SEVEN – Shakespeare

Boyd would already have been shouting. That's the thought uppermost in Grace's mind as she sits quietly before Marshall listening as he gives her the kind of sharp but extremely politely-phrased reprimand she hasn't had to endure since the very earliest days of her career. Boyd wouldn't have hidden behind carefully-constructed sentences that manage to simultaneously patronise and castigate, Boyd would simply have bawled her out for flagrantly disobeying his orders and then grudgingly listened to whatever she had to say.

Nor would Boyd have given her a condescending smile and concluded the extended rebuke with, "However, I'm quite sure I can rely on both your common sense and your professional integrity from now on, Doctor Foley."

Her intense dislike of him is growing exponentially. But she smiles sweetly as she says, "Of course, Chief Superintendent. You can count on me to do the right thing."

As she expects, he misses the deliberate undertone in her voice completely. He nods in a self-satisfied sort of way as if he believes he has the upper hand. "Good. Until the current situation is resolved no-one from the CCU – including you – is to have any further informal contact with DI Grant or any member of his investigative team." He shrugs as he continues, "From what I hear the whole unfortunate matter is very close to being concluded anyway. Once Boyd has been charged he will immediately be officially and permanently relieved of command. Between you and me, I don't think you'll have to wait long for the appointment of a new senior officer and once he – or she – is in place I'm sure the resulting stability will be very good for everyone in this unit."

It's difficult to control the surge of anger and contempt that rises in her, but she just about manages it. This is not the time or place. But she's not going to let him walk away from the encounter completely unscathed. Grace has something of a history of boldly facing up to far more intimidating characters than William Marshall – including the rightful occupant of this very office. She is not afraid to pointedly ask, "And if Boyd isn't charged?"

He scowls darkly in response. "As I've said before, Doctor, your loyalty is admirable, but I really think it's time you faced up to the unpalatable truth. Peter Boyd has been a potentially dangerous loose cannon for years, and there are a good many people in the higher echelons of the Yard who are merely surprised that it's taken quite this long for that notorious temper of his to result in a calamity of this nature."

Grace doesn't flinch. "And yet he was considered suitable to command – and to continue to command – the CCU."

He continues to glower at her. "As I'm sure you're aware, it was never originally envisioned that this unit would enjoy the longevity that it has. Nor that Boyd's tenure would last quite so long."

"Controversial unit, controversial commander."

Marshall nods stiffly. "Quite. I don't think it's any great secret that the general idea was to tuck him quietly away in the archives where he couldn't get into too much trouble and for the Yard to reap the rewards of anything he actually managed to achieve."

She smiles triumphantly, smugly. "It's a great shame they vastly underestimated him, isn't it?"

He glares bleakly at her from the other side of Boyd's desk. "Let's not forget that the greatest tragedy is not Boyd's spectacular self-destruction but the brutal and unnecessary death of a bright and successful young woman who should still be alive today."

Grace holds his formidable gaze fearlessly. "He didn't kill her."

It seems Marshall is not prepared to let her have the last word. "Whether you like it or not, Doctor, I fear that sooner or later you're going to have no choice but to accept that he did."

-oOo-

Once her anger and indignation have subsided a little, it is Eve she seeks out. Despite their many differences – not least in age and general outlook – they have always had a good working relationship, and as time has passed they have established an increasingly close personal rapport that Grace likes to think they both value highly. Happy to embrace the relative peace of the lab after her prickly and frustrating meeting with Marshall, she waits until Eve has finished whatever it is she is doing before she bluntly asks, "Am I making a complete fool of myself, Eve? You warned me not to let the fact that it's Boyd blind me to the truth."

Straightening up, Eve pushes her hands into the pockets of her crumpled white lab coat. "I'm a scientist, Grace. I only deal in provable facts."

"What about gut instinct?"

"It's an important tool, but largely worthless without substantiation. That's just my personal opinion."

Grace leans against the stainless steel autopsy table – thankfully currently unoccupied. She is tired, she is stressed and despite her earlier resolve she's beginning to seriously doubt herself. Wearily, she says, "Until yesterday I didn't think I had a single ally outside this team. Now it seems that I have, but nothing's become any clearer. I'm still staring at the same brick wall as I was before."

"We all are, Grace. You're not the only one who wants to help but keeps getting absolutely nowhere."

