Part Five

Alice felt a bit traumatized by the events of the day, but she was trying not to show it. She sat in her favorite easy chair, legs tucked beneath her, robe wrapped around her, cup of tea in her hands. "This isn't very easy, Gene," she told him quietly.

Gene sat perched on the edge of the couch, watching Sam, who slept restlessly. "I know, luv. But this is how it's gonna be."

"I'm not—I'm not complaining," Alice assured him hurriedly. "It's just..." She sighed. "We've got to find out who killed that man—and fast. If Sam Tyler goes to jail in the state he's in, he won't last for long. We have to stop that from happening."

Gene turned to her with one eyebrow raised. "We? So it's we now, is it?"

Alice raised an eyebrow right back. "I was on my way to being named a DI before I married you, Gene Hunt, in case you've forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten," Gene admitted with a grunt.

"I can help you with this case. Please let me." She fixed him with a serious gaze.

Gene stared back at her, then finally sighed. "Fine. But me gut instinct says there's something dangerous about this case, something... Well, for lack of a better word, something evil. Just look at poor Sam. Someone wanted him hurt like that." His green eyes slid toward his sick and injured DI. "As a matter of fact, I think someone wanted him dead."

"I'll be careful, Gene. I always am," Alice assured him, instantly understanding. He was worried about her. He didn't want her hurt.

Gene looked back at her and smiled a bit. "I know you are."

They were quiet for a moment, then Alice glanced at Sam. "I wonder what he was trying to tell us before he passed out. It sounded important."

"We'll wait until he wakes up to find out," Gene said quietly, and Alice was, not for the first time, stricken by how much care he had for DI Sam Tyler. Gene was rough around the edges, the type of man to demand answers from someone, regardless of their state. Sam must have, like Alice, found away to reach through the roughness and the toughness and brush against that soft, warm part of Gene, Alice's favorite part of Gene.

"Alright," she replied softly, watching him as he watched Sam. He looked at the younger man with deep concern and a touch of curiosity. Alice smiled. Gene had made a friend.

Sam murmured something feverishly in his sleep, and Alice's smile faded. She hoped to God that Gene wouldn't have to lose that friend.

It was after hours, but Annie didn't care. She was onto something, she was sure of it. In the paperwork about Robert Boardman, she had run across a minor incident involving Boardman and a couple who lived in a flat three doors down from his. Apparently, there had been some sort of disagreement as to the ownership of a dog.

It could be nothing. But it could be something.

The sun was setting, and the wind bit at Annie's cheeks and nose with a sharp chill. She shivered and tightened her brown jacket around her shoulders as she walked up to the blue door of the flat belonging to George and Wanda Tudor. She took a deep breath, breathed a prayer and knocked softly on the door.

"I'll get it!" came a woman's yell from inside the flat.

Annie stepped back as the door quickly swung inward to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered woman wearing very strong perfume. The WDC fought the urge to sneeze. "Mrs. Tudor?"

"Yes. I'm Wanda." Wanda Tudor was middle-aged, perhaps close to fifty, with curly, reddish-brown hair that fell just to her shoulders. Her face was weathered, her voice deep and hearty. Here was an active woman, formidable, Annie thought.

"I'm WDC Cartwright from CID." Annie showed the woman her identification, vowing not to be intimidated. "I'm in the neighborhood asking questions about the murder of Robert Boardman."

"Yes? What about it?" Wanda crossed her arms and leaned against the wall of her foyer. She spoke quickly, with an air of disinterest, but Annie detected a note of irritation in the older woman's voice.

"Well, I was wondering what you could tell me about Mr. Boardman," she explained. "And I like to ask you about what you heard and saw the night he died." She glanced past Wanda's solid frame. "May I come in? I need to speak with your husband, as well."

Wanda narrowed her eyes on Annie for a moment, then finally nodded. "Oh, alright. Come on inside." She motioned with a long, strong arm, and the female officer stepped into the foyer. As she had expected from her initial impression of Wanda, the flat was neat and sparse.

"The police have already been by," Wanda groused, leading Annie into a small parlor that was done up in varying shades of brown. "We've answered a dozen questions or more already." Before Annie could reply to this, Wanda shouted in booming tones, "Geo-orge! A policewoman is here to question us!"

Annie winced, her ears ringing. "I'm not here to bother you, Mrs.-"

"Wanda," the other woman cut her off firmly.

"Wanda." Annie met Wanda's eyes squarely. "I'm just following up on some new leads."

"Leads that lead to my husband and myself?" Wanda asked.

"Not necessarily," Annie replied evasively.

A short, stooping man with gray hair and a thin mustache shuffled into the room looking sleepy. Annie instantly pitied him. "Yes, Wanda? What is it?"

Wanda nodded tersely in Annie's direction. "This girl would like to ask us more questions about the Boardman case."

Annie offered the little gray man an encouraging smile.

"Ah. Boardman." George plopped onto the nearby sofa—brown, of course. "He was a lonely chap, I think. But sometimes I think he liked being alone, enjoyed being... lonely." He sighed dramatically. "Makes me regret what we did about the dog..."

Annie's ears perked up. "About the dog?" She held her pen poised over her notepad. "Do you care to explain?"

"Careful, George," Wanda snapped, glaring at her husband.

Annoyed at the domineering woman, Annie moved herself subtly in between the pair and looked at George with eager eyes.

George rolled his eyes at Wanda and continued with his story, smiling at Annie. "There was a dog, a stray, and we took turns feeding it—us and him. It had to happen one day." He sighed again. "We fought over who should bring it in in the winter. And we won. I know I said the man liked being alone, but he was so alone. And we didn't even let him have the dog."

"Oh, George, it's not like we were cruel to the man," Wanda cut in. "He was the one who was very nasty about the whole affair. He-" She halted her tirade, glancing in Annie's direction with wide and suddenly wary eyes. "Well. He was not very nice about the dog," she finished in a quieter voice.

"Ah. I see." Annie looked from Wanda to George and back again. And she wondered...

Chris was getting ready for bed when he remembered.

The Boss had been onto something the night of Robert Boardman's murder. He had told Chris as much. And that was why had hadn't been at the pub that night. That was why he had been at that fancy restaurant a few blocks down, by himself.

Chris had wondered why Sam was going there alone. It was the kind of place a chap took a bird. So he had asked, and Sam had mentioned, casually, that he was looking into something, something to do with another case...

But which case? Sam hadn't said. He had seemed distracted that whole day, his mind apparently working in overdrive. He did that, Chris noticed, when he was thinking hard. He isolated himself, needed to be alone to think hard.

Chris reflected that, while maybe the Boss needed to be alone to think, he shouldn't have been alone when he acted on those thoughts. Then maybe he would have had an alibi for later that night. If he had taken Annie or some other plonk with him to that ritzy restaurant...

Chris spit out his toothpaste and rinsed it down the sink, then stared at himself in the mirror, considering. He tried thinking hard, like the Boss did. And he decided that, if anything were to be done, someone needed to go to that restaurant. For a split second, he considered going alone, but he realized that he would be stepping into the same mess that Sam had stepped in.

He decided that first thing the next morning, he would tell the Guv.