23rd January 1989

"Oh well," Stewart said, stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth. "Better luck next time I suppose."

Christina looked up from the piece of paper in her hand which informed her, in fairly straightforward and blunt terms, that she had failed the exam and couldn't help but notice the small smile playing around her husband's lips. When the envelope had landed on the doormat earlier that morning, she had been terrified to open it, afraid of seeing the result that she was now looking at and, yet, she still couldn't understand how she had managed to fail. The paper had been difficult, but she genuinely thought she had answered all the questions well. Walking out afterwards, she had felt a sense of confidence that had clearly been misplaced. It didn't help either that Stewart seemed so pleased about her failure, even if he was trying to hide it.

"I can't believe it," she sighed, shaking her head. "I was so sure…"

"We all have off days. You probably just missed something crucial out, that's all."

"Well it must have been a bloody big thing to make me fail the whole exam."

He turned to look at her. "It's not worth getting upset about. Like I said, you can always try again. Though of course, if you do end up being pregnant, it might not be as easy."

Choosing to ignore his last comment, she stared back down at the page again, already dreading the reaction she knew she would get from the rest of CID once they heard. She would be the joke of the canteen for weeks to come. Pride goeth before a fall and all that. Not to mention the fact that Frank would probably be unbearable about it. "I'm not looking forward to telling people, especially Burnside."

"Oh, he'll already know," he replied. "Senior officers get copied in on exam results."

"What? How is that fair? Why should he know before I tell him?"

"Because he's your senior officer. Brownlow will know too, I suspect."

"Brilliant," she tossed the letter onto the table and got to her feet. "So I can expect the Spanish Inquisition from all ranks then."

"Stop worrying about it," he slid his arms around her waist and turned her to face him. "It's just not meant to be, that's all." He kissed her and she felt the brush of crumbs on her face. "I'll probably be a bit late home tonight, but I'll see you when I see you."

"Ok." She watched as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, wondering if she was being unreasonable for expecting more from him. It wasn't that she wanted him to cry with her or anything like that, but an acknowledgment, even an unreasonable one, that the markers had got it wrong, that she was absolutely sergeant material and that it was the Met's loss would have been nice. By the time she had gathered herself together and got into the car, she was late, and the morning rush hour traffic hampered her progress far more than she would have liked, resulting in her running up the stairs and into the CID office just as Frank was addressing the troops. "Sorry Guv," she said, sliding into her chair. "Traffic."

"As I was saying…" he looked her up and down briefly. "Ted and Mike are going to be in court all day today for the security van robbery and Jim's called in sick."

"Malingerer," Mike muttered.

"My thoughts exactly. But investigations don't stop because Carver's got a sore tummy so Tosh, you can take the assault last night down at the Beckwith Arms. The landlord there's a good pal of mine so make sure you give him the gold star treatment."

"Right Guv," Tosh replied, raising his eyebrows at her.

"And you…" he turned to look at her again. "You and I are going to visit an old pal."

"Old pal?"

"Yes, but I'd like a word in private first please, Constable."

Rising from her desk to follow him, Christina couldn't help but wonder if his reference was a dig at the fact that she had failed the exam, or simply his preferred method of identification. It could be hard to tell sometimes, but as she closed the door and turned to face him, she tried to remind herself that he was, in fact, her boss, and for that alone he required some respect.

"You're late."

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry. The traffic was bad."

"I don't want excuses. I want you here, on time and ready to work."

"I am ready to work."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it." He paused, looking her up and down again. "There was a letter waiting for me on my desk this morning when I got in. A letter about you."

"A recommendation I be honoured with an OBE was it?" she made a lame attempt at humour and, to Frank's credit, he at least smiled. "Yeah, I know what it said."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Gutted. I thought I'd done well."

"I know. I remember you telling us all that when you completed the exam."

"Yeah, well…" she felt her face flush with embarrassment, having hoped he might have chosen to forget her bravado. "I guess that teaches me a lesson, doesn't it?"

"It teaches you, that sometimes in this life, you don't always get what you want on the first go."

"I'll bet you made both DS and DI on the first go," she peered at him, curious as to the answer but not wanting to give him the impression that she really cared about what it was. She had heard a lot of stories about his rise through the ranks, flitting around the canteen as they had when it had been rumoured that he was going to be taking over from Galloway. Bob Cryer certainly hadn't been slow in offering his opinion on the subject at any rate. It had been no secret that a lot of officers had considered Frank to be bent.

"I did as it happens," Frank replied. "Though there were plenty people in the Met who didn't think I deserved either."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Now you're just trying to flatter me, and it won't work. You're still out of order for being late and you and I are still going out. What you're not going to do, is wallow in your own misery over one stupid exam. You can always take it again next year if you're that desperate."

"It's not a question of being desperate…"

"No?"

