Chapter One
28th July 1988
She felt stifled in her dress.
It was one of the hottest days of the year so far and whoever had organised the event had not considered the comfort and well being of the attendees. All the windows were closed, there were no fans and the only relief that could be found was waving the paper programmes in front of one's face hoping that it would create a modicum of breeze. She could feel a rivulet of sweat slowly making its way down her back and wished, not for the first time, that she had worn the blue dress instead of the green.
"It's too short," Stewart had said when she had tried the blue on that morning and paraded in front of him.
"It's just on the knee," she had protested.
"Wear the green one," he had ordered, ignoring her protestations about how the green one had sleeves and would probably cause her to melt whilst the blue one would at least allow her to be able to watch the ceremony in comfort. She knew she should have argued the toss with him or, in fact, simply told him that she was wearing the blue one and bugger whether it was too short. But she hadn't. She had acquiesced, worn the green one and accepted his compliment about how beautiful she looked with a gracious smile.
As the ceremony dragged on, name after name was read out and the outburst of applause grew shorter and shorter, she found her mind wandering back to Sun Hill. The clock on the wall behind the stage told her it was almost two o'clock and, if the information had been correct, the building society job would be about to go off. She could imagine them all, sat in their cars, watching and waiting and although she knew she was where she was meant to be, it was difficult to not wish she was with them.
"A day off?" Frank had demanded when she had told him she would miss the blag. "Who said you could have a day off?"
"Mr Conway," she had replied.
"I see...went over my head, did you?"
"No," she had sighed, really unwilling to get involved in yet another fight with him. "He approached me. He heard about Stewart's commendation and asked me if wanted the time off to attend."
"Oh I see," he'd said, looking her up and down, "quite the dutiful little wife, aren't we?"
"For bravery in the line of duty, Detective Sergeant Stewart Church."
The sound of her husband's name brought Christina Lewis back to reality and she smiled and clapped enthusiastically as he crossed the stage to receive his commendation. As he posed for the formal photograph with the commissioner, his gaze sought her out and he raised his eyebrows in a show of solidarity that made her forget the dispute over the dress and remember all the things she loved about him. Eight years since their wedding, twelve years since they had first declared themselves to each other and she knew that, deep down, she loved him as much now as she had then.
Ten more names, ten more bursts of applause and, finally, the ceremony was over. Now for the schmoozing, the part she had been looking forward to even less. She hated making small talk with superior officers, not to mention she was expected to play the proud wife on every occasion and, more often than not, keep to herself that she too was a serving CID officer. Even in the progressive nineteen eighties it was still seen as surprising.
"Second commendation in a year, eh?" Turning, she found herself face to face with Harry Grimm, one of Stewart's colleagues. "He's putting us all to shame you know."
"I'm sure it's just been a case of right place, right time," she replied, unsure really as to why she was trying to make him feel better. Harry wasn't someone she had really taken to since Stewart had joined the Drugs Squad. Unmarried, and with a slightly squinty left eye, she didn't mind admitting that he made her uneasy. When she had told Stewart this one evening, however, he had told her she was being ridiculous.
"Yes well, Stewart does have a knack of making things work out for himself." Harry lifted two glasses of champagne from a passing waitress and passed one to her. "Must be hard for you, constantly living in his shadow."
"Yes," she replied, downing half the glass in one go and suddenly remembering another reason why she didn't like him. "It's absolutely terrible."
XXXX
He was pissed off.
The job hadn't gone exactly as it was meant to, at least not according to the so-called reliable information they had received three days earlier. Instead of three blaggers there had been five, instead of it all kicking off at two o'clock it was fully a quarter to three before anyone showed up. Not to mention there was a second car waiting in the alleyway behind the building society that had allowed three of the suspects to escape. Now all he was left with was Peter Milton, seventeen if he was a day and clearly in way over his head, and Tommy Fulton, who knew the score and would enjoy every syllable of 'no comment.'
It was not the result Frank Burnside had been hoping for.
Three weeks he had been at Sun Hill and this was supposed to have been his first big collar since taking over as DI. Something to impress those upstairs and now it looked as though he might just end up with egg on his face. He knew whose fault it was and there was no way he was going to let it pass without cracking a few heads.
"Ted, get in here!" he bellowed, not even bothering to leave his desk or open the door. Given his desk was wedged practically right under his nose, he knew the Irishman wouldn't be able to pretend not to hear him. Wearing a look of sheepishness mixed with arrogance, a look it seemed only Ted could pull off, he opened the office door. "Have you gotten hold of your scroat of a snout yet?"
"No," Ted replied, "I'm guessing he's trying to avoid me."
"Well at least he's got some sense. What the hell was he playing at giving you that duff information?"
"It wasn't entirely duff."
"Oh yeah? You enjoy wasting your time on one of the hottest days of the year sitting in a Fiesta do you?"
"At least the job went off. It wasn't as if we were sat there for nothing," Ted protested.
