley ID.

HILLIER, CONT.
(as though reading from the file)
Thomas Ashlyn Crawford, a reportedly brilliant – and notably fatherless – Detective Constable who'd just put in for a transfer to the Met.
(with a twisted smile)
How'm I doin' so far?

LYNLEY makes no reply.

HILLIER, CONT.
Enter DI Tommy Lynley and his stroppy sergeant Havers. DI Lynley immediately leaps into a liaison with said key witness –

LYNLEY looks up sharply – or as sharply as one can whilst crushed by grief and weariness.

HILLIER, CONT.
(pointedly)
- a liaison that results in her death the following evening.

LYNLEY attempts a feeble protest.

LYNLEY
Sir, if you please –

HILLIER
(relentlessly)
As I understand it, from all accounts – including your own – Adele Crawford was only killed because she put herself between you and John Crawford's gun. Is this correct?

LYNLEY
(very quietly)
Yes, sir.

HILLIER
(mock-musing)
Funny thing, for a successful artist to throw her life away on a prat she met the day before – even if he was giving her one.

LYNLEY winces at the accusation but does not attempt to deny it.

HILLIER, CONT.
Funnier still that her long-estranged father would show up to kill said prat the day after the affair was commenced.

He pauses for a long, ruminative moment, studying the upside-down tabloid and file before him.

HILLIER, CONT.
(casually)
In light of John Crawford's confession, Lynley, is there anything you'd like to tell me?

LYNLEY
(with scarcely enough energy to articulate the words)
Such as?

HILLIER
You put in a request to expedite Thomas Crawford's transfer and recommended that he be immediately promoted to Detective Sergeant, did you not?

LYNLEY sighs, compiling his best argument for the one thing remaining that he can – and must – protect.

LYNLEY
Yes, I did. Thomas Crawford is long overdue for such a promotion, as Detective Sergeant McAllister of Thames Valley Oxfordshire will attest. He has completed all the required coursework, and he lost a great deal when his mother –
(quickly amends this)
- with the loss of his mother. I merely wished to smooth things over for him as best I could.

HILLIER
Because his mum died?

LYNLEY
Yes, sir.

HILLIER
Then why did we receive your call regarding this transfer the afternoon before Adele Crawford was murdered?

LYNLEY is silent.

HILLIER, CONT.
That's a fat lot of interest to take in one young Detective Constable, who had yet to be bereaved at the loss of his mother.

LYNLEY
(wearily)
If you are implying –

HILLIER's pleasant nastiness snaps to outright anger with a snarl as he slams a hand down on THOMAS' file.

HILLIER
John Crawford named you the boy's father, Lynley!

LYNLEY, having been prepared for this ballast from the first, does not shift a hair or change his tone in the least.

LYNLEY
I am well aware, sir.

HILLIER
(frankly)
Well? Are you?

LYNLEY's aristocratic spine briefly surfaces through the haze of painful emotions.

LYNLEY
(frostily and precise)
Your question, sir, has no bearing on the Gilchrist murder case.

HILLIER
And everything to do with the Crawford murder!

LYNLEY
(continuing in the crisp tone of a wrongly maligned peer)
John Crawford is in custody and has made a full confession –

HILLIER
(virtually apoplectic)
Naming you Tom Crawford's bloody father!

LYNLEY stares him down with icy silence, having at last found a position worth defending, while HILLIER stares back but does not speak, waiting for LYNLEY to capitulate. When several moments of tangible tension have passed, HILLIER breaks eye contact with a dismissive snort and sharply closes THOMAS' file once more.

HILLIER
Sod it. Crawford's record is – God save us – exemplary; we'll take him at the conclusion of his bereavement leave and upon completion of all the requisite assessments – and not a moment sooner. But I'll not bring him on as a sergeant. Not till he's proven his worth – independent of you and Thames Valley – beyond any shadow of a doubt.

LYNLEY thaws slightly.

LYNLEY
Thank you, sir.

HILLIER
(with a tight, humorless smile)
And now, what to do with you…

LYNLEY
With all due respect, sir: I really don't care.

