5 March 1992

"Not a very detailed statement, is it?"

"Well, there wasn't a lot she could tell us. She was grabbed from behind."

"Yeah…nothing about rough hands in this one."

"I don't think he got that far."

"Before the cavalry arrived," he looked up and met her gaze. "Lucky old Becky. You and Boyden don't exactly bring much to the party with your accounts either."

She shifted in front of him, her irritation clear. "It did all happen in a split second. We heard her scream, saw her being attacked and he ran off. It was dark and he was wearing a balaclava. I'm not sure what else you want me to put down on paper."

"Would have been better all-round if Boyden had caught him."

"Well, yes."

"Forensics?"

"She gave us the clothes she was wearing, and they've been sent off to the lab, but your guess is as good as mine as to when we might get any results from them."

He said nothing for a long moment, regarding her steadily and choosing his next words carefully. Since their heated conversation on the phone two days earlier, they had avoided one another as much as possible, no opportunity being provided to discuss their differences any further, not that he was sure he wanted to. It had been childish hanging up on her, but he had only done it because he knew he wouldn't have been able to keep the truth from his voice if they had conversed further, that truth being that he was jealous at the prospect of her being with anyone other than him. "So, where do we go from here? That's three attacks in the space of a few months, very little time between the last two."

"I suppose we could reach out to the local communities and give advice to women in the area to avoid walking alone at night."

"Surveillance?"

"It's a pretty big area and we've no idea when or where he might strike next," she said. "It would take a bit of doing."

"Well then, task for you, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"Work out a plan and a budget and I'll run it past Brownlow."

Her eyes narrowed. "I thought strategizing, not to mention budgeting, was solely your department now as acting DCI?"

"One other job they gave me; delegation. Use all those brains in that pretty head of yours and see what you come up with." He'd meant it as a kind of compliment but realised, almost immediately, that she had taken it ill-out in the way she snatched the statements from his desk. "Problem?"

"No problem," she replied sharply, before turning on her heel and walking out of his office back towards her desk.

He shook his head as he watched her go convinced, as always, that he would never understand women, least of all her. The rest of the morning was spent catching up on paperwork and trying to avoid getting cornered by Derek regarding an overdue paper on the Street Crime Initiative, something he hadn't even had the chance to consider, much less complete. The bestowing of the rank was far more pleasant than the actual work it involved. As lunchtime approached, he considered going to the pub, but glancing at all the many documents still littering his desk, quickly realised that a working lunch would perhaps be preferable, and he found himself down in the canteen carefully trying to decide which soggy looking sandwich might taste the best.

As he paid for a rather wilted look cheese salad roll, he glanced up to see Ted and Christina sat together in the far corner of the canteen, their heads close together as though they were discussing something of the utmost importance. Despite what Ted had said about having no interest in her, and his own clear feelings that she wouldn't touch the Irishman with a barge pole, he couldn't help but once again feel a sudden streak of possessive jealously burn through him. Minded to go over, he stopped himself just in time and, instead, headed back up to his office, his brain going over and over all the jumbled feelings he knew he held for her.

Ending their relationship six months earlier, or encouraging her to do it depending on which version suited him better that day, had been for her own good, to allow her to heal from everything that had happened. It hadn't been done as an opportunity for her to go off and find someone else.

He thumped the roll down onto his desk.

If a point had been reached when she felt that she was ready, she was supposed to come back to him. That had been the deal, whether it had been verbalised or not. Despite her protestations to the contrary that she had no interest in there being anyone else, the fact that she had gone out to O'Hares', the fact that she had had coffee with Boyden, regardless of how innocent she had tried to make out it was, did nothing but feed his irritation.

She was his.

Even as he heard the words internally, he remembered back to when she had been in the hospital after the stabbing, when he said the very same thing to her, and she had berated him that she wasn't his possession. It felt wrong, thinking about her that way, but he couldn't help it and yet, what did that make him? No better than the many men he had come across in his career who believed they had a hold over the person they loved.

He would never want that.

It felt uncannily like it had all those months ago, before they had acted on their feelings for one another, when he had desperately wanted her yet believed he couldn't have her. Only now, there was no Stewart in the way. There was only her sense of what she wanted for herself, and he couldn't help but still firmly believe that she wanted him that, somehow, they were still destined to be together.

The phone on his desk started to ring and he snatched up the receiver. "Burnside."

"Ooh, get you all business-like."

He softened slightly at the sound of his sister's voice and sat down behind the desk. "Yeah well, never know who's on the other end, do you?"

"Looking to give someone a hard time?"

"Always." He glanced at his watch. "You on your lunch?"

"Yeah, I was just ringing to see if you were planning on gracing us with your presence for Sunday lunch," Pat said. "I mean, it's been weeks now since any of us have seen you and Mum's beginning to think you've fled the country."

