The Way of Things, Chapter 18
Title - The Way of Things (18/45)
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 - There’s been a huge step forward in the case, and a step back in the relationship. Will Rose call Peter out, or are things going to return to the tense standoff of the early days of the investigation?
Thank you, as always, to my incredible beta’s, earlgreytea68 and arctacuda. Further, I’m offering up a virtual caffeinated beverage of her choice to rosa_acicularis for her feedback and comments prior to this going live. 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 felt her breath catch and her heart stop.
“McGreevy?”
Carlisle looked at her, jaw tense and eyes dark. “Indeed.”
The original plan that morning had been to go to the lab, but Mickey’s theory about the perception filter at McGreevy’s house had proven the more interesting challenge, and they’d wound up at the cottage. She, James, and Mickey had isolated the location of whatever was hidden in the basement, and had been trying to undo the locking mechanism when Carlisle had burst into the cellar. She’d never seen him so rattled, and given the bombshell he had just dropped she understood why. That made things far, far more complicated. And quite a bit more ominous than they already were.
It was time to get out of that cellar.
She motioned to Carlisle to go back topside, and suppressed an aggravated sigh when he motioned for her to go first. Chivalry was all well and good, but there was a time and a place for it; fleeing a potentially dangerous site, in her book, negated the need for it.
After ensuring that the three men made it out of the cellar, Rose led the way to the front door and out into the garden. There was nothing to say that the house was dangerous, but she’d learned the hard way not to tempt fate. Penington had been standing at the door as they passed, and Rose heard Carlisle invite him to join them outside.
“You’re sure it was McGreevy?” The question had to be asked.
“Quite. Read the reports twice, and I’ve no doubt Ian not only read through them more than that, but ran the tests multiple times.”
She nodded, and noticed Penington looked surprised. Had Carlisle not told him? That was interesting.
The five of them stood in the spring sunshine, no one quite willing to break the silence. Mickey didn’t seem inclined to speak, and had his head bowed in thought, while Penington was looking between her and Carlisle. Rose noted James giving the DI a very thorough going-over from under his eyelashes; Carlisle had his arms crossed and was staring very intently at the ground in front of him.
When all else fails, she thought, fall back on protocol. “Inspector?” He raised his eyes to hers, and she felt a frisson of excitement chase down her spine. Even with her anger at him remaining, she felt drawn to him. “I don’t believe you’ve met our fourth team member. James Ennis, Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle.”
The two men shook hands, although neither seemed inclined to speak. She sighed. “James is our techie, even more so than Jake or Mickey. He’d just worked out where we needed to be focusing our efforts in the cellar before you arrived. Good timing, that.”
Carlisle nodded in acknowledgement, and then unfolded his arms. “I called for some support on the way over; I’m a bit surprised they’re not here, but then I was a bit vague in what they were needed for. Hard to explain the situation over the radio, really, without sounding a bit mad.”
Penington finally spoke up. “Er, sir? What is the situation, exactly?”
Carlisle turned to him, surprised. “Sorry, didn’t I tell you?” He paused to think. “Don’t think I did, come to it. The evidence recovered from Philippa points to McGreevy as being the murderer. He’s alive, somewhere, and seems to be in a bit of a foul temper over Philippa’s activities.”
Penington gave a short nod of acknowledgement. Carlisle continued. “I expect the autopsy should be wrapping up shortly-you’ve not heard from Jake?” Rose shook her head. “I doubt anything unusual will pop up, but then again that assumes this is a normal case, not the Gordian knot we’re currently working to unravel. Have you any indication what’s lurking down there?”
James finally spoke. “A room, most likely; that’s based off of experience, not hard fact. The area being hidden is contained in the southeast wall-which, if I’m not mistaken, leads under the kitchen. I’ve got a fair idea of what’s being used to secure it, and just wanted a few more minutes to knock it.”
Mickey spoke up. “We think it’s a simple doorway with an electromedial lock on it, not a perception filter. The ultra-modern version of a bookcase hiding a secret passage.”
“Ah. Any idea what’s hiding back there?”
“No-there’s some kind of damping field in the wall that makes it impossible to get a read. It was murder with the electronics, but with this,” James pulled a small device from his pocket, “we were able to isolate the interference.”
Carlisle peered over at the innocuous looking tool, and then looked back up at Rose. She was more prepared for the eye contact this time, and held his gaze.
“So, you were going through the doorway blind.”
She swallowed. She had no desire to concede the point-but he was right. “Yes.”
“We just pulled a body out of the river-the body of our main source of information, our former main suspect, and the fiancée of the no-longer-missing man-and you were going to go head-first into an unknown situation. And this seemed like a good idea to you?”
She winced. “Yes.” Despite her evident discomfort, Rose’s voice was clear and strong as she replied.
He gave her a hard glare. She met it, but it took some effort. She could feel Mickey take a step back. “Never mind the fact that you neglected to notify anyone that you were here, and not at the lab-thank goodness I had to ring Penington with a question. Did you not think to check in with the station before that, to see if anything had come up? Did you not think to ask the fine DC here to radio back that you were about to go into the room?”
She shook her head, still holding his gaze.
“Is this standard practice for you lot?”
