The Way of Things, Chapter 17
Title - The Way of Things (17/45)
Author - jlrpuck
Rating - K
Pairing - Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler
Spoilers - For both Blackpool and S2 of Doctor Who.
Disclaimer - Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of the BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary - A post-Doomsday story, set in the Alt!Verse. It's been over three years since Rose and the Doctor said goodbye. What happens when she not only meets his doppelganger, but has to work with him?
Author’s Notes - They’ve kissed. They’ve gone on a date. Now what?
earlgreytea68 and arctacuda are fantastic--and patient--betas, and I really can't thank them enough for their help. rosa_acicularishas provided the final sanity (relatively) check on this and has also shared some lovely comments, for which I am quite thankful. misssara11 is the one who encouraged me to start writing in the first place, and who read over my early efforts at this story.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41 | Chapter 42 | Chapter 43 | Chapter 44 | Epilogue
Rose was startled from sleep by a frantic knocking at the door. She groaned; a glance at the clock told her she’d only been asleep for a few hours, not nearly enough time to recharge after the intensity of the day before. Mickey had, of course, been waiting for her after she’d been dropped off with a quick kiss from Peter, and they had spent several hours going over the events-both work-related and extracurricular-of the day.
She’d walked in the front doors of the hotel, a smile on her face, and had suppressed a chuckle when she found her friend seated in the parlour. Mickey had been tense, a look of worry on his face, but had relaxed when he saw her walk in, a smile playing over her lips. He’d asked if she’d had a good time, and she’d been able to answer honestly and sincerely that she had. She’d spent the better part of an hour telling Mickey about Peter, chattering happily about why she found him attractive and what a good time she’d had, and was surprised when she discovered that she had managed to avoid comparing him to the Doctor at all. When Mickey followed her soliloquy on Peter’s finer attributes with an out-and-out question about what the DI was like in relation to the Doctor, she was surprised at the indignation she felt on Peter’s behalf. Her tart reply that the DI was no more like the Doctor than Mickey was like Rickey had made the point quite neatly, and Mickey had moved the conversation along. She’d finally wandered up to her room well after midnight, and had only fallen asleep after an hour of tossing and turning.
Rose stumbled to the door and, after fumbling with the lock, opened it. She squinted in the light from the hallway, and found Mickey standing there, fully dressed. This couldn’t be good.
“Philippa’s dead.”
Yes, that definitely qualified as ‘not good.’
“Found her an hour ago; Penny called as soon as they were sure.”
Rose swore. “I’ll be downstairs in five.” She flicked the switch by the door as she closed it, the room suddenly bathed in the bright light from the overhead fixture. She freshened up, and after a quick rummage found clothes clean enough to don. She hastily pulled on her socks and boots and, grabbing her knapsack, headed down to the lobby to meet up with Jake and Mickey.
The two of them were anxiously waiting for her by the foot of the stairs, neither speaking but both looking troubled. As she stepped off the final riser, they turned and headed for the door, exiting into the cool night in silence.
“Where’d they find her?”
“Below the weir. Penny was down there when he called; I would imagine Carlisle will be by the time we get there.”
Rose tried not to take umbrage at the unasked question in Jake’s statement. She and Peter were going to have to find a way to separate out their personal and professional relationships if they were to continue on as they had begun up on Castle Hill.
They walked along the riverbank; Rose could see the glow from the bright lights used to illuminate the crime scene. There was a clutch of people gathered along the east bank of the usually peaceful river, and as they neared Rose could see the bright markings of the police cars glowing green and orange in the ambient light. They were greeted by a constable and white tape at the entrance to the park that held the crime scene, but were waved through quickly as the PC recognised them. It was a short stroll along the paved path to the centre of the action. Men in white Tyvek suits were just closing the zip on an oblong bag, while several uniformed officers were lined along the edge of the river, using their flashlights to augment the already bright light in the search for evidence. Further down, towards the putting green that marked the opposite end of the park, Rose could see a small group of miserable-looking teenagers; to either side of the youths stood a PC, and in front of them stood Carlisle. The tension in his body was clear even at that distance and with his back to her, and she was sure he was wringing every last bit of information he could out of the group.
Penington had noticed their arrival and walked over to meet them by one of the benches lining the walk. “Sorry to roust you out with the news.” He looked back at the forensic team as they moved away from the river bank. “That group being interviewed by the Inspector found her around two. Their story is that they had a dare going to see who would go closest to the weir since the river’s so low; they were a bit startled to find a body and lit out of the water as fast as they could. The lads don’t think she was in that long, but there’ll be an autopsy this morning.” He looked over Rose’s shoulder and gave a slight nod; shortly thereafter, the Inspector walked past the group without stopping. Her eyes followed him as he walked over to the forensic team and stopped to speak with one of them-Ian, she thought. She couldn’t help feeling a small flutter as she saw him in his natural element, dark trousers under a wrinkled white shirt, dark coat over all, and she was bemused to see he had a cup of something hot in his hand. She ruthlessly squelched the feeling and transferred her focus back to the brief Penington was providing; this was a deadly serious business, and no place for her to be acting like a lovesick teenager. The lessons of Scotland still stung, even after several years.
