The background to this chapter comes from the series 8 episode 'Overdue' - one of my favourites! I own no dialogue from that episode.

20 October 1992

She sat staring down at the crimson stain on the toilet paper and wondered why it was that she was even surprised. The familiar headache had started two days earlier, a clear sign that her period was coming, but she had pushed it to the back of her mind, just in case. Well, now there was no 'just in case' about it. Once again, she was definitely not pregnant.

It was strange, having spent so long not wanting to be pregnant, secretly taking contraceptive pills behind Stewart's back and, more than anything, being relieved back in 1989 when the scare had proved to be just that. Now though, since that night when she had told Frank he no longer needed to use protection, it had become one of the main focuses in her mind.

Not that she hadn't fitted in well at Barton Street. Once Sally had departed, she had felt more settled, more confident and now, three months later, she really felt as though she had begun to find her feet. John, Morag and even Tom were fine to work with. Tony still kept his distance a bit, and Peter Norris, the DI, appeared to be the kind of officer who just let his team get on with things without needing to involve himself too much. All in all, it hadn't been the hell she had been anticipating.

So why did she feel so determined to have a baby? A baby would take her away from the front line, would possibly change the path of her future career forever. And yet…it occupied so much of her mind these days that there were times she thought she was going mad.

"You all right in there?" Frank's voice through the door jolted her back to reality and she quickly wiped again and flushed before washing her hands and opening the door to meet his concerned gaze. "You've been in there for ages. Thought you'd fallen down the plughole."

"Sorry, just got a bit distracted."

"Yeah, well if I'm going to meet this snout and show my face at the nick before my slot, I'm going to have to get a move on," he replied, glancing at his watch. "Though I could do without having to deal with Morris Symes today, the oily git."

"Well, I suppose you can't expect the villains of Sun Hill to know when you're due before the promotion board," she replied, brushing imaginary fluff from his shoulder.

"Do I look all right?"

"You look like a man who's ready to be promoted to DCI."

"Let's hope so. Look, I'll have to run. I'll see you tonight."

"Call me afterwards, if you can."

"I will." He kissed her quickly and then he was gone, leaving her alone in the silent flat, contemplating everything. Today could very well be day that changed everything. Come evening, they would know whether or not he too would be leaving Sun Hill for pastures new, with a new pip to his name. She hoped he would get it, prayed fervently that he would, not least because it would show that her fears had been unfounded; that he wasn't stuck at DI level forever because of the choices he had made over her. As much as she knew he was equally responsible for those choices, she also knew that she would still blame herself if she was the reason he didn't progress.

Morag met her at the office door as she climbed the stairs. "Morning Sarge. There was another arson attack last night."

"Another one? That makes, what, three in the past five days?" Morag nodded. "Who got hit this time?"

"Abdul Aziz on Market Road. He's got a grocery shop there. Fortunately, it was after hours, so no-one was in the shop, but there's been extensive damage to both the shop and the flat upstairs."

"Any links to either of the other attacks?" she asked, putting her bag down on her desk.

"Not sure yet. Uniform are still taking statements from the locals. I said I'd head down there once I'd filled you in."

"Good idea," she said, knowing that she had to focus on her own day rather than Frank's. "I'll come with you."

XXXX

Morris Symes had, rather irritatingly, informed him that the raid he had been pontificating about for weeks was due to take place that afternoon at two o'clock, merely half an hour before he was due to appear before the promotion board. It was all very inconvenient, and though he was eager to secure the promotion he still believed he deserved, not being able to be in on the action was irking him more than he felt able to hide.

"I could tell them urgent enquiries," he said, pacing in front of Jack's desk. "Ask for a late appointment."

"There's nothing in this op that the lads can't handle, and I'll be keeping my eye on it."

"You reckon?"

"Yeah. You're all psyched up. The board won't appreciate being jerked about."

"No, no I suppose you're right."

"Course I am. Crime management, that's the name of the game. The art of delegation. You've got to come back from the sharp end and think strategy." Jack paused. "Have you done your homework for this afternoon?"

"Yeah, yeah, I think so." He shifted uncomfortably. "What do you reckon they'll hit me with?"

"Well, when I did it, I kicked off with an account of my police career. Have you thought about that?"

