Johnny Blue-Eyes

Chapter 20: Me and Sgt Donovan, we's mates

Three weeks later, Lestrade had a seat in front row of the galley for the interlocutory hearing on suppressing the videotapes. Donovan had been called to testify, of course. Lestrade didn't technically have to be there, but he had agreed for Sally's sake. At least she would have a friendly face in the crowd while she was going up against Pomeroy. Lestrade had sat in on attempts to question his clients before, a few times. The man was the quiet scary type. Soft voice, pleasant smile, and all the while he was silently slipping the knife in under your ribs. You could find a case dead before you even knew what had hit you.

The hearing was open to the public, which Lestrade knew that Sorrell had fought against. But this was Judge Hollingberry's courtroom, which was another strike against them. Judge Hollingberry frowned upon secrecy and what she considered to be police corruption. She frowned upon most things, actually. Her thin face seemed to be arranged into a permanently sour expression.

Hollingberry was also a vocal critic of delays in trial, hence this expedited hearing. The last time Lestrade had been a witness in her courtroom, in 2012, she had spent at least ten minutes castigating him for the fact that it had taken NSY almost a year before trial began in another notorious paedophile case, and after that case was eventually dropped she had been quoted in the papers listing what she felt were the short-comings of the Metropolitan Police and CPS.

Lestrade seriously hoped they could catch a break with this hearing, although he doubted it would go their way. Already they had had their request for remand denied and Lindt had been released with a laughably low bail. Then Lestrade and Donovan had had to arrest and fingerprint Mycroft Holmes, who was actually surprisingly gracious about the whole thing. To say nothing of the fact that Sherlock appeared to have dropped off the face of the earth, right in the middle of a homicide investigation that was going nowhere. And their press conference had netted them a whole lot of nothing. Not a single young man or even concerned mother had spoken up to accuse Lindt.

Donovan was the first witness called. Under Tracey Sorrell's questioning, she explained that Gilbert had been a Confidential Informant, but that the position had ended almost six years before. He had no current relationship with NSY. Lestrade sat and listened with what he hoped was an encouraging expression on his face. It wasn't like Donovan was lying, exactly, but he knew she wasn't telling the whole truth. Part of him thought she should go ahead and say it, just to get it over with, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

After a few minutes of questioning, Sorrell turned to Pomeroy and said, "Your witness." He stepped up smoothly, with a serious expression on his face that would probably come off very striking in the chalk drawings.

"Sergeant Donovan, did you ever use Andrew Gilbert for other jobs?"

"What sort of other jobs?" Donovan was looking up into the second level of the galley and her face took on a distracted, troubled sort of expression. Lestrade turned around to see what she was looking at, but his view was blocked by the railing.

"Did you ever ask him to break into houses and procure items for you?"

Sorrell immediately bounced to her feet and said briskly, "Madam, I must object to this line of questioning; my learned friend is leading the witness!"

"Mr Pomeroy?" The judge's sour expression hadn't changed, but she certainly looked interested for the first time in the proceedings.

"Your Worship," Pomeroy put in smoothly, "I am attempting to ascertain the true nature of Mr Gilbert's employment. It is my belief that Sergeant Donovan is being less than forthcoming."

"I will allow it. Mr Pomeroy, you may continue. But exercise caution, please."

"Of course, Madam. Sergeant Donovan, please answer the question."

Donovan, who had spent the entire exchange with her eyes on the upper level of the galley, blinked and snapped back to the present. "What was the question?"

"Have you ever asked Andrew Gilbert to break into houses and procure items for the police?"

"I may have done once or twice," she said reluctantly. Her eyes darted to the upper level again, and quickly back down.

"May have done? Or did?"

"Fine. I did."

"You sent Andrew Gilbert in as an agent of the police to steal items for you."

"Well, sort of. But not in this—"

"No further questions." Pomeroy went quietly back to his seat, leaving Donovan spluttering on the stand. The judge looked like she had tasted something bitter.

"Your Worship, I would like to redirect the witness," Sorrell said hastily. This earned her a slight nod from the judge. "Sergeant Donovan, did you direct Mr Gilbert to break into Mr Lindt's flat?"

"No, I did not," Donovan responded firmly. She was looking up at the upper level of the galley again.

"And prior to his arrest in connection with this case, when was the last time you saw or spoke to Mr Gilbert?"

"Six years ago."

"Thank you, Sergeant. I have no further questions."

"Ms Donovan, you are dismissed with the court's thanks," Judge Hollingberry said in a voice that sounded anything but grateful. Donovan nodded to her, left the stand, and headed for the front row of the galley, where Lestrade scooted over to make space for her.

As soon as she sat down, she pulled out her notepad and scribbled a note, which she showed to Lestrade. "Sherlock and John are here." She jerked her chin toward the upper level of the galley, where Lestrade couldn't see from his position. Shit.

Sorrell had no further witnesses, so Pomeroy called Andrew Gilbert to the stand next. When they brought him in, he immediately spotted Lestrade and Donovan and gave them a huge grin. Lestrade was sure he would have waved at them too if his hands hadn't been shackled together.

