21 December 1990
"It's too late Guv," Tosh's voice came back over the airwaves. "He's dead."
Frank held the radio in his hands, feeling the dead weight of it, as his heart sank to the floor. When his snout had given him the tip off the previous evening that Wheelan was on to Powell's whereabouts, he had organised for armed backup to keep a watch on the house, a wise move, it had turned out, as two gunmen had proceeded to break in. They had been quickly overpowered and he had been confident that was it; that they had foiled the plot and Powell was safe. How was he to have known that it had simply been a decoy and that the real killer had been waiting for the moment Powell left the safe house to travel to court?
"Are you and Viv all right?"
"Yes Guv, we're fine."
"All right, I'm on my way."
He clicked the radio off and tucked it into his pocket before making his way out of the station to where he had left his car. The safe house was only a few miles away and the traffic was light, despite the poor weather. By the time he arrived, an ambulance had been called and there were a number of police cars dotted in the street. Tosh and Viv were sat in the back of the ambulance, coats around them, both looking thoroughly miserable.
"Viv…Tosh."
"Guv," Viv replied. "There was nothing we could do. It was all over in seconds."
"I know, don't worry. None of this is your fault." He turned to Tosh. "I take it that's his blood and not yours."
Tosh looked down at the crimson spread across his shirt, "Yeah, it's his."
"It just came out of nowhere," Viv said. "One minute he was standing by the car and the next…"
"We let him down," Tosh said.
"We did everything we could, Tosh," Frank replied.
"Did we? Did we really?" The other man met his gaze. "You knew something was going to happen. You as much as admitted it when you came here last night."
"Yes, I knew, and I thought those two blokes who smashed the door in, armed with guns was it. I didn't know there was more to come."
"We should have had more back-up."
"Yeah, well…" Frank shifted uncomfortably, well aware that that would no doubt be the subject of investigation and criticism in due course. "What's done is done."
"He should be alive," Tosh said, glaring at him.
"What would you like me to do? Wave a magic wand and bring him back?" Frank shook his head. "You'll both need to write up statements, then you can head home. But not a word to anyone, understood?"
"Yes Guv," they chorused.
"Good," he turned around to see Powell's covered body being lifted onto the stretcher and carried towards the undertaker's van. The shit was going to hit the fan over this, he just knew it. As he drove back to the station, he though back to the evening before when he thought he had sorted it. He had raced back to his flat, hoping against all hope that Christina would still be there, but the place had been empty, the rumpled sheets, dishes in the sink and lingering scent of perfume the only signs that anyone had been there at all. He had gone back to bed and lain in the darkness thinking about her until sleep had claimed him. He had been intending to seek her out first thing, to try and talk to her about what had been said the previous night, but the news from his snout that the hit was still live had put paid to all of that.
He walked along the corridor to CID, praying that Reid wasn't waiting for him, but was left unrewarded as the door to her office suddenly opened and she appeared in front of him. "Ah, Frank, there you are."
"Ma'am."
"Terrible business."
"Yes Ma'am, I've just come from the scene. Viv and Tosh are both all right but…well…it's a bit of a mess down there."
"Yes…I've already had Mr Brownlow on the phone to me about it. He's going to want a debrief later about what happened."
"I thought he might."
"It might be helpful if you were able to put something in writing for him. Any investigation into what happened is going to be over his head, but I think he would appreciate having something to work from when the inevitable questions start rolling in."
"Yes Ma'am."
"Right, thank you. If you could have it with me as soon as you can, I'd like to look it over first, make sure that it reads coherently."
He wasn't sure if she was deliberately having a dig at him or not, but given the circumstances of what had happened, he felt it best to bite his tongue just to be on the safe side. Retreating to the sanctity of his office, he started to put pen to paper, engrossed in the task of reliving all of his decision making until a soft tapping at the door roused him and he looked up to see Christina hovering in the doorway.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hi."
You look like hell."
"Let's just say I'm not feeling too clever this morning. You heard about Powell?" She shook her head. "Taken out as he left the safe house to go to court."
"What?" her eyes widened, "How?"
"Sniper. God knows where he was hiding, but he got a clean shot." He shook his head. "And there was me taken in by a pathetic attempt made earlier in the evening. Two blokes broke in, armed with shooters. They were easily overpowered, and I thought that was it. I sent the armed response officers home. I didn't know it was just a cover for what was to come."