"Yeah, well I know the things I want to bring to light and the bits I want to leave out. But they'll have it all on paper anyway." He glanced over at his boss. "You didn't think I'd get this far, did you?"

"I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't thought an official reprimand might scupper your chances, but I'm pleased that they haven't." Frank raised his eyebrows. "It's no advantage to me if you end up stuck here in a role you don't want to have," Jack said. "And despite everything that's happened between you and Christina, I do happen to think that you've got a lot to offer the Met. Whether they see it like that though is another story. Supervision, that's a key element."

"And you think my supervision was lacking."

"I don't think 'lacking' is the right word, not when it comes to Christina, do you?" Jack paused. "It is what it is, Frank. You can't change it. All you can do is meet whatever they throw at you head on in as professional a manner as you can. It's all in your hands."

He knew the other man was right and yet he would be lying if he said he hadn't lain awake night after night after his application had been accepted wondering what they might ask him, whether it would be bold or subtle, and how best he should respond. The fact his application had even been accepted had come as somewhat of a surprise and he couldn't help but wonder if they had only called him before the board to examine him, like some sort of rare specimen. The overwhelming temptation was to be defensive. Admitting and owning mistakes or indiscretions had never been his strong suit.

"Come on," Jack said, breaking into his thoughts. "I'll walk you down."

"The job should be going off any minute," he said, checking his watch as they made their way to the front entrance.

"It's not your problem anymore. You'd better get moving."

"Is this tie all right Guv?" he turned suddenly to the other man. "Not too, eh…"

"It's impeccable, Frank. Good luck."

"Thanks." Pushing open the door, he leaned into the front window of the taxi. "New Scotland Yard please pal."

"Frank!" Jack appeared behind him. "Remember they'll try and find out if you can stick to your guns under pressure."

"Right Guv, thanks." Climbing into the taxi he sat back as it pulled away from the station, joining the flow of traffic heading further into the city. He had to do this, not just for himself, but for Christina too. He didn't want to see the look in her eyes if he failed.

XXXX

The scene at Market Road was one of chaos. There were still two fire engines present, attempting to finally put out the blaze, the road was closed at both ends and yet numerous people had gathered to watch the spectacle unfold. As Morag had said, uniform were still on scene taking statements and as they approached, Mike Jarvis broke away and came over to them.

"Morning Sarge. Bit of a mess down here."

"I can see that," she replied, casting her gaze upwards at the charred exterior of the shop. "Have you got anything on the canvas so far?"

"Not a lot. We've had a couple of people saying they heard a noise like a bang and then the place just went up."

"What, nothing before that?"

"No, but then it was the early hours."

"Yeah, but it's hardly deserted round here, is it?" she looked around at the flats surrounding the area. "Somebody must have seen something useful."

"Well, not so far."

"All right, keep trying. Where's the owner?"

"Mr Aziz is in the back of the ambulance over there," Mike gestured. "By all accounts, he tried to go into the shop once it was set alight."

"Right, Morag, go and have a chat with him. See if he can give us anything useful."

"Right Sarge."

"Any sign of the DI?"

Mike shook his head. "You're the first lot of CID on scene."

"Terrific," she muttered, turning to where the fire chief was standing talking to some of his men. There was letting the troops get on with it and then there was completely absenting yourself from any work and it was fast becoming apparent which category Peter fell into. It was all so different from Sun Hill when they couldn't move without Frank being at their backs. "Excuse me! Are you in charge?"

"Officer Smith," the chief said, shaking her hand. "Hopefully we should have the fire out completely in the next few minutes."

"Good. Any idea on the source?"

"Not yet. Could be anything; wiring, chip pan…"

"Deliberate?"

"Naturally. The Fire Investigation Team will be able to give you more on that in due course. They're on their way, but there's been an accident on the motorway so they might be a while."

"Story of my life." She turned back to Morag who was coming towards her with a smile on her face. "Anything?"

"Mr Aziz said he was out when the fire started but arrived back not long after it took hold. Apparently, the family cat was in the flat, which is why he went in to try and rescue it. He did tell me though that he's connected to the first fire."

"What, the one in Morrison Street last week?" Morag nodded. "Connected how?"