She blushed and glanced away, before meeting his eyes; it wasn’t. Torchwood’s investigative procedures were identical to those used by police services, to include calling for support when entering an unknown environment. With three of them in the room, and Penington at the front door to keep anyone from entering, she hadn’t thought it would be necessary. “No.” Her voice was soft, and she looked down. Even without looking at Carlisle, she could feel how tense he was. She braced herself for a dressing down...
...and was surprised when nothing was forthcoming. She looked up to find him walking away. She turned questioningly to James. He shrugged, then leaned in. “I reckon he’s got plenty to say, just not in front of everyone.” She blushed again, then turned back to the others still standing there. “We’re going to have to get more equipment from the van; set up some defensive protection in that cellar before we go in. It would be best to get Penny trained up on the basics-the more people, the better. And someone should give Jake a call and tell him to get the hell down here.”
She wanted to go speak with Carlisle, but didn’t want to be seen to be chasing after him-not even in front of this group. Setting to work on being able to enter whatever was hidden away was an excellent excuse to clear the crowd away with the added advantage of giving her some time and space to think.
The cottage had a lovely if small back garden, with winding paths and a wide variety of flora. There was a gazebo towards the rear, and it was to this structure that she walked. Flowering vines trailed over the wood supports of the small shelter, and she could hear the buzzing of insects as she leaned against one of the beams and began to think.
McGreevy was alive-or had been last night-but had managed to stay so far below the radar that everyone had assumed he was dead. Philippa had told them something that made him angry enough to kill her; and angry enough to dump her in a very public place. Was that deliberate, or had he been relying on the river running higher than it currently was? How exactly did Swinson tie into this whole thing? McGreevy had to be hiding somewhere, probably with someone to take care of his needs from the outside world. Had it been Philippa, Swinson, or someone they hadn’t yet identified? McGreevy’s list of close friends was about that short, and she couldn’t see him relying on someone he didn’t trust.
She sighed, and then shifted; leaning her shoulder against the gazebo support, she stared out into the garden. There was the minor question of motive, as well-why had McGreevy decided it was necessary to vanish? Had his deal on the side with Swinson, whatever it might have been, gone bad? Become too profitable to share? Had he failed to deliver on something? Was he hiding, or leaving? This case was growing ridiculously frustrating, and her consternation wasn’t helped by the hot-and-cold nature of Carlisle’s interaction with her. The mystery of Carlisle’s inconsistent reactions was rapidly becoming the more interesting one to her, which was a bit of a problem. Damn the man.
As if on cue, she heard the sound of footsteps on the wood stairs of the gazebo and felt a pricking on the back of her neck. Only Carlisle had that effect on her, and she turned reluctantly towards him. He was leaning against the railing opposite from her, his hands on either side of his body; his legs and torso were lit by the spring light but his face remained in the shade.
“The support units have finally arrived. I’ve set them to guarding the house, making sure nothing gets out as well as in.”
“Thank you.”
They stood, looking at each other, for several minutes. She waited for him to speak, preferring to see where he wanted the conversation to lead, determined that he be the one to break the silence. He gazed steadily at her, and she wondered what was going on behind his dark eyes.
He finally shifted, crossing his arms before speaking. “Have you any idea the danger you were in today?”
That answered that question. He was still in full-on paternalistic mode. She had to concede it was an improvement from the prat mode he was in at the riverside. While ‘paternalistically’ wasn’t her favourite way to be treated, at least he was doing it in relative privacy; he was displaying a tact here she would never have attributed to him. Not that it made the paternalism any easier to swallow, and nor did it make her any less furious with him for everything he’d done since he dropped her off with a kiss good night the evening before.
“Based on the information we had, it didn’t seem to be-” Her prim statement was interrupted by a clearly angry Carlisle.
“Based on--? Are you honestly that reckless?”
“I thought we had enough resources on hand to be safe, Inspector.” She bit the words out; she was second guessing herself enough as it was.
“Lord spare me.” She heard him mutter, and watched him roll his eyes. “’Same policies, same procedures,’ as I recall. You made that point eminently clear in your delineation of qualifications at the outset of this case. No point in having them if you don’t follow them, no matter what your instincts say.”
“And you follow the rulebook to the letter, do you?”
“I do now, yes. Consider it hard-won experience; I’m trying to save you the trouble of learning not to muck about with the rules.”
“Thank you.” The words were ground out.
“I’m being sincere, Rose, no matter what you might think. I’m trying to help.”
Double damn him; who was he to think he could pull that with her, when he was such a prat that morning? “That’s a nice change from earlier, then, and I thank you ever so much, Peter.”
He unfolded his arms; dropping one to his side, he used his other to run his hand through his hair and scratch the back of his neck. “I’m an ass.” He looked up at her. “Is that what you’re hoping to hear from me? I’m terribly sorry I treated you so poorly, I was ever so wrong, please forgive me?” His voice was rich with sarcasm.
She looked away. She had been hoping for something along those lines. When he phrased it like that, though, he made it sound like a trashy romance novel. Still, she remained convinced she was in the right. “I don’t think I’m being melodramatic in thinking an apology might be in order here,” she said reproachfully.
