We didn't lose the game; we just ran out of time

Rob scratched behind his ear with his pen as he stared at the rather pointless and utterly boring report in front of him about dress codes. For some reason he was expected to firstly care about this and secondly turn it into a memo to pass around the departments he was responsible for. Sighing, he leant back in his chair. His mind was not on the job today. To one side of his desk was another report he was meant to be looking at, this one into overtime. No. That was not getting looked at today. He was waiting for a call to oversee a series of interviews in Operation Firefly; but that wouldn't come through until they'd actually arrested the buggers. There were a number of other things that he probably ought to start dealing with before his in-tray actually took over his desk. Pulling himself up slightly, he flicked a few keys on his keyboard to pull up a screen full of names. Frowning as he scrolled down he recognised a number of names that he would not want to meet again; several that wouldn't want to see him within a thousand year timeframe; some that he was sure were dead; and at least six that he wouldn't dare put Sandra in the same interview room as, let alone induct them into her team. He turned away from the screen to lift his coffee to his lips, looking back he almost spat the liquid over the screen as he realised his cursor rested over the name Don Bevan. Well, it had been his idea, hadn't it? Smiling and shaking his head he picked up his mobile as it rang.

"Hello, Strickland," he closed down the database. "Ok, I'll meet you down there."

He was not about to inflict Don Bevan on Sandra again. But he was sure that if finding a replacement for Brian was this hard for him; it was going to be damned near impossible for her. That, if he thought about it, was probably why he'd thrust that memo about Dawson and the murder squad under her nose yesterday. Why was it that as soon as something had to be done, all you ever want to do is hide under a rock until it goes away? UCOS was breaking apart, he knew that. Every rational fibre in him knew that he had to act, and act quickly to hold together one of the most successful MET departments; a department under his own remit too. In an ideal situation he would be able to extricate Sandra from the unit, protecting her legacy and piece of mind and encouraging her to take on the challenge of the murder squad. Which was something she could do with both hands tied behind her back and blindfolded. Gerry might stay if Steve did; but to ensure that, he had to find Brian's ideal replacement last week. Added to which, both men would be more inclined to stay if Sandra was still at the helm. Robert sighed as he picked up his keys and phone, placing them in his jacket pockets. There was something else on his mind too, something else that he had to do before Brian left.

Meanwhile in UCOS the unlikely centre of Robert Strickland's thoughts punched the air. "Yes! Of course!"

"What?" Gerry looked up from his computer in confusion as Brian beamed in comprehension that he was sure that he, Gerry, would not share for at least ten minutes.

"This quotation!" Brian stepped deftly round his desk and walked to the white board, paper in hand. "Sandra!"

Scratching her head, Sandra entered the main office. She crossed her arms. "What is it Brian?"

"This quotation!" Brian explained excitedly. "It's on the map, here, corresponding to the death of Dr. Marion Parks in 1985. It's a quotation from Vince Lombardi –"

Gerry clicked his fingers, "American football coach, right?"

"Yeah," Brian acknowledged. "He lectured in Latin, Physics and Chemistry…"

"Brian…" Sandra groaned as her head began to cloud.

"Sorry, yes," Brian corrected himself. "Anyway, this 1985 death was the last one before Alberts in 1987. Parks was present at each of the other engagements."

"Are you saying, they knew each other, I mean, knew…" Gerry frowned pointing at the board with his pen.

Brian nodded. "I think so. And, all these quotes must be significant in some way…"

"Hang about, there's a statement 'ere from that '85 death," Gerry adjusted his glasses and found the sheet he was looking for before reading out loud: "Dr. Parks spent a great deal of the evening in the company of the Professor from Hull, I'm sorry, I don't know his name. The first thing I knew of her death was when my husband heard it on the radio the next day. We'd left early, you see, the talk was rather…morbid. Sounds to me like there's a lot of people at these things who don't really know each other."

"And then there's the quotation itself," Brian enthused. "Lombardi was a great motivator, frequently quoted for inspirational sayings. And this wasn't an inspirational quote, it was an apology without apologising. What if, these two had been meeting each other at symposiums and conferences over the years, waiting for a time when they could be together…when did Alberts separate from his wife? Two weeks before the dinner."

"I don't… no hang on," Sandra frowned, forcing her energy into concentration. "Are you saying he left his wife for this woman then killed her?"

Brian shrugged.

"Right, where's Steve?" Sandra closed her eyes.

"Chasing up files from archives," Brian hesitated by the board, marker in hand. "Of course, we still don't know who wrote these on there."

"Have you sussed out the significance of these other quotes to the victims?" Gerry sniffed. His hangover was nothing compared to Sandra's by the look of her as she perched on the edge of Jack's old desk looking decidedly queasy.

"Not yet," Brian admitted.

"Cross reference the victims to Parks," Sandra sighed heavily. "If this was a team game…"

"Or a love story," Brian provoked as he sat back at his desk.

"What?" she asked.

"The quotation for Alberts death," Brian pointed back toward the board. "I used everything you gave me. It's part of a longer quotation." He picked up the notepad he'd been working on. "When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say 'I used everything you gave me.' What if Dr. Parks was the one behind the other deaths, the planning and so forth."

"Yeah, and Alberts was just there to add a little literary flavour to each occasion?" Gerry added.

"I think it was something deeper," Brian spoke gently. "If it's right that these two danced around each other for ten years, only meeting each other to kill…"

"Ok, well that's kinda weird that they killed themselves then," Sandra said slowly rubbing her forehead as the office lights bore into her eyes, making the world spin again. "What reference points do we have for Parks? Who can we talk to that knew her?"

"Er…" Gerry lifted up his notebook and shifted his glasses again. "Sister, pathologist. Works down our labs."

"Right, you go find Steve then go talk to her. Brian, can you keep looking at those quotes, see if you can't find some sort of pattern."

"Where are you going?" Gerry asked as she had one hand on the side door.

"To throw up," she muttered.

"Can't stand the pace," Gerry grinned. She'd been keeping pace with him well last night. She always did, though. That was why he was so glad to have her as a friend. He knew there weren't going to be as many nights like that anymore. They had, without meaning to, run out of time. As he nodded to Brian on his way to find Steve, the words of Lombardi rang in his head. Life was a game they weren't any of them going to lose any time too soon, he hoped, but their time together was running out.