"Hardly. I've been busy, especially lately."

"Oh yeah, DCI…" Pat laughed. "Another rung up the ladder, eh?"

"Temporarily."

"For now." He smiled, thinking on how she had always been his biggest champion, even if she had thought poorly of him on occasions for the choices he had made. "So? Will you be there or not?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"Well, don't sound too excited. The boys have missed you, especially all your stories about crime and the underbelly of London."

He laughed at the thought of his nephews and the younger ones' innocent fascination with all things criminal. He'd missed spending time with them, more than perhaps he'd realised, but sometimes it was easier just to make an excuse and not have to face a barrage of questions about work, or anything else. "I'll see you on Sunday."

"Great, love you."

"Love you too." He hung up the receiver and looked at it for a long moment. Sunday lunch had always been a tradition in their family, one he had partaken of for years, only slowly backing out when work became too much or when he didn't feel like being interrogated. Pat had never asked him much about Christina, beyond the conversation they had had that Christmas Day, but he'd known she was curious and there had been times when he had thought about opening up to her, only to decide at the last minute to leave it be, unconvinced that she would understand.

In his mind's eye, he'd often seen Christina joining in those lunches, being one of the family, one of his family. It wasn't too late, it couldn't be and yet, sometimes, it felt as though the moment hadn't just passed but had disappeared into the horizon.

XXXX

"I don't feel comfortable about this."

"Oh, stop being such a whiny mare. It's not like I'm asking you to single-handedly take Mickey Owen down, am I? All I'm asking you to do is go for an appointment at a salon for crying out loud."

"Yeah, a salon where you think crime is being committed and where they already know I'm a police officer."

"You don't know that," Ted shook his head. "You only said that you thought Jimmy Mills had recognised you."

"So?"

"So, like I said before; even policewomen need to take care of themselves."

Christina sat back in her chair and shook her head. "All right, even if they don't think it's odd that I'm there, they're hardly going to do anything suspicious while I am."

"I'm not expecting you to bear witness to them specifically shifting the gear."

"So, what am I'm going there for?"

"Just to see if you do notice anything suspicious. If you see Mickey for example, or anyone else that looks dodgy hanging around. Maybe work out if there's anyone in the salon, one of the girls maybe, that might be willing to talk."

"And then what, go back again and again until I do see something suspicious?"

"Well, we'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it."

She paused, a million different worrying scenarios working their way around in her brain. It was odd. If Frank had asked her to do this, she would have done it without question, but the fact that it was coming from Ted and, more importantly, that Frank didn't know about it, made her feel increasingly uneasy. "I don't like the fact that this is all being done under the table, not officially sanctioned."

"Come on, we do this kind of thing all the time, you know that." Ted looked at her. "Or is it the fact that Burnside's not in on it that's bothering you?"

"He's the DCI now. If he shouldn't have been told before, he should be told now."

"I told you already, he'll pull the plug."

"Maybe he should."

Ted shook his head, "Do you want to progress in this department, Chris? Because, if you do, sometimes you have to go above and beyond; do what's necessary, not what's popular."

"That's rich coming from you. If you've led a career of doing what's necessary rather than what's popular, where has it got you?" His jaw tightened and she knew she had hit a nerve about his many failed quests for promotion. "Look, I'm not trying to be a killjoy…"

"No?"

"No, I'm just trying to do what's right."

"What's right is building a case against Mickey Owen, getting him off the street. Come on, you know all the things he's done, leaning on people, firebombing their homes and properties, beating up informants…he has to be stopped."

"I'm not arguing with that, I'm just…"

"Just what? Desperate for your lover's approval?"

"Stop it Ted, you know it's not like that."

"No?" he paused and raised his eyebrows at her. "He asked me about you, you know."

"Asked you what?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

"If there was something between us."

She started laughing before she could stop herself, slightly stunned at the serious expression on his face. "You're not being serious, surely?"

"I'm being deadly serious. Asked me straight out if there was something he ought to know about the time you and I have been spending together."

"I hope you put him straight!" It was Ted's turn to laugh. "What's funny?"

"The pair of you, dancing around each other like cats trying to decide who's going to pounce first. Look at you, so indignant at the thought I might have told him you and I were at it."

"What did you say?"

"I told him that was a non-starter."

"Good."

"But I did tell him that you finding someone you wanted to go out with was bound to happen at some point, and that he would need to deal with it."

She paused, envisioning the conversation in her mind, conjuring up the look that might have crossed Frank's face. "And?"

"And what?"

"What did he say?"

Ted paused, "He said that what you did wasn't his concern and that he had his own life to lead."

As he spoke, she felt a sensation of crushing disappointment begin to settle over her. It was such a casual dismissal when, deep down, part of her had ashamedly hoped that her assertion he was jealous was, in fact, accurate.