"We might as well have been," Frank said. "A seventeen year old kid and Tommy Fulton does not a result make!"
"The kid might talk, given the right persuasion."
"He'll be too scared of Fulton to open his mouth and Fulton's not going to say anything, is he? He'll have that slimy brief doing the talking for him. Not to mention we've got no idea who else was in on the job or where they even are! Your snout should have known about the second car."
"Well when I finally catch up with him, I'll make sure he's aware of that fact," Ted replied impatiently. "What do you want me to do? I can't magic him out of thin air."
Frank sat back in his chair and sighed heavily. "Derek Conway is going to be all over me for this. I promised him a cast iron result."
"You should know better than that."
"Watch your tone," Frank said sharply. "A few more bodies might have been helpful if uniform had been prepared to put themselves out a bit. Not to mention, if madam hadn't been away hobnobbing with the great and good."
Ted smiled, "Oh I'm pretty sure if you asked her she would say she would rather have been here."
"Doesn't enjoy being part of the limelight?" he asked acerbically.
"Well that's just it, isn't it? It's not her limelight." Ted turned back to the door. "I'll get Jim to check whether or not Fulton's brief's arrived. The kid said he didn't want one, so do you want to start with him?"
Frank threw his pen down onto the desk. "Why not? Nothing better to do."
XXXX
"What's your new boss like?" Harry asked, lifting another glass of champagne, his fourth at least, and shrugging when she indicated she didn't want another one. "I hear he's a bit of a bastard."
"He takes a bit of getting used to," Christina replied diplomatically, glancing around to try and locate Stewart.
"Likes the ladies too," Harry raised his eyebrows suggestively.
"Well I doubt I fall into that category." Indeed, nothing could be further from the truth. To say that she and Frank didn't get on was an understatement. Everything she did seemed to rub him up the wrong way and everything he said made her want to punch him in the face. Something in the way that he looked at her, and not with admiration, was seriously making her reconsider whether Sun Hill was still the place for her.
"You're not bad looking."
"I'm also married, Harry," she said, a shudder going through her and was grateful to see Stewart walking towards them.
"I don't think that matters to Frank Burnside."
Curiosity slightly piqued, she was about to ask him what he meant when Stewart's arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her into him for a kiss, an action she would have welcomed had it not been for the fact he was sweating profusely under his suit and his breath held the acrid taste of beer. "Hope you've been looking after my wife, Harry."
"Of course."
"Fancy a few jars down the pub?"
Harry's face lit up, "Do you really have to ask?"
Stewart turned to her, looking at her with the familiar expression he always wore when he was going to ask her permission for something he had already decided to do regardless. "You don't mind if me and the lads go for a few to celebrate, do you?"
"No, of course not," she replied, somewhat relieved at the prospect of escape. "I might just pop back to the nick and find out how the building society job went."
"I thought you had the whole day off?"
"I do, but it might win me some brownie points with Burnside if I show my face and you know how much I'm in need of those."
"Fine," Stewart said tightly, quickly removing his arm. Christina knew she had touched a raw nerve but rather than feel apologetic, she found herself merely irritated. It had been six years since she transferred from uniform and still he would prefer her to be pounding the beat in a hat clutching a handbag. It clearly wasn't enough that he outranked her and that he had a coveted spot in the squad. "Would you rather I simply went home and waited for you?"
"Well I can't deny that the thought of you naked and turned on in our bed waiting for me gives me a bit of thrill," Stewart replied, ignoring the curtness of her tone and speaking loudly enough to raise Harry's eyebrows again. "But if you feel you have to go and kowtow to Frank Burnside, you do that." Without waiting for a further response, he gestured to someone standing behind her and, with a quick kiss to her cheek, he was gone.
"Fine," she said to no-one. "That's just...fine."
XXXX
The boy was nervous, but he was doing a fairly good job of hiding it. Despite being asked again, he had refused the services of a lawyer and seemed happy to go into interview completely unprotected. This unnerved Frank slightly, but as Ted pushed the tapes into the machine and it beeped into life, he decided simply to plough on.
"Taped interview with Peter Milton on Friday 23rd July 1988. Officers present are Detective Inspector Burnside and Detective Sergeant Roach." He sat forward. "Can you state your full name for the tape please Peter?"
"Peter John Milton."
"And your date of birth?"
"16th March 1971."
"So you've not long turned seventeen Peter, is that right?" Peter nodded. "Now you've been cautioned already Peter, but I'll just remind you that you do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so but anything you do say may be given in evidence, do you understand?" Peter nodded again. "Good. Now you're quite sure you don't want a solicitor?"
"I don't want one," Peter said hurriedly.
"That's fine," Frank said. "So, what can you tell us about the robbery at the Canley Building Society earlier today?"
Peter looked away. "Nothing."
"Well we caught you there," Ted said. "Coming out, wearing a balaclava and carrying a baseball bat."
"So?"