"Oh no…"
"Yeah…and now I've got to present Reid with a written analysis of exactly what happened." He gestured to the paper in front of him.
"Well, I'll leave you to it," she said, turning away and heading back to her desk. He made a move to get up, to stop her, but, just then, some of the others came into the office and the moment was lost. In any event, he wasn't entirely sure what to say to her.
An hour later and, satisfied that he had explained the situation as best he could, he found himself knocking on Kim's door, a few seconds passing before she bade him entry.
"My report, Ma'am," he placed it down on her desk. "Everything pertinent should be there."
"Thank you, Frank," she replied. "I'm sure Mr Brownlow will want to see you later. Can you make yourself available?"
"Of course."
"Good, I'll let you know."
He had never felt more dismissed in his life but, once more biting his tongue, he left her office, this time heading downstairs and out into the biting winter wind that threatened to freeze the very breath in his throat. He didn't care about Powell, not really. One dead villain was as good as the next. But he did care that he might somehow be made the scapegoat for it. Hurrying to the end of the street, he fished in his pocket for some change and stepped into the telephone box, dialling her extension number.
"CID, WDC Lewis speaking."
"It's me. Can you get away?"
"Uh…" he imagined her looking around the room to see who might get suspicious if she simply upped and left. "I suppose so."
"My place."
"No, I don't think that's a good idea."
He paused, "Where then?"
"Tony's Café, on Monkton Street, ten minutes?"
It wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind, but it would have to do. "Fine, ten minutes."
XXXX
He was sitting by the window when she arrived, and she could see by the look in his eyes that he wished she had acquiesced to go to his flat instead of a more public venue.
"Did anyone ask where you were going?" he asked, as she slid into the seat opposite him.
"I told Jim I was going out on enquiries, but that was all I said."
"So how come you didn't want to go to my place?"
"Why do you think?" she replied. "I reckon we need to talk more than we need to go to bed."
"I didn't invite you back there for that."
"No, of course you didn't. Come on Frank, I can read you like a book. Not to mention the fact that I'm very easily influenced right now. I doubt I would have been able to resist you." She paused. "Are you all right?"
"Not really," he admitted. "This thing with Powell…"
"It wasn't your fault though, surely?"
"You know what Brownlow's like. He'd throw any one of us under the bus if it meant saving his own skin. And as for Miss Reid…well I haven't got her measure yet. I wouldn't put it past her either to offer me up as some sort of sacrificial lamb."
"I think you're getting ahead of yourself."
"Am I," he retorted harshly.
She sat back in her chair, "Yes, you are and you're taking it out on the wrong person."
"I'm sorry," he sighed, reaching for her hand across the table. "I don't mean to take this out on you. It's just that…when something like this happens, everyone closes rank. You're not allowed to talk about it in case you taint any investigation. You have to follow the rules."
"I've never really had you down as someone who cared much for the rules."
"No, I suppose not." He stroked her palm with his fingers. "I suppose I should be used to that by now, keeping things to myself."
She felt a rush of pure affection towards him, recognising what he was saying and realising that there was a grain of truth in it for her too. How many times had she wanted to talk to Stewart about work related matters only for him to shut her down either because he wasn't interested, or his own work took precedence? "You never spoke to your ex-wife about work?"
He met her gaze, "I told you a long time ago that she didn't understand. I suppose I tried to make her, in the beginning, but she just didn't get it, especially once I made sergeant and had more responsibility. It just became easier to keep it all to myself."
"I understand."
"I know you do."
"You can't do anything about what happened to Powell, and the decisions you made were ones you made for the right reasons at the time. No-one can hold that against you, not even the DCI."
"What do you think of her?"
"Well…it's different, having a woman in charge, but I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing, do you?"
"Suppose not," he replied, in a tone that suggested otherwise. "Anyway, I didn't really ask you to meet me so as we could talk about work. I think we need to talk about last night, don't you?" She waited, knowing that he expected her to speak first and yet to keen to hear whether or not, amidst all that had subsequently happened, he had conducted any self-analysis about his own behaviour. "I suppose I should apologise."
The fact that he had couched in that language irritated her, as though he somehow expected her to fall on her sword and shoulder all of the blame. "You suppose?"
He looked at her in surprise, "All right, I'm sorry."
She drew her hand back, "I don't really think that you are."
