NINE – Ego

Her thoughts far too anxious and restless, Grace barely sleeps and when the first grey hint of dawn appears she is inordinately grateful. She follows her usual morning routine mechanically and it isn't until she is confronting her weary reflection in the bedroom mirror that her self-control cracks a little. Exhausted, angry tears well in her eyes and though she tries to furiously blink them away the painful conflict of emotions that cause them remains. She looks at herself for a long, long time, mercilessly documenting the very worst of what she sees, ruthlessly cataloguing every last harsh sign of age and fatigue. Boyd's words from the night before come back to her, echoing hollowly through her mind – "Everything has its time, Grace…"

It's time to close one chapter of her life and start another. The realisation comes more calmly than she might ever have expected. She will resign with dignity before she is militantly pushed out by forces beyond her control. Even if they subsequently ask her to stay – which she doubts – she has no wish to continue at the CCU under a new commander. She fully expects Boyd to be completely cleared of any involvement in Erin Jackson's murder, for him to walk free before the days is done, but she seriously doubts that after yet another major controversy he will be returned to the CCU by his masters at New Scotland Yard. They will find a space for him somewhere and leave him to pointlessly kick his heels well away from harm until he resigns in sheer frustration or finally reaches mandatory retirement age. Either way, given his evident resentment towards her, Grace is fairly sure their… association… has reached its natural end. Whether she is right or wrong, she can't stop bitterly telling herself that despite everything she has failed him in the worst possible way – not as a colleague but as a friend.

She is listlessly making coffee when the telephone rings, her mind still gloomily picking over the bones of the previous night. It's still very early, but when she answers it is Grant's voice that immediately says, "Doctor Foley. We're going to be interviewing both the Fullers again this morning. I thought you'd want to know."

Trying to shrug off the worst of her increasingly despondent mood, she asks, "They didn't talk last night?"

"Mark insisted on having a solicitor present," he says derisively, "and we were subsequently advised that continuing to interview him overnight would be… imprudent."

"Playing it by the book, eh?"

"I think we both know it's a bit late for that," he admits wryly, "but if we're seen to be playing by the rules…"

Mentally steeling herself for the answer, Grace reluctantly inquires, "How's Boyd?"

Grant snorts. "Uncommunicative. It wouldn't be a good idea for me to tell you much more than that. Look, we might need to go over your statement again later this morning."

She nearly groans. "Again? For heaven's sake, I've already told you the little I know – twice."

"Grace," he says gently, inexplicably using her first name, "do you want to be here today, or not…?"

-oOo-

Grant's sergeant, Powell, has two spectacular black eyes in addition to an obviously swollen nose but he seems good-natured enough as he politely escorts Grace to a small interview room at the rear of the building. Feeling the need to apologise on Boyd's behalf and darkly cursing herself for it, she says, "I'm sorry about last night. He can be a little… hot-headed."

Powell regards her with a distinctly wry expression. "He's a tough old bugger, I'll give him that. Certainly got some fight in him."

Grace is absurdly pleased to hear it. Taking a seat, she asks, "Are the Fullers here yet?"

He folds his arms and shakes his head solemnly. "I really don't think I can tell you that they are, Doctor. I definitely can't tell you that Mark's firmly sticking to his story but it's obvious that Gary's shit-scared."

"I appreciate that you can't tell me that," Grace deadpans. She's about to say more when the interview room door opens and Grant strides in. He nods briskly to his sergeant who immediately withdraws. Grace raises her eyebrows questioningly. "Well?"

He says, "Gary's adamantly refusing to say a word about his brother, but he's a smart enough cookie to know when he's screwed. Seems brotherly love only stretches so far – he won't tell us that he gave Mark the same information, but he has detailed every step of his movements that morning, including going into the newsagents and ranting and raving about the van driver who nearly hit him."

It's something, but it's not enough. She unconsciously picks at the worn leather strap of her bag. "And Mark?"