HILLIER studies him for a moment before remarking, almost curiously:

HILLIER
You must think very little of your sergeant, Lynley.

LYNLEY
I beg your pardon?

HILLIER
(nonchalantly)
You may have noticed her leaving my office just before you arrived.

LYNLEY
I assumed you had questions for her.

HILLIER
Oh, I did – in plenty. But it was she who called the meeting.

At LYNLEY's resultant surprise, he adds, quite casually:

HILLIER, CONT.
Lying in wait outside my office, she was – for over an hour. Apparently, she wanted to get hold of me before I got hold of you.
(chuckles)
Besotted with you, of course. I thought she had more sense than that, but no matter.

He gives a dismissive shrug.

LYNLEY
I'm afraid I don't understand.

HILLIER
(bluntly)
I'll spell it out for you then, shall I? Havers is prepared to go before any court of my choosing to testify, in her words, that there was "nothing untoward" in your conduct with Adele Crawford in the days preceding her murder. As far as paternity – she wouldn't know, of course, but she insists she'd spoken with you regarding Thomas Crawford's transfer fully a day before you placed your call to the Met Careers Office. She claims his detective work is second only to yours, and that the Met would be lucky to procure such an officer.

They regard each other for a long moment.

LYNLEY
(lightly incredulous)
And – you're inclined to believe her?

HILLIER
(with a tight smile)
I like Havers, Lynley. I'd like to believe she wouldn't lie to me, whatever the circumstances.
(abruptly changing to a more deliberate, businesslike tack)
More to the point, I value her judgment as a detective. To that end, I've assigned her a murder case in Southgate – nothing terribly high-profile, I suppose, and she'll have DC Nkata, but I imagine an officer of your capabilities might come in handy for, say…background investigation.

LYNLEY frowns but does not give voice to his thoughts.

HILLIER, CONT.
Let me put this delicately: if Adele Crawford was nothing to you, save for a victim in a murder case, well, I'd expect that you'd be glad to get back to work – with the odd counseling session for the subsequent PTS, of course. But beyond that – requesting leave or…looking forward to the prospect of, shall we say, being off duty for quite some time – one would begin to wonder just how well-acquainted you were.

Their eyes meet in perfect comprehension.

HILLIER, CONT.
I'd be only too happy to sack you, Lynley – after the requisite nastiness with disciplinary boards, of course. The case against you would be ridiculously easy to build, even without Havers and McAllister: the odd word to a brasserie waitress, Thames Valley underling, the receptionist at Miss Crawford's B&B, perhaps…
(trails off meaningfully)
One need only look at you to see the truth of it.

LYNLEY glowers back at HILLIER, all-too-aware of his own hellish physical state.

HILLIER, CONT.
And I'd be only too happy to oblige, only…I get the feeling, somehow, that's exactly what you want: to crawl home and wallow in your grief. Devil take the Metropolitan Police, Barbara Havers, and Thomas Crawford.

LYNLEY's resultant expression is fierce and met by something not unlike a smirk from HILLIER.

HILLIER, CONT.
Or perhaps not. And so I say again: what do I do with you, Lynley?

EXT. JULIA'S HOUSE – MID-MORNING.

HAVERS and WINSTON exit the house in conversation.

HAVERS
Let's get a team on door-to-doors for any suspicious activity in the last twenty-four hours. There may well be an innocent explanation for Megan's disappearance, and I'd hate to rile up the neighborhood with a missing persons report if all she did was shack up with another bloke for a few days. That being said: who do we know had contact with either Julia or her daughter last night?

WINSTON
Gareth Robson, of course. We might be able to turn up something at the college – other kids in her dorm who know her better than he thinks he does and might have an idea where she's gone.

HAVERS
(nods)
A quick word with her tutor might not be a bad idea, either. What else have you got on Julia?

WINSTON
She ran an antiques shop, just up the road.

HAVERS
We should have a look round there, see if anything out of the ordinary happened the last few days. Who's the next-of-kin? After Megan, I mean.

