Thanks as ever for the kind reviews, they are much appreciated.
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Chapter 15
Gene was dreaming. He was lying at the bottom of a swimming pool, happily looking up at the blue of the sky distorted by the rippling water, but he knew it was time to get out so he made an enormous effort to push himself to the surface, even though his body felt so heavy.
His eyelids flew open with a jolt and he sucked in a deep breath, eyes flicking from side to side as his copper's instincts kicked in. The room was dim, the only light filtering in through a slatted blind, but as his eyes adjusted he could make out a heavy wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a small dressing table. The bed was an old fashioned double with a brass bedstead, only just long enough to contain his six foot frame, and his right hand was cuffed to the outer strut of the bed head just above his ear. He twisted his head for a closer look, reaching up with his left hand. Standard police issue.
Where was he? And how the hell had he got here? His brain still felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. Think, Gene, think. The Red Lion. Lunchtime. WPC Ross. Shit, this must have something to do with her. He had some vague recollection of another body lying next to him during the night, and a rather horrible thought occurred to him. Tentatively, he lifted the covers and then breathed a huge sigh of relief. Thank Christ. He was still wearing his boxers.
Slowly, he began to piece things together. He'd been quietly reading the paper and then suddenly there she was, sitting opposite him. The crafty cow must have spiked his drink before attracting his attention. He could still taste whiskey on his lips, so he guessed she'd given him some more the previous night when the effects started to wear off. Running his hand through his hair, he realised it was the following day and he must have been missing for almost twenty-four hours now. Bolly! She'd be worried sick, they all would.
Engage brain, Gene. Nobody knows where you are, this one's down to you. There was no sign of Ross, so he guessed she'd most likely underestimated the dose and assumed he was still out for the count, a situation which he should be able to turn to his advantage. Could he take her one-handed? Probably, even though she was a big girl, but he needed the other hand free to frisk her for the key and she might not even have it on her person. Nothing for it, one way or another he had to get himself out of these cuffs.
Manoeuvring himself up into a sitting position, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and checked inside the drawer and the cupboard of the bedside table with his left hand. Empty. His eyes roamed over the dressing table, making out a brush, a couple of combs, various pots of make-up and Hallelujah what looked like a stray hair-grip or two. His heart began to beat faster as he realised he could probably just about reach the edge at full stretch.
The sound of footsteps in the corridor sent him swiftly back under the covers, and as the key turned in the lock he tried to make his jaw slack and his breathing slow and steady as though he was still sound asleep. He heard her pad over to the bed and felt her breath warm against his face as she leaned over him.
"Still out for the count then, Sleeping Beauty?
It took all his determination not to flinch as a finger traced down his cheek and across his lower lip. Her voice was soft.
"You really are a handsome man, Gene Hunt. I could watch you sleep all day, but I want to start on the food. You'll no doubt be starving when you wake up and I know how much you like a good fry-up."
She leant in to brush her lips over his and his fists balled under the covers.
"I'll be back in an hour or so, love. Don't go anywhere, will you?"
He could hear the smile in her voice as she closed the door, and it sent a shudder through him. Nutter didn't even come close. She was right about one thing, though, he was starving. The first thing he was going to do when he got out of there was fill his face. And then he was going to do Bolly. Several times. There was a definite twitch in his groin at the thought and he grinned, quietly relieved. Alex didn't know what was going to hit her.
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The whole department had watched the lunchtime news bulletin together before heading out again to continue the search, even though many of them had been up all night. Alex was touched by their dedication to the Guv, swallowing the lump in her throat as she and Sam waited behind in the hopes that most of Manchester had seen his picture and someone, somewhere, had some new information that might help.
"Sit down, Alex, you're making me dizzy."
She stopped pacing and flopped down into a chair, hugging herself.
"Sorry. I just feel like we should be doing something, you know?"
He leaned forwards.
"We are. We're waiting for information. As soon as anything useful comes in, Phyllis will let us know and we can be right on it, OK?"
She nodded, sighing.
"You're right. I know you're right."
"Usually am."
A glimmer of a smile flitted over Sam's face.
"Now if you could just explain that to the Guv …"
She stood up again and resumed the pacing.
"I just want him back, Sam …"
"You and me both, luv."
Their heads swivelled round in unison as Phyllis approached the office and entered without knocking. Sam sat back with his arms crossed.
"What've you got for us then?"
"Two time wasters, a couple of blokes with … um … strong opinions on the Guv, shall we say, and one dirty little pervert. And if he calls back, I'm goin' ter tell him exactly where he can stick his …"
"Phyllis?"
Sam put his hand up to stop the tirade and the older woman bobbed her head in acknowledgement.
"Sorry, Boss. There was this one, though. Bloke out walkin' his dog saw a dark haired woman helpin' a tall blond man out of the back of a car. Caller assumed he was drunk because he was staggerin' and she had ter help him, and didn't think anythin' of it until he saw the news. And there's another thing. He thinks the car was blue."
Alex and Sam looked at each other, hearts beating faster.
"Address?"
Phyllis handed it over.
"Ground floor flat, he reckons. And he sounded genuine, I've got a sixth sense nowadays."
Alex squeezed Phyllis' shoulder gratefully and the other woman patted her hand.
"So what yer both waitin' for? Go and get the Guv!"
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At almost the same moment that Phyllis was taking the crucial call, Gene Hunt was at full stretch across the bedroom, pulling the cuffs to their furthest extent as his fingertips tentatively touched the circular piece of lace covering the middle of the dressing table. He knew he had to be careful: one clumsy movement and not only would the whole lot crash to the floor alerting his captor, the hair grips would most likely end up well out of his reach.
Gently, patiently, he manoeuvred the cloth around by a couple of inches, taking care not to dislodge any of the items, until one of the grips was just outside his grasp. One more little movement of the fabric and his fingers touched it, sliding it delicately forwards until finally he could pick it up. He let out the breath that he'd been holding with some relief and rolled his tense and aching shoulders before retreating to sit on the bed again. If there was one thing he was a dab hand at it was getting out of cuffs. He grinned at the memory of Sam's shocked face when he'd freed them both from that radiator during the Gazette seige, and raised a silent prayer for a few more minutes' peace as he set to work.
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A/N. Just for interest, the rohypnol scenario in this fic is partly written from research and partly from personal experience. Or so we think.
A few years ago my OH went to help out at a charity wine tasting event nearby, and as a perk the volunteers were all allowed a glass. I should add at this point that we both like a tipple, and himself could probably give the Guv a run for his money on a good night. Halfway through the evening the front door slammed and I was amazed to find him practically crawling up the stairs to our flat, making very little sense and barely able to stand. I managed to get him as far as the sofa, not an easy feat seeing as he's 6'2" and I'm 5'7", checked his pulse and breathing and spent the night next to him to make sure he was OK. To say I was somewhat baffled would be the understatement of the year.
He slept round the clock and on waking had no recollection of what had happened to him after he'd started to drink his wine. On piecing together the evidence it appears it had taken him over half an hour to complete the five minute walk home, and how he made it back in that state is still a mystery.
We did report it to the police, but by that stage it was too late to prove anything. I only hope that by presumably picking up the wrong glass he inadvertently saved some poor girl from a potentially horrendous fate. Frightening …