Part Eight
"A warning?" Gene scrunched up his nose and glared at the remains of the firecrackers that had been tossed into his yard. "Bloody bastards."
"That's what I thought, too." Alice stood behind him, still wearing her apron, drying her hands on a dishrag. "Sam insists it has to do with this case. But are you sure it's this one? You've probably upset dozens of people recently."
Gene glanced sharply at his wife. "What do you mean by that?"
She shrugged, unfazed by his steely glare. "You always do things your way, Gene. Some people don't like that—especially those who go to prison because of it or see family go to prison because of it."
Gene considered and decided that she was right. A lot of people—unwisely-disagreed with him. Their loss. And many of those who did—murderers and nonces and nancy boys, in general—were the sort to stoop to silly intimidation like this, like firecrackers. Still... Was it coincidence that this threat had taken place during this particular case? Was it coincidence that someone had thrown firecrackers in Gene Hunt's yard while an accused Sam Tyler was being kept under his roof?
Gene didn't think so. He sighed. "Tyler's probably right."
"And speaking of your DI, he wants to make a phone call," Alice said. "Says it's important and it has to do with the case."
What was Sam onto this time? Gene had to admit that Sam's leads—crazy and disconnected as they sometimes seemed—often turned out to be important. "We'll let him make his phone call. I'll talk to him about it first." He was curious now. Maybe he would finally learn what Sam had been muttering about before he passed out on the couch, about some restaurant... Possibly the one Chris had gone on about...
Gene turned and headed into the house, with Alice trailing behind him. He was surprised at how eager he was to check on Sam, how worried he was about his DI. Since when had the picky pain become so important to him? He shook off the disturbing thoughts and practically stalked across the carpet to stand over the DI in question, who looked ridiculously pale and skinny lying on Gene's couch, propped up by what seemed to be half a dozen pillows. "Still alive, I see."
"Hanging in there, Guv." Sam smiled a bit, but his voice was weak and pinched.
Gene resisted the urge to flinch as guilt rose up and smacked him in the proverbial face. Why hadn't he stepped in earlier and stopped those thugs before they beat the snot out of his DI? "Good. I hear you want to help out with the investigation."
Sam nodded, swallowing visibly. "I have a lead. It has to do with the case. I know it."
"Why don't you tell me about it?" Gene took off his coat and tossed it over the back of the nearby easy chair, then plopped down in that chair and leaned forward toward Sam.
"I was looking into that case about the murdered homeless man, Gypsy Tom," Sam started.
Gene narrowed his eyes on his DI. "Does this have sommat to do with that poncy restaurant? The Gilded Button?"
Sam's amber eyes widened dramatically, and he sat up a bit, wincing, one hand moving to his ribs. "Yes!" he exclaimed, seeming to brush off his pain. "Yes, it does."
"Chris looked into the whole incident," Gene informed the younger man, feeling a twinge of disappointment. He waved a hand. "We know that ol' Tom was spotted outside the restaurant not long before he died."
"Guv-"
"And we know that Boardman made a complaint about him-"
"Guv, listen-"
"And we know that Gore and Babbin, for some reason, responded to the call."
"Gene," Sam hissed, then burst into a fit of coughing.
Oh, God. Not the guilt again. "Take it easy, Tyler. The missus would never forgive me if I let you cough up a lung on her carpet." He joked to ease his own guilt.
Sam shot him a glare as he fought to regain his breath.
"Be nice to the poor boy, Gene!" Alice called from the kitchen. "If he dies because of you, it's divorce!"
Gene rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but grin. A clever girl, his Alice. Then he realized that Sam was still coughing. "Whoa, Tyler. Breathe, will you?" He looked around for the glass of water he knew his wife would have provided, spotted it on the end table, snatched it up and moved to sit beside Sam on the sofa. "Here you go. Take a few sips of this. 'S not Scotch, but it's liquid." Gently, he held the glass to Sam's lips and tipped it up.
Sam drank thirstily, almost frantically, and Gene found himself feeling like a mother bird feeding her young. It was an alien feeling, and Gene wasn't sure whether he liked it or not.
"Slowly, Gladys, or you'll choke worse," he muttered.