“I am who I am, Rose, and while I was a right prick this morning at the riverside-and I am sorry for that, you didn’t deserve it-you have to know how strongly I feel about this.” Rose looked back to see him gesturing vaguely around with one hand. She wondered what he meant by ‘this.’ “Philippa is dead, and I wonder if we failed her somehow. I don’t like thinking I’ve failed someone, and I especially don’t like it when there are things which defy explanation. This case is frustrating me.” He once more crossed his arms.
Rose sighed. “Your being a right git isn’t going to solve anything, you know. Pissing your colleagues off can’t be terribly helpful.”
He grinned ruefully. “You’re right, you know. It hasn’t bothered me enough to change. So long as the job is done, and done well, I think I can live with a few angry colleagues.”
Her answering grin faded, and she looked down. She hated him, just a little bit, for the depth of emotion he engendered in her. She was used to being able to control her feelings at this point in her life, had learned how to do it as a survival mechanism when she’d been brought across the void. It had served her well, especially in her job, but this man--by his very presence--had found a way to break through the walls she had carefully constructed.
“I am sorry, Rose.” Peter’s voice had gone soft. She looked back up to find him leaning forward. “It was a shock, finding Philippa. And after such a lovely night, too.” He sighed. She wanted to forgive him, but still found herself resisting. There were some things that needed resolution.
“You’re the one who told me yesterday-only yesterday, even if it does feel like a lifetime ago-that there was no turning back, that you could only go forward. I am recollecting that correctly, right?” He nodded, watching and listening to her intently. “I can appreciate that things are, to put it mildly, complicated. But you can’t assume that it’s fine to act like a prat professionally, just to balance out what we do outside of work. It doesn’t work like that, not with me at any rate. There’s being professional, and then there’s being a prick.” She sighed and looked down. “I enjoyed last night-I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed it. But if the payment for that is being treated as I was down by the river, I think I’m going to have to take a miss at anything further between us.” She felt her stomach drop at the thought of not being kissed by Peter; she really hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“I...” She looked up and found Peter once more running a hand through his hair. “Fair enough.” He sighed, dropped his hand, looked at her; her breath caught. “I meant it about moving forward.” Tucking his hands in his pockets he stepped towards her, stopping in the dappled sunlight an arms-length away. “I’m a bit confused by how strongly I feel about you, and it wasn’t fair to punish you for it.”
She felt her breath catch, and he continued.
“I’d like another chance.”
His gaze was as intense as anything she’d seen up on the hill the night before; she nodded dumbly, wondering where her ability to speak had gone. She was rewarded with a slow, small smile; one that was more in his eyes than anything else, and she felt her heart skip a beat. How did he do that to her? It really wasn’t fair.
“If things allow, how about supper tonight? I can’t promise a picnic, but I might be able to work something out.”
“That would be lovely.” She gave him a small smile in return.
He took a quick glance around before leaning in to give her a quick peck on her cheek.
“Peter...we do need to figure out how to balance this...”
He sighed, and turned to stand next to her. “We do, you’re right. Play it by ear, I suppose, although I think it’s safe to say one of the rules is that we don’t treat each other with utter disdain unless it’s truly merited.” He grinned slyly and looked over at her. She grinned in return.
“I can live with that.”
~ - ~
He and Rose had spent the remainder of their time in the gazebo bouncing theories and ideas off of each other; most of them were possible, several of them were plausible, and he hoped that one of them would actually pan out.
Penington had finally found them, arching his eyebrow when he found the two of them standing next to each other in the gazebo. Peter had arched an eyebrow in return, and he noted Rose had schooled her features into blankness; he’d have to play poker with her at some point, to see if he could work out her tells.
Penington reported the basement had been sealed off, and James and Mickey had shown him how to use some of the more impressive looking apparatus now set up around the hole in the library floor. Jake was apparently en route, and Mickey and James had set to scanning every surface of the cottage as they awaited his arrival. Rose used their activities as reason to excuse herself, and he found himself facing an openly suspicious DC. Shades of Blythe, he thought to himself; he hoped he’d handle the situation better this time around.
“Out with it, Penny.”
“Is there something I should know about, sir? Between you and Ms. Tyler?”
Points to the man for being direct. His partner was definitely growing more comfortable with him, and he briefly wondered how much of that was down to the interaction with the Torchwood team. He leaned against the rail and crossed his arms. He seemed to have been doing quite a lot of that in the past hour.
“We went for dinner last night, if that’s what you’re asking about.”
Penington’s glance was sceptical.
“Just dinner, Penny, not that it would be your business if it were more.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I’ve no doubt word will get around with or without your assistance-especially as we’re meant to have dinner again tonight-but I’d prefer it if you didn’t use that fact as grist for the police gossip mill.”
“No, sir.”
“As a favour, Penington.”
Penington met his eyes and gave him a firm nod. “I’ll do what I can, sir.”
“Thank you.” Penington’s surprise was apparent; Peter felt a twinge of guilt. He really could be a git, couldn’t he?
“Let’s go see what the plan is, shall we?”
He walked back through the garden, around the side of the cottage, to the front walk. Mickey, James, and Rose were grouped together, deep in discussion, and the front door was closed with a PC standing forbiddingly in front of it. He’d not noticed anyone around the back; retracing his steps, he verified that the back door was closed, but no one was standing watch. He jogged back to the front and up to the PC.
