I don't own Ashes to Ashes
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He looked from Alex to Bronson, the word 'suicide' ringing in his ears before he opened his mouth, closed it again in disbelief, then finally managed to ask, in a gruff, grunting voice, "Suicide, Bols? What about this looks like suicide to you?"
Alex stared at him as though he were crazy, but he honestly couldn't see it; self-mutilation was extremist, not the kind of thing a seventeen year old girl from London engaged in, and if she'd wanted to kill herself, there were better, quicker, more efficient ways to do so. "What about this looks or sounds like murder to you?"
"Well the fact she was face-down in the river rings a few bells you nonce!" Gene was completely nonplussed and, apparently, so was Bronson. "How'd she wind up in the tossing river if she did it to herself?"
He thought he'd stumped her, for a moment, and it was a bloody blissful moment too, until she opened her mouth and spoke as though it was purely logical... and he had to admit, it would have made sense, for the most part, if the evidence wasn't to the contrary... "It's not difficult. She came to the river because it was quiet at that time, and the warehouse was run –down; it probably has a few tools left in it, and it's the perfect site for suicide because nobody would expect anyone to be there for a long while, and by the time they find you they won't be able to do anything to help you. She picked up a tool, probably began to... to..." Alex took a deep breath before going on, "to hurt herself, inside the warehouse, and then, when she was in so much pain she didn't want to wait anymore for death, she probably stumbled across to the river and tried to drown herself."
Gene stared. "Where do you get this bollucks from, Bollyknickers? Did you see any blood on the pavement between the warehouse and the river?"
"To be honest, Guv, I was too busy throwing up my last twenty meals to really notice anything except the dead body we got called to investigate." It was blasé and matter of fact, but it was cold and bitter, and Gene didn't bother to push at her. Standing back from the table, he nodded to Bronson.
"Find anything else, Bronson, and you give us a bell. I'm taking my esteemed colleague for a bloody long drink."
----
"I'm telling you Gene, its suicide!" The second they were out of the lab, she was on him, debating and cross-referencing each small detail to argue against him. He got five steps down the hall before he turned, grabbing her by the shoulders and meeting her brown, now wide eyes, looking into them with meaning as he said.
"We don't know anything about that girl; right now we don't even have her name, Bols, so there is no way I'm putting it down to suicide without a bloody good reason!" His eyes were flashing, but hers were full of that brilliant determined flare he found intoxicating.
"She's anorexic Gene- she's already got low self-esteem based on body weight, and she's got a terminal disease. Do you not think that might be enough of an influence to push her over the edge?" She was getting angry, and he knew it, but he also knew that he wasn't letting the investigation pass as a suicide without knowing a great deal more.
"Look posh-knickers; just because she was uncomfortable with the idea of getting fat doesn't mean she wanted to knock herself off. So you drop this hoity-toity, toffee-nosed psych-twattery right now and get your mind set on finding out who the bloody hell that girl is! Then maybe we'll start thinking about who did it!"
---
When they got back to the office, she threw herself into her seat and started trawling through the missing person's lists, to no avail. It seemed that their mysterious victim hadn't yet been notified as missing, and so Alex stormed back into Gene's office and said, rather more aggressively than was really needed, "I'm going back to the crime scene. Are you coming?"
"Missing persons list, Bols, I told you." He absently threw a dart at the board, scoring a triple twenty and smirking to himself before turning back to look at her. "Have you done that?"
"It's no good, Gene. There's nobody matching her description been reported missing yet; it's likely her parents expected her to be out all day... We might not get anything until tomorrow, and I want to look at the warehouse."
"Didn't you say this girl was terminally ill?" Gene said, pouring himself a whiskey and throwing it down his throat before raising an eyebrow at her.
"Yes, I did..."