"Anyway," Ted continued, "I'm sure he's managed to find company when he's needed it, so why shouldn't you?"

She chose not to answer, already aware that it was a distinct possibility that he had bedded half of London in the last six months, despite her hoping that the truth was the complete opposite. "I suppose," she said finally.

"So," he leaned forwards, "are you going to make an appointment at the salon or not?"

"Fine…" she sighed heavily. "But if this gets any more serious, I want it made official, ok?"

"Deal," he replied. "I knew I could count on you."

"Knew you could count on taking advantage of me, you mean," she muttered.

"No," Ted got his feet and drained his coffee mug. "I leave that to those higher up."

Alone in the canteen she pondered on his words, on the whole situation and found herself realising that perhaps she and Frank needed to have a conversation, like adults, about everything that had happened and where they went from here. The last six months had to have meant something, even if, as Matthew had suggested, various people considered her to be a slag.

Perhaps they needed to put a full stop, rather than a comma, at the end of their story.

Before making her way back up to CID, she placed a call to the salon and made an appointment for an eyebrow wax at five o'clock. No-one at the other end appeared to bat an eyelid at her returning so soon but as she replaced the receiver, she couldn't help but feel a slight sense of trepidation. Back at her desk, she started working on the task that Frank had given her; preparing some sort of plan for mounting a surveillance operation. Initially, he had been in his office and she had found her gaze wandering to him from time to time, but latterly, he had disappeared and so she had been able to focus until the time had come for her to make tracks.

"Heading out?" Viv asked, as she got up from her desk and reached for her bag.

"Yeah, I'm feeling pretty tired," she replied. "See you tomorrow?"

"Of course, worse luck. Have a nice evening."

"You too." Leaving the office, she headed out of the building and to her car, glad that she hadn't met him on the way. The drive to the salon took slightly longer than she had anticipated due to the traffic and it was shortly after five by the time she pushed open the door and went inside. "Sorry I'm late," she said to the bored looking girl on the desk who barely looked at her before waving her into a chair by the window. The salon was fairly busy, but she was fairly sure that any waxing would take place in a separate room rather than in the middle of the floor and she found her gaze flitting to the closed doors in front of her. One, of course, led to the back area where she had seen Jimmy Mills and where, if Ted was correct, any dodgy dealings would be taking place. The door remained tightly closed, however, and the atmosphere in the salon seemed relaxed, which suggested that neither he, nor anyone else was there.

Ten minutes later, the same girl who had painted her nails waved her into one of the rooms, closing the door behind her, but leaving it slightly ajar. "Back again," she said casually, gesturing for her to lie down on the bed.

"Yeah," she said, "I should have got both done at the same time, but I didn't think. You're busy enough anyway."

"Always." The girl smeared the hot wax on her brows, gently pressed on the waxing paper and then ripped it off, causing her to wince. "You ok?"

"Fine," she replied through slightly gritted teeth, grateful she hadn't chosen to get anywhere else waxed. Five minutes or so later, both eyebrows had been done and, as she looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn't help but giggle at the pinkness of her face.

"Don't get it done too often, do you?" the girl said.

"Not as often as I should," she replied, handing the mirror back. "You were pretty gentle with me though….?"

"Janine."

"Nice to meet you Janine, I'm Christina."

"Yeah, I know." She pushed the door open. "That's you then."

As she slid off the bed and lifted her bag from the floor, she couldn't help but notice the door at the far end open and Jimmy step out into the salon. He closed the door behind him but not before she caught a glimpse of another man, half shrouded in shadow, who was unmistakably Mickey Owen. For a moment she stood, transfixed, as Jimmy crossed the salon floor towards the front door, seemingly not to have noticed her, until Janine gently tapped her from behind.

"You planning on taking root?"

"Sorry," she said, stepping out in the main salon just as Jimmy turned at the door and clocked her. Their gazes locked and she quickly started rooting around in her handbag for her purse. By the time she looked up again, he was gone, and she let out a slow breath as she made her way to the desk to pay. Ted would be pleased at any rate that she could put Mickey in the salon, even if there hadn't been anything suspicious about it. Perhaps she should park up round the back and watch for a while before she went home, just in case. "Thanks again," she turned back to Janine, who was looking at her slightly curiously, before pushing open the door and heading back out into the chilly evening air.

Her car was parked across the street and though there was no immediate sign of Jimmy, she hurried across to it, her breath fogging the air in front of her. Glancing at her watch she saw that it was after five-thirty, and she lifted her keys ready to unlock the door. Jamming them into the lock, she pulled the door open only to suddenly become aware of someone behind her and the heavy sensation of a body pushing against hers, causing the door to slam shut.