"Oh, come on…"
"No, you come on," she leaned forward across the table. "I understand how you feel about me; I feel the same way about you but I'm the one who's married. I'm the one who has to make all the difficult decisions here and I've already told you that I'm going to make them, but you constantly having a go at me…"
"I did not have a go at you. All I said…"
"You said you didn't want me going to Leicester."
"I don't!"
"Fine, but I already told you that I was going, that I didn't have a choice and that once Christmas was over, I would look at what I was going to do next."
"And what are you going to do next?" he asked pointedly. "How do you see life in 1991 panning out, Chris? You said you saw a future for us, so I assume that means you're planning on leaving him."
"Yes."
"When?"
Though she knew he had every right to ask, she felt uncomfortable at being interrogated about her plans. Yes, she knew she had to leave Stewart, there was no other way, but there hadn't really been time over the last few days for her to seriously think about the mechanics of how to do it, or when to do it. "After the New Year."
"January? August? December?"
"You have no right to pressure me like this!" she retorted, growing angry. "This is a decision I have to make because it's right for me, not you!"
"But you are leaving him for me?"
"I'm leaving him, yes…" she ran her hand through her hair, suddenly aware of the nagging voice that had been at the back of her mind for some time now. "But I have to do it for me, not you." He said nothing. "Frank, I've been with Stewart since I was sixteen, lived with him and his family since I was seventeen. I've never been with anyone else; I've never been on my own…I don't even know what that's like."
"You don't need to. Believe me, Chris, it's not much fun half the time."
"Besides, you're not thinking practically," she said. "If I leave him for you, then everyone is going to know about it."
"So?"
"Don't be so dismissive," she said, well aware that he was deliberately avoiding what she was trying to say. "You know as well as I do what the rules are regarding officers at the same station. For God's sake, we've just seen Gordon Wray tossed out and over to Hendon on the strength of his affair with June!"
Frank sat back in his chair, "We can hide it."
"How?"
"The way we're hiding it now. Nobody knows anything's going on between us."
"Frank, it's been, what, five…six days? And all we've done is have sex a couple of times. It's a lot easier to hide something like that than it is to hide a proper relationship. I just…I just need to make the break away from Stewart and get my head straight before I jump headlong into anything else."
"Oh, I see. And in the meantime, I do what, exactly? Wait around hoping you'll turn up at my door every now and again needing a tumble in the sheets? Provide a five-star service whenever you feel the urge?"
"Why not, it's what you're good at, isn't it?" The words had left her mouth before she could stop them and, immediately, she regretted them. "I didn't…I didn't mean that the way it sounded…"
"Yes, you did," he pushed his chair back with a screech, a hurt expression on his face. "Anything that moves, remember?"
Before she could say anything else, he stormed out of the café.
24 December
She didn't know how it had rolled around so quickly.
Christmas Eve.
In a few hours she and Stewart would be on their way up to Leicester and the very thought filled her with dread. She had been close to tears the previous night as she had lain in bed listening to Stewart snoring and contemplating what was before her. They weren't due back until the 2nd. Eight days. Eight whole days of trying to pretend that they were happily married and that nothing was wrong. Eight whole days of being away from the one person who gave her hope that life didn't need to continue in the way that it had been.
The content of the conversation they'd had three days earlier still hung in the air between them, unresolved and hitherto unmentioned. When she had returned to the station, he had been nowhere to be found and, in the days that followed, their interaction was minimal and laced with undertones. At one point, he had spoken to her so dismissively that Mike had queried if they'd had some sort of falling out.
"No," she had replied. "You know what he can be like."
"Yes, I know," he had mused. "Still, at least it's nearly Christmas."
Despite the veil of hostility that shrouded them, she couldn't help but feel desperately unwilling to actually say goodbye to him and, all day, she had tried hard to avoid any talk of finishing work or her travel plans. It was almost as though, if she just didn't think about it and didn't mention it, it might not happen. But as her time for leaving grew closer, she felt a hard knot of anxiety form in her stomach and her distraction caused her to mistype several statements that all had to be redone. Finally, when she knew she could put it off no longer, she took a deep breath, rose from her chair, and made her way into his office.
"I've done the statements for the Potter case, but I can't see CPS being interested in them until after Christmas. But at least they're done," she hovered in the doorway. "I'm...I'm pretty much finished up now so...is it ok if I go?"
