Part Eleven
"What do you mean someone's following you?" Cold dread settled harshly in the pit of Gene's stomach. This case was escalating into something big and terrible.
"I can't shake this car, Guv," Ray's voice came crackling back over the radio. "It's a little black car with a crooked headlight. They've been tailin' me for-" Static interrupted his report.
"Oh, for cryin' out loud." Gene smacked his radio. "Ray? Can you hear me? DS Carling!"
"...is that I think I've seen the bloke before," came Ray's voice. "He looks familiar."
"Try your best not to lead him to me house," Gene told his DS.
"Doin' my best, Guv... Aha! Think I've lost him now!"
"Good man." Gene felt the tension in muscles he hadn't even known he was clenching begin to loosen. "Get there quick as you can. And be smart about things. If someone... official happens to be there, don't start a fight. Just keep Skelton and Tyler out of trouble."
"Might be hard," Ray snorted.
"But that's what yer Guv is tellin' you to do," Gene replied. "Keep 'em safe until I get there."
"Yes, Guv. Almost there now."
"Good." Gene started to tell Ray to be careful, but realized that he would sound a bit too mother-hen, then.
"Signin' out, Guv."
Gene closed his eyes and prayed—yes, prayed—for the safety of his men. Something dangerous was going on, and he had a feeling that his team was smack in the middle of it.
Alice stared at the man in the red checked suit. "Well. Wasn't that nice of him?"
He looked askance at her. "Sure was, lady. Sure was."
She forced a bright smile. "I'd like—I'd like you to meet my husband, if you don't mind. He'd like—he'd like to see your suit. He likes... suits." She glanced toward the doors of the restaurant impatiently. Come on, Gene. Where are you? A worry pang clenched at her heart.
"Sure. Sure. I guess." The man in the red checked suit ducked his head shyly. "But can I order my meal first? There was..." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "There was twenty pounds in the pockets. I never ate at a fancy place like this before."
"That's fine," Alice assured him, desperate to keep him there. "Go ahead and order. I'll wait with you."
Ray pulled up against the curb across from the Guv's house and peered through the thickening darkness at it. Lights were on inside, and another car was parked closer to the house. Ray felt his lips curl. It was a familiar car, DCI Gore's car. Ray didn't like DCI Gore or his toady, Babbin. They had no respect for the Guv. Bloody bastards. His first instinct was to get out of his car, bust through the Guv's front door and physically throw Gore and Babbin out. What were they doing there anyway?
Ray lit up a cigarette and took a drag, trying to calm himself, trying to be smart, as the Guv had said to be. Gore and his DS obviously didn't like Tyler. They liked him even less than Ray did. In fact, they seemed to hate him for some reason. Ray had a feeling it wasn't for the his haircut and persnickety ways. No, this was something that ran deep.
And while Ray didn't like the Boss all the time, he had to admit, that sometimes, he almost did. And he usually respected the man, especially of late. Something had happened—Ray wasn't sure what—to make Sam Tyler seem more at home here in Manchester. He had been easier in his own skin lately and easier with the rest of the team. Ray didn't want to see him killed by those idiots Gore and Babbin.
So he needed to get in there and keep things calm. Which was ironic, seeing as what he really wanted to do was let Gore and Babbin know what he thought of them.
"That's the Guv's job," Ray muttered to himself, stubbing out his cigarette. "That'll wait till the Guv gets here."
He got out of his car fully intending to keep a level head about him.
Gene started back toward the restaurant, but stopped in his tracks at the noisy sound of a revving engine. Frowning, he turned toward the right, the direction from which the engine revved. A small, dark car was parked in a nearby alley, its lights cutting through the shadows. One headlight was crooked...
Gene swore and picked up his pace. He didn't know if whoever was driving that car was following him or waiting for him, but he didn't want to take the chance. He was halfway across the parking lot, when the little car pulled out of the alley and started down the street, headed away from the restaurant.
Gene swore again. He would really like to know where that car was going... But he didn't want to leave his wife alone in the restaurant, alone with a stalker who might very well be a murderer.
Swearing even more creatively, Gene hurried back to the Cortina and climbed inside. He quickly put on the driving gloves and cranked up the car, then pulled out onto the street. He would have to radio Phyllis and have her contact Alice somehow.
This was getting to be a complicated night...
As if sensing that Sam was watching him, Gore spun around and fixed his eyes on the younger man. "What are you up to, Tyler? Are you scheming about how to brain me like you did Boardman?"
Sam shook his head. "No." He swallowed, trying not to show the shock and recognition on his face. He had seen Gore before, outside of CID. And now he was remembering where. "And I didn't 'brain Boardman,'" he couldn't help but add.
"That's for a jury to decide," Gore shot back with a triumphant grin. He turned back to his pasta bowl. "Mmm. This is delicious. Want a bite?" He waggled a forkful in Sam's direction, like a school-age bully picking on a classmate.
Sam's stomach twisted—with both hunger and nausea, which was a dreadful combination—but he kept a straight face. "No thanks. I wouldn't chance eating after you, anyway. Might catch something." As soon as the words were out, he regretted them, and his whole body tensed up, expecting a blow.
The blow never came. Gore simply narrowed his eyes on Sam as he chewed pasta.
"Want me to pound him for ya, sir?" Babbin volunteered with a growl, stepping toward Sam.
"No, no. That's for later, after supper," Gore told his DS with a smile.
"Uhm, I'm not so sure about that," Chris spoke up. "We don't want to get in trouble for roughin' up the prisoner too much."
