The background to the next couple of chapters comes from the season 6 episodes 'Middleman' and 'Corkscrew.' I don't own any of the details from those episodes.
24th April 1990
"I don't believe this. I just don't bloody believe it!"
The door of the portacabin slammed back against the wall before crashing shut and Frank threw himself down into the first available chair he could find.
"You don't believe what?" Alistair asked.
"Brownlow. He's only gone and got the Drugs Squad involved with Operation Middleman, hasn't he and now we've got some poncy liaison officer breathing down our necks poised to tell us all where we're going wrong!"
"Surely that's a good thing, having the squad involved," Alistair replied. "They are the experts, after all."
"I'm the expert on this ground, Alistair, not them. I mean what does Detective Inspector Gordon Wray know about Sun Hill and the slags who operate here anyway?"
Christina looked up from where she was sat, squashed in the corner, and frowned. "Did you say Gordon Wray?"
"Yes, why?"
"I met him once. He's Stewart's boss."
Frank paused, "You what?"
"I said, I met him once. Stewart introduced us at a party one night. Remember that day he came to the nick to bail out Billy Draper and he said he wanted to introduce me to Gordon because he had been admiring my picture?"
"Oh yeah, it's all coming back to me like a bad dream. So, you met him then, Gordon?"
She nodded, "Like I said, at the party. He seemed nice enough…"
"But?"
"Oh…" she looked back down at the crime reports she had been tasked to peruse. "No, nothing. He just seemed nice, that's all."
Frank watched her for a long moment, wondering if she would say anything further, but she kept her head bent over the task at hand, giving no signal that she could feel the intensity of his gaze. So, Wray was Stewart Church's boss. Why didn't that fill him with delight. "I suppose it could be worse then, couldn't it?"
"In what way?" Alistair asked obliviously.
"The liaison could be her husband." Christina looked up again and he found himself desperately trying to read her expression. Would she call him out for the smear against Stewart or would she say nothing? She elected to say nothing, turning back to her own work and leaving him somewhat unsatisfied. A barbed retort would have been preferable, even if to only reassure him that she was still in there, somewhere.
Ever since their conversation in his office several weeks back, there had been a noticeable change in their relationship. He knew it wasn't the first time, after all they had fought like cat and dog so many times in the past, and yet this time it felt different. There was more of a quality of sadness about it, as though a decision had been made that both of them didn't feel quite right about. And yet, he knew it had been the right decision. He had treated her differently, first one way and then the other, and the accusation she had levelled at him at the time; that he wouldn't have spoken to her the way he had spoken to Viv that afternoon, had struck a chord. Not to mention the comments Ted and Tosh had both made. Yes, stepping back had been the right decision, but he didn't have to particularly like it.
"So, what now?" Alistair asked, breaking back into his thoughts.
"Kenny Stoller's going to set up the delivery. When he gives me the nod, then Operation Middleman is on. Finally, what we've all been waiting for." It was no word of a lie, the whole pretext of the operation being to catch the drug wholesalers or the 'middlemen', the ones who always seemed to escape every drug bust. The users and pushers were always picked up by uniform, the top tier barons by the Drugs Squad and Customs, the idea now being to plug that gap and target the local factories cooking the crack that had been flooding the streets now for months. He had been waiting interminably for Brownlow to push the button and now it was finally going to happen.
"So, is DI Wray going to be going on surveillance with you then?" Christina asked suddenly.
"Probably, not that I'm ecstatic at the prospect." He paused. "How are you getting on with those crime figures?"
"It's riveting reading, I'll give you that."
"Very important work," Alistair said. "It can't all be screeching tyres and knocking doors down, you know."
"I'm aware of that, Sarge, but thank you for pointing it out," she replied tightly. "I don't suppose I'm going to see any action out of Middleman, Guv, am I?"
"Like Alistair said, you've got important work to be getting on with. Besides, Viv needs the opportunity to participate in an operation like this, and it won't take all of us." He paused as she held his gaze again before looking away. He knew she was annoyed at having been tasked with the crime figure analysis rather than being involved in the operation and he also knew that she viewed it as some sort of punishment, not that she had said as much. When he had given her the job, she hadn't asked why she had been chosen, instead she had just nodded and said she would be happy to do it, all the time her eyes telling a different story. The phone rang suddenly, and he lifted it. "Burnside." Grabbing a pen, he scribbled down the hurried details being provided by the voice at the other end. "Right, thanks. It's on," he said, slamming down the receiver. "Alistair, find Tosh, Mike and Jim and buckle up."
