Chapter 3

You'd Better Speak Up Now, It Won't Mean A Thing Later

Maurice Hall holds out for twenty-four hours before he turns up at the Yard and tells Lestrade his ex's name. Gets points for obstinacy, Lestrade supposes, even if not for common sense. And Lestrade had been right about who it was. Durham. Minister for Victorian Values or whatever that stupid Department was calling itself these days.

So Lestrade and Donovan interview Durham, which doesn't go well.

Unproductive, for starters. Durham insists he has no idea who might want to blackmail him or Hall. Also, no, he can't remember the name of anyone who used to come to his parties in Cambridge. Or anything else about them. Well, it is nearly thirty years ago. Does Lestrade remember parties from thirty years ago?, Durham asks sarcastically.

Lestrade does, actually, but he doesn't say so.

As well as unproductive, the interview with Durham is bloody unpleasant. Lestrade doesn't usually think of himself as easily intimidated or made uncomfortable by politicians. Had to grill a few in his time, one thing and another. But Durham is something else again, and it's not the Palace of Westminster's fault. He's a few notches up the social scale from Maurice Hall. Not aristocracy, but definitely big-house gentry. And his look and his manner and his accent raise hackles Lestrade didn't know he still had. Lestrade can't remember who coined that phrase about the hidden injuries of class, but they certainly had the right fucking idea. The temptation to let Donovan loose on this bastard is almost irresistible. Lestrade can tell she's dying to have a go at him.

He resists it, though. Case to solve, and a row won't help that. Not Maurice Hall's fault he has such piss-awful taste in men. Happens to the best of us. Lestrade sighs. Though what Hall ever saw in this one… Maybe he was pretty when he was young. There'd have to be something. Complete waste of space now. Says a lot for Maurice's loyalty – for Hall's loyalty, Lestrade corrects himself quickly – that he held out as long as twenty-four hours before dobbing this one in.

So he and Donovan get whatever basic information Durham allows them to prise from him (not much beyond what College he was at and when, which they could have got from the Net anyway), and take their leave. Good to be out of that stuffy room. Wouldn't think a big room with a ceiling that high could be that stuffy. Must be coming from Durham.

"Jesus, what a tight-arse!" Donovan explodes once they're in the corridor.

Lestrade knows he should tell her not to talk like that about a member of Her Majesty's Government. And when he stops laughing he's going to do just that. Maybe.

"Trip to Cambridge seems indicated," he says. "See what you can find out."

"Me?" She sounds scandalized, like he's suggested she take up pole-dancing or something.

"Well, someone's got to go and dig around, and you've met these guys," Lestrade says. These guys. Hah.

She gives in eventually, though he has to insist, and to promise she can call him if she gets out of her depth. Seems to think Cambridge is full of pointy-headed lunatics who never stop talking. Like Sherlock, only not so good-looking.

Not sure where that thought came from. He'd been setting a new record for time spent not thinking about Sherlock. Oh well.

When he gets back to the Yard, there's a note saying Mr Hall rang again, says please will you ring him and the landline number. He rings, but there's no answer. Leaves a message to call him back. Then, and he never knows why he does this, because it's so clearly stupid and wrong, he fishes out the card from his pocket and calls the mobile number. From his mobile. A thing that makes no sense at all even as he's doing it.

Rings a bit, he thinks it'll go to voicemail and he'll just hang up, but then -

"Hallo?" Hall's voice, sounding a bit apprehensive.

"It's Lestrade. You asked me to call and – I left a message on your other phone."

"Oh." Hall sounds thrown, as if he hadn't expected Lestrade to use this number, despite that pencilled message on the card.

"So, what did you want to – have they been in touch with you again?" Lestrade asks. His day for floundering, apparently.

"No – oh, no, nothing like that."

So why has Hall rung him up? Lestrade is too annoyed to make it easy by asking him. Still smarting from the interview with Durham. Let Hall make the effort. He's the one who said he wanted to talk, dammit.

"Could we – meet?" Hall's voice is tentative, sounds a lot younger suddenly. Probably not a good sign.

"Meet?"

"Um. There are – things I'd find it easier to talk about if -"

"Easier to talk about not at the Yard?" Lestrade suggests.

"Mm. Yes. But also – I know I shouldn't ask you this, you must think I have no sense of propriety - "

What the fuck is he on about now?

"- But I'd find it much easier if I could just talk to you one to one," Hall says in a great rush.

Lestrade knows the correct answer to this should be "Tough shit", given what's already happened with the look and the message on the card. Or a polite version of "Tough shit" at least.

"It's not usual procedure," he says, feebly.

