Before the story continues, a shameless plug for the Mallieness discussion forum - you'll find details of why Mallie could only ever be in our imagination ... sob!

Thank you to reviewers, as always.

-oOo-

"Guv?"

"Mickey. What have you got?

"Apart from heatstroke and a splitting headache?"

"Don't be funny. Does she know who our masked man is?"

"Yeah, she knew him straightaway from the tattoo. Dave Austin. Turns out he was the guy Carly had a go at, the one I told you about yesterday? She attacked him outside the club with her handbag, happened a couple of months back."

"Oh, yeah. Well I suppose that gives him motive." Max couldn't help feeling deflated. Perhaps there wasn't as much to this as he had thought. As he had wanted. "Right-"

"But that's not all," Mickey interrupted. "Georgie fired him after that, apparently Austin wasn't much good anyway. Not exactly stable, and Georgie doesn't like nutcases in his businesses."

"And?"

"And, she didn't think she'd see him around again, except that he turned up a week or so ago. Driving for Kiril Barsukov."

Max felt his heart race at the prospect his theory hadn't been blown out of the water after all. "So what does she know about Barsukov?"

"Not much. He comes and goes, the hired muscle changes every few weeks, as we already know. He uses a couple of rooms at the back of the club, has meetings there and sometimes stores a few boxes, but never for more than a day or two before they get shipped out again."

"Does she know what's in them? Or who it is that he meets?"

"Nah. She says Barsukov ain't the kind of guy you question much."

"What does she think Fleischmann makes of it?"

"Oh, she's sure he isn't happy. Not happy at all but it seems he can't get them out, it's like they've taken up residency. Either Georgie's being threatened or Barsukov's money is too good for him to turn away. Might even be both. Sounds to me like he's in too deep and can't get out. That's why she's worried about him."

"Hmm. What about Austin? Have you got an address?"

"Yeah, Lesley runs a tight operation, you should see her filing system."

"Good for her, what is it?" he muttered, searching for a pen underneath the paperwork crowding his desk.

"37b Stanhope Lane, he lives with his mother. Do you want me to get round there?"

Max paused, looking out from his office to the cluster of three people, two heads intently bowed, engrossed in their work or at least trying to be, and one with his feet on his desk laughing uproariously on the phone. Max's eyes narrowed. If he couldn't actually get rid of Manson and Sim, he could make the Sun Hill experience so uncomfortable for them both that they wouldn't want to hang around for any longer than they really had to. "Er, no. Leave that with me."

-oo-

"Sir? We've got a development."

Neil looked up from his screen with raised eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Mickey's snout has identified our man. Want to join me while I fill the others in?"

-oo-

"So, I suggest, if this is alright with you, Sir," Max glanced across to Manson in a show of deference that fooled no one, "that Tommy and Suzie pay a visit to Austin's address? If they find him, great, but if not, talking to his mother might give us some insight."

"But, I can be more use here!" exclaimed Suzie in alarm. "Surely Grace should go?"

Tommy gave Suzie a sly look. "Ah, come on. I won't bite. It'll do you good to get some air," he murmured quietly prompting Suzie to glare back at him furiously.

"No, I think it's a good idea," nodded Neil, appearing unaware of the depth of his colleague's anxiety.

"Right," pleased with his success, Max rubbed his hands together as he watched the mismatched couple began to get ready to leave together, one of them blatantly less enthusiastic than the other. Suzie was bound to hate every moment of being stuck with Tommy for the next hour or so. "I'm off out as well, shouldn't be long but if anything happens, call me." And with more of a spring in his step than the circumstances should have allowed, he strode away out of CID, leaving Neil and Grace behind him.

Neil wondered if Max had planned this deliberately. He knew that Tommy was exactly the sort of character to rub Suzie up the wrong way, too smooth and way too cocky, but he couldn't disagree with Max's suggestion having declared that Max was fully in charge of the op. He'd had to go along with it. It was only when the door closed behind the departing trio that he found himself pondering whether he and Grace might also be part of Max's little game. Movement beneath his hand made him look down with the realisation that he was resting on Grace's chair. Suddenly self-conscious of their unwitting closeness he edged away awkwardly.