"No. It's a question of wanting to further my career. I don't think there's anything wrong with that personally, Guv, even if other people do." She thought once more about Stewart and his reaction to the news. It had hurt to see him so uncaring about it, almost pleased that she had failed. It was one of the first times she had really questioned their own partnership and she didn't like what she was coming up with.

"Hubby took the result better than you did then," Frank said, reading her mind.

"Well, he said much the same as you, that there's always a next time."

"And there is. You're turning into a good copper, Christina. Don't let this dampen your enthusiasm for the job."

Turning into…cheeky git. She tried to keep her expression impassive even in the face of the backhanded smear. There seemed little point in arguing that, in her own opinion, she was already a good copper. After all, what did it really matter? She was unlikely to ever change Frank's attitude towards her.

"No Guv," she settled on, "I won't."

"Right then. Five minutes and we're going. I've got to speak to Brownlow first. But that is not an excuse for you to head off down the canteen for a fry-up. This is working hours, all right?"

The hypocrisy was nothing short of incredible, but she simply nodded and turned back towards the door. "Yes Guv, understood."

XXXX

"So, she failed."

"Yes sir, she did."

"And how did she take the result?"

"She wasn't too pleased. She felt she had done better than she had."

"Yes well, failure's never really welcome, is it Frank?"

"No sir." He waited while Brownlow hung up his coat and moved over to his desk. "I had a chat with her about it though, tried to keep her spirits up. Yes, she's disappointed, but she'll bounce back."

"She doesn't really have a choice, does she?"

"No sir."

"It doesn't look particularly good on us though, having a constable fail a sergeant's exam, especially not in CID."

Frank paused and frowned, "How do you mean sir?"

"Area keep track of all those who apply and the results. It doesn't reflect well on Sun Hill if we have continued failures, at any rank."

He knew what his superior officer was referring to and yet Frank couldn't help but think that there was a certain level of hypocrisy in his words that he found hard to ignore. "I'm assuming you're referring to Ted Roach."

"Yes, I am," Brownlow sat down at his desk. "Seems counterproductive somehow for him to go forward to the inspector boards every year only to fail."

"So, you're suggesting I should disavow him of the notion of going forward this year?"

Brownlow met his gaze, "Well, I'll leave that up to you Frank. I think you know my feelings on that score."

As he made his way back to his office, Frank knew exactly what Brownlow's feelings were when it came to Ted. Though he had only been at Sun Hill six months, the feud between them was legendary, stretching back years. Ted had been on a sticky wicket on more than one occasion and it was no secret, at least not to anyone who wasn't Ted, that promotion would never be forthcoming whilst Brownlow was in charge of writing a recommendation. It did, however, rankle with him that Ted seemed to be oblivious to that and he knew the other man's morale was often low.

"You're still here then," he greeted Christina sat, as she was, alone at her desk.

"Well, you said five minutes and banned me from the canteen so…"

He glanced through the window into his office to his desk, groaning as it was with paperwork. Rank certainly wasn't everything and, in one respect, he knew she had had a lucky escape. Not that the workload of a sergeant compared with that of an inspector. He wasn't just a copper, he was a manager, faced with juggling several different balls and wearing many different hats. Sometimes, it seemed more hassle than it was really worth.

"Right then," he turned back to her. "Let's go."

XXXX

"So where are we actually going?" Christina asked, climbing into his car and putting on her seatbelt. "It's not another clandestine trip to see Alfie, is it?"

"No," Frank replied. "Though I'm sure you can put your feminine charms to good use. We're going to see Tommy Fulton?"

"What, in the Scrubs?" He nodded. "Why?"

"Because I got a whisper that he wanted to see me, that's why."

"Seems odd."

"Why? Because he coughed to the building society job?"

"Yeah, exactly." In the aftermath of the David Nelson fiasco, it had been easy to almost forget about the building society robbery and the fact that Tommy Fulton's fingerprints had been found at the scene. Though he had made no comment in his initial interview, when presented with the unassailable facts he had, shockingly, made a full confession, pled guilty at court and subsequently received a four-year sentence, all without so much as a peep of complaint. "I mean, he's banged up now so it's not as if anything he might want to tell us is going to do him any favours, is it?"

"Never turn down the opportunity to talk to a slag," Frank replied. "You never know what titbit of interesting and useful information you might get. And even if you get nothing, it's all about building connections."

"I doubt very much you're going to recruit Tommy Fulton as a snout, Guv."

"Maybe not, but then we never did track down Victor McDonald, did we? Maybe Tommy's decided it's time to give his old running mate up."

"I suppose," she nodded, though it seemed unlikely. If Fulton hadn't seen fit to cough up McDonald's whereabouts before, she very much doubted that he would do it now, but she also found herself musing on the relationships that could spring up between officers and members of the community. For all that she disapproved at times of her boss's attitude and methods, she had to admit that he had an enviable network. "I'll let you do the talking then."

He pulled into the gate of the prison and looked over at her. "Well, I'm sure if there's an opportunity for you to stick your oar in, you'll take it."