Sam nodded, still gulping the water, then leaned back from the glass, droplets running down his chin. He let his head drop back, eyes closing, as he panted. His face had gone an alarmingly pale shade. "Guv, I went to the restaurant to ask them about Tom, and I think someone followed me," he gasped out.
"Followed you?" Gene set down the nearly-empty glass. "What do you mean?"
"After I left the restaurant, there was a man following me." Sam's eyes opened, and he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, mopping up the spilled water with his own skin. "I'm not sure who he was, but his clothes were very distinctive."
Gene raised an eyebrow. "You sure it wasn't just some creepy nonce?"
"I'm not sure, but... I think I caught a glimpse of him inside the restaurant before I left," Sam continued.
"Not sure about a lot of things, are you, Dorothy?"
Sam shot him a glare, but continued with his story. "He must have been a patron. Then, as I was walking home, I kept seeing him behind me. He was watching me, in sort of a curious way."
"You didn't try to shake him?" Gene asked. "Or confront him? I would have confronted the bastard and told him to stop following me."
Sam shook his head, looking sheepish. "I didn't confront him. I thought I shook him. Guess I didn't." He shivered and rubbed his hands up and down his arms. "He must've figured out where I live, planted the evidence..."
"You said he wore distinctive clothes. What kind of clothes?"
"A very loud checked suit," Sam said. "Hideous thing. Red and tan, from what I saw of it. He wore a matching fedora, cocked low over his forehead so I couldn't see his face."
"And his build?" Gene asked.
"Average, I'd say."
"So bigger than you, smaller than me?" Gene supplied.
"Yeah, between us." Sam nodded, looking askance at his Guv.
"Could've been almost anyone with bad taste in suits, then." Gene rubbed his chin.
"Was this what he looked like?"
Gene and Sam turned in unison toward the kitchen as Alice walked out, holding up a yellow notepad. Sketched across the pad was the figure of a man in a checked suit with a fedora worn low on his head.
Gene felt his eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline. He had always known Alice could draw, but the fact that she could use her talent to help on a case... That he hadn't thought of. "What have you come up with, woman?"
"She's come up with a very good depiction of my stalker," said Sam excitedly, sitting up further. He reached for the sketch. "Let me see it, Alice."
"Let me know if I need to change anything." She handed the DI the notepad. "I couldn't help but overhear-"
"The missus is a real eavesdropper, in case you haven't noticed, Tyler," Gene muttered.
Alice smiled sweetly at her husband. "-and since I overheard a description of a mystery man, I decided to draw him. Lucky for you boys, I keep a notepad and pencils by the kitchen phone."
"This is very good, Alice!" Sam praised her.
Gene felt a brief upsurge of jealousy. "Yes, very good, luv," he told her hurriedly, not to be outdone. "So... What do we do now? Take this sketch with us door to door and ask if anyone's seen that suit?"
"That's actually not a bad idea," Sam said, meeting his DCI's gaze over the top of the notepad. He glanced back down at the paper. "Hmm... The checks were a bit smaller, and there was a black band around the fedora. Think you could fix that, Alice?"
"Can do, DI Tyler." She took the pad from him and headed back toward the kitchen. "Anything else?"
"I think it's been a while since we've been on... a date, luv," Gene spoke up, proud of the brilliance of his sudden idea.
"Excuse me?" Alice turned and fixed him with a questioning look.
"Whaddaya say we try that fancy place The Gilded Button?" Gene suggested with a crooked grin.
"Brilliant, Guv!" Sam exclaimed. The cheeky little bloke was grinning himself.
"I'm the Gene Genie, aren't I?" Gene sniffed and straightened his tie.
"But wait..." Sam's grin faded. "If you and Alice are scoping out the restaurant, who's going to be 'babysitting' me?" His usual sarcasm slipped into his voice.
Gene wasn't sure whether to punch it back out of him or be grateful that his DI was feeling well enough to be snarky. "I'll get Chris or Ray to do it. Can't trust you alone with a bird like Annie." Ignoring the rolling of Sam's eyes, he stood and straightened his shoulders. "The missus and I are going on a date!"