"So, er, how have you been?" he asked softly, taking up occupancy of Suzie's vacated seat across from Grace. He could have returned to the briefing room, but that was a lonely place and he didn't want to feel lonely anymore, baiting his ex-wife for kicks and using Suzie as some sort of surrogate in lieu of a real-life partner. Seeing Grace again made him remember the little moments of frisson, the moments that made him feel so much younger, before the demands of his dysfunctional family and job had taken all his energy leaving nothing for himself. Now his 'family', Jake, was more interested in girls than playing footie with his father and his career was about to be turned on its head once again with the re-centralisation of SOCA, perhaps, just perhaps he could reach out? There might be nothing there, but he'd kick himself if he didn't try.

"Good, thanks. And you?" she replied with stiff politeness.

"Yeah, fine. Very busy, that's why I … er… well …" somehow he felt it necessary to justify why he hadn't contacted her at all since he left. Not that he had reason to, he told himself. After all, nothing had actually happened between them. "So, how is life round here? Under DI Carter?" Grace's eyes darted to the side, avoiding what she could see was a mischievous glint in his. It wasn't a fair question, he shouldn't ask her about a senior officer, her boss, especially when he must know how tough things were for her. "Sorry, I shouldn't-" he began, regretting his glibness.

"It's okay, but the answer to that question will be different, depending on whom you ask. Not all of us are favoured."

"And if I'm asking you? If you don't mind."

Grace paused, wondering if she really did mind, wondering why he was asking. But he was asking and for the first time in a long time she wanted someone to know how unhappy she was, and that 'someone' was still Neil Manson. "Let's say I'm considering my position here."

Neil raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips together thoughtfully. "Well, if you need-" but he was interrupted by his phone, "sorry," he muttered, "I should take this. It's Jake."

"Yeah, sure." As he rose from the chair, all thoughts of what Grace might need forgotten or at least on hold, she felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips, nothing much had changed with him. She reapplied herself to the statements in front of her, but this time with a slightly lighter heart.

-ooOoo-

"So, Suzie, what's it like being back in Sun Hill? Catching up with old friends?"

She gave him a derisive sideways glance and swore silently as she stalled the car at the traffic lights. Tommy had tossed her the keys to the car in the yard, daring her to remember her way round the streets of Canley while he settled back into his seat and closed his eyes for a snooze. The sound of his regular breathing had convinced her that he was indeed asleep until he spoke suddenly and made her jump, her foot slipping from the clutch pedal. There was something in his accent, in his languid demeanour that she had immediately recoiled from, except that she was coming to realise that it wasn't because she found him offensive, it was quite the opposite. Few men truly attractive, they either tried too hard or not at all and in her eyes, that made then either fake or lazy. Tommy was clearly neither, she was rattled. Really rattled.

"Friends? Former colleagues, yes. But friends, no." She restarted the engine and willed the lights to turn green.

"There must be one or two that you were close to? Apart from our Neil, of course. What's going on there?"

"Not that it's any of your business, there is nothing going on between DCI Manson and me."

"I don't buy that. Green."

"What?"

"The lights," he nodded towards the now empty lane ahead of them and once again leant back, his eyes closed.

Infuriated, Suzie scratched about in her head for something to retaliate with, but she didn't know him well enough for anything personal or professional. "So what about you, Tommy? Is it always Tommy? Not Tom or Thomas?"

"No." The curtness of his reply startled Suzie, she eyed him carefully as they once again came to a standstill on the other side of the box junction, searching for the air of indolence that she had come to expect from him. He stared straight ahead. "It's never Tom or Thomas." Bitter, he was definitely bitter. And that made her very curious.

"Why's that? Tom, Thomas, good names."

"Because that is what my father was called."

"And you didn't get on?"

"You could say that." He paused and turned to face her, expressionless, the always laughing glint was gone. "I'm surprised you don't know all about it."

"Why would I?"

"Thomas Leighton. You don't know? Really?"