"Well, well, well…" a voice close to her ear said and she turned slowly, almost impossible given how tightly he was pressed against her and looked into Jimmy Mills face. "What do we have here?"

XXXX

His head was starting to hurt from hours spent staring at the pages in front of him and he rubbed his eyes and sat back in his chair. For all he wanted the responsibility that came with rank, he hated the fact that it took him away from the sharp end. There were any number of active investigations that he could have got involved with but, as he had told Christina, delegation was key. Mind you, if she came up with a reasonable idea for the surveillance operation, there would be nobody better placed to lead it than himself.

When he had come back from a completely dull and, frankly, useless meeting with Brownlow and Conway, he had found the office rather depleted with only Ted and Mike left working. Eventually, the latter had bid his farewells leaving only the Irishman, who had spent the best part of the last hour staring at his phone or pacing from one corner of the office to the other. He was no fool; there was clearly something on the other man's mind, but he'd also known him long enough to realise that he had to wait for Ted to come to him.

Finally, as the hands on his watch slipped to seven o'clock, Ted got up from his desk and came to hover in his doorway.

"Yes Ted?"

"I…uh…I need to speak to you," he said, rubbing the back of his head somewhat sheepishly.

"I thought as much. You've been loitering around here staring at the phone and generally irritating me for a good hour now," Frank replied. "So, what's your problem?"

"Mickey Owen."

Immediately, he felt his heart sink. When it came to Mickey, Ted had always had blinkers on. "Ted…"

"No, hear me out. I got word from a snout that Mickey had taken a sideways step and moved into selling drugs."

"Hardman Mickey Owen? Not his style."

"That's what I thought, but the snout was adamant that it was happening, and her information has always been good."

"Don't tell me, Roxanne." Ted nodded. "Well, that's just brilliant, isn't it? I thought you were keeping a wide berth from her after what happened the last time."

"I was, but she came to me, I didn't seek her out. Anyway, she told me that Mickey was operating out of Golds, the beauty salon on Marsh Lane, do you know it?"

"Vaguely."

"He takes delivery there and then organises for his goons to do the distribution. The only problem is, Roxanne was too scared to come forward officially, given what happened before, so I had nothing to back it up."

"Go on."

"Well, I knew I had to try and get eyes on the inside, see if there was anything in what had been said and I knew I couldn't go in so…" Ted paused. "I asked someone else to pose as a customer."

"Who?"

Ted paused. "Christina."

A million and one pieces suddenly slid into place and he couldn't decide if he was more irritated that they had gone behind his back or relieved that they definitely weren't involved. "You did what?"

"It was all above board…"

"So that's what the pair of you were whispering about the other day, was it? Why didn't you just come out and tell me this?"

"Because I knew what you'd said before about how obsessed I was getting with Mickey, with good cause," Ted replied. "And Chris is a resourceful girl. I knew she could pull it off. The night of Reid's leaving party, she went there to get her nails done."

"And did she report back anything of value?"

"She said she saw Jimmy Mills there."

"Mickey's right hand?" Ted nodded. "And?"

"And…she thought he might have recognised her. He didn't say anything, but it was just a feeling she had. Anyway, I told her that I needed her to go back for another appointment on an evening when I suspected they'd be planning to move the gear, just to see if she might clock Mickey himself, or anything else that might be happening."

"So, when is this follow up visit meant to take place?"

"Today."

"Oh, so you decided to go behind my back twice then, the pair of you. Well, that's very gratifying, I'm sure." He would have to have words with her. "So, what did Miss Marple have to report when she returned from her appointment?"

"That's the problem," Ted replied. "Her appointment was at five and she was meant to ring me straight away afterwards, but I haven't heard from her."

"What?" he looked at his watch. "It's gone seven."

"I know."

"So where is she?"

"I don't know. I've tried ringing her at home but I'm just getting her machine."

A cold sensation started in his belly and began working its way up the rest of his body. "You mean to tell me you sent her in there over two hours ago, somewhere that might be connected to Mickey Owen, and you've not heard from her since?"

"Yeah," Ted nodded. "Look, I know…"

"You don't know nothing!" he exclaimed, coming around his desk. "You set up an unauthorised operation into a dangerous criminal and you sent her in to do it without so much as a whisper to me!"

"Frank…"

"Get on to the CAD room. We need units down on the scene and a marker put out on her car. We'll need a unit to her flat too in case she's just gone home and fallen asleep…" he could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest, a thousand different scenarios playing out in his mind, the memory of finding her bleeding to death as fresh now as it had been over a year earlier. And anger, raw anger that surged through him and made him want to grab Ted by his jacket and throw him into the nearest wall. But the rational part of his brain knew that that would solve nothing. "If anything happens to her, Ted, anything…!"

"I know," the other man replied, lifting the receiver.

"No," he heard himself say, "no, you haven't got a clue."