"Then why would her parents let her out all day, Bollykecks? Girl of seventeen, apparently anorexic and bout to cop it... why'd you let a girl like that wander about, 'ey? Looks like a perfect alibi really doesn't it; parental murder, doesn't notify the cops about her disappearance..." He was rather impressed with that answer, if truth be told, and were he given the chance he'd like to rub his argument in her face.
"Just because she was ill doesn't mean she couldn't have had friends to stay with, Guv. And you can't start blaming her parents without evidence." Surprised by her cold voice, Gene blinked, then stood up straight, placing his glass back down on the table as he reached out for the coat-stand and unhooked his overcoat.
"Never said she couldn't have friends, Bols... now get your tight little arse ready and get Ray and Chris on the job; we're off to the warehouse."
She glared at him, obviously annoyed that her own idea had been represented as his own, and that he'd so blatantly avoiding answering her own retort, before turning out and telling Chris and Ray to get a move on. In five minutes, they were speeding down the streets in the Quattro, Gene's earlier lethargic pace forgotten as he swerved around corners and dodged around other cars at breakneck speed.
---
The warehouse doors opened at the touch of Alex's hand, swinging creakily away from her and revealing the dusty, mostly empty room, but for a few cardboard boxes and thinly laden shelves. "Come on then Bols, what wonderful psychiatrical insights do you 'ave for us today? I see dust, and I see boxes... I think it's a sad little man, who never knew his Daddy, don't you?"
"Firstly," she said harshly, "it's psychological, not psychiatrical, and secondly, I don't have any yet, which is why we're here." Having shot a look of daggers in Gene's direction, Alex strode off, her long legs carrying her across the room like a spectre from some surreal dream. Gene, Ray and Chris watched appreciatively as her buttocks swayed, before Gene shook his head, clearing his throat and clapping his hands together.
"Right fella's, you 'eard the plonk, let's find something psychiatrically brilliant so we can all go home and tell our Mummy's we love 'em!"
---
It took them over an hour to find anything, with Alex insisting that they empty every single box and carefully examine the full contents; Gene didn't dare to argue, having seen the look in her eyes, and simply set the others to work and began rooting around on the shelves for anything of interest. It was by complete accident, having caught his foot in a thin layer of tarpaulin which had been strewn across the floor, that he came across a small pile of partially blackened belongings, hidden slightly beneath the shelves, bending down and looking briefly across to Alex, who was digging through a box of screws as though they could hold the answer to all of life's questions. He barely concealed a grin, then knelt down and reached for the pile, brushing off the burnt edges of a florally decorated, slightly damp, waterproof purse, which he opened, to find the contents of a few pennies, a photograph from a passport booth, and a small folded receipt, on the back of which was scribbled a phone number. Gene frowned, looking at the photo; it was definitely the same girl and, from the photo, he could see the small lump of bone that had caused her disfigurement. The other person was a boy, scrawny-looking, with glasses, acne, floppy hair and braces. He had to admit, that without her disease, she would have been the sort of girl Gene could imagine bending over backwards and stumbling over his words to impress in his youth, but the horrific growth made it difficult to look at her face for too long without feeling uncomfortable and guilty. Her eyes were blue, he noted, and though the purple bags underneath her eyes were still prominent within the photo, they were less so than he had seen them that afternoon. It was torn, as though there had been another photo on the string previously, with a tear slightly ruining the bottom end of the picture, in which it could be faintly noted that the two were holding hands. Turning the photo over, he found a small note scrawled in the same hand as the phone number;
To my lovely Rosa
The rest of the message was torn away with the other end of the photo string. Placing the belongings back in the purse, he rooted through the slightly damp ash and found a thin silver chain, at the bottom of which dangled a heart-shaped pendant.