Grant sits down opposite her. He rubs his temples slowly. "Still says he was the one who went into the shop. His brief's saying Mark only didn't mention the van incident in his original statement because at the time he thought it was completely irrelevant. So now I have identical twins both claiming to have been in exactly the same place at exactly the same time and apparently no way of determining which of them's lying."

"Mark."

"Obviously Mark, but getting a jury to buy that… We're not out of the woods yet, Doctor, not by any means."

Grace stares at the utilitarian table in front of her for a moment, trying to completely clear her mind. She thinks about Mark Fuller, about everything she's read about him, everything she's heard about him, and she tries to build a solid picture of what kind of man he really is. She sifts through her memory, too, searching for significant similarities with other suspected offenders she's encountered. She's barely aware of Grant watching her until she says slowly, "He's a narcissistic personality. Mark. If you can prove to him beyond any doubt that you've absolutely got him, he'll almost certainly make a full confession. If he thinks the game's up, he'll fall back on bragging about just how clever he's been, how he almost got away with it."

Grant looks dubious. "Intuition or experience?"

"Both," she tells him. Her mind is working very quickly now, picking up speed, making sense of complex patterns of behaviour. "He needs to feel superior. At the moment he's getting that from knowing that if he sticks to his guns there's very little you can do, but if he realises he isn't out-smarting you anymore, he'll need to find another way to feed that need. Flatter him, make him feel like he's something special, then hit him with everything you can. His own ego will leave him no choice but to re-focus. He'll tell you everything just to keep proving that he's smart."

He still looks sceptical. To say the least. "And you can guarantee that, can you?"

Grace shakes her head. "No. I can only give you the benefit of my opinion as an experienced forensic psychologist."

"All right." Grant stands up. "Anything's worth a try, I suppose. We're so close to nailing the bastard… but if we can't convince him that we've got him…"

An unexpected flash of inspiration strikes. "Have you got the CCTV from the crossing?"

He nods. "Of course, but it doesn't prove anything. Trust me, it could still be either of them."

"Ask Mark what colour the van was. Ask them both. Only one of them will have to make a blind guess."

Grant blinks. Then he smiles in appreciation. "I think I'm beginning to understand why the CCU's been so successful over the years. Don't suppose you fancy coming to work for me in CID, do you, Doctor?"

She smiles wearily back at him. "Trust me, Detective Inspector, you couldn't afford me."

-oOo-

"I'm sorry, Doctor," Powell says, and from the sincerity in his expression she thinks that he genuinely is. He shrugs a little helplessly, "Even if I could somehow manage to quietly arrange it, he won't talk to you. He's not talking to anyone, including that damn brief of his."

"Tomlinson." She sighs heavily, dejectedly. The waiting is bad enough without having to endure all the tormenting thoughts that keep running through her mind. If she's wrong about Fuller, if she's misjudged him… It's hard to comprehend how so very much could be won or lost on something as trivial as the colour of a perfectly ordinary delivery van. One tiny, initially utterly insignificant detail that could make or break an entire criminal case. If Fuller doesn't give way, if his ego doesn't push him into the confession Grant needs…

There will still be reasonable doubt, that's what Grace defiantly tells herself. Enough doubt to prevent Boyd being charged while every tiny detail of that fateful morning is minutely checked and rechecked from every possible angle. Time for more evidence to be discovered, perhaps. Maybe even time for a new witness to come forward, or for Boyd to somehow prove his innocence another way.

Boyd. She desperately wants to see him, to talk to him, if only to refute the stark look of betrayal she saw in his eyes in the split second before he bolted away from the police officers closing on him. She knows – without question – that in that moment he honestly believed she was responsible, that she had set the dogs on him. Part of her wonders if she'll ever be able to forgive him for that. Or ever be able to forgive herself for making the elementary mistake that allowed Marshall to locate them.

Powell says, "It's probably the shock, Doctor. I guess you already know that, being a psychologist. It's difficult for anyone, this kind of thing, but in my experience coppers always make very bad prisoners – whether they're guilty or not. If it was my Super in there… Christ, I can't imagine how he'd react."