"Right," Alistair said, getting to his feet and grabbing his jacket. "You can man the fort, can't you Chris?"
"Oh yes, I'm more than capable of manning the fort, Sarge."
Frank opened the door of the portacabin and let Alistair leave first before turning back to her. "You be all right?"
She raised her eyebrows. "I'm working on crime figures, Guv. I very much doubt I run much risk of injury or death."
"No, I suppose not."
"Be careful."
He turned back from the door. "What?"
"I said, be careful."
His stomach flipped and he opened his mouth to say something pointed before thinking better of it. "Yeah," he turned away. "That's what I thought you said."
XXXX
Alone in the portacabin, Christina threw down her pen, got up from her seat and walked the length of the structure a few times, trying to focus. Since the renovations on the station had begun and they had all required to decamp to temporary accommodation, things had been tense. The CID office had been reduced by two thirds and they were all on top of each other all the time, fighting for space. At least with the rest of them gone she would have some peace and quiet, even if it did still rankle that she wasn't involved in the operation.
When Frank had first laid it out to them all, she had been excited. It was a real opportunity to strike at a so far untapped element of the drug trade and hopefully make a dent in the murky business. As time had gone on, however, and the start of the operation had grown tantalisingly closer, he had told her that he wanted her to work on crime figures and that she wouldn't ultimately be included. It had felt a bit like she would imagine a punch in the gut to be and part of her had been desperate to argue with him about it, to force him to give proper reasons as to why he was suddenly side-lining her. But then, she had told herself, it was what she had basically forced him to do. Maintain a distance. If she had thought, however, that the new regime would have made things seem better, she had been mistaken. To no longer be that seemingly trusted member of the team, the confidante, his favourite…it strangely hurt more than she would ever have thought and definitely more than it should.
"Stop being so stupid!" she chided herself, sitting back down at the desk. "You're twenty-nine not sixteen and he is your boss!"
"Who's your boss?" She jumped at the sound of June's voice and looked up to see her colleague standing at the door of the portacabin. "You talking to yourself in here?"
"Something like that," she laughed. "The DI's got me on crime figures."
"Ah, so no action on the operation then? Worse luck. Hey…" June stepped inside and closed the door over. "I was coming down the stairs a minute ago and there was a bloke there I didn't recognise coming out of Brownlow's office with Burnside."
"Tall, red haired?" June nodded. "DI Gordon Wray from the Drugs Squad."
"Drugs Squad?"
"Yeah, he's liaising on the operation. Burnside's not too happy about it."
"No, he didn't look it. So, do you know anything about him, Wray that is?"
"Only that he's Stewart's boss. I met him a party a few months back. He seemed nice."
"Looks nice too."
"He's also married, June, with two kids."
The other woman made a face. "They always are, aren't they? Either that or you wouldn't touch them with a barge pole, like your boss. You know he cracked onto me once when he first came here? I mean, I'm pretty sure he cracked onto all the female officers at one time or another. I tell you, there's times when I've thought I wouldn't like to be alone with him."
Christina frowned, feeling a sense of indignation rise within her. "What? Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why wouldn't you like to be alone with him?"
"Well, you know…"
"You think he might attack you or something?" She shook her head. "Don't be so ridiculous, June."
"Well, he's got a reputation, hasn't he?"
"Yeah, as a bit of a ladies' man, a player, not a rapist! Besides, he's been here long enough now, don't you think you know him?"
"I suppose…"
"Frank would never force himself on anyone. Half the time he wouldn't have to." Immediately, she regretted her words and, aware that she could feel her cheeks starting to burn, she dipped her head back down to the papers in front of her.
"Frank, is it?"
She felt the air still around them, June's question hovering between them. What she said or did in response suddenly seemed painfully crucial. The last thing she wanted was some sort of rumour going around the station that she fancied him. After all, like she kept reminding herself, she was married. She opened her mouth to respond, only for June to beat her to it. "Anyway, you've got that handsome husband of yours at home, so you don't need to be looking elsewhere, which is just as well for the rest of us. I suppose I'd better be getting on before Sergeant Penny sends out a search party for me. I'll see you later."
Alone again, she let out a long breath and ran her hands over her face, reminding herself that she needn't take every comment so personally. She was his colleague, not his wife or his girlfriend or anyone that should feel the need to defend him. And yet, she did, and couldn't help but think that she always would.
