Part Twelve
Ray's entry into the Hunts' house had completely changed the atmosphere within the dwelling. Sam felt almost smug as he watched Babbin and Gore eyeing Ray sideways. The odds were even now. In fact, he liked to think that they were stacked on the side of Gene's team. If it came to blows, despite his injuries, he would like to throw a punch or two...
The beam of headlights swept across the living room, and all five men gathered glanced toward the window.
"Are you expecting anyone?" Gore snapped, turning to Chris.
Ray answered instead. "It's the Guv's house. And he might be due home soon." He shrugged. "I don't know. I thought he sent me here to take over for Chris, but maybe he just invited me over for a poker game."
Gore and Babbin exchanged a worried look, and while they were doing so, Chris and Ray shot each other quick grins.
"Well." Gore handed his bowl of pasta to Chris, and Babbin did the same. "Thanks for the pasta, Skelton. We'll be leaving now." They started quickly across the living room floor. Before they could leave the house, Gore turned to glare at Sam. "We're not finished with you yet, Tyler. Don't think you're getting out of this."
Sam narrowed his eyes on the man, glad he was leaving, but at the same time wishing he himself wasn't still under arrest. Then he, Sam, could be the one making an arrest. "I wouldn't dream of getting out of it," he replied coolly. "I'm staying until we find out exactly what really happened behind that restaurant."
Gore didn't respond. Sam hadn't thought he would. The DCI practically launched out of the house, lumbering Babbin close on his heels.
Sam sighed heavily and closed his eyes, leaning back against the cushions of the sofa. The weariness and pain he had been holding off came rushing back over him, and he couldn't hold back a soft groan.
"Pasta, Boss?"
He opened his eyes to see Chris staring at him with a worried expression and extending a bowl of pasta. Behind him stood Ray, who was looking toward the door with a look of disappointment, apparently a bit miffed at not getting into a fight.
Sam couldn't help but laugh.
Gene burst into his house, half expecting to see Sam as a corpse—and possibly Chris and Ray, as well. Gore and Babbin had come flying out of the front door, looking quite guilty.
But there was Sam, laughing on the sofa, with Chris standing over him, looking puzzled and holding a bowl of something that smelled glorious, and there was Ray, standing with his arms crossed, looking completely in control of the situation—although perhaps not completely in control of the hysterically laughing DI.
Gene was stricken by a sudden urge to smack Sam and smack him hard. Here he had been so worried about his DI, thinking he might even be dead, and Sam seemed to be perfectly fine—and was laughing over something that probably wasn't even funny, as was Sam's habit. "D'you find it funny that those bastards want you dead, Sam?" he snapped, standing akimbo and glaring at his second-in-command. "Is it funny that you might be dead it if weren't for Ray... and Chris?"
Sam cleared his throat, coughed a bit and smiled up at his DCI. "No, Guv. Not at all. I find it funny that..." He shook his head, sobering somewhat. "Never mind." He crossed his skinny arms over his chest and lifted his chin. "Well? Find anything out at The Gilded Button?"
Gene suddenly remembered that he had left his wife there alone. He grimaced. "Well. Nothing yet. The missus is working on that."
"The missus?" Ray raised his eyebrows at the Guv.
"Yeh," Gene admitted, trying to appear casual. "I had to put her to work, make her do something useful during this... crisis we're having." Alice, I hope to God you've found out something... and that you're safe.
"Well, Guv, while your wife is investigating at the restaurant, I've done some investigating here myself," Sam announced, seeming quite proud of himself. "And quite by accident."
"Eh? What are you on about, Tyler?" Gene asked, trying to sound less interested than he actually was.
"It was Gore, Guv," Sam told him, the smugness fading a bit, replaced by seriousness.
"What do you mean 'it was Gore?'" Gene took a step closer to Sam, not quite understanding all of what his DI was saying yet, but already chilled by it.
"The man in the red checked suit. At the restaurant. The one who followed me. It was Gore." Sam's voice was heavy with certainty.
But Gene had to ask. "You're sure?"
Sam nodded tightly. "Quite sure. He has the right build... and it all makes a certain sort of sense, doesn't it?"
Sam was right. It did. And it served to make the whole case more dangerous—especially to Sam. If Gore was really involved—and especially if he knew that Sam knew this...
"Does he know that you know?"
Sam made a sheepish face. "Maybe. I don't know."
Chris snickered.
"Does he know that Sam knows, Chris?" Gene turned his attention on the youngest member of the team.
"He might," Chris admitted. "After what the Boss said."
Gene shot Sam a glare, then continued drilling Chris. "And what did the Boss say, exactly?" he demanded.
"He said, 'I'm staying until we find out exactly what really happened behind that restaurant,'" Chris said, doing a right poor impression of Sam Tyler.