“Not much else for you, I’m afraid. The Inspector may have more for you once he’s done-you’re welcome to wait here.”
“Would you mind if I did a quick walkabout of the area?” Jake asked. He had one of the Torchwood handheld scanners, and would be able to perform a subtle, yet thorough, search of the area for anything outside the norm. Penington nodded, and both he and Jake started in the direction of the north end of the park.
Rose walked over to the riverbank and stared at the Town across the dark water. She felt Mickey join her, standing quietly to her right, as she lost herself in thought. Philippa hadn’t been their primary suspect-not anymore-but she had been a valuable source of information. More importantly, she provided a direct link back to McGreevy and to the night he went missing. Carlisle and Jake hadn’t said anything about her being in fear of her life; by both their accounts, by the end of the interrogation she was more interested in staying out of gaol than in anything else.
Swinson had been interviewed that morning-well, the previous morning now-and had been able to provide an alibi for the night McGreevy went missing; their only concern in releasing him after his interview had been him vanishing again. And yet Philippa was now dead. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Damn it all. “A very fine morning to you, Ms. Tyler.” Rose felt herself flush at the sound of the DI’s voice.
“And to you, Inspector.”
“A fine mess this has turned.” She heard the heaviness in his voice. Did he regret getting Philippa to talk? She turned, stealing a glance at the man on her left, before turning back once more to face the river. The sound of the flowing water was almost, but not quite, drowned out by the mechanical hum of the generators powering the lights. She heard him take a breath. “Should have figured that our lead witness would meet a sticky end.”
There was regret in his voice.
“There wasn’t anything to indicate she was in danger, was there?”
“No, not at all. Unless you count the fact that her fiancée went spectacularly missing, of course.”
“Swinson?”
“Clean as a baby’s bottom. Well, as of this afternoon. It may be time to re-think that assessment.”
Rose remained staring towards the river. Philippa was a threat to someone…but who? “I think we’re getting close, don’t you?”
“Murder of a witness tends to indicate that, generally speaking. I hardly think she decided to play Ophelia in a fit of repentance.”
“I was hardly implying suicide, Inspector.”
“I’m so very glad you clarified that, Miss Tyler.”
Rose took a deep breath. She had to remind herself that it was not her job to get the DI out of his bad mood, despite his apparent desire to take it out on her. “Is Swinson back in custody yet?”
“There are enough people out looking for him that you should be able to sleep like a babe for the rest of the night.”
Rose tried again. “And her flat?”
He turned to her. The stark light only served to further sharpen the contrast between his fair features and the darkness of his eyes and hair, lending additional severity to the frustration she saw on his face. “Are you implying that I’m not capable of doing my job? I’d certainly be thrilled to hand this disaster of a case over to Torchwood’s eminently capable hands.”
Rose felt her temper flash. If he wanted to be a prat, so be it. “If I thought you couldn’t do your job, Inspector, I wouldn’t be wasting my time working with you.”
“That’s certainly a relief. I’d hate to think I was wasting your and your team’s precious time.”
Rose bit back the retort that leapt to her lips. “James will be joining us tomorrow to go over the laboratory. Perhaps there will be something there that will help.”
“Lovely. I await his arrival with eager anticipation.”
Rose turned to Mickey, stifling the urge to cry and/or kill the man to her left. Mickey had the air of someone trying very hard to appear as though he had not been listening to the whispered argument next to him. “What time does James get in?”
“First train.”
“Fantastic.” She turned back to Carlisle, who was staring forward stonily. “If it’s not too much trouble, Inspector, I’d like Jake to be present at the autopsy.”
“Of course you would. Heaven forfend we do anything unsupervised.”
“Has it occurred to you that she may have been killed in a way you’ve not seen before?”
“How thick do you think I am?”
“You don’t want to know the answer to that, I’m sure. Mickey,” she turned once more to her right. “If the DI would be so kind, I’d like you to see how Torchwood could be of assistance to him. Only with his permission, of course, as I’d hate for any of us to get under his clever little feet.” She turned and stalked off in search of Jake, frustrated with the DI and angry at herself for letting it get to her.
Jake and Penington were standing several meters downstream, chatting amiably and completely unaware of the tension between their supervisors. Rose tried to calm herself as she walked up to them. She had to focus on the case, not on Carlisle being an ass because things had gone to hell.
She smiled as the two men turned to greet her; if they noticed it was a bit forced, neither of them commented. “How’d things go?”
“No luck on our end,” came Jake’s reply.
“Jake, I need a favour. Could you attend the autopsy this morning? As an observer, clearly, as it’s not our purview. But with things going the way they have…I’d rather you were there.” Jake nodded; Rose noted he was wearing his poker face-the one that always meant she’d be in for some questioning once they were behind closed doors.
“I don’t know that there’s much else we can contribute here, Rose,” Jake said, quietly. “I think we might be getting in the way.”