WINSTON
Strictly speaking, Mum and Dad – Christa and Nigel Hanover – but they're a bit out of town.

HAVERS
How out of town?

WINSTON
Preston.

HAVERS concedes this point with a dry nod.

WINSTON, CONT.
According to Gareth, Julia and Megan lived with them till June, when they moved down here. Julia rented the house and the shop and Megan started at school in September.

HAVERS
We should send in an officer from Lancashire to break the news, maybe poke around a bit. Preston to London's not a bad move, but Preston to Southgate – that's curious.
(recollecting)
You said "strictly speaking": who else've we got?

WINSTON
Julia's sister, Elinor Hanover – lives in Islington.

He hands HAVERS a photograph of JULIA with ELINOR, a striking woman in her mid-30s with sleek black hair and enormous dark eyes.

WINSTON, CONT.
I've got an address.

He proffers a notepad, from which HAVERS copies the requisite information into her own omnipresent notebook. She pauses a moment in thought, considering how best to delegate the morning's tasks.

HAVERS
Right. Let's head over to the college. Before we go any further, I want a proper chat with Gareth – while you make inquiries 'round the campus. Discreet, mind you: as far as the school's concerned, you're trying to track Megan down because of what happened to her mum – not so much as a whisper about missing persons or Megan as a potential suspect.

WINSTON
(dryly)
You don't reckon they'll cotton on when they learn I'm from the Met?

HAVERS
It'll be common knowledge soon enough; for now, downplay the investigation as much as possible. The last thing we both need is panic in the streets of Southgate.

Her mobile rings, startling her, and she hurriedly retrieves it from her coat pocket to answer:

HAVERS
Sir?

The concern on her face is plain to see.

HAVERS, CONT.
How'd it go?

CUT to EXT. CHELSEA. OFFICE BUILDING. MID-MORNING.

LYNLEY is talking on his mobile as he walks out of a snug brick office building, blanketed on one side by a lush fall of ivy. Though his complexion is still a trifle ashy, his features exhibit marked relief.

LYNLEY
That depends – on how much you're looking forward to supervising me.

CUT to EXT. JULIA'S HOUSE – MID-MORNING.

HAVERS
(in disbelief)
You were demoted?

LYNLEY, O.S.
Not yet.

HAVERS
(deducing aloud)
Disciplinary board, then?

CUT to EXT. CHELSEA. OFFICE BUILDING. MID-MORNING.

LYNLEY hesitates a moment before answering. When he does speak, he sounds almost surprised at his own admission.

LYNLEY
No. Not that it's isn't still a possibility, of course, but –

CUT to EXT. JULIA'S HOUSE – MID-MORNING.

HAVERS
(growing impatient with anxiety)
Then what?

CUT to EXT. CHELSEA. OFFICE BUILDING. MID-MORNING.

LYNLEY chases an expression of feigned brightness onto his face and almost manages to sound enthusiastic.

LYNLEY
I've been assigned to help you with the Hanover case.

CUT to EXT. JULIA'S HOUSE – MID-MORNING.

HAVERS stops short at this declaration.

HAVERS
To help…what, as in – ?

CUT to EXT. CHELSEA. OFFICE BUILDING. MID-MORNING.

LYNLEY
Background, basically – the sort of tedious tasks you're probably giving to Winston.

CUT to EXT. JULIA'S HOUSE – MID-MORNING.

LYNLEY, O.S.
Apparently, I'm to tag at your heels till Hillier's determined a fit punishment.

HAVERS smiles a little at this.

HAVERS
I'd've thought tagging at my heels was punishment enough, sir.

CUT to EXT. CHELSEA. OFFICE BUILDING. MID-MORNING.

LYNLEY arrives at the Bristol but lingers outside it for a moment to continue the conversation.

LYNLEY
It's something to do with my perceived degree of misery, I believe – as long as I appear to be in hell, Hillier will be satisfied.

CUT to EXT. JULIA'S HOUSE – MID-MORNING.

HAVERS
So…can't I just assign you to stay home for a few days and get your bearings – ?