“Who’s guarding the back?”
“Dickinson, sir.”
“And where is Dickinson?”
The PC looked around, confused. “He went around the back, sir.”
Peter swore. Dickinson had better be off having a slash, and not the latest casualty of whatever was at work here. He motioned Penington over. “Let’s head back the garden, shall we?” Penington looked confused, but followed him; he noticed Rose give him a curiosity-filled glance as the two of them walked back along the side of the cottage.
“What’s going on, sir?”
“No one’s guarding the back, although someone should be. Just a quick welfare check.”
The two of them walked up to the closed door, still missing a PC. Peter glanced at Penington, who nodded; he reached out and turned the handle slowly. The door was pushed open quickly; no one was in the room beyond. Damn and double damn. That PC had best be in the loo, Peter thought as he and Penington moved as silently as possible down the hallway. He heard a noise from somewhere down the hall, stopped, held his breath--and exhaled when he heard the telltale flush of the toilet.
He stayed inside long enough to dress down the PC who had abandoned his post, before returning with Penington to the front of the cottage. Jake had arrived, and Mickey eagerly motioned the two of them over.
“...late last night, shortly before being put in the river. She hadn’t been in the water for more than a couple of hours, although he was having a hard time pinning the exact time of death. Straightforward, at least-she was strangled, the old-fashioned way. The hand-prints could be seen by the time the autopsy started.”
“Nothing else unusual came up?” Rose asked.
“Nothing that struck me as off. She’d had dinner within a few hours of being killed; nothing remarkable, although none of the ingredients had been found in the search of her house.” Jake looked over at Peter, who had spent part of his early morning overseeing that very search. “They found a few more bits for forensics, though, so maybe that will help.”
Peter nodded. He had hoped something might turn up, but he wasn’t terribly surprised by the results of the post-mortem. Jake had apparently arrived quite recently, as Rose then took the opportunity to brief him up on the activities at the cottage that morning. Peter watched Rose, taking advantage of the opportunity to watch her freely. He enjoyed watching her, her intelligence and her enthusiasm for her job shining through as she reviewed the events of the day. He became distracted, and was sharply brought back to reality by Jake’s exclamation of “McGreevy?!” as Rose told him of forensics’ findings.
At least they were all equally surprised. Attuned back to the present, he listed with interest as Rose outlined how things had been set up; even tuned in to the conversation, he was startled when Rose turned to him. “Inspector? Would it be possible to review what you found in Philippa’s flat before we do a final sweep of the cottage this afternoon?”
“Certainly.”
She smiled at him before turning her attention back to her colleagues. “Two of us stay here to support the constabulary; the other two of us will go back and look at what the Inspector found. Fair enough?”
The three men surrounding her nodded. The assignments were made, and Peter was disappointed to learn that Rose was one of the ones who would be staying at the cottage. He’d have the pleasure of James and Jake’s company for at least part of the afternoon.
He had time enough to duck aside and ask Penington to stay behind before heading back to town with James and Jake. They made a quick stop for takeaway-the donuts had been hours ago--before returning to the station for a thorough review of what had been found in Philippa’s flat.
Jake briefly excused himself to go speak with the forensic tech he had befriended during the morning, while James followed Peter to his desk. He pulled out the list of evidence collected, and began to run through it with the new arrival. The fact was, there hadn’t been much; Philippa spent more time at McGreevy’s than her own residence, and it showed. They’d packaged a few items of interest and brought them back to the station, including a gadget no one could figure out, but other than that it was simply a collection of clothes and very nice furniture.
The gadget piqued James’ interest, at least, and Peter was happy to retrieve it from the evidence locker and hand it over. He watched as the dark-haired man picked it up, turned it this way and that, held it up to the light, then tossed it up in the air. James looked right at him as he caught it, and grinned.
“You’re right, there wasn’t much there Inspector. But this? This is gold.”
Peter leaned forward eagerly. “Is it now? Don’t suppose it’s going to magically solve our case for us, is it?”
“Not quite. But it’ll come in dead useful when we go back to the cottage.”
Jake was in eager discussion with the forensic tech when they went to collect him; the additional evidence collected from Philippa’s body had only served to bolster the proof that McGreevy was the murderer. There were also some unidentified fibres which matched neither her flat nor McGreevy’s cottage. Peter felt a small surge of hope that perhaps they’d find some hard physical evidence in the near term.
The three of them piled back into the white police car and returned to the cottage, pulling up shortly before mid-afternoon. Giving a brief nod to the PC still standing watch at the door, the three of them made their way to the garden; he was unsurprised to see Rose, Mickey, and Penington sitting in the gazebo animatedly discussing the best method of travel between London and Paris, their voices carrying down the garden path. Penington was advocating for zeppelin, while Mickey and Rose were both lobbying for the train-an interesting choice, he thought before remembering that Rose had opted for the train back to London instead of going to Lancaster to catch the zeppelin.
“Glad to see things have been quiet here.” He said as he walked up to the wooden structure.
“Quiet as the grave, sir.” Penington replied, grinning.
“Well, we might be able to liven things up a bit for you. Seems Philippa’s flat wasn’t as complete a waste of time as we originally thought.” He fought the urge to look exclusively at Rose as he spoke.