She sighed. He was right, of course, but she was reluctant to leave-it was rare that they were there when major developments unfolded, and something about the uncertainty and surrealism of the brightly-lit scene had appealed to the adrenaline junkie in her. She watched as the riverside search continued, flashlights bobbing in the dark as the PCs moved further up- and downstream from the scene. She, Mickey, and Jake could be of assistance in a basic evidentiary search, but she had a feeling that they were the last set of bodies the DI wanted to see at the moment.
“As always, Jake, you have a point.” She turned to Penington. “Thanks for the heads-up, Penny. You know where to find us if we can be of help.” He gave her a nod and a small smile before transferring his gaze to somewhere behind her.
She turned to search out Mickey-only to find him and Carlisle standing directly behind her. So close behind her that she walked full into Carlisle. And, even furious with him, a flare of hot and inconvenient awareness chased through her. She took a step back so quickly it could have been called a recoil, and exclaimed, before she could stop herself, “Bloody hell!”
Carlisle smirked in response to her outburst, not even having the grace to look abashed, and Rose was dead certain he knew exactly why she’d stepped away from him so quickly.
“Inspector.”
“Miss Tyler.”
“If I might have a moment of your time?” He shrugged, and the two of them stepped away from the crowd. “We’ll be off, out of your hair. Unless you’d prefer someone to stay…?”
“Oh, I think we’ll be able to manage without your able assistance. Searching riverbanks seems a bit pedestrian for a specialised group like yourselves.”
What had got into the man in the hours since she had seen him? He was doing everything he could to provoke her, and she had no doubt it was deliberate. It seemed like a completely different lifetime when this man had tenderly and anxiously packed her a picnic, had pointed out clouds that looked like ducks, had kissed her breathless. And Rose knew what things that belonged to another lifetime felt like.”“You’d be shocked to learn what we’ve done to help solve a case, Inspector.”
“I somehow doubt that.”
Rose clenched her fists. She wasn’t going to be able to say anything right to this man tonight. She really should just walk away and let it go. A tiny sliver of her couldn’t resist the challenge he was presenting; perhaps he was viewing it as a game? She raised her gaze from somewhere around his chin to meet his eyes.
“Regardless of whatever regrets you might be feeling about the situation, Inspector, the fact is I’ll be here until we find our man.” Her voice had gone low and even, and she wasn’t giving him an inch in the staring contest he seemed determined to win.
“Oh, I have no regrets at all about the situation, Rose. Only concerns.”
“Then I suggest we discuss them sometime, Peter. Perhaps after you’ve had your morning donut and are more civil.”
“I’ll look forward to it. Shall I bring you something as well?”
Damn the man. “That would be lovely, ta ever so. We’ll be there at seven. You know where to find us in the meantime.”
“Indeed, I do.” Carlisle turned on his heel, hands tucked in his pockets. With a look at Penington and a sharp jerk of his head to indicate it was time to go, he strolled towards the line of police cars parked in the darkness.
Rose turned and noticed Jake and Mickey acting as enthusiastic audience. Jake looked amused-as he always did when she told someone off-and Mickey looked thoughtful. She was not in the mood to deal with the questions they would both be bombarding her with. “I’m going back to the hotel. You’re welcome to stay here and help, if they’ll let you.” She walked across the well-lit, trampled grass towards the path before turning towards the hotel. She was lost in her thoughts of what was going on in the DI’s head, and failed to notice the gaze of the man in question follow her as she strolled past on her way back to the hotel.
~ - ~
Peter leaned against the counter in the break room, head down and elbows locked. The morning had dragged, with nothing of use found along the river or through the interviews with the teenagers who’d found Philippa’s body. He still had to go talk to the coroner, hopefully before the autopsy-and he had to start nagging Ian and the forensics boys again to see if they’d turned anything up in the four hours since he’d left the scene. They’d been processing the body over at the morgue, and he had hopes that they’d found something. Swinson had, not surprisingly, vanished; he winced as he recalled his snide remark to Rose about their finding the man. He had a report to file before the DCI showed up in a half hour; and he’d not yet managed to sneak out and procure donuts for his meeting with Rose.
What the hell had possessed him at the crime scene? It had been like being drugged, his common sense completely unable to keep him from lashing out at Rose. It had hardly been fair to take his frustrations out on her, but perhaps she had a point. Perhaps he was regretting his decisions with regards to her.
He bent forward at the waist, locked arms pushing his body out as he leaned forward to stretch the tension out of his upper back. Nothing for it but to move forward and see if he could undo the damage. Straightening, he set to starting a fresh pot of coffee before strolling back out to the squad room. Despite the tumultuous events of the night, it was still quiet; and he held out hope of being able to sneak out to the bakery and return before anyone arrived.
He was pleasantly surprised to find his luck held, returning to the still-quiet station with fresh donuts shortly before seven. His timing was impeccable; he had just returned from the break room with a hot cup of coffee when the Torchwood team arrived. Mickey and Jake looked as they ever did, ready to face the day in their field clothes. Rose, however, looked exhausted. He felt a flash of guilt, wondering how much of it was down to how he had acted along the riverside; he could have handled things much better. She gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she hung her coat on the rack, and glided by him towards the break room without a second glance. He looked back to find Mickey and Jake glaring at him, and he swallowed.