And Gordon Wray, what was he doing at Sun Hill? Why was he liaising on Middleman, and was it anything to do with the questions about Frank he had been so keen to ask her at the party?
25th April
"Gordon's been seconded over to your lot," Stewart said conversationally the next morning as she prepared breakfast. "All a bit hush-hush though. I bet Burnside wasn't too happy when he turned up.
"No," she sighed, flicking on the kettle. "He can be a bit territorial at times."
"He doesn't like to share, that's his problem. You obviously weren't involved in whatever was going down yesterday, were you?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, you were home at a decent time, and you mumbled something about crime figures before you dropped off last night. Not that I was complaining given how horny you were beforehand."
She felt herself blush at the memory of how desperate she had felt the previous night, how badly she had wanted a physical connection, "I didn't realise wanting to have sex with my husband was a bad thing."
"I said, I wasn't complaining." He looked at her over his coffee. "It's not like you to not be leading the charge next to your hallowed leader."
She paused and turned to look at him, suddenly afraid that he had perhaps guessed at what she had been trying hard to suppress. "What are you on about?"
"Well, you're practically a double act, aren't you? Anytime I've come across you at work, you've been with him."
"Meaning what?"
He paused, "Meaning nothing. It's just an observation. If there was something going down on Sun Hill ground last night, then I'm surprised you weren't part of it, that's all."
"Yeah well…" she turned back to the kettle and thinking on Alistair's words. "It can't be non-stop excitement all of the time, you know. Crime figures are important."
"Sure," he laughed, getting up from the table and moving across the room to kiss her cheek. "Keep telling yourself that darling. I'll see you tonight, though I'll probably be late."
"Bye," she replied mechanically as he grabbed his jacket and banged the front door upon leaving. She sipped her tea and ate her cereal without really thinking about anything in particular and by the time she had parked on the side street next to the station, the car park now firmly out of bounds due to the construction work, she could barely remember how she had got there. When she opened the portacabin door, she was immediately met with a heavy wall of silence, Tosh, Jim, Mike and Alistair sitting around the room, their faces like stone. "What's going on?" she asked, tossing her bag down on a vacant desk. "You all look like you lost a tenner and found a fiver. Didn't the operation go off last night?"
"It was a blowout," Jim replied.
"What, the delivery didn't go down?"
"Oh, it went down all right, and we arrested someone, Mark Duggan, only it wasn't cocaine that we found on the premises."
"What was it then?"
"Talcum powder."
She started laughing and then stopped at the looks on their faces. "Talcum powder? Seriously? But I thought the DI's snout was a sure thing?"
"Didn't we all," Mike replied.
"So…where is he? The DI, I mean?"
"In with Brownlow getting a bollocking."
She frowned, "But why? It's hardly his fault…is it?"
"Stoller was his snout," Alistair said.
"So? I thought you both interviewed him."
"We did, only the information about the raid didn't come out in the interview."
"This is like pulling teeth. So, where did it come from then?"
Alistair shifted in his chair. "The DI gave Stoller a lift home after we bailed him."
"And that's when he got the information?" Alistair nodded. "So, what you're saying is…?" she left the question hanging, waiting for someone, anyone, to pitch in and deny what she suspected the general consensus was. "You think the DI's involved somehow? You think he botched the operation? Don't be so ridiculous!"
"Is it ridiculous?" Jim asked.
She turned on him angrily, "Yes Jim, it is ridiculous! This is Burnside we're talking about."
"Exactly."
Silence descended once more, and she suddenly realised what he was alluding to. When Frank had first arrived at Sun Hill many officers, Bob Cryer in particular, had made no secret of the fact that they had suspected Frank was bent. Bob had waxed eloquently on the subject, opining that it was a mystery to him why Operation Countrymen, the Met operation to catch corrupt officers, had apparently missed Frank. It had only become clear later that Frank had, in fact, been assisting the operation, rather than ever being suspected of being a subject of it. Admittedly, at the time, she had had her own thoughts about it, knowing him then to the extent that she had, but now…now, the thought was incomprehensible.
"You're unbelievable," she said contemptuously, "all of you. There's not one of you in here that Burnside hasn't stuck his neck out for in the past and now, just because of one messed up operation, you've all decided he's bent?"
"We didn't say that," Mike said quickly.