James joined him on the steps to the gazebo, the evidence bag dangling from his hand. “Look what we found.”
“Is that what I think it is?” Mickey leaned forward to grab the bag, but James snatched it back.
“Sure is. Care to give it a test?” James grinned mischievously.
“Hang on, boys; let’s make sure we’re ready for that.” Rose turned to Peter. “Is there anything we need to do before we all pile in there and start poking around?”
She had kept her face carefully neutral, and he was hard pressed to tell if she was serious or winding him up. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to buy time; he might have to reconsider playing poker with Rose until he had a much better feel for this sort of thing. That is, unless they were playing strip poker, where losing wouldn’t be a bad thing...he felt himself flush, and was relieved when Rose’s voice brought him back to the present.
“Sign contracts in blood, notify the media, that sort of thing?”
Winding him up then. He’d have to pay her back in kind over dinner. “I think we’ll be fine as is, Miss Tyler.” She arched an eyebrow in response, grinning, the tip of her tongue peeping out of the corner of her mouth. He’d finally been on the receiving end of that look, and he grinned in response.
“Yes, well, perhaps we should get to work.” Mickey interrupted their tête-à-tête, and Peter recalled that there were more people in the gazebo than he and Rose.
The group outlined the plan for entering the room; Peter understood none of the technobabble they were spouting but gathered that whatever the technology was, it was relatively harmless. They still had no idea what was on the other side of the wall. He, Rose, and James would go down into the cellar and make the actual entry, while Jake, Mickey, and Penington would stay up in the library. If anything happened to any of the group in the cellar, the three above ground were to radio for help, try to get the forward team out, and keep whatever bad thing might have emerged from escaping.
They had moved to the library, everyone reviewing their responsibilities one last time before they put their plan into action. James had brought his weapon with him, along with some kind of stun gun; Peter had forgotten that Rose wasn’t weapons certified until he watched James give Rose the non-lethal weapon. He seldom, if ever, regretted being unarmed, but he had a feeling that this was one of those rare occasions where he would have felt more comfortable with some form of protection greater than capsicum. One quick look around at everyone’s faces, and then the three of them descended the ladder into the cellar.
~ - ~
Chapter Nineteen
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 - There’s been a huge step forward in the case, and a step back in the relationship. Will Rose call Peter out, or are things going to return to the tense standoff of the early days of the investigation?
Thank you, as always, to my incredible beta’s, earlgreytea68 and arctacuda. Further, I’m offering up a virtual caffeinated beverage of her choice to rosa_acicularis for her feedback and comments prior to this going live. 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 felt her breath catch and her heart stop.
“McGreevy?”
Carlisle looked at her, jaw tense and eyes dark. “Indeed.”
The original plan that morning had been to go to the lab, but Mickey’s theory about the perception filter at McGreevy’s house had proven the more interesting challenge, and they’d wound up at the cottage. She, James, and Mickey had isolated the location of whatever was hidden in the basement, and had been trying to undo the locking mechanism when Carlisle had burst into the cellar. She’d never seen him so rattled, and given the bombshell he had just dropped she understood why. That made things far, far more complicated. And quite a bit more ominous than they already were.
It was time to get out of that cellar.
She motioned to Carlisle to go back topside, and suppressed an aggravated sigh when he motioned for her to go first. Chivalry was all well and good, but there was a time and a place for it; fleeing a potentially dangerous site, in her book, negated the need for it.
After ensuring that the three men made it out of the cellar, Rose led the way to the front door and out into the garden. There was nothing to say that the house was dangerous, but she’d learned the hard way not to tempt fate. Penington had been standing at the door as they passed, and Rose heard Carlisle invite him to join them outside.
“You’re sure it was McGreevy?” The question had to be asked.
“Quite. Read the reports twice, and I’ve no doubt Ian not only read through them more than that, but ran the tests multiple times.”
She nodded, and noticed Penington looked surprised. Had Carlisle not told him? That was interesting.
The five of them stood in the spring sunshine, no one quite willing to break the silence. Mickey didn’t seem inclined to speak, and had his head bowed in thought, while Penington was looking between her and Carlisle. Rose noted James giving the DI a very thorough going-over from under his eyelashes; Carlisle had his arms crossed and was staring very intently at the ground in front of him.
When all else fails, she thought, fall back on protocol. “Inspector?” He raised his eyes to hers, and she felt a frisson of excitement chase down her spine. Even with her anger at him remaining, she felt drawn to him. “I don’t believe you’ve met our fourth team member. James Ennis, Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle.”
The two men shook hands, although neither seemed inclined to speak. She sighed. “James is our techie, even more so than Jake or Mickey. He’d just worked out where we needed to be focusing our efforts in the cellar before you arrived. Good timing, that.”
Carlisle nodded in acknowledgement, and then unfolded his arms. “I called for some support on the way over; I’m a bit surprised they’re not here, but then I was a bit vague in what they were needed for. Hard to explain the situation over the radio, really, without sounding a bit mad.”
Penington finally spoke up. “Er, sir? What is the situation, exactly?”