Pomeroy stood so he was facing mostly toward the galley, playing to the audience it appeared to Lestrade. He had a file folder in his hands and a pair of reading glasses hanging off his nose. Donovan scrawled on her notepad: "He doesn't really need those. They're for effect."

"Mr Gilbert," Pomeroy began. "Thank you for being here today."

"It'd be my pleasure to help out my friends at NSY," Gilbert said brightly. "They been good to me. I owes 'em one." He aimed the broad smile at Lestrade and Donovan again, who both just stared at him stony-faced.

"Can you describe your relationship with The Metropolitan Police?"

"Yeah, I'm an informant. Helped 'em break some big cases, too."

"So you work for the police?"

"Yeah, like a deputy or some'at," he said proudly. "I helps 'em out, they help me out."

"And are you paid for your work?"

"'Course I gets paid. Like I said, I works for 'em. It's a good job, too." Another grin and a proud nod were aimed at Lestrade and Donovan.

"You said you were an informant. Did you do any other jobs for Sergeant Donovan or Inspector Lestrade?"

"Well, sure. I delivered stuff sometimes. I helped 'em set up a sting once on these blokes selling drugs to kids. That was a good one."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, a few times I got 'em stuff they needed. Like for cases and stuff."

"Got them "stuff they needed"? Where would you get this. . . stuff?"

Gilbert's pleasantly vacant expression dropped a little, like a man who smelled something foul but had not yet figured out he had stepped into dog shit. "Well, er, I—uh—acquired it."

"Acquired it?"

"Yeah." Gilbert was trying to catch Lestrade's eye, but he stared straight ahead.

"Sergeant Donovan told us you helped out the police by breaking into houses to acquire items for them. Is that true?"

"Yeah, I was helping. Yeah. I only broke into the houses of bad blokes, chaps who was up to no good. Just to get things for the coppers. It was a community service like. I helped nail 'em. The sergeant and the inspector, they always told me if I found something important, they wanted to see it. So when I seen those tapes, I knew they'd want 'em."

"But you didn't even recall where you had. . . 'acquired' the tapes?"

"No, not so much. I weren't sure on account of I—well, it was a busy night, see?"

"And the job where you acquired the videotapes in questions-were you paid for this job?"

"Well, not cash so much, but Sergeant Donovan, she said I done good. She's gonna help me out with some stuff, so that's payment enough." Gilbert again had a satisfied grin plastered across his face, but when he saw Lestrade and Donovan both sunk down in their seats cringing, the smile faltered a little. "I done good, right? I did what the sergeant and the inspector wanted. I knows I did the right thing sending in those tapes."

"You did what you were told to do, Andrew. Thank you. Your witness, Ms Sorrell."

Gilbert positively beamed under what he obviously perceived as high praise. Pomeroy sat back down with a flourish and Sorrell stepped up.

"Mr Gilbert, did the police ask you to break into Rainer Lindt's flat?"

"Is that the fellow with the tapes? N-no. Not 'pecifically-like."

"So you were not representing the police when you stole those tapes."

"Well, you know, I've always got my eyes open as to how I can help 'em out, like I was told. You know, just like he said."

"How many houses have you broken into in the past year, Mr Gilbert?"

"Past year?" Gilbert squeaked. "I got no idear."

"More than twenty?"

"I suppose. Maybe. I ain't sure."

"Were any of those jobs done for the police?"

"Well, no. . ."

"Have you done any jobs for the police lately?"

"No, but it was open-ended, like. Me and Sergeant Donovan, we's mates. I got her on speed dial, her and the inspector. They helps me out; I helps them out. I didn't do nuffin' wrong."

Lestrade couldn't watch anymore. He put his hand over his face, squeezed his eyes shut, and silently prayed to a God he wasn't sure he believed in for it to be over soon.

While Gilbert gave his "testimony", Donovan sat silently berating herself up one side and down the other. If she had never employed Gilbert to do what he did best, they wouldn't be in this predicament. Of course, if she had never used Gilbert, he likely wouldn't have sent in those tapes, or at least he wouldn't have sent them to Lestrade, and if someone else had watched them, they would never have made the connection to Sherlock, so the case wouldn't have gone anywhere anyway. Catch-22 of the worst kind.

Speaking of Sherlock, what was he doing here? When she had looked up into the galley and seen the two of them sitting there (Sherlock looking bored, John expressionless with his arms folded tightly across his chest), she had gotten distracted. And of course, Pomeroy had taken full advantage of her trouble concentrating. She was fucked for sure, which meant their case was fucked as well. Pomeroy always found a way to get what he wanted.

Finally Gilbert was dismissed from the stand and the hearing mercifully came to a close. As soon as the judge announced that she would have her ruling soon and ended the hearing, Donovan was up and out the door, with Lestrade following several steps behind.

"Sally!" Lestrade called. "Hold up."

She waited for him outside the doors. Just before he caught up with her, she saw the door to the stairwell open and John came out followed by Sherlock. John's lips were pressed together and he was moving with brisk, angry steps. Sherlock, who was trailing along behind, didn't look angry. He looked. . . preoccupied. Anxious. The expression didn't seem right on him.