"Sure" he replied, getting up from his desk. "What time do you need to be on the road?"
"Four at the latest."
"Well, we wouldn't want to keep Stewart waiting, would we?"
"Please don't..." she said, stepping fully into his office and lowering her voice so that no-one else would hear. "Please don't make this any harder than it is."
"Why not? It's killing me." The pain was evident on his face, and she hated herself even more for causing it, though she still believed that she was right.
"Do you think it's any easier for me?"
"So, don't go."
She sighed, "We've had this conversation, Frank, I have to go."
"No, you don't. Tell him you're leaving him, get it over with."
"I can't..."
"You can, you just don't want to."
"I..." she broke off, knowing that at least part of what he was saying was true. She didn't want to cause the hurt that she knew her leaving would bring. She didn't want to be the one labelled as the instigator of the end of their marriage, even though she knew Stewart himself had taken that step months earlier with the beginnings of his behaviour. Before she could say any more, however, Mike and Jim came into the office talking and laughing loudly. "I can't do this right now, ok? I need to go." Turning she moved back over to her desk, gathered up the loose papers and threw them into her tray. There was nothing that couldn't wait until after the holidays.
"You coming to the pub?" Jim asked as she swung her coat over her shoulders.
"No, sorry. Have one for me though."
"She's got to get to Leicester, Jim, like a good little wife," Mike said. "Make sure to get well and truly pissed Chris, you deserve it after the few months you've had."
"Funnily enough, getting drunk doesn't hold the appeal it once did," she replied lightly. "Have a good one, though. Bye Guv, Merry Christmas." Without so much as glancing back to see Frank's response, she hurried out of the door and down the corridor towards the back stairs. Once down and out into the yard, she could get into her car, drive away and that would be it. Merrily calling out Christmas greetings to everyone she passed, she was almost out of the custody entrance and at her car when she heard him call her from behind.
"Wait." He hurried to catch up with her, "I said, wait!"
"I don't have time for this, Frank, I told you." She dug in her bag for her keys. "I need to get home."
"Look at me."
"I don't..."
"Look at me!" he took hold of her arms, causing her bag to fall onto the ground. "Now I'm not going to get to see you for the best part of a week which, given what's happened between us, seems a very long time, so the least you can do is hear me out!" She didn't say anything, glad of the fact that the yard was empty. "I'm sorry if you feel like I've been pressuring you. I never wanted you to think that. All I wanted you to know was how much I love you, how much I want to be with you. I'm sorry if I'm impatient about it, but that's how I feel. Part of me is terrified that you're going to change your mind and stay with him. Then the two of you can laugh at me for being stupid enough to tell you how I feel."
"That would never happen…"
"But you're right. You need to leave him for you, not me. He's killing you, Chris, and he's been doing it for a long time. For you to stay in a marriage with a man like that, feeling the way you do...well that's not a marriage at all and it's no life for you. You need to think about that. You need to think about what you want and whether it's worth ruining the next forty years of your life because you're nostalgic for the previous ten." He let her go and stepped back. "That's all I wanted to say."
"You think you're telling me something I haven't already told myself time and time again?" she said, her voice trembling. "Do you think I haven't lain awake every night since we first slept together thinking about you? All I want to do is just…lie there in your arms and feel safe. All I want is for the hard bit to be over with, but it won't be until I pluck up the courage to face it and I can only do that when I feel ready." The custody door suddenly opened, and the sound of loud voices came tumbling down towards them. Reaching down, she lifted her bag from the ground. "I have to go."
A desperate look suddenly crossed his face. "Chris, please don't go with him. Stay here…spend Christmas with me. We don't have to go anywhere or see anyone…"
Tears sprang into her eyes. Nothing sounded better and yet she knew she had no other choice. "I can't. I have to go with him."
"Please…"
"Stop it, Frank!" she raised her voice louder than she intended to. "Please, give me some space."
He swallowed hard and finally nodded. "All right fine, I will. But you need to promise me something." She sighed and closed her eyes. "If you need me…promise me that you'll call me. No matter what it is, no matter when it is. Promise me, Chris."
Opening her eyes again, she met his gaze. "I promise."
She found herself tempted beyond belief to kiss him, wanting to feel his arms around her one more time and make up for the preceding days. But it was too public, so all she could do was get into the car, reverse out of the space and try to drive away without looking back.