Carlisle turned to him, surprised. “Sorry, didn’t I tell you?” He paused to think. “Don’t think I did, come to it. The evidence recovered from Philippa points to McGreevy as being the murderer. He’s alive, somewhere, and seems to be in a bit of a foul temper over Philippa’s activities.”
Penington gave a short nod of acknowledgement. Carlisle continued. “I expect the autopsy should be wrapping up shortly-you’ve not heard from Jake?” Rose shook her head. “I doubt anything unusual will pop up, but then again that assumes this is a normal case, not the Gordian knot we’re currently working to unravel. Have you any indication what’s lurking down there?”
James finally spoke. “A room, most likely; that’s based off of experience, not hard fact. The area being hidden is contained in the southeast wall-which, if I’m not mistaken, leads under the kitchen. I’ve got a fair idea of what’s being used to secure it, and just wanted a few more minutes to knock it.”
Mickey spoke up. “We think it’s a simple doorway with an electromedial lock on it, not a perception filter. The ultra-modern version of a bookcase hiding a secret passage.”
“Ah. Any idea what’s hiding back there?”
“No-there’s some kind of damping field in the wall that makes it impossible to get a read. It was murder with the electronics, but with this,” James pulled a small device from his pocket, “we were able to isolate the interference.”
Carlisle peered over at the innocuous looking tool, and then looked back up at Rose. She was more prepared for the eye contact this time, and held his gaze.
“So, you were going through the doorway blind.”
She swallowed. She had no desire to concede the point-but he was right. “Yes.”
“We just pulled a body out of the river-the body of our main source of information, our former main suspect, and the fiancée of the no-longer-missing man-and you were going to go head-first into an unknown situation. And this seemed like a good idea to you?”
She winced. “Yes.” Despite her evident discomfort, Rose’s voice was clear and strong as she replied.
He gave her a hard glare. She met it, but it took some effort. She could feel Mickey take a step back. “Never mind the fact that you neglected to notify anyone that you were here, and not at the lab-thank goodness I had to ring Penington with a question. Did you not think to check in with the station before that, to see if anything had come up? Did you not think to ask the fine DC here to radio back that you were about to go into the room?”
She shook her head, still holding his gaze.
“Is this standard practice for you lot?”
She blushed and glanced away, before meeting his eyes; it wasn’t. Torchwood’s investigative procedures were identical to those used by police services, to include calling for support when entering an unknown environment. With three of them in the room, and Penington at the front door to keep anyone from entering, she hadn’t thought it would be necessary. “No.” Her voice was soft, and she looked down. Even without looking at Carlisle, she could feel how tense he was. She braced herself for a dressing down...
...and was surprised when nothing was forthcoming. She looked up to find him walking away. She turned questioningly to James. He shrugged, then leaned in. “I reckon he’s got plenty to say, just not in front of everyone.” She blushed again, then turned back to the others still standing there. “We’re going to have to get more equipment from the van; set up some defensive protection in that cellar before we go in. It would be best to get Penny trained up on the basics-the more people, the better. And someone should give Jake a call and tell him to get the hell down here.”
She wanted to go speak with Carlisle, but didn’t want to be seen to be chasing after him-not even in front of this group. Setting to work on being able to enter whatever was hidden away was an excellent excuse to clear the crowd away with the added advantage of giving her some time and space to think.
The cottage had a lovely if small back garden, with winding paths and a wide variety of flora. There was a gazebo towards the rear, and it was to this structure that she walked. Flowering vines trailed over the wood supports of the small shelter, and she could hear the buzzing of insects as she leaned against one of the beams and began to think.
McGreevy was alive-or had been last night-but had managed to stay so far below the radar that everyone had assumed he was dead. Philippa had told them something that made him angry enough to kill her; and angry enough to dump her in a very public place. Was that deliberate, or had he been relying on the river running higher than it currently was? How exactly did Swinson tie into this whole thing? McGreevy had to be hiding somewhere, probably with someone to take care of his needs from the outside world. Had it been Philippa, Swinson, or someone they hadn’t yet identified? McGreevy’s list of close friends was about that short, and she couldn’t see him relying on someone he didn’t trust.
She sighed, and then shifted; leaning her shoulder against the gazebo support, she stared out into the garden. There was the minor question of motive, as well-why had McGreevy decided it was necessary to vanish? Had his deal on the side with Swinson, whatever it might have been, gone bad? Become too profitable to share? Had he failed to deliver on something? Was he hiding, or leaving? This case was growing ridiculously frustrating, and her consternation wasn’t helped by the hot-and-cold nature of Carlisle’s interaction with her. The mystery of Carlisle’s inconsistent reactions was rapidly becoming the more interesting one to her, which was a bit of a problem. Damn the man.
As if on cue, she heard the sound of footsteps on the wood stairs of the gazebo and felt a pricking on the back of her neck. Only Carlisle had that effect on her, and she turned reluctantly towards him. He was leaning against the railing opposite from her, his hands on either side of his body; his legs and torso were lit by the spring light but his face remained in the shade.
“The support units have finally arrived. I’ve set them to guarding the house, making sure nothing gets out as well as in.”
“Thank you.”
They stood, looking at each other, for several minutes. She waited for him to speak, preferring to see where he wanted the conversation to lead, determined that he be the one to break the silence. He gazed steadily at her, and she wondered what was going on behind his dark eyes.