“Donut?” he offered; his voice was a bit higher pitched than normal. Both men took one from the proffered box, and he set it down without breaking eye contact with Mickey. Mickey was sure to have his head, especially after the admonition of the previous evening to be gentle with Rose. He waited for Mickey to lay in to him, and was surprised when neither he nor Jake did anything more than stare at him and slowly eat their donuts.
This was bad. He took a swig of coffee and promptly burned his mouth on the piping hot beverage.
“Inspector?”
He flinched before turning to face Rose. “Yes, Ms. Tyler?”
“May I have a donut?”
He blinked before turning for the box. Her politeness was unnerving him more than her anger could have, and he began to feel himself grow defensive. “Please do.” He held the box out to her. She took one, never making eye contact with him, before moving off to look at the corkboard. She was almost as good at being passive aggressive as he was, he noted as he grabbed a donut from the box before tossing the cardboard container onto his desk. “Any developments in the past few hours?” Mickey asked.
Rose was ignoring him now.
“Forensics have some things that might be helpful; I was just going to go pay them a visit. “He dragged his attention from her back to Mickey, setting his coffee cup on his desk as he did so. He turned to Jake. “I have to visit with the coroner if you’d like to meet up with him before the inquest.” He had the satisfaction of seeing Rose flush lightly at that. Granted, being accommodating now wasn’t going to make up for the churlishness of last night, but he could at least make an effort. He crossed the room, walking out the swinging doors to find Ian before heading off to the morgue. Jake and Mickey went with him while Rose remained staring at the corkboard.
When he returned an hour later, Rose was nowhere to be found. Penington was sat at his desk, typing away with two fingers at a frantic rate, and Peter remembered with a sinking feeling the report he owed the DCI. He slumped into his chair and rubbed his eyes. The coffee cup remained on his desk, the contents now stone cold; the donuts had been raided, with only one pathetic-looking half remaining in the box. Elbows on his desk, he dropped his head forward into his hands.
He heard the click of the keys stop as Penny took a break from typing, and looked up to find his DC giving him a stony glare.
He’d managed to neatly piss off the whole lot through the work of a half hour that morning. Impressive, even by his standards.
“Sorry, Penny. Got caught up in the whole…thing….” he offered, weakly. He really oughtn’t be apologizing, given he was the lead detective, but he felt guilty about abandoning the DC to face an irate DCI. Who was, no doubt, even more irate than usual given that he disliked Carlisle in the first place.
“The Chief is looking for you, you know.”
Peter sighed. “Want me to pick up the report? I’m sure you’ve other, more useful things you could be doing right now.” Penington looked surprised at the offer, and hesitated only a second before accepting it.
“If you insist, sir. I’ll be off at the cottage with Rose and James.”
Bugger all, he’d not had his chat with Rose. He rubbed his hands over his face before looking back up at the DC. “Very well. I’ll be over directly I finish this.”
Penington wasted no time in vacating his desk, and Peter moved over to the still-warm chair to finish the report he should have written hours before. He was just reviewing the printed copies before signing them, when the Chief found him. It really was one of those days. He fervently wished he could go back to the night before, when things had been so much simpler. Not to mention, well, nicer.
His dressing down was mercifully short, and he emerged after a half hour of being yelled at to the comparative silence of the busy station room. He had just settled back down to sign the report when he was once more interrupted.
“Carlisle, you might want to see this…”
He dashed a signature off on the report and tossed it into the DCI’s inbox before following Ian down the hall to the forensic section. Ian hadn’t had any information of use when he, Mickey, and Jake had stopped by earlier, but the team had been working non-stop on identifying them during the morning. He arrived to find Ian leaning against one of the lab stations, a pile of printouts next to him; he looked exhausted, but excited. Peter felt his heartrate quicken; if Ian was excited, it had to be big.
“What have you got for me?”
“You’re not going to believe this.”
He handed the pile of papers over to Peter, who skimmed them rapidly. He reached the end, blinked, and then flipped back to the first page to read them again.
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Ian sounded offended by the doubt in Peter’s voice.
He thanked Ian before dashing out of the lab. Grabbing the keys from his desk-not caring that the force of slamming the drawer shut knocked his coffee cup onto the floor-he ran out the door.
He arrived at the cottage ten minutes later; he had barely turned the car off before he was sprinting up the walk. He found Penington standing at the front door, a look of surprise on his face at the urgency of the Inspector’s actions.
“Anything unusual go on since you’ve been here?”
“No sir.”
“Good. Stay there, don’t let anyone else in. Some PCs should be arriving shortly.”
He hurried through the rooms to the library; the floor was open to the cellar below, and he could hear Mickey, Rose, and another, unfamiliar voice chattering along as they worked. He heard Rose laugh at something Mickey had said, and felt his chest tighten. They’d been on one date-just one-and yet he was surprised by how strongly he felt for Rose. He shook it off; work was work, dating was dating, and he should have learned not to mix the two.
He hurried down the wooden steps and found three surprised sets of eyes staring at him. He nodded curtly at Mickey and the dark-haired man next to him before looking at Rose.
“We know who killed Philippa. It was McGreevy.”