"Bols," he called, standing up after briefly running his fingers through the rest of the ash and finding nothing but for a few singed corners of paper. "Found 'er. Take a look at this." He handed her the purse, which she opened, and just as her eyes fell on the photograph, he could see tears well up in her eyes, and heard the slight sniffle that escaped her. He shifted uncomfortably, digging both hands, one of which still clasped the necklace, into his pockets as he looked away. When her sniffling continued, he gruffly muttered, quietly so that if Ray and Chris decided to approach they wouldn't hear, "Bols, I don't wanna break with tradition 'ere, but if you keep sniffling like that, 'm gunna have to be a sympathetic ear... and I really don't think either of us need the Gene Genie as an Agony Aunt right now..."
Alex managed a watery smile, nodding and turning it over to see the writing on the back. "Rosa..." she murmured, she nearly sobbed again as she continued, "that's such a lovely name..."
Gene cringed, awkwardly reaching out to pat her shoulder and looking away as he did so. She did laugh at that, pushing his hand lightly away, to mixed feelings from Gene himself; he didn't like crying women, but he didn't mind looking after them... sometimes... maybe not in the middle of a warehouse at the centre of a criminal investigation, but still...
"'t's alright I s'pose," he conceded, pulling the necklace from his pocket and holding it out to her. "Found that, too."
Alex nodded, not taking it, and looking at the receipt. "Right. Come on. We've got what we came for and..."
"Guv," Ray called, walking over to them at a brisk pace, "you migh' wanna see this..." he looked at Alex doubtfully. "Maybe not you though," and though it sounded like a brush off, Gene heard the concern and worry in his voice, nodding to Ray to lead the way and looking briefly towards Alex. She looked pale, as though she already knew what Ray had found, but when Gene moved, she didn't follow; he hoped she had nothing to worry about, but the nauseous feeling in his stomach told him he should be worried, too.
---
At first, he didn't even notice; it was just a black everyday bin bag, screwed up in the corner as though it had been filled halfway and then forgotten. Then Ray reached for it, held it open and held it towards Gene, who, noting the disgusted look on Rays face, nearly didn't look at all. Then, with a horrible nauseous feeling rising in his stomach and chest, he bent over the bag to peer in, then swallowed back a reflex gag.
"Bollucks," he growled, pulling back and closing his eyes as though it would block out the image; it didn't. The vision of fleshy, haphazardly cut chunks swam before his mind's eye, and he could feel the sick in his throat, taste it on his tongue... he swallowed it down, opening his eyes again, but the image was burnt into his irises... it was bloody, completely red, with the contours of muscle visible, a fleshy texture that reminded Gene of strings, twined together... gulping back his vomit again, he looked at Ray, and Chris, stood behind him by a few metres, both pale in the face and looking as ill as he felt. "We'll get it to forensics," he said in a dry, throaty voice, feeling sick. "Put the whole lot in a bag and seal it..." he pressed two fingers into his eyeballs as though to scour the image from his mind, then, without moving, said, "an' don't let DI Drake see it."
"Right Guv," Ray conceded. "An' Guv... we got the weapon too... it's over there..."
Gene had to open his eyes then, following the line of Ray's finger to the same corner the bag had been placed in. He didn't know what he'd expected; a butchers cleaver? A samurai blade? Instead, as he walked forwards, he found a small vegetable knife, insignificantly small in comparison to the heinous crime it had been the perpetrator of. The black plastic hilt looked as though it had been caught in a fire at some point, with small plastic bubbles having been formed at the bottom, almost as if someone had pulled it out after only a second of it being able to make contact with the flames. It was so small, so pathetic in comparison to all the horrors his mind had dredged up, he almost wanted to break it and claim it as false evidence. But there was blood on the blade, glistening dark crimson that had dripped impossibly little on the floor. "Bag it." He said gruffly. "An' don't touch it. I'm baggin' this bastard on prints, so if either of you nancy-boys get your grubby paws on it, I'll wring yer necks."
---
Alex had hardly moved when he got back to her; she was still looking at the purses contents as though her life depended on it, fingers tracing the scrawled number and note as if it might jump out from the page and solve the investigation all by itself. "Come on Bols, let's bag it up and get back, 'ey?"