He finally shifted, crossing his arms before speaking. “Have you any idea the danger you were in today?”
That answered that question. He was still in full-on paternalistic mode. She had to concede it was an improvement from the prat mode he was in at the riverside. While ‘paternalistically’ wasn’t her favourite way to be treated, at least he was doing it in relative privacy; he was displaying a tact here she would never have attributed to him. Not that it made the paternalism any easier to swallow, and nor did it make her any less furious with him for everything he’d done since he dropped her off with a kiss good night the evening before.
“Based on the information we had, it didn’t seem to be-” Her prim statement was interrupted by a clearly angry Carlisle.
“Based on--? Are you honestly that reckless?”
“I thought we had enough resources on hand to be safe, Inspector.” She bit the words out; she was second guessing herself enough as it was.
“Lord spare me.” She heard him mutter, and watched him roll his eyes. “’Same policies, same procedures,’ as I recall. You made that point eminently clear in your delineation of qualifications at the outset of this case. No point in having them if you don’t follow them, no matter what your instincts say.”
“And you follow the rulebook to the letter, do you?”
“I do now, yes. Consider it hard-won experience; I’m trying to save you the trouble of learning not to muck about with the rules.”
“Thank you.” The words were ground out.
“I’m being sincere, Rose, no matter what you might think. I’m trying to help.”
Double damn him; who was he to think he could pull that with her, when he was such a prat that morning? “That’s a nice change from earlier, then, and I thank you ever so much, Peter.”
He unfolded his arms; dropping one to his side, he used his other to run his hand through his hair and scratch the back of his neck. “I’m an ass.” He looked up at her. “Is that what you’re hoping to hear from me? I’m terribly sorry I treated you so poorly, I was ever so wrong, please forgive me?” His voice was rich with sarcasm.
She looked away. She had been hoping for something along those lines. When he phrased it like that, though, he made it sound like a trashy romance novel. Still, she remained convinced she was in the right. “I don’t think I’m being melodramatic in thinking an apology might be in order here,” she said reproachfully.
“I am who I am, Rose, and while I was a right prick this morning at the riverside-and I am sorry for that, you didn’t deserve it-you have to know how strongly I feel about this.” Rose looked back to see him gesturing vaguely around with one hand. She wondered what he meant by ‘this.’ “Philippa is dead, and I wonder if we failed her somehow. I don’t like thinking I’ve failed someone, and I especially don’t like it when there are things which defy explanation. This case is frustrating me.” He once more crossed his arms.
Rose sighed. “Your being a right git isn’t going to solve anything, you know. Pissing your colleagues off can’t be terribly helpful.”
He grinned ruefully. “You’re right, you know. It hasn’t bothered me enough to change. So long as the job is done, and done well, I think I can live with a few angry colleagues.”
Her answering grin faded, and she looked down. She hated him, just a little bit, for the depth of emotion he engendered in her. She was used to being able to control her feelings at this point in her life, had learned how to do it as a survival mechanism when she’d been brought across the void. It had served her well, especially in her job, but this man--by his very presence--had found a way to break through the walls she had carefully constructed.
“I am sorry, Rose.” Peter’s voice had gone soft. She looked back up to find him leaning forward. “It was a shock, finding Philippa. And after such a lovely night, too.” He sighed. She wanted to forgive him, but still found herself resisting. There were some things that needed resolution.
“You’re the one who told me yesterday-only yesterday, even if it does feel like a lifetime ago-that there was no turning back, that you could only go forward. I am recollecting that correctly, right?” He nodded, watching and listening to her intently. “I can appreciate that things are, to put it mildly, complicated. But you can’t assume that it’s fine to act like a prat professionally, just to balance out what we do outside of work. It doesn’t work like that, not with me at any rate. There’s being professional, and then there’s being a prick.” She sighed and looked down. “I enjoyed last night-I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed it. But if the payment for that is being treated as I was down by the river, I think I’m going to have to take a miss at anything further between us.” She felt her stomach drop at the thought of not being kissed by Peter; she really hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“I...” She looked up and found Peter once more running a hand through his hair. “Fair enough.” He sighed, dropped his hand, looked at her; her breath caught. “I meant it about moving forward.” Tucking his hands in his pockets he stepped towards her, stopping in the dappled sunlight an arms-length away. “I’m a bit confused by how strongly I feel about you, and it wasn’t fair to punish you for it.”
She felt her breath catch, and he continued.
“I’d like another chance.”
His gaze was as intense as anything she’d seen up on the hill the night before; she nodded dumbly, wondering where her ability to speak had gone. She was rewarded with a slow, small smile; one that was more in his eyes than anything else, and she felt her heart skip a beat. How did he do that to her? It really wasn’t fair.
“If things allow, how about supper tonight? I can’t promise a picnic, but I might be able to work something out.”
“That would be lovely.” She gave him a small smile in return.
He took a quick glance around before leaning in to give her a quick peck on her cheek.
“Peter...we do need to figure out how to balance this...”
He sighed, and turned to stand next to her. “We do, you’re right. Play it by ear, I suppose, although I think it’s safe to say one of the rules is that we don’t treat each other with utter disdain unless it’s truly merited.” He grinned slyly and looked over at her. She grinned in return.