"Like I said, why would I? What was he, some sort of serial killer?" she ended with a little laugh which died in her throat as she registered the seriousness of his expression. The sound of a car horn behind jolted her back to reality and confused, she reluctantly slipped into first gear and took the next turning into Stanhope Lane. Tommy spotted 37b first, next to Smart's Fish Bar, the wafting stench of cooking oil invading the air-conditioned confines of the car as Suzie pulled up outside.

Suzie smoothed down her dress, not that it was creased, but for something to do to ease the silence while they waited at the door. Footsteps approached from the other side and both knew they were too light and hesitant to belong to their suspect. Tommy had already reverted to type, the boyish smile, the glint that was sure to captivate the older woman. Hell, it had somehow captivated the younger woman as well, even more so now she knew there was intriguing enigma behind the façade.

"Mrs Austin?"

"Yes?" a single eye peered through the sliver of open doorway held by a brass chain.

"DS Sim and DS Leighton, Sun Hill CID." In unison, they flashed their warrant cards at the cautious woman.

"Really? May I have a closer look?" the door opened to the maximum allowed by the chain and a roughly weathered hand tentatively reached out to touch Tommy's ID while he held it out closer to her. "Can't be too careful," she explained hesitantly in an Irish accented voice.

"You're absolutely right, Mrs Austin. If only more people were as sensible as you we wouldn't have half the distraction burglaries that are carried out each day." Suzie turned away and rolled her eyes as the woman positively glowed at his praise.

"How can I help you officers?"

"We'd like to speak to your son? David?"

"Oh, well he's away on business for a few days. Very important work," she added proudly.

"I see, but I'm sure he knows how to leave his Ma well cared for while he's away."

That was enough for Suzie. The mutual Mrs Austin-Tommy Leighton adoration society was already wearing thin and they had only just started. "May we come in, Mrs Austin? We'd like to ask you a few questions," the woman looked sharply at Suzie, her hostility at the young woman's unwanted interjection unmistakeable.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Austin, for my colleague's er, brusqueness, it's just her way. We've an important case on at the moment and she's very keen to thoroughly explore every line of enquiry. We'll only take a few moments of your time and I'd appreciate it ever so much."

Tommy's placatory words had an immediate effect on Mrs Austin who softened and closed the door slightly to unfastened the chain which fell with a clank against the doorframe. Tommy glanced down at Suzie who gritted her teeth and shut her eyes tightly with obvious infuriation. When she opened them again, Tommy was already over the threshold closely followed by the old bag leaving her to trail behind in their wake.

"Where's that accent of yours from? I'm willing to bet you're a Galway lass."

Mrs Austin blushed. Suzie cringed. The woman could have been anywhere from her mid forties to early sixties. Her appearance was nondescript, almost indistiguishable from the decor of the house. Her short hair, cheaply coloured, was neither brown nor grey but a faded sort of sandy shade somewhere in between, clothes serving no more than the utilitarian need to cover her body, her face bearing a lifetime of menial work without ever knowing excitement. Suzie took it all in and shuddered inwardly, thankful this would never be her fate.

"Close. County Roscommon. But that was a good guess," she smiled girlishly. "And you? North of the border, I know."

"South Armagh, but I've family in Donegal, so I know the other side well."

"Ah, I see," a connection of faith was made, one which seemed to speak volumes between them. "Leighton did you say?" she continued, "now why is that familiar?" cocking her head to one side obviously straining to remember something from the distant past, although Suzie wondered if it might only have been yesterday. The woman was clearly peculiar. What was even more peculiar was the way in which her musing over his name appeared to galvanise Tommy into action.

"Mrs Austin, when did you last see your son?"

"Yesterday morning, but I spoke to him a couple of hours ago. Has something happened to him?"

"Not that we're aware of," answered Suzie shortly, earning herself another glare.

"Where has he gone?" asked Tommy, smoothing down Mrs Austin's raised hackles. Really, Suzie did have an incredible talent for ruffling feathers.

"Birmingham, I think he said. Or was it Bradford? Might even have been Brighton. Definitely a 'B'. Definitely."