"Maybe we've been wrong all along. Maybe Boyd did kill her."

"You don't believe that for a moment."

Grace sighs. "No, you're right, I don't. But... Oh, Eve… I just don't know. Did he do it?"

Eve shrugs and gives her a cool, appraising look. "If you're asking me as a scientist, then I can only say that at this point that can't be conclusively proved or disproved. Not forensically, not from the evidence available. In cases like this it always comes down to a balance of probability thing, doesn't it?"

"Probability or improbability."

"What?"

"Something Boyd said the other night," Grace tells her. A brief, gloomy silence falls over the lab.

Eve tilts her head slightly. "So, how's he handling all this?"

"Exactly the way you'd expect – with an obstinate mixture of defiance and denial."

"Doesn't sound healthy."

Grace shakes her head. "It's not. Coming so soon after Luke's death… Well, whatever the outcome, this could have a catastrophic effect on him. Psychologically."

"Emotionally, he's a lot tougher than you think."

"Instinct?"

"Observation." Eve looks at her calmly for a moment before continuing, "I don't mean this unkindly, Grace, but in a lot of ways you are blind when it comes to Boyd. Perhaps that's not quite the right word. What I mean is, you have such a strong image of him – of who and what he is – that I think you sometimes have trouble seeing beyond your own construct. Does that make sense?"

It does. And it stings. Her impulse is to angrily bite back in defence, but the way Eve is watching her so calmly and yes, so kindly, stops her. Instead, she says wryly, "Do you want my job?"

"Sorry." A pause. "It's not necessarily a bad thing, you know. Having so much faith in someone."

"I just know him, Eve," she says with a sigh. "Yes, I've seen him do some truly appalling things over the years, but never without what could be termed good reason. You've seen him dealing with victims – you'd be hard-pressed to find a gentler, more compassionate man."

"I've also seen him dealing with uncooperative suspects."

Grace gazes straight at her colleague. "But Erin wasn't an 'uncooperative suspect', was she?"

Eve doesn't answer for a moment. When she does, there is conviction in her voice. "For what it's worth, no, I don't think he killed her. I just wish I could find a way to categorically prove it."

"You and me both, Eve."

Eve moves to stand by the nearest ventilation grille. Producing a cigarette packet and a lighter from her lab coat pockets, she says glumly, "It's weird without him, isn't it? Too quiet."

"Much too quiet. Last time I saw Frankie she told me it took her months to get used to working somewhere quiet where there was no-one shouting and stamping about angrily quoting Shakespeare."

Eve lights a cigarette and inhales deeply. "Shakespeare?"

"Long story." Something clicks in Grace's head. A blinding moment of absolute clarity. She stares blankly at Eve, her mind suddenly racing. "Shakespeare."

"What?"

"Twelfth Night." She desperately searches her memory, trying to recall details of characters and plots long-forgotten since school days. Not The Tempest, Boyd's former standby in moments of frustration and pressure but… She almost snaps her fingers. "The Comedy of Errors."

The look of polite bemusement falls away from Eve's face to be replaced with a clear mixture of incredulity and sudden appreciation. "Oh my God…"

-oOo-

"Twins," Eve confirms looking up from her computer screen. "Gary John and Mark Vincent Fuller, born in Stratford, London, April 'seventy-two. No record here of whether they're dizygotic or monozygotic – fraternal or identical – of course, but…"

"'When you have eliminated the impossible…'" Grace quotes quietly. "That's how one man can apparently be in two places at once."

"And that's why when he gave his statement Mark seemingly didn't remember nearly being hit by the van that morning – it wasn't him at the newsagents, it was Gary."

Looking over Eve's shoulder at the official birth records on display, Grace feels a spike of angry frustration. Such a ludicrously obvious possibility… "Why the hell didn't we consider it before?"

"Because, outside of cheap thrillers and the works of Shakespeare, it's completely bloody implausible," Eve says dryly. She shakes her head. "And you can't really blame Grant's team for failing to pick it up, either – there was absolutely no reason for them to look into Mark's family tree."

"Basic background information."

"Right, because of course we always check details like that…"

"We do with firm suspects," Grace says obstinately.

"Not initially, and anyway, Mark was eliminated as a serious suspect almost straight away, wasn't he?"

There's no point in continuing to argue. She may not like it, but Grace knows Eve has a fair point. Grudgingly, she returns her attention to what's actually important. "So Mark didn't change his clothes after all – it was his brother who was caught on CCTV on Heathway at seven."