CUT to EXT. CHELSEA. OFFICE BUILDING. MID-MORNING.

LYNLEY
No.

Too aware of the undue sharpness in his tone, he endeavors to amend:

LYNLEY, CONT.
That is –

CUT to EXT. JULIA'S HOUSE – MID-MORNING.

HAVERS
No worries. How about: an extremely low-profile call to Lancashire to track down our victim's parents?

CUT to INT. LYNLEY'S CAR. MID-MORNING.

LYNLEY, now sitting in the Bristol with the driver's side door open, produces a pen and paper from the glove box.

LYNLEY
I'm listening.

HAVERS, O.S.
Nigel and Christa Hanover; they live in Preston.

He quickly transcribes the details as HAVERS relays them.

HAVERS, O.S.
Their other daughter, Elinor, lives in Islington; Winston and I are heading in her direction in a bit.

LYNLEY
Anything I should know about the murder?

CUT to EXT. JULIA'S HOUSE – MID-MORNING.

HAVERS
(thinking aloud)
Um…Julia was in her mid-thirties, attractive single mum, ran an antiques shop in Southgate. She was strangled last night in the kitchen of her home; there's no sign of the weapon as yet, but the ligature mark suggests thin rope or maybe a chain. There were two 999 hangups made in the half-hour before the daughter's boyfriend found the body, around half-nine. Also, the daughter, Megan Hanover, appears to have gone missing.

LYNLEY, O.S.
How old?

HAVERS
Just started at college so…eighteen, maybe?

She frowns at the thought, perhaps not having realized before this moment how young a mother JULIA would have been.

CUT to INT. LYNLEY'S CAR. MID-MORNING.

HAVERS, O.S.
Had a row with the boyfriend a few hours before her mum was murdered, after which she apparently dropped off the radar.

LYNLEY looks up from his notes, considering.

HAVERS, O.S., CONT.
I'm off to get the boyfriend's full story, but it wouldn't hurt to ask Lancashire to keep an eye out. If Megan witnessed the murder, she might be running scared, and grandparents in Preston are as safe a haven as you can get – not to mention, she and her mum lived with them till about six months ago.

LYNLEY incorporates this last tidbit into his scrap of notes.

LYNLEY
Fair enough. I'll ring you once they're on their way, and we can coordinate the ID with the sister. Any marching orders for the meantime?

HAVERS, O.S.
Coffee sounds great.

CUT to EXT. JULIA'S HOUSE – MID-MORNING.

HAVERS grins.

HAVERS
Only kidding, sir, let me think…

CUT to INT. LYNLEY'S CAR. MID-MORNING.

LYNLEY
I could do coffee.

CUT to EXT. JULIA'S HOUSE – MID-MORNING.

HAVERS
(conceding)
Southgate's a bit back of beyond, tell the truth. I wouldn't say no.

CUT to INT. LYNLEY'S CAR. MID-MORNING.

LYNLEY cracks a genuine smile at that.

HAVERS, O.S.
Seriously, though: see what you can find on Julia and Megan before they moved to London. Why Southgate? Were they running away from something - ?

LYNLEY
(supplying for her)
Or toward something?

He pockets his notes and a comfortable silence falls between them.

LYNLEY, CONT.
You were never going to tell me, were you?

CUT to EXT. JULIA'S HOUSE – MID-MORNING.

HAVERS
(genuinely confused)
Tell you what, sir?

CUT to INT. LYNLEY'S CAR. MID-MORNING.

LYNLEY
Exactly. I'll talk to you soon.

He ends the call and drops his mobile into a jacket pocket.

CUT to EXT. JULIA'S HOUSE – MID-MORNING.

An utterly bewildered HAVERS returns her mobile to her pocket and hurries to catch up with WINSTON, who is waiting ahead beside the passenger door of her Mini.

Author's Note: And this is where I leave you for a short bit while I catch up on my Jalex fic! Are the Lynley/Havers shippers coming round to forgiving me yet? :D Would love any and all feedback! (By the bye, Tom won't be sitting comatose at Chez Lynley much longer!)