"Since when has Hunt's team ever cared about that?" Gore asked, rolling his eyes.
Since I came on the team, Sam thought with a wry smile. And especially since I was accused of murder.
Before Chris was forced to answer Gore's question, there came a pounding on the door. All four men in the living room jumped slightly and turned to face the front door. Now who would bother to knock like that when there's a doorbell? Sam wondered.
"Open up, Chris!" called a familiar voice.
"Is that Carling?" Gore asked, wrinkling his nose.
"Yeah. It's Ray," Chris replied, glancing hopefully toward the door. "Want me to answer it?"
Yes, Chris. Answer it. Sam found himself strangely encouraged by the thought of Ray thrown in the mix. Gore and Babbin were obviously planning to beat the stuffings out of Sam—again, for whatever reason—and Sam felt that his chances of survival went up with Ray there.
Strange thought, that.
"Go ahead." Gore shrugged. "He doesn't like Tyler much, anyway, does he? Maybe he'll help us question our suspect." The DCI tossed a cruel wink in Sam's direction.
Please don't be right. Please let me be right. I'm right. I'm right. Aren't I? Ray will be on my side. My side. Sam forced himself to shrug nonchalantly and look away from Gore.
Chris hurried to the door, obviously relieved that Ray was there. He yanked it open. "Come on in. Want some pasta?"
"Mrs. Hunt?"
Alice spun around to face the round-cheeked hostess, who looked a bit harried. "Yes?"
"There you are! I was looking for you! Is everything alright?" Her blue eyes were wide and innocent as they slid from Alice to the man in the red checked suit and back again.
"Yes. Everything's fine. I was just talking with this gentleman about..." Alice frowned a bit, suddenly nervous. "Excuse me, but how do you know my name?"
"Your sister described you." The hostess nodded toward the front desk. "She's on the phone."
"My sister?" Alice's eyebrows shot up. She had no sister. Something was going on here. And where the heck was Gene? "Oh. Well. Thank-you. I'll take the phone call now." She turned to the man sitting alone at the table. "I'll be back in a moment. I'd really like for you to stay until you've met my husband."
The man flashed her a shy smile. "Oh, no problem. I'll be stayin' here a good while, eatin' this good food."
"Good. Thanks." Alice turned back to the hostess. "Lead on." She followed the younger woman to the front desk, where she was handed a phone. "Hello?" she asked tentatively.
"Is this the Guv's missus?"
"It is. Phyllis?" Alice didn't know whether to be worried or relieved that the policewoman had called for her.
"Yes. This is she," Phyllis replied briskly. "The Guv asked me to call you and say he's sorry, but he had to leave the restaurant."
"What!" Alice exclaimed. Glancing at the curious faces of the hostess and maitre d', she lowered her voice. "Why, exactly, did he do that?"
"He's in pursuit of a suspect, he said," Phyllis informed her matter-of-factly.
In pursuit of a suspect! What the heck! Alice glanced toward the restaurant doors. "Oh. Well. Thank-you for telling me." And now I'm stranded here, and I'll have to pay for this very expensive dinner. Why, thank-you, Gene Hunt! You'd better be glad I really love you!
"He also said to tell you he'd pay you back for dinner," Phyllis added, sounding amused.
"Oh. That's nice of him." Alice's lips twisted in a crooked smile. "Well. Thanks again, Phyllis."
"No problem, luv. Oh! And he also said to be careful, and you can get a cab home, but he'd rather you wait for him or one of his boys."
"I guess I'll wait with the man in the red checked suit, then," Alice replied with a sigh.
"The who?" asked Phyllis.
"If you talk to my husband again, let him know that I've met a man in a red checked suit," Alice told the other woman, pronouncing the words carefully.
"A red checked suit?"
"Yes. And someone gave it to him."
Feeling bold, Gene tapped on the glass of the driver's side window of the little black car with the crooked headlight. The man inside jumped, then hurried to roll his window down. He squinted up at Gene. "Yes?"
"What are you doing parked across from me house?" Gene demanded.
"Oh! Oh!" The man swallowed audibly. "You're Gene Hunt!"
"DCI Gene Hunt, and that's a fact," Gene replied. Something in the man's voice was familiar. "And who might you be?"
"Uhm... Uh..." The man fumbled around a bit, then reached up and flipped a switch, lighting up the inside of the car. His chubby face was instantly familiar to Gene.
"You're one of Gore's team, aren't yeh?"
"Uh... Yes." The young officer nodded, wearing a sheepish expression. "DC Adam Brightman."
"And he told you to tail us, did he?" Gene asked, an ominous feeling coming over him.
"Yes. He said he suspected some sort of... conspiracy." Apparently, the presence of Gene Hunt was enough to make this young fellow spill his guts. "Said you were crooked, the lot of you. So I followed DS Carling. I lost him, but I found him again when I drove by here, by your house. So I just... thought I'd wait. DCI Gore's car is here, too. And that other bloke's car."
Gene peered through the darkness. Ray's car. Good. So Ray was there. Well... He hoped it was good. He turned back to DC Brightman. "Now look here—there is no conspiracy going on in my team. It's yer own team that's been actin' suspicious. So I suggest you pack up and go home and leave us alone, 'fore I drag you out of that car. If you don't want to go down with your DCI, I suggest you take my advice."
Until that point, Gene had not yet decided whether or not he wanted to take on Gore. His mind was plenty made up now.