She sighs. "It's not just all this. There are… other factors."

"Yeah, I know. His kid. We were told by… someone… to put a watch on the cemetery."

"Marshall."

Powell doesn't give her a direct answer, just says, "He's a bit of a bastard that one, by all accounts. Pardon my French."

"Oh, don't mind me, Sergeant. That's exactly what I called him last night. To his face."

Powell grins fleetingly in response. "Good for you."

She says reflectively, "The worst thing is, I don't even think it's personal."

"It's not," Powell gruffly replies. He lowers his voice, as if he imagines they might be overheard. "Way I heard it, he overstepped the mark once too often. Severely pissed off someone with some pretty influential friends, if you get my drift. That's why they were able to draft him in to oversee your lot at such short notice – it was that or garden leave."

"So that's what this has been all about. Trying to get himself back into the Yard's good books."

Powell nods. "That's what my boss reckons. Just between you and me."

It makes sense. Still, as much as Grace dislikes him and holds him directly responsible for the previous night's debacle, William Marshall is not currently her primary concern. She studies Powell for a moment before asking, "Do you think there's any way you could get me in to see him? Just for a couple of minutes?"

"DSI Boyd? I'm sorry. If I honestly thought he'd talk to you, I'd take the risk and see what I could do, but…"

Suddenly feeling very old and utterly defeated, Grace shakes her head slowly. "Well, that's that, then, isn't it? I might as well go home and leave you all to it. I've done absolutely everything I can."

Powell looks at her in silence for a moment. Under the harsh artificial lights the dark bruising to his face looks even worse and he now has the air of a man who is definitely not having the best day of his life. He clears his throat. "If anyone can get the truth out of Fuller, my guv'nor can. He's in there with him right now and believe me, he won't give up. You just need to sit tight for a bit longer, Doctor, that's all."

"I don't think there's much point," Grace tells him. Suddenly she's had enough. Had enough of all of it. Including Boyd and his idiotic, unfair stubbornness. She gets wearily to her feet, "I assume I'm free to leave?"

"Of course," Powell confirms with a nod.

She's about to ask him to escort her back to the public area of the building when the interview room door opens. It's Grant. And he is smiling. The muscles in her stomach clench momentarily. She doesn't need to ask the question. Grant is not just smiling, he's beaming. "Congratulations, Doctor. You were right on the money about Fuller. We have a full confession."

Relief pours into Grace so quickly that she feels light-headed. She clutches the edge of the table for support. "Oh, thank God."

"The CCTV clearly shows that the van that nearly clipped Gary was dark – medium blue according to the DVLA. Mark repeatedly claimed it was white." Grant's smile doesn't look as if it's going to ebb away any time soon. "He gambled and he lost. The minute we showed him the footage and he realised what it meant, he started to talk. To be honest, we had difficulty shutting him up long enough to caution him."

"But he's admitted it? He's admitted killing Erin?"

"He has," Grant tells her solemnly. "According to him, she was asleep when he arrived. He found Boyd's note by the bed and he woke her up to challenge her about it. They had a row… I'm sure you can imagine the rest."

"He couldn't bear it," Grace says softly. "He believes he's far superior to everyone else, and he simply couldn't bear the thought that she'd cuckolded him with another man. It wasn't jealousy, it was ego."

"I'd say that was a pretty good assessment. He was far from complimentary about her, it has to be said."

The world seems to have temporarily become an oddly surreal place. Grace hears herself ask, "And Boyd?"

"I'm about to take care of all the formalities now," Grant tells her. "My Super will have to decide if we're de-arresting him or simply releasing him without charge, but if you care to wait here a bit longer you can have the dubious privilege of taking him off our hands."

"It's really over?" she asks, not caring if she sounds as foolish as she thinks she does.

Grant nods in confirmation. His smile has become gentle, reassuring. "It's really over. For you and Mr Boyd, at least. We've officially charged Mark Fuller with the murder of Erin Jackson and with attempting to pervert the course of justice."

-oOo-