~ - ~
Chapter Eighteen
Author - jlrpuck
Rating - K
Pairing - Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler
Spoilers - For both Blackpool and S2 of Doctor Who.
Disclaimer - Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of the BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary - A post-Doomsday story, set in the Alt!Verse. It's been over three years since Rose and the Doctor said goodbye. What happens when she not only meets his doppelganger, but has to work with him?
Author’s Notes - They’ve kissed. They’ve gone on a date. Now what?
earlgreytea68 and arctacuda are fantastic--and patient--betas, and I really can't thank them enough for their help. rosa_acicularishas provided the final sanity (relatively) check on this and has also shared some lovely comments, for which I am quite thankful. misssara11 is the one who encouraged me to start writing in the first place, and who read over my early efforts at this story.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41 | Chapter 42 | Chapter 43 | Chapter 44 | Epilogue
Rose was startled from sleep by a frantic knocking at the door. She groaned; a glance at the clock told her she’d only been asleep for a few hours, not nearly enough time to recharge after the intensity of the day before. Mickey had, of course, been waiting for her after she’d been dropped off with a quick kiss from Peter, and they had spent several hours going over the events-both work-related and extracurricular-of the day.
She’d walked in the front doors of the hotel, a smile on her face, and had suppressed a chuckle when she found her friend seated in the parlour. Mickey had been tense, a look of worry on his face, but had relaxed when he saw her walk in, a smile playing over her lips. He’d asked if she’d had a good time, and she’d been able to answer honestly and sincerely that she had. She’d spent the better part of an hour telling Mickey about Peter, chattering happily about why she found him attractive and what a good time she’d had, and was surprised when she discovered that she had managed to avoid comparing him to the Doctor at all. When Mickey followed her soliloquy on Peter’s finer attributes with an out-and-out question about what the DI was like in relation to the Doctor, she was surprised at the indignation she felt on Peter’s behalf. Her tart reply that the DI was no more like the Doctor than Mickey was like Rickey had made the point quite neatly, and Mickey had moved the conversation along. She’d finally wandered up to her room well after midnight, and had only fallen asleep after an hour of tossing and turning.
Rose stumbled to the door and, after fumbling with the lock, opened it. She squinted in the light from the hallway, and found Mickey standing there, fully dressed. This couldn’t be good.
“Philippa’s dead.”
Yes, that definitely qualified as ‘not good.’
“Found her an hour ago; Penny called as soon as they were sure.”
Rose swore. “I’ll be downstairs in five.” She flicked the switch by the door as she closed it, the room suddenly bathed in the bright light from the overhead fixture. She freshened up, and after a quick rummage found clothes clean enough to don. She hastily pulled on her socks and boots and, grabbing her knapsack, headed down to the lobby to meet up with Jake and Mickey.
The two of them were anxiously waiting for her by the foot of the stairs, neither speaking but both looking troubled. As she stepped off the final riser, they turned and headed for the door, exiting into the cool night in silence.
“Where’d they find her?”
“Below the weir. Penny was down there when he called; I would imagine Carlisle will be by the time we get there.”
Rose tried not to take umbrage at the unasked question in Jake’s statement. She and Peter were going to have to find a way to separate out their personal and professional relationships if they were to continue on as they had begun up on Castle Hill.
They walked along the riverbank; Rose could see the glow from the bright lights used to illuminate the crime scene. There was a clutch of people gathered along the east bank of the usually peaceful river, and as they neared Rose could see the bright markings of the police cars glowing green and orange in the ambient light. They were greeted by a constable and white tape at the entrance to the park that held the crime scene, but were waved through quickly as the PC recognised them. It was a short stroll along the paved path to the centre of the action. Men in white Tyvek suits were just closing the zip on an oblong bag, while several uniformed officers were lined along the edge of the river, using their flashlights to augment the already bright light in the search for evidence. Further down, towards the putting green that marked the opposite end of the park, Rose could see a small group of miserable-looking teenagers; to either side of the youths stood a PC, and in front of them stood Carlisle. The tension in his body was clear even at that distance and with his back to her, and she was sure he was wringing every last bit of information he could out of the group.
Penington had noticed their arrival and walked over to meet them by one of the benches lining the walk. “Sorry to roust you out with the news.” He looked back at the forensic team as they moved away from the river bank. “That group being interviewed by the Inspector found her around two. Their story is that they had a dare going to see who would go closest to the weir since the river’s so low; they were a bit startled to find a body and lit out of the water as fast as they could. The lads don’t think she was in that long, but there’ll be an autopsy this morning.” He looked over Rose’s shoulder and gave a slight nod; shortly thereafter, the Inspector walked past the group without stopping. Her eyes followed him as he walked over to the forensic team and stopped to speak with one of them-Ian, she thought. She couldn’t help feeling a small flutter as she saw him in his natural element, dark trousers under a wrinkled white shirt, dark coat over all, and she was bemused to see he had a cup of something hot in his hand. She ruthlessly squelched the feeling and transferred her focus back to the brief Penington was providing; this was a deadly serious business, and no place for her to be acting like a lovesick teenager. The lessons of Scotland still stung, even after several years.