Eve nods. "So, do we assume that on the way back to Dagenham from Erin's flat Mark calls Gary and asks – "

They are interrupted by Spencer's sudden arrival at the inner door to the lab. His expression is tense, his voice hard. "Boyd never showed up at Greenwich nick this afternoon. They sent a couple of uniforms round to his house immediately, but he was long-gone."

"Christ, so he's breached his bail conditions," Eve says unnecessarily. "What happens now?"

"Now there's a full-on manhunt," Spencer replies. Grace does not meet his eye as he continues, "It'll be all over the bloody papers by the morning – unless someone can find him quick, and then persuade him to give himself up."

"Go," Eve instructs, turning towards Grace. She gestures towards the door. "I'll bring Spence up to speed."

"Call Grant," Grace tells her, already in motion, "tell him to call off the dogs."

"We will. Go on, Grace, get out of here before Marshall finds out what the hell's going on."

-oOo-

Only when she has left the grim building that houses the CCU's headquarters a good distance behind her does Grace park her car and fumble in her bag for her phone. She is hoping – praying – that Boyd has not disposed of the cheap non-contract phone he has been using to contact her since his initial release from custody. She's not sure which of them he imagined he was protecting by using an anonymous, disposable number, but it hardly matters now. She fervently hopes, too, that if he still has the phone he will actually answer it when he sees her number on the display. It's not a foregone conclusion by any means.

He answers within three rings. "Grace."

There are many things she wants to say to him, not all of them polite, and several of them are to do with the stupidity of violating his bail conditions, but she knows how important it is to engage him and engage him quickly. She doesn't waste time with censure or unnecessary words. "Mark Fuller's a twin. He has a brother."

The silence that greets the news is absolute. Then he asks, "Fraternal or identical?"

"We don't know yet. Eve's on it. Boyd, they're already looking for you; you have to hand yourself in."

"No."

She didn't expect anything else. He's both incredibly stubborn and very difficult to reason with. "Running away is not the answer."

"I'm not running away," Boyd says, his voice weary but surprisingly calm, "I'm simply changing the odds in my favour."

A frightening possibility occurs to her. He is rightly notorious for playing by his own rules even in the most hazardous of situations. Involuntarily tightening her grip on her phone, Grace says, "Please don't tell me you're going after Fuller? DI Grant's team will be picking him up at any moment – him and his brother."

"It doesn't matter."

The hollow, fatalistic note in his voice worries her. Scares her, even, knowing his limitless capacity for gloomy, guilt-ridden introspection. Presuming from his downbeat reaction that he's not going after Mark Fuller, she immediately demands, "What do you mean? Boyd, this is the improbability we were looking for. The obvious explanation of how one man can apparently be in two places at once."

"Call me cynical," his voice says dryly in her ear, "but I'm pretty sure a jury would laugh that particular hypothesis straight out of court."

"It's not a hypothesis, it's an absolute fact. Mark Fuller has a twin brother." She glares angrily into the mid-distance. "Boyd, this could break his alibi."

"'Could'."

"Call Grant," Grace says urgently, "ask him to meet you somewhere before it's too late."

She hears his derisive snort. "Not a very appealing idea."

"If you run – "

"I told you," Boyd interrupts tetchily, "I'm not running. I just woke up this morning and realised that I was sick and tired of playing a game that's been so heavily stacked against me from the start. So I'm simply choosing to stop playing. On my own terms."

An icy chill runs down her spine. There's a dark trace of something beneath the words that she doesn't like. Not one little bit. Instinct tells her to keep him talking for as long as possible. "What do you mean?"

"You know as well as I do what happens to convicted sex offenders in prison, Grace. I assume you also know what happens to disgraced police officers?"

She does. If convicted, the very best Boyd could realistically hope for would be to serve out his entire sentence segregated from the rest of the prison population. And even then she seriously doubts his jailers could be trusted to guarantee – or even to attempt to guarantee – his safety. It won't come to that. It can't. "Boyd – "

His voice is steady, devoid of fear, of anything. "Goodbye, Grace."

"Don't do this," she pleads, the raw, frightened note in her voice unpleasantly strident. "Please don't do this. Peter – "

But suddenly Grace can hear nothing but empty silence.

-oOo-