Alex nodded, looking at him in fearful query. "What was it?" She managed in a small voice.
Gene gulped, wondering what to tell her, and opting for a half-truth, though he was sure she saw right through it. "Weapon," he said gruffly, pulling a bag from his pockets and holding it out to her. "Shouldn' really 'ave put me 'ands all over it... bag it up, Bollykecks, then we can get pissed."
---
It was seven by the time they were back at the office, and Gene refused to let Alex stay, practically shoving her out the door and escorting her into Luigi's, having safely locked the purse into the evidence room, with the bag and knife sent to forensics for analysis. Alex insisted she had to stay, should phone the number and find out who it was... but Gene could see the ghosts in her eyes, the fear, the terror, the haunted look that said she needed to drink and forget all about it, because if she looked at another piece of evidence related to that case, she was going to breakdown. So he pushed her away, brought her three rounds of drinks at once, and sat down with her and began asking lewd questions to distract her. It nearly worked, in fact, had he not had to get up to get more drinks after forty-five minutes – a sure sign she was depressed as it usually took her half an hour to down one- he thought it might have worked all evening.
But, as he returned with another two rounds each, a beer and a whiskey for himself and a wine and a vodka for her, he found her with a far off look in her eyes, and tears streaming down her cheeks. With a gulp, he sat down, leaning forwards to speak to her and muttering conspiratorially, "I reckon Ray's a masochist, Bolly, what'd you think?"
She didn't even appear to register what he'd said, though she did respond to the sound of his voice by whispering, meeting his gaze with glistening brown eyes. "How could one person be dealt so much shit, Gene?"
He was shocked to hear her swear; she rarely did, and when it happened, she was usually angry and pissed off and he could deal with it by snapping back at her. Now though, she was broken, looked like an empty shell ... and how did he cope with that? He couldn't do heartfelt discussions, and he couldn't do comfort, not really... so what did she expect of him?
"We dunno she was, Bols... she might've been 'appy..."
"She killed herself, Gene," she whispered, "and you won't convince me otherwise."
Gene didn't want to discuss it; he'd brought her here to make her forget until morning, when they could deal with it the way they needed to. But he knew he was going to have to if she was going to be put at ease in the slightest. "Someone tried to burn her stuff, Bolly... why'd she do that? We found the weapon, and there was no blood between that and the door, so how'd she get it there without bleeding everywhere?"
He pushed her glass of wine towards her and went on. "I don' wanna think any bastards cold enough to do it any more than you do, Bols... but I don' reckon it was her... couldn't be, not without making more of a mess..."
Alex shook her head, eyes streaming as she reached a shaking hand for her glass. "No... She hated it... I just know, Gene... she wanted out... she was going to die, she was going to have no life at all... she hated herself... and that's what leads to suicide, Gene... self-loathing... Bitterness... Defeat... Low self-esteem..."
Gene sighed, leaning back on his chair and downing half of his beer. "I won' argue with you, Bols, but I don' agree. Tomorrow, we'll find ou' her name, an' go sort some o' this mess out, alrigh'? Til then, maybe yer should just... get some sleep." He stood up, draining his beer and swallowing down his whiskey smoothly, looking at her with a foreign tenderness in his eyes that made her nervous and warm all at once. "Jus' do what I say this time, 'ey?" he teased, "no thatcherite wankers this time around."
And then he was gone, and she was alone, nursing a glass of wine, which was followed by three more, before she stumbled into the flat upstairs, collapsing on the sofa in a drunken state and passing out.
---
At 7am, the phone rang, and she was practically sobbing at the pain in her head as she answered it blearily. Gene's voice drifted down the phone line, sounding hollow and echoed all at once.
"Sorry, Bols, but you need to get down 'ere. We jus' got a missing person reported... it's her."