“Not much else for you, I’m afraid. The Inspector may have more for you once he’s done-you’re welcome to wait here.”
“Would you mind if I did a quick walkabout of the area?” Jake asked. He had one of the Torchwood handheld scanners, and would be able to perform a subtle, yet thorough, search of the area for anything outside the norm. Penington nodded, and both he and Jake started in the direction of the north end of the park.
Rose walked over to the riverbank and stared at the Town across the dark water. She felt Mickey join her, standing quietly to her right, as she lost herself in thought. Philippa hadn’t been their primary suspect-not anymore-but she had been a valuable source of information. More importantly, she provided a direct link back to McGreevy and to the night he went missing. Carlisle and Jake hadn’t said anything about her being in fear of her life; by both their accounts, by the end of the interrogation she was more interested in staying out of gaol than in anything else.
Swinson had been interviewed that morning-well, the previous morning now-and had been able to provide an alibi for the night McGreevy went missing; their only concern in releasing him after his interview had been him vanishing again. And yet Philippa was now dead. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Damn it all. “A very fine morning to you, Ms. Tyler.” Rose felt herself flush at the sound of the DI’s voice.
“And to you, Inspector.”
“A fine mess this has turned.” She heard the heaviness in his voice. Did he regret getting Philippa to talk? She turned, stealing a glance at the man on her left, before turning back once more to face the river. The sound of the flowing water was almost, but not quite, drowned out by the mechanical hum of the generators powering the lights. She heard him take a breath. “Should have figured that our lead witness would meet a sticky end.”
There was regret in his voice.
“There wasn’t anything to indicate she was in danger, was there?”
“No, not at all. Unless you count the fact that her fiancée went spectacularly missing, of course.”
“Swinson?”
“Clean as a baby’s bottom. Well, as of this afternoon. It may be time to re-think that assessment.”
Rose remained staring towards the river. Philippa was a threat to someone…but who? “I think we’re getting close, don’t you?”
“Murder of a witness tends to indicate that, generally speaking. I hardly think she decided to play Ophelia in a fit of repentance.”
“I was hardly implying suicide, Inspector.”
“I’m so very glad you clarified that, Miss Tyler.”
Rose took a deep breath. She had to remind herself that it was not her job to get the DI out of his bad mood, despite his apparent desire to take it out on her. “Is Swinson back in custody yet?”
“There are enough people out looking for him that you should be able to sleep like a babe for the rest of the night.”
Rose tried again. “And her flat?”
He turned to her. The stark light only served to further sharpen the contrast between his fair features and the darkness of his eyes and hair, lending additional severity to the frustration she saw on his face. “Are you implying that I’m not capable of doing my job? I’d certainly be thrilled to hand this disaster of a case over to Torchwood’s eminently capable hands.”
Rose felt her temper flash. If he wanted to be a prat, so be it. “If I thought you couldn’t do your job, Inspector, I wouldn’t be wasting my time working with you.”
“That’s certainly a relief. I’d hate to think I was wasting your and your team’s precious time.”
Rose bit back the retort that leapt to her lips. “James will be joining us tomorrow to go over the laboratory. Perhaps there will be something there that will help.”
“Lovely. I await his arrival with eager anticipation.”
Rose turned to Mickey, stifling the urge to cry and/or kill the man to her left. Mickey had the air of someone trying very hard to appear as though he had not been listening to the whispered argument next to him. “What time does James get in?”
“First train.”
“Fantastic.” She turned back to Carlisle, who was staring forward stonily. “If it’s not too much trouble, Inspector, I’d like Jake to be present at the autopsy.”
“Of course you would. Heaven forfend we do anything unsupervised.”
“Has it occurred to you that she may have been killed in a way you’ve not seen before?”
“How thick do you think I am?”
“You don’t want to know the answer to that, I’m sure. Mickey,” she turned once more to her right. “If the DI would be so kind, I’d like you to see how Torchwood could be of assistance to him. Only with his permission, of course, as I’d hate for any of us to get under his clever little feet.” She turned and stalked off in search of Jake, frustrated with the DI and angry at herself for letting it get to her.
Jake and Penington were standing several meters downstream, chatting amiably and completely unaware of the tension between their supervisors. Rose tried to calm herself as she walked up to them. She had to focus on the case, not on Carlisle being an ass because things had gone to hell.
She smiled as the two men turned to greet her; if they noticed it was a bit forced, neither of them commented. “How’d things go?”
“No luck on our end,” came Jake’s reply.
“Jake, I need a favour. Could you attend the autopsy this morning? As an observer, clearly, as it’s not our purview. But with things going the way they have…I’d rather you were there.” Jake nodded; Rose noted he was wearing his poker face-the one that always meant she’d be in for some questioning once they were behind closed doors.
“I don’t know that there’s much else we can contribute here, Rose,” Jake said, quietly. “I think we might be getting in the way.”