Ray snorted and elbowed Chris, nearly knocking him over, while Sam rolled his eyes.
Gene sighed. "Well let's hope Gore is too thick to get the meaning behind that."
"Or..." Sam sat up straighter, leaning forward, that alert look on his face that Gene was coming to know well. "Let's hope he gets exactly what I'm saying."
"Why would we hope that, Boss?" Chris asked, frowning in confusion.
But Gene wasn't confused. He knew exactly what Sam meant. "We would hope that, Chris, so it might draw Gore out, lead him into making a mistake."
"Exactly," Sam said excitedly. "And if he makes a mistake—and we catch him at it—we can pinch him for information and find out exactly what happened. I have a feeling he knows a lot more about the murders of Boardman and Gypsy Tom than he's letting on."
"A feeling, eh?" Gene couldn't resist pointing out. So maybe it wasn't just Sam rubbing off on him. Maybe he was rubbing off on Sam.
Sam grinned. "Yeah, Guv. A feeling."
"Good." Gene crossed his arms over his chest. "We'll go with that."
Alice silently sent up a prayer of thanks that she had brought a notepad and pen with her to this ridiculous, button-filled restaurant. She listened carefully as the ragged man in the red checked suit described his benefactor.
"Medium-sized bloke," the man said, tapping his stubbly chin. "Not tall or short. Not thin or fat. Regular sorta face, a bit broad. Brown hair. Seemed agitated about sommat. All twitchy-like. He was wearin' a plain brown suit."
Alice's pen flew over the notepad. "Did he tell you why he was giving you the suit?"
"Nah. Didn't mention that." The man shrugged. "And I didn't think to ask. I was just glad someone was givin' me a suit." He held out one arm, beaming proudly. "And it's a fine suit, innit?"
Alice resisted the urge to wince or feel sick at the sight of the loud red checks that threatened to sting her retinas. "Sure. It's made of a... lovely material. Quality stuff, that."
"Yep. Sure is." He smiled down at his sleeve.
"So." Alice sighed and turned the notepad upside down so that it was facing the man in the red checked suit. "Does this look like him?"
He squinted down at the page for a few seconds, then grinned up at Alice. "Blimey! The very likeness! Yer a good artist for sure, Mrs. Hunt!"
"Why, thank-you." Alice slid the notepad back around and narrowed her eyes on the man she had sketched. He looked familiar, but she couldn't remember where she had seen him before. Gene would probably remember. Or Sam. She slid the notebook back into her bag. "Well. Thank-you for telling me your story. It's just fascinating!"
"Yer welcome." He smiled, then looked around her. "Looks like my food is comin'!"
Alice took that as her leave to go. How she was going to go, she wasn't sure. She slowly stood up from the table.
"Oh! Mrs. Hunt!"
Alice turned back to the man in the red checked suit, who was stuffing his face with food... food the likes of which he had probably never tasted. "Yes?"
"I remember hearin' the gentleman wot gave me this suit sayin' sommat when he was walkin' away. I don't think he knew I could still hear him." A sneaky smile touched the man's wide, thin lips.
Alice's heartbeat kicked up a notch. "What—what did he say?" She tried not to sound too eager, but she couldn't help but be excited. This could be important!
"He was talkin' to someone I didn't get a glimpse of," the man in the red checked suit said around mouthfuls of yeast roll. "He said sommat like, 'Oi, bibben, look what I have to go through to get you out of trouble.' Or sommat like that."
"Bibben?" Alice raised an eyebrow. Was this some new term people were calling each other?
The man shrugged. "I don't know what he was goin' on about. He sounded upset. Seemed like a touchy fella. Not the kind you'd 'spect to give to charity. But who knows?" He shrugged again.
"Well." Alice committed to memory everything he had told her. Every detail could be important. "Thanks for telling me your story, sir. I really, really enjoyed it."
"Bibben?" Sam repeated.
Gene frowned at his wife. "Are you sure you heard that right, Alice?"
"I'm sure that's what he said," Alice replied. She was pacing the floor of the living room as she related the story to Sam and Gene.
"Bibben," Sam said again, and this time, it sounded less like a question.
"What are you onto, Sammy?" Gene asked, glancing across the couch at his DI.
Sam met the Guv's eyes. "Whose name does that sound like, Guv?" he asked with a grim smile.
"Bibben," Gene repeated. Then his eyes widened as the realization hit him. "It's that fool Babbin!"
Alice stopped pacing and nodded. "Makes sense now, doesn't it?"
"Yeah. It does." Gene clasped his hands together before him, frowning off into space. Gore and Babbin were in the thick of this whole mystery. It was time to find out how and why.