Just one more chapter after this one!

Part Fifteen

"How close was I?" Sam asked, unable to hold back his curiosity.

Gore and Gene both shot him an irritated look, then Gene noticed Gore's hateful expression and kicked him.

"Oi! I'm the only one allowed to scowl at Tyler like that!" the Guv snapped. "Now get on with your story, you traitorous bastard."

Gore cleared his throat, his bravado fading. "Fine. Where was I?"

Sam rolled his eyes, impatient.

"Just tell us what you know," Gene growled.

"Alright. Here's what I know." Gore glanced around Sam and Gene, toward where Ray was standing over Babbin. "D'you hear that, Babbin? I'm not protecting you anymore."

Sam frowned and looked at the big man, gauging his reaction.

Babbin sat up on his knees, his face twisted in a look of despair. Slowly, he nodded. "Okay, Gore, sir."

"There's a good man," said Gore, shifting his position against the wall. He looked back at Gene. "Here begins the twisted tale, Hunt, the tale that your DI was far too close to unraveling. It all started with that raggedy hobo, Gypsy Tom. You see, the man was a mugger, plain and simple, a thief. Babbin and I caught him at it a few times, but here's the thing... And you should understand this, Hunt." He gave the Guv a nasty grin. "He was useful, so we never put him away for long."

"Useful," Sam repeated, grimacing in distaste. "As in, an informant. You let him get away with robbing and assaulting people so you could get information from him."

"Don't say it like that, Sam," Gore chided. "It's not as if your division hasn't done the like."

"On with it, Gore," Gene barked.

"Well, Tom was a smarmy bastard, but he gave us useful information, and he provided... special favors to myself and Babbin," Gore continued.

Gene scrunched up his nose and drew back a bit. "Special favors?"

"He had access to... shall we say, illegal substances?" Gore answered dryly.

Gene swore. "You're more crooked than I thought."

Gore rubbed his bruised jaw. "Thanks, Hunt. But it only gets better." There was a strange smile on his face now, a cold, mirthless smile that reminded Sam of a scary movie he had seen once involving a demonic puppet. "You see, old Tom finally got on the nerves of that lot down at The Gilded Button, and Boardman, one of their regulars, complained. Babbin and I warned Tom to lie low a bit, take a break from the Button, but he was having none of it. With us right there, he attacked Boardman as he was leaving the restaurant through the back alley."

"And Boardman must've fought back," Ray put in. "Killing Gypsy Tom."

Gore raised an eyebrow at the DS. "Is that what you think?"

Sam shook his head, only just now grasping what had actually happened. "No. Boardman didn't kill Tom. It makes so much sense now! Tom killed Boardman! They were both around the same size, had the same look, so Tom took Boardman's clothes and pretended to be him for two weeks. That explains the dog, the change of attitude at work—everything!"

There was a moment of silence. A shocked look came over Ray's face, and Gene swore again.

"Clever boy," Gore remarked to Sam with a sneer. "Too clever. We found out that you were investigating what had happened, and you kept coming back to the restaurant. You were getting too close, and we had to stop you."

Sam narrowed his eyes on Gore. "But I don't think you're stupid enough to kill someone just to frame me..."

"Which makes sense, because he didn't kill Gypsy Tom," Gene spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest and glancing back at Sam. "He's just been doing his very best to protect the one who did."

Gene's words confirmed Sam's suspicions, and he met the Guv's eyes. In unison, they said, "Babbin."

At that moment, the door to the office burst open, and there stood Chris and Annie, staring wide-eyed at the aftermath of the brawl.

"Uh... Guv?" Chris stammered, at the same time Annie exclaimed, "Guv, I found the dog!"

"Gypsy Tom's dog," Sam said.

Annie frowned in confusion. "What?"

"It's a complicated mess," Gene explained with a scowl. "Apparently, Tom killed Boardman and took his clothes, then Babbin killed Tom."

"And the dog was Tom's?" Chris asked.

"Yes. Apparently." Sam turned to Babbin, who was still hunched on his knees, glowering at Sam, Gene and Ray. He knew the big, foolish man had killed Gypsy Tom, but he still was unsure as to why. "So why did you do it, DS Babbin? Why did you kill him?"

"He was makin' too much noise!" Babbin replied vehemently. "Drawin' too much attention to himself by arguin' with the neighbors over that bloody dog. That Wanda woman is a smart one, she is. She woulda noticed sooner or later it wasn't Boardman livin' next door. And if he were found out, he woulda told on us."

The cold logic behind Babbin's reasoning chilled Sam inside, and he shivered.

"Then I found out what Babbin had done," Gore picked up the story. "He confessed it to me of course. And I had to cover his tracks, cover our tracks. Detective Inspector Sam Tyler was the perfect target. He lives alone and has a reputation for being a bit eccentric."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"And he was too damn clever to be left alone. He was so close to figuring us out." Gore shrugged. "This was the perfect way to kill two birds with one stone. So I bought that hideous suit and followed your DI home. Fortunately for me, he wasn't feeling well. He was careless—left his door opened and slept hard. I was easily able to drop a bit of Boardman's blood on his shirt and rip a page out of his notes that he just left lying around."