As she followed him across the car park and into the prison building, she felt herself shiver involuntarily. It wasn't that she was afraid, after all the prisoners were all behind bars, but she couldn't help but be reminded of times long past, times she would rather forget. They went through the rigmarole of signing in and putting on visitor's badges and were then led into a small room where Tommy Fulton was waiting. He greeted them warily, his eyes roaming over her, full of mistrust.

"Who's this then?" he gestured in her direction.

"This is my colleague, WDC Lewis."

"I made it clear I wanted to speak to you," Fulton said. "I didn't realise you needed to bring along a wet nurse."

She sensed Frank bristle slightly as they sat down on the opposite side of the table, but he kept his voice level in response. "Like I said, she's my colleague, and sometimes four ears are better than two, know what I mean?" Fulton frowned and looked down at the table, as though contemplating what to say next. "This is your meeting, Tommy."

"I know that." He looked up again, his gaze flitting between them briefly before settling again on Frank. "It's about McDonald."

"Who?"

"Victor McDonald, as if you didn't know."

"Oh, one of your mystery accomplices."

"Yeah, him."

"What about him?" Fulton said nothing. "I bet he's loving the fact that he's out there footloose and fancy free while you're stuck in here for the next four years." Frank paused. "Your wife been to see you?"

"He's planning another job."

"Really?" Frank raised his eyebrows. "He'd better remember and wear gloves this time then, hadn't he?"

"Got away with the last one though, didn't he, despite that?"

"Are you saying you know where and when this other job is?" Christina asked, Fulton's gaze swivelling to meet hers. "And that you're prepared to tell us?"

"You married?" Fulton asked, staring at her.

"Yes."

He turned to Frank, "You?"

"No."

"Better off…" he looked away again. "My missus has told me that's it, that's she's had enough. She wants a divorce and she's going to make sure I never see my kids again."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," Frank said, in a tone that implied he was anything but. "But what's that going to do with McDonald?"

"Well, like you said, he's footloose and fancy free, isn't he? He was just as involved in that robbery as I was, so why shouldn't he pay the price?"

"Tell us where we can find him and we can nick him," Christina said. "We've already got his prints."

"No," Fulton said. "No, I do that, and he'll know it was me. He's got friends in here and I'd like to live to at least try and have a relationship with my family when this is all over. No, you need to catch him in the act of another job and the information can't have come from me."

"All right then," Frank leaned forwards across the table. "Tell us what you know."

XXXX

"Do you trust him?" Christina asked as they made their way back to the car forty minutes later. "I mean, he could be leading us up the garden path."

"I don't trust him, but I believe him," Frank replied. "What's he got to lose by telling us any of this?"

"I don't know. Maybe he'd like us to look stupid again."

"You're very cynical."

"And you're not?"

He paused as they reached the car and considered her words, knowing that there was a least a grain of realism in what she was saying. Could they trust Fulton? Was his information accurate and how much of an idiot would he look if it all went wrong again? Sense told him to tread carefully, take things one step at a time, but stubborn pride told him that he was going to have McDonald, at whatever cost. "He's given us details of the job, so I'll feed that to some of my snouts and see what the word is. We've got a week at any rate."

"If he's telling us the truth."

"Yes, all right Jiminy Cricket, thank you for the pep talk. You know, if you ever do want to become Sergeant, you have to take a few risks sometimes. You can't always play it by the dutiful Constable book."

"Really…" she shook her head and turned to look out of the window. "Well then maybe I'm just not cut out to be Sergeant at all then."

"What did I tell you about wallowing?" he started up the engine. "I don't need another Moany Minnie on my team. I've already got Carver for that. After the shift tonight go home, get yourself dolled up, have a nice dinner with hubby and then bang his brains out. I'm sure you'll feel better after that."

She turned to look at him, her expression one of disbelief. "Is that what you would tell any of the boys to do if it had been them that had failed?"

"It would be, actually. I thought you were hot on not being treated any differently from any of them."

"I am…"

"Well then." The logic was clear as far as he was concerned. If she wanted to be treated equally, then she had to be willing to take the banter, good and bad. "Fact is, you work with a group of men."

"I worked with a group of men before you arrived at Sun Hill Guv, and…"

"And what?" he cut her off, daring her to say more, daring her to confirm what he knew was the truth. That she found his style, his attitude, his demeanour far worse than that of his predecessor. That she felt disregarded and demeaned as a woman, somehow failing to realise that he was treating her as far more of an equal than anyone else ever had.

"Nothing," she said finally.

"Good. Well then, let's go and see what we can find out about this job. I do not want egg all over my face again. The last time was bad enough." He looked at her sideways. "Even if, in the aftermath, I got to see you parading around the station in a somewhat indecent dress." Out of the corner of his eye he saw her swing to face him again, mouth opened as if to protest. Then, seemingly to think better of it, she closed it again and turned back to the window.

"Well," she said after a moment. "I'm glad you appreciated it, sir."