"It was his cousin's place."

She frowned. "What about the one in Manor Walk?"

Morag shook her head. "No, he said he doesn't know anyone involved there, but he didn't seem particularly upset about it."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, he looked pretty gutted when he was telling me about his cousin, but not a flicker about the other one."

"Well, if he doesn't know the people involved…"

"I took it more that he was almost pleased about it."

"Pleased?" Morag nodded. "All right, go with him to the hospital, see if you can get a detailed statement from him about who's been involved, when, where and what else he knows."

"Will do." Morag paused. "Is it today?"

"Is what today?"

"That Frank's up before the promotion board."

"Oh…uh, yes. Yes, it is."

"Oh well, good luck to him at any rate," Morag said, before walking away again.

"Yep," she said to herself, glancing at her watch. "Good luck Frank."

XXXX

Ultimately, he had been early for the appointment, and it had been the longest wait of his life sat in that small airless room surrounded by secretaries beavering away. He'd never been the type to feel nerves easily. He'd breezed the board for DI, but this felt different. Now, sat before the three men who would decide his fate, he felt his stomach twist into a knot of anxiety and apprehension.

"Commander McCann, Chief Superintendents Wisney and Gable," the lead interviewer introduced the panel.

He glanced at each of the men in turn. "Sir."

McCann smiled at him. "We often ask a candidate to start the ball rolling by giving us a brief resume of his police career. I expect you know the drill."

"Yeah, I think I do sir."

"Anyone looking at your record and knowing your reputation would have to say this is an active officer. He's not afraid to get in amongst it. This is a DI who doesn't hide behind his desk or his rank…he does the business on the street. Fair enough?"

"Well, I wouldn't argue with that sir."

"Nice to know there are still DIs' with a taste for feeling collars," Wisney said.

"Thank you, sir."

"But you're here as a candidate for Detective Chief Inspector, Mr Burnside. A crime manager. That's all about delegation, supervision, control of resources, budgeting…not your style at all, is it?"

He wasn't sure if he had imagined it, but he couldn't help but detect a slight smugness to the other man's tone. "Well, I believe there should be no rigid distinction between operational and managerial skills in police work sir. I mean, our tradition has always been to promote from the ranks. The message is you can't tell other people what to do unless you've been there yourself. I was very conscious of the strength of that tradition when I served as acting DCI at Sun Hill."

"Yes, well it's all very well harping on about tradition, Mr Burnside, but you're a candidate for promotion in the police service of the nineteen nineties," Gable added. "Shouldn't you be more interested in change?"

"With respect, I think you're taking my remarks out of context," he glared slightly at the other man. "Of course I'm committed to innovation and change in police work."

"Can you give examples of that in practice?" McCann asked.

"Yes sir. Sun Hill CID ran a pilot scheme for a street robbery initiative. It was highly successful. In fact, it was taken up at Area level as a full scheme. It involved inter-agency work, public relations, pro-active crime prevention. I was in operational control."

"You're saying it was your idea," Wisney asked, in a tone that suggested he wouldn't believe the answer if it came.

He paused, almost tempted to lie. "No. The initial idea emerged from the Sun Hill Management team. But I was involved in every stage of the planning and execution. I think I can safely say that I made it work on the ground." He looked at them all, hoping for something, anything, to demonstrate that they understood, approved almost, but there was nothing.

Not a flicker.

XXXX

"So, what's the SP?"

"Well, it's the third fire in the last few days…"

"Yeah, I'm aware of that." Peter looked at her as though she was simple. "What's your thoughts on it?"

"Well, as I was going to say, the owner of the shop torched last night, Mr Aziz, is the cousin of Mr Mahmood whose place was done over in Morrison Street last week. Morag spoke to Mr Aziz who confirmed that he had no connection with Mr Patel, the victim of fire number two in Manor Walk."

"So?"

"Well…Morag said that Mr Aziz seemed almost pleased about what had happened to Mr Patel."

Peter looked bored, "Meaning what?"

"I'm not sure yet, Guv, but it's possible that there could be some sort of background here and that there's a connection between all three attacks."

"What, like a turf war?"