"So, I'm not one for being in the building society often, but I'm pretty sure those aren't what one usually wears." Peter said nothing. "What were you doing there?"
"Do you know Tommy Fulton?" Frank asked, and Peter started slightly in his chair. "I'll take it by your reaction that you do. You know we caught him at the building society too? Wearing a balaclava like you, only he had a shotgun instead of a baseball bat."
"So what?"
"So, maybe you're not as involved in this as the others," Frank said. "You only had a baseball bat. Maybe you were just supposed to stand by the door and look threatening. Maybe that's why you didn't have a shotgun. I mean, it sounds plausible, doesn't it?"
"Does to me," Ted said. "What do you think, Peter?" The boy shrugged. "What about the others that got away?"
"What others?"
"There were three other men involved in the robbery," Ted said, "but they managed to escape. If you were prepared to give us their names..."
"Why would I do that?" Peter asked, clearly mustering up as much bravado as he could.
"Might help when it comes to sentencing," Frank said. "The judge would be pleased to hear that you'd been helpful." Peter muttered something under his breath. "I'm sorry Peter, I didn't quite catch that."
Peter sat forwards in his chair, "I said, get stuffed."
XXXX
"Well that went very well," Frank said as Bob Cryer locked Peter Milton back in his cell. "So much for helpful cooperation. Speaking of which..."
"I'll try calling him again," Ted said. "Failing that, I'll take a trip to his gaff. What do you want to do about Fulton? His brief's in the front office."
Frank checked his watch, "Hours left on the PACE deadline yet. Let's leave him to stew a bit longer." A door banged behind him and, turning, he saw Christina coming down the corridor towards them. "Well, look who it is. Is it tomorrow yet?" he asked, glancing at his watch, "only I thought I had a bit longer before I had to see you again."
"Very funny," she said. "Stewart and his mates were all heading down the pub so I thought I'd come and see how things went this afternoon."
"Dressed like that?"
"Well I wasn't going to go home and change. So...how did it go?"
Frank shook his head, "You fill her in, Ted. I'm not sure I can bear it."
"That bad?" Christina asked as he took the stairs two at a time away from them. "I thought your information was solid?"
"So did I," Ted replied. "Only it turns out that there were more people involved than we were led to believe and three of them got away."
"Oh dear."
"To say he's pissed off is putting it mildly. Anyway," he looked at her. "Good day was it?"
"Oh, yes it was lovely," she lied. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"I doubt it. Keep your head down or go home. I know which one I would recommend."
He disappeared into the toilets so Christina climbed the stairs to CID. She should, probably, have just turned around and gone home as per Ted's suggestion, especially since she was technically on annual leave. But when she had run out the door the previous night, her in-tray had been overflowing so she knew it wouldn't hurt to take a quick look.
It was a mistake. The office was empty save for Frank who was standing at her desk going through her tray. It wasn't the first time she had seen him do it and she knew why.
"Lot of work to be done," he said, as she was turning to head back down the stairs. "Problem with prioritising?"
"No Guv," she replied. "I've just been really busy, that's all. I was in court two days last week and..."
"And out socialising today," he finished for her.
"It was hardly..." she broke off. Her thoughts about the day were none of his business. "I didn't really have much choice about today."
"No?" he turned to look at her. "Well I suppose he would have taken the day off too if it had been you receiving the commendation. There's statements in here that go back to the Melton Street assault."
"I know..."
"They should have been with CPS two weeks ago."
"I know..."
"Something tells me, that you've not been pulling your weight, Constable. Something tells me that you've been coasting along, quite content with your lot. Something tells me, that Roy Galloway let you get away with far more than he should have."
"That's not fair," Christina argued. "Not to mention it's not true."
"But then I suppose, being the only woman in CID must be difficult. People always thinking you should be in uniform, back on the beat. Always thinking you're never going to be as good as the boys..."
"I am as good as the boys and I have always pulled my weight!"
"Well right now, it's not good enough!" Frank stepped closer to her. "When Derek Conway offered me this job and I asked about who would be working under me, he told me that you were an asset to the team. Sometimes I wonder. For the record, I am not Roy Galloway, so whatever favours you got from him, you won't get from me. You do your job or you piss off." He looked her up and down in that way that made her want to scream. "Maybe you'd be better off back in uniform. Or maybe your talents lie elsewhere. Like being at home and pushing out a few kids."
"And everyone told me that you were a womanising, patronising, conniving bastard but I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt!" she snapped before she could stop herself. "Sometimes I wonder! Maybe if I flattered you ego and flirted with you a bit more you might get off my back!"
"Don't flatter yourself darling. I don't need the Drugs Squad's cast offs." He stepped back. "I want those statements with CPS before you leave tonight, annual leave or no annual leave. Can you manage that?" Indignation choked her, preventing her from doing anything beyond nodding. "Good. And we'll just put this little outburst down to PMT, shall we?"
"Bastard," she muttered as he retreated to his office and closed the door. "Utter sodding bastard."