She sighed. He was right, of course, but she was reluctant to leave-it was rare that they were there when major developments unfolded, and something about the uncertainty and surrealism of the brightly-lit scene had appealed to the adrenaline junkie in her. She watched as the riverside search continued, flashlights bobbing in the dark as the PCs moved further up- and downstream from the scene. She, Mickey, and Jake could be of assistance in a basic evidentiary search, but she had a feeling that they were the last set of bodies the DI wanted to see at the moment.
“As always, Jake, you have a point.” She turned to Penington. “Thanks for the heads-up, Penny. You know where to find us if we can be of help.” He gave her a nod and a small smile before transferring his gaze to somewhere behind her.
She turned to search out Mickey-only to find him and Carlisle standing directly behind her. So close behind her that she walked full into Carlisle. And, even furious with him, a flare of hot and inconvenient awareness chased through her. She took a step back so quickly it could have been called a recoil, and exclaimed, before she could stop herself, “Bloody hell!”
Carlisle smirked in response to her outburst, not even having the grace to look abashed, and Rose was dead certain he knew exactly why she’d stepped away from him so quickly.
“Inspector.”
“Miss Tyler.”
“If I might have a moment of your time?” He shrugged, and the two of them stepped away from the crowd. “We’ll be off, out of your hair. Unless you’d prefer someone to stay…?”
“Oh, I think we’ll be able to manage without your able assistance. Searching riverbanks seems a bit pedestrian for a specialised group like yourselves.”
What had got into the man in the hours since she had seen him? He was doing everything he could to provoke her, and she had no doubt it was deliberate. It seemed like a completely different lifetime when this man had tenderly and anxiously packed her a picnic, had pointed out clouds that looked like ducks, had kissed her breathless. And Rose knew what things that belonged to another lifetime felt like.”“You’d be shocked to learn what we’ve done to help solve a case, Inspector.”
“I somehow doubt that.”
Rose clenched her fists. She wasn’t going to be able to say anything right to this man tonight. She really should just walk away and let it go. A tiny sliver of her couldn’t resist the challenge he was presenting; perhaps he was viewing it as a game? She raised her gaze from somewhere around his chin to meet his eyes.
“Regardless of whatever regrets you might be feeling about the situation, Inspector, the fact is I’ll be here until we find our man.” Her voice had gone low and even, and she wasn’t giving him an inch in the staring contest he seemed determined to win.
“Oh, I have no regrets at all about the situation, Rose. Only concerns.”
“Then I suggest we discuss them sometime, Peter. Perhaps after you’ve had your morning donut and are more civil.”
“I’ll look forward to it. Shall I bring you something as well?”
Damn the man. “That would be lovely, ta ever so. We’ll be there at seven. You know where to find us in the meantime.”
“Indeed, I do.” Carlisle turned on his heel, hands tucked in his pockets. With a look at Penington and a sharp jerk of his head to indicate it was time to go, he strolled towards the line of police cars parked in the darkness.
Rose turned and noticed Jake and Mickey acting as enthusiastic audience. Jake looked amused-as he always did when she told someone off-and Mickey looked thoughtful. She was not in the mood to deal with the questions they would both be bombarding her with. “I’m going back to the hotel. You’re welcome to stay here and help, if they’ll let you.” She walked across the well-lit, trampled grass towards the path before turning towards the hotel. She was lost in her thoughts of what was going on in the DI’s head, and failed to notice the gaze of the man in question follow her as she strolled past on her way back to the hotel.
~ - ~
Peter leaned against the counter in the break room, head down and elbows locked. The morning had dragged, with nothing of use found along the river or through the interviews with the teenagers who’d found Philippa’s body. He still had to go talk to the coroner, hopefully before the autopsy-and he had to start nagging Ian and the forensics boys again to see if they’d turned anything up in the four hours since he’d left the scene. They’d been processing the body over at the morgue, and he had hopes that they’d found something. Swinson had, not surprisingly, vanished; he winced as he recalled his snide remark to Rose about their finding the man. He had a report to file before the DCI showed up in a half hour; and he’d not yet managed to sneak out and procure donuts for his meeting with Rose.
What the hell had possessed him at the crime scene? It had been like being drugged, his common sense completely unable to keep him from lashing out at Rose. It had hardly been fair to take his frustrations out on her, but perhaps she had a point. Perhaps he was regretting his decisions with regards to her.
He bent forward at the waist, locked arms pushing his body out as he leaned forward to stretch the tension out of his upper back. Nothing for it but to move forward and see if he could undo the damage. Straightening, he set to starting a fresh pot of coffee before strolling back out to the squad room. Despite the tumultuous events of the night, it was still quiet; and he held out hope of being able to sneak out to the bakery and return before anyone arrived.
He was pleasantly surprised to find his luck held, returning to the still-quiet station with fresh donuts shortly before seven. His timing was impeccable; he had just returned from the break room with a hot cup of coffee when the Torchwood team arrived. Mickey and Jake looked as they ever did, ready to face the day in their field clothes. Rose, however, looked exhausted. He felt a flash of guilt, wondering how much of it was down to how he had acted along the riverside; he could have handled things much better. She gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she hung her coat on the rack, and glided by him towards the break room without a second glance. He looked back to find Mickey and Jake glaring at him, and he swallowed.