While she was studying Sherlock's face, Sally became aware that Lestrade was talking to her. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm all right," she replied with her eyes still following Sherlock.

"You did the right thing in there, no matter how it comes out."

"Thanks, Guv," she responded distractedly. John had headed off down the corridor toward the front door, while Sherlock followed at a slower pace, with his coat wrapped tightly around himself. Someone passing him jostled his elbow, and for a second Donovan caught a glimpse of his profile as he jerked away from the touch, his eyes wide with alarm. And then, just as quickly, the panicked expression turned into a scowl as he kept walking, a little faster to catch up with John who was already almost to the front door.

It was that panic in his eyes that got her. She had to talk to him. She wasn't even sure what she was going to say. What could she say? Even an apology would ring false and hollow. "Just a second, boss. I gotta. . ."

Donovan hurried off after Sherlock, eyes on his back. "Sherlock?" She said it quietly, almost hoping he wouldn't hear her. But he stopped and turned with a guarded expression. "Sherlock, I'm—"

Suddenly John was there, standing between them with his arms tightly folded across his chest, silent rage in his eyes, blocking her from Sherlock. "Go away, Donovan," he said in a hard, quiet voice.

Donovan felt the tears pricking at the backs of her eyes. She had screwed up and she knew it, and it was making her stomach hurt and her palms sweat. "I just wanted. . ."

"Wanted what? To remind him he's a freak?"

"No! I wanted to apologize."

Sherlock, who was lurking behind John's shoulder, blinked at her with a puzzled expression. But John was shaking his head, unmoved. "You've done enough damage. Just leave him alone."

Donovan took a step back. If she said one more word right now, she was going to cry, and she didn't want that to happen in such a public place, especially not with Sherlock Holmes watching. His puzzled expression had disappeared, and now his eyes were narrowed and his upper lip curled upward into a sneer.

"Your guilty conscience is not my concern," Sherlock said in a low, even voice. "Only idiots start down a road without thinking of the consequences. Don't expect absolution from me."

Donovan felt an icy fist close around her heart. Instinctively she masked the hurt with anger. "I wouldn't want it anyway," she snarled.

John turned and gestured to Sherlock, who fell in beside him, and they both walked off. It looked like Sherlock was setting the pace now, and John had to hurry to keep up with his longer stride. They were soon out the door and out of sight.

Donovan felt Lestrade's hand on her arm. "Sally? What happened?"

"I've fucked everything up; that's what's happened." She strode away, pushing the door open hard and stomping down the first two steps of the courthouse. Lestrade followed, zipping up his coat against the raw weather.

"Did you catch Sherlock?"

"Yeah, I caught him."

"Where's he got off to?"

"Left. Couldn't get away from me fast enough."

"He'll be all right."

"Yeah, probably." But then an image of Sherlock's flinch and panicked expression at being touched flitted back through her mind. He hadn't looked like someone who was all right. "God I hope we don't need him to testify, because he certainly won't do it for me."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Doesn't come to what?" came a voice from behind them. Donovan turned to find Tracey Sorrell standing with her arms folded and lips pursed. "To us losing this case because you thought you were above the law?"

"I did warn you."

Sorrell sighed. "Yes, well, at least you didn't add perjury to your list of sins. I'm going to try to convince my boss not to press charges against you, but it'll be a tough sell if this case falls apart. Please tell me you've got something else up your sleeve in case these tapes get thrown out, since your press conference netted you nothing."

Lestrade and Donovan exchanged glances. Donovan looked around: the crowd had cleared out and they were standing alone on the steps of the courthouse. "Well, there is one more tape," she said cautiously.

"One more tape? What do you mean?" Sorrell asked sharply.

"It was from a cold case I worked about ten years ago," Lestrade put in. "Same setting, same perp, one of the same kids. Nothing but a dead end at the time. Never found the perp or the kid."

"Not obtained in a burglary commissioned by the police?"

"Legal warrant."

"Can we connect it to Lindt?"

Donovan hesitated. The only sure connection with Lindt went right through Sherlock. Could she do that?

"Well, can we or not?"

"Yeah, we can connect it."

"All right. Donovan, you review it and get it to me quick. See how it compares to the other tapes. I want to have back-up in case this all goes to hell." Sorrell pulled her coat around herself more tightly to keep out the wind and strode off down the steps, briefcase banging against her leg.

Donovan chewed the inside of her lip. "Shit," she muttered.

"It'll be all right," Lestrade reassured her. He stuffed his bare hands into his pockets and headed down the steps. "Come on, let's get something to eat. I'm starved."

"Where do you want to eat?"

"I dunno. Let's try something new."

"Why don't you look up something on Yelp?"

"On what? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yelp. It's an app."

"That's something on the phone, right?"

"Yeah, right. Never mind, I'll do it."

"Good. I hoped you'd say that." As he led her away from the courthouse, Sally caught a flash of long red hair across the street. Damn Kitty Riley! Suddenly she was dreading reading the paper the next day. What would the headlines say about her now?

A/N: Reviews keep me warm at night. . .