Tommy and Suzie exchanged glances. It didn't really matter where Austin had told his mother where he was going. That she hadn't seen him since yesterday was most important.

"Has he gone alone?" Tommy asked.

"Oh, no! He's gone with his boss. A tough man, but fair. Very stylish, but then, these Russians often are. Look at that lovely Mr Abra …braham … you know that man who owns that football club."

"Abramovich at Chelsea," muttered Suzie in exasperation.

Tommy raised his eyebrows, impressed by Suzie's knowledge of Chelsea FC before turning back to Mrs Austin. "So, who does he work for?"

"Mr Bar … Barsukov," she announced with exaggerated aplomb. Suzie nearly gave her a round of applause, she was clearly expecting it.

Tommy stifled a smile, "and what does he do for Mr Barsukov?"

"Davey is his right hand man. Told me himself that he couldn't do without Davey."

"So you've met him?"

"Just the once. Lovely man. Lovely."

"And how long has Davey worked for him?"

"Just a few weeks, but he's doing so well. I'm so proud, especially after all that business with Mr Fleischmann." Mrs Austin wrinkled her features in disgust at having to utter the name.

"Why? What happened?" demanded Suzie.

"That slut of a daughter of his attacked my Davey. He was only doing his job. I've heard," she leaned closer into Tommy, "that she's a whore!"

"Really?" asked Tommy with wide eyes, encouraging the woman to elaborate.

"I think that she was after my Davey but he wasn't interested. He would never be interested in a trollop like her." It took all Tommy's self control not to burst out laughing at Suzie's expression as Mrs Austin looked her up and down, deciding that she and Carly belonged in the same category.

-oo-

"Your behaviour in there was inappropriate and unprofessional," muttered Suzie reaching for her phone.

"Oh, lighten up. What's the harm in having a bit of a laugh? That was probably the most attention the poor woman has had in years. She loved it," he teased while gallantly opening the car door for her, bowing slightly as she scowled at him. "Who are you calling?"

"The DCI."

"Why?" he took a step closer to her.

"To update him, of course. He'll want to know that we have a definite link between Austin and Barsukov and that Austin hasn't been home since before Carly went missing."

Tommy gently but firmly closed his hand around hers and took the phone from her hand, his expression turning serious. "No, I don't think so. This is my Guvnor's case, not yours. I'll take care of the updating."

-ooOoo-

After three cups of tea, half a packet of Dairy Milk Chocolate Fingers and the entire Daily Mail later, Millie still wasn't feeling much more positive about her ability to manage Georgie, despite Max's assurances that he had complete faith in her. He would say that, wouldn't he? Didn't have to mean it though. The buzz of the intercom from the security gates was a welcome prod to drag her away from her quagmire of self-pity as she rose to view the small screen. She peered closely, a figure, probably a man she had to guess from the breadth of the shoulders, in dark leathers with an equally dark motorbike helmet. Hardly high summer gear. While she contemplated this incongruity, the buzzer rang again.

"Yes, hello?"

"Parcel for you," the voice was muffled through the partially opened visor.

"Okay, I'll come down and collect it." Somehow it seemed odd, the courier, she presumed he was a courier anyway, hadn't said where he was from, not that she had asked. She probably should have asked, but Millie was halfway to the door by then and she'd find out soon enough when she signed the chit to accept the delivery. Except that by the time Millie reached the gates, there was no chit, there was no courier or his motorbike. But, there was a large yellow jiffy bag stuffed into the narrow railings of the gate. She examined it from a distance, then gingerly stepped closer leaning into it to listen for any sound but there was nothing except for the chirp of the occasional bird and rumble of cars passing by. Slowly she eased it out of its lodged position, surprised by how light and puffy it was. She flipped it over to reveal the handwritten address and blinked several times, unable to quite believe what she saw but it was unmistakeable. The 'r's gave it away. Carly always wrote her little 'r's in capital form. It was just one of her many ways of drawing attention to herself. Millie stared at the packet. Why the hell would Carly send her father a parcel the day after she disappeared?