"Maybe. Mr Mahmood's shop gets torched so people loyal to him torch Mr Patel's shop and then the attack on Mr Aziz is revenge for what happened to Mr Patel." She shrugged. "It's one theory at least."

"What exactly would a bunch of Asian shopkeepers have to fight about anyway?"

"Like you said, Guv, it could be some sort of turf war, or there could be something else behind it. I've asked John to check and see if we've got anything on any of the three victims and he and I are going to speak to Mr Patel and Mr Mohammed again later this morning."

"Right, fine." Peter eyed her speculatively. "A little bird told me that your old man's up before the promotion board today."

She paused, irked that it somehow appeared to be common knowledge amongst everyone. "Which little bird might have told you that?"

"Does it matter?"

"I suppose not."

"Well, is he or isn't he?"

"It's not really for me to say, is it?"

He arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Well, if you want to play the Woman of Mystery…I would hardly have said it was a state secret." She said nothing. "It'll be interesting to see what the board make of him, in light of what happened between you pair."

"Well, if they had a problem with it, surely they wouldn't have accepted his application."

He smiled at her, and she knew she had given the game away. "No, I suppose not. Well, keep me up to speed on the investigation, will you?"

"Yes Guv, of course." Turning back to her desk, she cursed herself under her breath. Just when things had started to even out, everyone was talking about them again. She could only hope and pray that they got the right result if, for no other reason, than to stick two fingers up at everyone.

XXXX

"We've talked about change in operational matters, Mr Burnside. We're having to get used to changes within our service as well," McCann paused. "What's your view of the role of women in the police?"

He paused. "Well, a good woman officer is worth her weight in gold sir. That's especially true in CID."

"So how come women are disproportionately concentrated in the uniform branches and at the lower ranks?" Wisney asked.

"Well, I suspect they're discouraged by some aspects of police culture from fulfilling their potential."

"Such as?"

"Well, the overriding male mentality I suppose. The fact that, in the past, they've only ever been seen as playing a supporting role, rather than leading the charge. I expect it must be difficult to push yourself forward in those circumstances."

"Policing has no place for shrinking violets from either sex Mr Burnside. If they can't take the hard knocks, they're in the wrong job surely?" Gable asked.

"Well, I'd go along with that sir. But it's not a level playing field, is it? Canteen culture still discriminates unfortunately. But times are changing."

"And you're in favour of that?"

"Certainly."

"Your wife…she's a Detective Sergeant at Barton Street, isn't she?"

"Yes sir, she's done very well for herself."

"In spite of you?"

The comment was laced with undertones that he had no wish to address yet couldn't fail to ignore. Short of any of them coming out and saying it, this was as close to the bone as it was likely to get in terms of what had happened. "I had nothing to do with her own advancement. She passed the sergeant's exam on her own merit and I've no doubt she'll rise higher, given time."

"Must be an advantage for her though," Gable opined. "Being married to a DI."

He chose his words carefully, "I'm not sure that 'advantage' would be the word I would use, sir. If anything, it makes it more difficult for her."

"Yes…" the other man looked at him. "I could understand why."

He waited, poised for more to be thrown at him, but Gable simply turned his attention back to the papers in front of him.

"So, you take a very positive view of women in the service, Mr Burnside. You don't foresee any problems about…supervision…in that area?" McCann asked.

He paused, once again wondering if it was meant as a dig and whether or not he should address it. "No sir. I've had some very fine women officers serve under me."

"Yes…that wasn't quite what I was thinking of. If you get your promotion, you might be posted to serve under a female Chief Superintendent. How do you think you'd cope with that?"

"Wouldn't be a problem sir."

"Of course, you had the experience of serving under DCI Reid when she was at Sun Hill," Wisney said.

He fought to keep his expression impassive. "Yes sir."

"And you're telling us that was a model relationship, are you?" Gable asked.

"Any differences there were between myself and DCI Reid were not because we were different sexes. They might have been conflicts arising out of differences of attitude and personality."

"The job seems happy enough with Reid's attitude and personality. She got made up to Superintendent in Complaints," Wisney said.

"Yes, well I'm always pleased to see someone find their right niche."

Wisney held his gaze for a moment and then looked away, making him suddenly realise that he might have said entirely the wrong thing.