Sam swallowed and looked down, feeling both rueful and relieved—rueful that he had left his door unlocked and left important papers around, relieved that Gore hadn't been as murderous as his DS. What if he had just decided to kill me then and there? Would I even have woke up? And if I had, would I have been able to fight him off? He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the file cabinet, his breath releasing in a shaky sigh.

"Then I gave the suit away to a random vagrant," Gore finished. "And that's it. You know the rest."

"Yeah. The rest is that you accused my DI of murder—a murder which you covered up," Gene answered darkly.

"And nearly got away with," Gore reminded him with a smirk.

"But didn't," Sam said, lifting his chin. "We've found you out. We have a confession, and we have evidence—the mixed up bodies, the dog hairs that will undoubtedly match the dog Annie's found. "

"You're finished, Gore," Gene told him, standing. "You and your toady, Babbin. This is what happens when you mess with Gene Hunt and his own." The Guv turned to look at his officers, each in turn, ending with Ray. "DS Carling, I want you and DC Skelton to escort Gore and Babbin to a cell. Cartwright, call the superintendent and let him know what's just happened."

With a synchronized, "Yes, Guv," the three officers moved to obey. Ray yanked Babbin up off the floor, while Chris moved to Gore's side and motioned for the disgraced DCI to stand. Annie turned and hurried out of the office after tossing Sam an encouraging smile.

Sam took a deep breath and forced himself to stand, using the file cabinet for support. He still felt a bit dizzy, and his ribs pinched with every breath he took. "What do you want me to do, Guv?"

"Stay right here, Tyler," Gene told him. "You and I are having a talk."

Sam's heart sank at the tone of his DCI's voice. What have I done wrong now?

Gene haphazardly rearranged the items scattered across his desk and watched from the corner of his eye as Sam commenced to straightening up the office. The skinny little tosser was making sure everything was lined up symmetrically, all the papers that had been scattered in the fight were stacked in the right order, all the items knocked down were put back just where they had been. The Guv shook his head. "Tyler, sit down, for God's sake."

Sam flinched and stopped rearranging the trophies on top of the filing cabinet. Slowly, he sank into the chair he had replaced in front of Gene's desk. The DI's face was paler than usual, which was saying something. His eyes had a glassy look, too. "What is it, Guv?"

"Just relax, Sam," Gene ordered as he reached into his desk and withdrew a flask of Scotch and an empty glass. "Can't have you passing out again. I'm tired of having to lug you around all the time."

"Sorry to be such a bother, Guv," Sam replied, crossing his arms over his chest. One corner of his lips twitched slightly, confirming the hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Scotch?" Gene offered Sam the flask, barely believing what he was doing.

"No. Thanks." The younger man shook his head.

"Good. More for me." Gene poured himself a glass and took a deep gulp.

"I know you're probably thirsty after exerting yourself, but we should probably be doing something productive, don't you think?" Sam pointed out in that maddening know-it-all manner.

"Shut yer gob, Tyler," Gene retorted. He took another long swallow, savoring it. He looked askance at his second-in-command. "You don't look up to doing much of anything productive."

"I'm fine," Sam insisted quietly.

"Hmf." Gene shrugged. "Anyways, we'll have enough to do once our superiors get wind of this whole mess." He sighed and shook his head. "'S a shame coppers had to go bad like that." The Scotch was working quickly, he noticed, making him maudlin, loosening his tongue. Must be the adrenaline from the fight, pushing the alcohol through his veins. Or maybe he was just getting used to unloading on Sam Tyler. "Makes you worry sometimes if the same thing'll happen to you."

"No." Sam shook his head. "Not to us, Guv."

They met each other's eyes, and Gene instantly understood what Sam was saying without saying: I'll keep you straight, Guv. I'll keep us all in line. It was enough to make Gene want to pat the DI on the back... and at the same time, enough to make him want to smack the little tart for being so smug, for taking so much on his own scrawny shoulders.

Sam grinned his cheeky little grin.

If he hadn't been so banged up by crooked coppers, Gene might have smacked him. Instead, the DCI cleared his throat and glanced at the nearest clock. "Well, Tyler, think we can make it to the pub by five?"

"I think so. Yeah."

"Good. Until then, here's a load of paperwork for you to do." He stood and grabbed up a crinkled stack of papers from the edge of his desk. "Since I'm officially un-arresting you, you'd best get movin' and convince me yer not useless so I don't change me mind and lock you back up."

Sam stood. "I'll get to work, Guv. I've had enough of being arrested." He took the papers from Gene and strode out of the office toward his own desk, some of the swagger back in his walk, although he still carried himself a bit stiffly.

Gene watched him until the door slammed, then sighed and plopped down into his chair, running a hand down his face. He had come so close to losing Sam... too close. But now Sam was safe. The men who had tried to kill him—who had betrayed everyone in CID—were going behind bars. And there would be much celebration at the pub.

Everything would go back to normal, Gene decided. He chuckled a bit as he lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. Except for maybe this time, he would keep a better watch on his DI, who seemed to have a knack for getting into trouble.