---
Gene dropped the missing persons report on her desk, twisting it so that she could read the writing without difficulty. Perching himself on the corner of her desk, he said, "names Rosa McKellen. Went t' school at Chestnut Grove. Lived with 'er Mam– 'er that's missin' 'er. Ray an' Chris've gone to bring 'er in an' get ID on the body... Mother's called Amanda, fathers called Jeremy. Dunno the terms of separation, but they don' live together 'nymore."
"And you got all this from the missing persons report?" Alex looked impressed and mistrusting, and Gene smirked. "Friends in 'igh places, Bollinger Knickers. I've got Shaz to look up her old man's address, an' once we've spoken to the mother, we'll go see papa bear." He looked at her for a moment, and then added, in a low whisper, as though the others were nearby.
"Y'alright now, Bols?"
The genuine concern in his eyes caused a pang of warmth in Alex's chest and she nodded, a small smile on her lips. "Just... mothering instinct... it's just not right..."
Gene looked down. "No, Bols, it ain't..." eyes on the missing persons report, he added softly. "You don' talk 'bout yer daughter much... what 'appened there?"
She sighed, standing up and whispering. "Now's not the time, Guv, really..."
He took a deep breath, then nodded. "Yeah... course not... got work to do, right Drake?"
She nodded, eyes stinging as he reverted to using her surname; it was always a sign she'd done something to upset or annoy him if he did that, and it always stung to hear him refer to her as though she were so... Well, common, she supposed. Because Bolly was just her... there wasn't another Bolly... but there were lots of 'Drake's' in the world...
"Course Guv... lots to do..."
There was an awkward silence, in which Alex stood toying with her desk tidy, whilst Gene fiddled with the bottom of his tie, before standing up abruptly. "Right... best get goin' then." And he retreated to his office, tapping his pen on the desk before pouring himself a whiskey and sparking up.
---
Amanda McKellen was tall, blonde, slim-lined and, at one point, had probably been gorgeous. She had the look of a woman who could have broken a man's heart in two, the look of a tease and a player, but underneath it lay a woman whose life had been uprooted by stress and pain beyond imagination, and the shadows of it lay all over her face.
When Alex laid eyes on her, the first thing she noticed was the bright blue of her eyes; they were so like her daughter Rosa's that she nearly looked twice. The blue though, however cool and serene, was tinted with a darkness that echoed years of sadness, and she had developed lines around her eyes that were not suited to a woman her age; Alex's heart flew out to her.
When Gene laid eyes on her, the first thing he noticed was the slouch of her shoulders; had she stood upright, her breasts would probably have been her greatest asset, but hunched as she was, with the weight of grief and pain on her shoulders, it gave her a sense of deformity that seemed somehow greater than that which her daughter had developed, and it gave him a pang of pain to see it.
It was at Alex's suggestion that they drove Rosa's mother back to her house before asking any questions, and though they were both sure that Amanda knew it was for her own comfort reasons, she seemed grateful, and invited them in, offering them tea, which Alex quickly leapt to make, allowing the grieving mother to slump onto the florally decorated sofa and bury her head in her hands. Gene stood awkwardly at first, then sat down on the arm rest at the other end of the sofa, then stood up again. By the time Alex had returned, he'd begun pacing back and forth in front of the mantelpiece, and it was only at Alex's disapproving glare that he finally settled himself into the armchair opposite Amanda, leaving space for Alex to sit on the sofa after having placed the drinks on the coffee table.
"She shouldn't be dead..." Amanda whispered, and Alex and Gene glanced at one another, before looking back to the crumpled figure of a grieving mother. "She had so much life left to live... even with the disease... it's not right... not right... no.... who could... why would anyone want to... to kill her?" Her voice was cracking, and Gene was bordering on uncomfortable again when Alex moved to place an arm tentatively around the other woman's shoulders.
"We're looking into..." Alex was about to mention suicide, but stopped, and Gene was thankful, feeling that the first sentence in the conversation shouldn't question the girls state of mind. "We're looking into it... we're going to do all we can to find out."