"But – could we?"

Oh bollocks. There's a note of appeal in Hall's voice that Lestrade has never known how to resist when it goes with that particular accent. If it's not someone he's arresting, obviously. Plus, he does feel quite sorry for the poor sod, as well as wanting to shake him for being such a dipstick. Trying to protect Durham, who so clearly is not worth protecting.

"This is all very irregular," he says, which sounds even more feeble than not usual procedure.

"Please," Hall says.

Lestrade knows he should stand firm, should insist on having another officer present at the interview. Should behave as if it is an interview. Particularly given Hall's obvious interest in him, which was definitely still there this morning. Nevertheless, he agrees to go round to the flat. Tells the desk sergeant he's going out but will keep his mobile on. Doesn't say where he's going.

Is this some kind of personal challenge for how many things he can do wrong in one afternoon?

And when he gets there, Hall doesn't seem to know what it is he wants to say. Which is awkward. So Lestrade tries getting him to talk more about Cambridge, see if anything helpful comes out of that. Bit sticky at first, but once he gets going it's actually quite hard to shut him up. None of it seems particularly relevant to the case, but there's a hell of a lot about realizing he was gay and what happened with Durham and how he felt when Durham told him he was getting married. And several pots of tea.

Lestrade really ought to get back to work, especially if this is all there's going to be: an unstoppable flow of reminiscences and adolescent yearning. Sort of thing you could just about put up with in a Friday night documentary if there was absolutely nothing else on the box, but hardly groundbreaking stuff. Still, he supposes it helps to build up a picture of young Maurice Hall. Who seems to have been knocked for six by the whole business of being gay. And obviously never really got over the big rejection by Durham. There hasn't been anyone else serious. Not even much casual sex, at least not in this country. Another one of these privileged types going off to get laid abroad, as if somehow it doesn't count if you shag another man on foreign soil. Long tradition of that, of course, Lestrade knows. Usually he disapproves of that sort of thing, but he finds himself feeling unexpectedly sorry for Maurice Hall.

He really is going to have to do something about his chivalrous streak, because it is the most colossal fucking nuisance.

Eventually Hall runs out of steam and Lestrade runs out of questions. So there's another awkward bit where Lestrade says he's going and Maurice says yes, sorry, thanks, must you?, and they go round and round that circuit a few times till Lestrade finally manages to extricate himself and goes back to the Yard to write up as much as he can remember. Knowing it's not much use because he can't really put it on file. But at least he can keep a private record of it, in case something rings a bell. He's always had a pretty good memory for dialogue, so the notes end up being quite extensive.

And really, that should be the end of it. But then Donovan rings up the next day from Cambridge because some fucker of a Don or a Dean or something is giving her the runaround, and Lestrade ends up asking Maurice to lean on the bastard to produce whatever information there is about the drinking society that Durham used to belong to. Which, surprisingly, Maurice does.

More worryingly, Lestrade finds he's crossed the line from Hall to Maurice in his head without quite noticing when it happened. Probably the result of all that teenage yearning pouring out into the room. No way for a grown man to spend the afternoon. Two grown men to spend the afternoon.

Better not to think about that, really.

And then the guy keeps turning up, or ringing up, seems as if hardly a day goes by when he doesn't appear. Meanwhile, the leads from Cambridge turn out mostly dead ends. You wouldn't believe the number of fortysomething men from Cambridge drinking societies who are dead, or have fried their brains with drink and drugs to the point of total incoherence, or who claim amnesia or threaten lawsuits, or both. It's amazing those parties ever happened at all, the number of people who definitely weren't at them. According to them. Even if their names are in the Dean's notice for disciplinary offences in connection with that same society.

So it's really not going well at all. And Lestrade is getting a bit tired of having his ear bent by someone who should probably just go into therapy or ring Gay Switchboard or something. If Gay Switchboard still exists.

He realizes another line has been crossed when Maurice suggests taking him to the opera.

Says no, of course. Opera's not his thing, and anyway... They shouldn't be socializing like this.

Something's gone quite badly wrong if Maurice is asking him out – which is pretty much the only way to classify the opera thing.

Lestrade resolves to stop going round there, put it all on a proper footing, make sure any future meetings are -

Chaperoned was the word that came to mind there.

Never thought he'd need a bloody chaperone.

Though he supposes the chaperone is for Maurice's benefit really.

Must stop thinking about him as Maurice.

"M" has a suitably clinical sound to it. Maybe that would help.

Lestrade's still trying to implement this new resolution on the day a mystery voice rings up and threatens to tell the tabloids all about him and Maurice Hall.