"No, but you're thinking it." Grabbing her bag again, she turned for the door. "Honestly, you lot make me sick." Throwing open the portacabin door, she stepped outside again, just in time to see Frank and Gordon crossing towards her from the direction of the Chief Super's own quarters, the former's face like thunder. "Guv…"
"Not now," he said, moving past her.
"But…"
"I said, not now!"
Before she could say anything further, the pair of them had rounded the corner and were out of sight.
XXXX
As Frank watched Gordon disappear into the tube station to talk to Kenny Stoller, he felt his anger growing. It was bad enough that the whole operation had been a disaster and that Conway and Brownlow were breathing down his neck, but to be ordered to allow Gordon access to his snout…well it was practically a betrayal, a betrayal of everything he had ever done or ever worked for. Nobody ran his snouts but him, nobody. Pulling away from the kerb, he roared down the street, not caring who might see him and almost hoping he came across a uniformed unit desperate for a traffic stop. By the time he'd done a few laps of the area, however, he had started to calm down and on arrival back at the station, he felt almost calm. Gordon wasn't going to get anything out of Stoller, at least nothing that could blow back on him. He had done everything by the book. The information had been solid, and he had acted upon it. That was how policing worked. If anyone wanted to suggest anything else, then he was ready to rebut it.
As he climbed the steps towards the CID portacabin, the door opened and Alistair appeared, hurrying past him. "Hello Alistair, old son."
"Guvnor," the other man replied tightly, before moving quickly down and across to Brownlow's domain before knocking the door and stepping inside.
Frank watched him go, a sourness developing inside him. "Scotch ponce." When he opened the door he saw, somewhat to his relief, that the only person inside was Christina. "Where's everyone else?" he asked by way of greeting.
"You just missed Alistair. Brownlow asked to see him."
"I bet he did." He sat down and sighed heavily. "You heard what went down then?"
"I could hardly miss the atmosphere when I came in. Talcum powder?"
"Don't even get me started. Stoller's going to pay for this when I get my hands on him, mark my words."
"Where were you and Wray going when I saw you earlier?"
"Oh, Brownlow ordered me to give Wray access to Stoller!" he exclaimed, still irritated at the memory of the conversation. "He said it wouldn't look good if I leant on my own snout. They're trying to point the finger of blame at me for this and I can already read the signs."
"What signs?"
"That there's a number of folks around here who would be quite happy to see me take the fall for this, Mr Grieg for one!"
She paused, "I don't believe you did anything wrong, Guv."
"Don't you? Well, you must be the only one." She didn't say anything. "In hindsight, and I say this to you and you alone, I shouldn't have talked to Stoller on my own."
"But that's how it works with informants."
"I should have taken you with me."
"I wasn't part of the operation, remember?"
"Yeah, I remember…" he met her gaze, wanting to say that he was sorry about that, wanting to tell her that he wished she had been part of the operation if for no other reason than he would have taken her with him, would have trusted her, did trust her, more than he trusted anyone else in the department. But he elected not to say any of that. "How's it going with the crime figures?"
She smiled gently, making him aware that she knew he was deliberately changing the subject rather than really caring how she was getting on. "Oh, it's not too bad once you get into it. I know that you wanted me to give Conway a report today, but I'm guessing he'll have other things on his mind."
"Never good to miss a deadline though, is it?"
"Coming from you, that's rich," she laughed. "How many times have you ducked Brownlow when he's been chasing you for papers and reports and the like?"
"Yeah well, I'm a DI and you're a WDC. You've got more to prove."
"Thanks."
"You know what I mean. You don't want to be thumbing your nose at senior management, not at your stage in your career."
"But it's all right for you to do it at yours?"
He sighed, "If you're about to give me a lecture about maximising my own career prospects, please don't. I'm not in the mood today."
"I'm sorry," she said. "For what it's worth, like I said, I don't believe for a minute that you did anything wrong, Guv."
He met her gaze, "It's worth a lot, actually. Look, Chris…"
The door to the portacabin opened suddenly and Alistair reappeared, pausing when he saw them both. "Morning Chris. Guv, Mr Brownlow's asked to see you right away."
Frank got to his feet, a cold sensation starting at the base of his spine. He had a terrible feeling that accusations were about to be levelled at him, accusations that he and he alone would have to face, no matter what support he got from any quarter. "Thank you, Alistair."
"Guv?" he turned back at the sound of her voice. "Good luck."
"Thanks," he replied, "it means a lot."
And it did.