Mrs McKellen began to sob, nodding and wiping her eyes on her sleeve, "oh I know, I know... it's just... she had such a hard life... she was... she couldn't... what could she have done to upset anyone?" The grief building in her voice was worse than if she just started to weep, Gene thought, and though she was tenderly dabbing at her eyes, she hadn't really let the tears fall yet, and the stubborn bravery sent chills down his spine.
"That's why we're here, Ma'am," Gene said gruffly, rubbing his arm nervously. "We need to know more about yer daughter... 'bout Rosa... so we can figure out if someone might've wanna hurt her..."
"They wouldn't," Amanda said simply. "She was... she was lovely... oh... so lovely..." she reached out and took her cup in shaking hands, shaking with sobs, but still no tears had streaked down her face...
"Our forensics team said that Rosa was anorexic... did she ever talk to you about that?" Alex's voice was gentle, and Amanda calmed slightly, as though this was a subject she could discuss with more ease.
"Yes... she thought she was fat... and I told her she wasn't but she wouldn't believe me and... it made her happy... and I thought... is it so bad for her to behappy? She didn't have much to be happy about, and not long to be happy for... so why should she eat if it would make her angry and sad and... and..." Then the tears came, and it was almost a relief, but Gene felt considerably out of place as Alex gathered the crying mother in her arms and rocked her like a young child, shushing her and gently stroking her hair.
"I'm a bad... bad... bad mother..." Amanda sobbed. "I should have made her eat something... I know I should have... but when she ate she was... she was..." she cried harder, then managed to gasp out, "she was horrible... angry... violent... ill... she was awful... I'm a bad mother..."
"No, no you're not," Alex soothed, because as much as she thought that Amanda should have made Rosa eat, she knew from experience how difficult anorexia sufferers could be, how stubborn... and then there was the mothering part of her, that heard the part of 'wanting her to be happy' and practically flew out to her. "Shush now... you're not a bad mother..."
"I called her awful..." Amanda said softly, and fear and disgust contorted on her face, and then grief overcame her again as she repeated over and over, "I'm a bad mother... I'm awful... a bad... bad mother..."
---
It took Alex a good hour to calm Amanda down, by which time Gene had finished his cup of tea, polished off half a plate of garibaldi's, and taken himself on a tour of the living room, examining each photograph with scrutiny, eyes drawn to one in particular, of Rosa, the boy from her wallet photo, and a weather-beaten man wearing tweed trousers and an anorak. When eventually Amanda had calmed down, he took the photo over and sat himself down, listening to Alex, and wanting to thump her.
"Mrs McKellen... we're also looking into the possibility that this was a suicide... do you think that's at all a possibility or do you..?"
"My daughter would never have killed herself, DI Drake!" And Gene watched as Amanda pulled from Alex's comforting hold and stood up, shockingly independent and able to stand when provided with the right fuel. "Now if that's all, I'd ask you to leave me alone and let me grieve for my daughter!"
"Yes love," Gene said before Alex could argue, "but first..." he held the photo up and pointed to both males, "could you tell us the names of these men?"
"The boys Benji Bragden; he's Rosa's boyfriend. The man's her godfather; Joe Ellison." She looked confused. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason... just wondered. Were they close?"
"If there's no reason, I see no point in answering that question..."
Alex and Gene exchanged looks before nodding. "Thanks love, and... we're very sorry." He gave Alex a steely look that got across quite evidently that their sympathy was not merely for her loss.
"I understand, Mr Hunt. It's your job. But trust me when I say I knew Rosa, and she would never, ever lower herself to suicide..." Amanda turned away, wiping at her eyes. "Now if you please, I'd like to be left alone."
---
"Right Bols," Gene said as they walked down the path to the Quattro. "Looks like we've got our first two suspects; boyfriend, and godfather." He turned the key in the ignition as they slid in, revving the engine briefly before pulling away from the house.
Alex didn't mention suicide the whole way back.
---