“Donut?” he offered; his voice was a bit higher pitched than normal. Both men took one from the proffered box, and he set it down without breaking eye contact with Mickey. Mickey was sure to have his head, especially after the admonition of the previous evening to be gentle with Rose. He waited for Mickey to lay in to him, and was surprised when neither he nor Jake did anything more than stare at him and slowly eat their donuts.
This was bad. He took a swig of coffee and promptly burned his mouth on the piping hot beverage.
“Inspector?”
He flinched before turning to face Rose. “Yes, Ms. Tyler?”
“May I have a donut?”
He blinked before turning for the box. Her politeness was unnerving him more than her anger could have, and he began to feel himself grow defensive. “Please do.” He held the box out to her. She took one, never making eye contact with him, before moving off to look at the corkboard. She was almost as good at being passive aggressive as he was, he noted as he grabbed a donut from the box before tossing the cardboard container onto his desk. “Any developments in the past few hours?” Mickey asked.
Rose was ignoring him now.
“Forensics have some things that might be helpful; I was just going to go pay them a visit. “He dragged his attention from her back to Mickey, setting his coffee cup on his desk as he did so. He turned to Jake. “I have to visit with the coroner if you’d like to meet up with him before the inquest.” He had the satisfaction of seeing Rose flush lightly at that. Granted, being accommodating now wasn’t going to make up for the churlishness of last night, but he could at least make an effort. He crossed the room, walking out the swinging doors to find Ian before heading off to the morgue. Jake and Mickey went with him while Rose remained staring at the corkboard.
When he returned an hour later, Rose was nowhere to be found. Penington was sat at his desk, typing away with two fingers at a frantic rate, and Peter remembered with a sinking feeling the report he owed the DCI. He slumped into his chair and rubbed his eyes. The coffee cup remained on his desk, the contents now stone cold; the donuts had been raided, with only one pathetic-looking half remaining in the box. Elbows on his desk, he dropped his head forward into his hands.
He heard the click of the keys stop as Penny took a break from typing, and looked up to find his DC giving him a stony glare.
He’d managed to neatly piss off the whole lot through the work of a half hour that morning. Impressive, even by his standards.
“Sorry, Penny. Got caught up in the whole…thing….” he offered, weakly. He really oughtn’t be apologizing, given he was the lead detective, but he felt guilty about abandoning the DC to face an irate DCI. Who was, no doubt, even more irate than usual given that he disliked Carlisle in the first place.
“The Chief is looking for you, you know.”
Peter sighed. “Want me to pick up the report? I’m sure you’ve other, more useful things you could be doing right now.” Penington looked surprised at the offer, and hesitated only a second before accepting it.
“If you insist, sir. I’ll be off at the cottage with Rose and James.”
Bugger all, he’d not had his chat with Rose. He rubbed his hands over his face before looking back up at the DC. “Very well. I’ll be over directly I finish this.”
Penington wasted no time in vacating his desk, and Peter moved over to the still-warm chair to finish the report he should have written hours before. He was just reviewing the printed copies before signing them, when the Chief found him. It really was one of those days. He fervently wished he could go back to the night before, when things had been so much simpler. Not to mention, well, nicer.
His dressing down was mercifully short, and he emerged after a half hour of being yelled at to the comparative silence of the busy station room. He had just settled back down to sign the report when he was once more interrupted.
“Carlisle, you might want to see this…”
He dashed a signature off on the report and tossed it into the DCI’s inbox before following Ian down the hall to the forensic section. Ian hadn’t had any information of use when he, Mickey, and Jake had stopped by earlier, but the team had been working non-stop on identifying them during the morning. He arrived to find Ian leaning against one of the lab stations, a pile of printouts next to him; he looked exhausted, but excited. Peter felt his heartrate quicken; if Ian was excited, it had to be big.
“What have you got for me?”
“You’re not going to believe this.”
He handed the pile of papers over to Peter, who skimmed them rapidly. He reached the end, blinked, and then flipped back to the first page to read them again.
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Ian sounded offended by the doubt in Peter’s voice.
He thanked Ian before dashing out of the lab. Grabbing the keys from his desk-not caring that the force of slamming the drawer shut knocked his coffee cup onto the floor-he ran out the door.
He arrived at the cottage ten minutes later; he had barely turned the car off before he was sprinting up the walk. He found Penington standing at the front door, a look of surprise on his face at the urgency of the Inspector’s actions.
“Anything unusual go on since you’ve been here?”
“No sir.”
“Good. Stay there, don’t let anyone else in. Some PCs should be arriving shortly.”
He hurried through the rooms to the library; the floor was open to the cellar below, and he could hear Mickey, Rose, and another, unfamiliar voice chattering along as they worked. He heard Rose laugh at something Mickey had said, and felt his chest tighten. They’d been on one date-just one-and yet he was surprised by how strongly he felt for Rose. He shook it off; work was work, dating was dating, and he should have learned not to mix the two.
He hurried down the wooden steps and found three surprised sets of eyes staring at him. He nodded curtly at Mickey and the dark-haired man next to him before looking at Rose.
“We know who killed Philippa. It was McGreevy.”
~ - ~
Chapter Eighteen