“I can live with that.”
~ - ~
He and Rose had spent the remainder of their time in the gazebo bouncing theories and ideas off of each other; most of them were possible, several of them were plausible, and he hoped that one of them would actually pan out.
Penington had finally found them, arching his eyebrow when he found the two of them standing next to each other in the gazebo. Peter had arched an eyebrow in return, and he noted Rose had schooled her features into blankness; he’d have to play poker with her at some point, to see if he could work out her tells.
Penington reported the basement had been sealed off, and James and Mickey had shown him how to use some of the more impressive looking apparatus now set up around the hole in the library floor. Jake was apparently en route, and Mickey and James had set to scanning every surface of the cottage as they awaited his arrival. Rose used their activities as reason to excuse herself, and he found himself facing an openly suspicious DC. Shades of Blythe, he thought to himself; he hoped he’d handle the situation better this time around.
“Out with it, Penny.”
“Is there something I should know about, sir? Between you and Ms. Tyler?”
Points to the man for being direct. His partner was definitely growing more comfortable with him, and he briefly wondered how much of that was down to the interaction with the Torchwood team. He leaned against the rail and crossed his arms. He seemed to have been doing quite a lot of that in the past hour.
“We went for dinner last night, if that’s what you’re asking about.”
Penington’s glance was sceptical.
“Just dinner, Penny, not that it would be your business if it were more.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I’ve no doubt word will get around with or without your assistance-especially as we’re meant to have dinner again tonight-but I’d prefer it if you didn’t use that fact as grist for the police gossip mill.”
“No, sir.”
“As a favour, Penington.”
Penington met his eyes and gave him a firm nod. “I’ll do what I can, sir.”
“Thank you.” Penington’s surprise was apparent; Peter felt a twinge of guilt. He really could be a git, couldn’t he?
“Let’s go see what the plan is, shall we?”
He walked back through the garden, around the side of the cottage, to the front walk. Mickey, James, and Rose were grouped together, deep in discussion, and the front door was closed with a PC standing forbiddingly in front of it. He’d not noticed anyone around the back; retracing his steps, he verified that the back door was closed, but no one was standing watch. He jogged back to the front and up to the PC.
“Who’s guarding the back?”
“Dickinson, sir.”
“And where is Dickinson?”
The PC looked around, confused. “He went around the back, sir.”
Peter swore. Dickinson had better be off having a slash, and not the latest casualty of whatever was at work here. He motioned Penington over. “Let’s head back the garden, shall we?” Penington looked confused, but followed him; he noticed Rose give him a curiosity-filled glance as the two of them walked back along the side of the cottage.
“What’s going on, sir?”
“No one’s guarding the back, although someone should be. Just a quick welfare check.”
The two of them walked up to the closed door, still missing a PC. Peter glanced at Penington, who nodded; he reached out and turned the handle slowly. The door was pushed open quickly; no one was in the room beyond. Damn and double damn. That PC had best be in the loo, Peter thought as he and Penington moved as silently as possible down the hallway. He heard a noise from somewhere down the hall, stopped, held his breath--and exhaled when he heard the telltale flush of the toilet.
He stayed inside long enough to dress down the PC who had abandoned his post, before returning with Penington to the front of the cottage. Jake had arrived, and Mickey eagerly motioned the two of them over.
“...late last night, shortly before being put in the river. She hadn’t been in the water for more than a couple of hours, although he was having a hard time pinning the exact time of death. Straightforward, at least-she was strangled, the old-fashioned way. The hand-prints could be seen by the time the autopsy started.”
“Nothing else unusual came up?” Rose asked.
“Nothing that struck me as off. She’d had dinner within a few hours of being killed; nothing remarkable, although none of the ingredients had been found in the search of her house.” Jake looked over at Peter, who had spent part of his early morning overseeing that very search. “They found a few more bits for forensics, though, so maybe that will help.”
Peter nodded. He had hoped something might turn up, but he wasn’t terribly surprised by the results of the post-mortem. Jake had apparently arrived quite recently, as Rose then took the opportunity to brief him up on the activities at the cottage that morning. Peter watched Rose, taking advantage of the opportunity to watch her freely. He enjoyed watching her, her intelligence and her enthusiasm for her job shining through as she reviewed the events of the day. He became distracted, and was sharply brought back to reality by Jake’s exclamation of “McGreevy?!” as Rose told him of forensics’ findings.
At least they were all equally surprised. Attuned back to the present, he listed with interest as Rose outlined how things had been set up; even tuned in to the conversation, he was startled when Rose turned to him. “Inspector? Would it be possible to review what you found in Philippa’s flat before we do a final sweep of the cottage this afternoon?”
“Certainly.”
She smiled at him before turning her attention back to her colleagues. “Two of us stay here to support the constabulary; the other two of us will go back and look at what the Inspector found. Fair enough?”
The three men surrounding her nodded. The assignments were made, and Peter was disappointed to learn that Rose was one of the ones who would be staying at the cottage. He’d have the pleasure of James and Jake’s company for at least part of the afternoon.
He had time enough to duck aside and ask Penington to stay behind before heading back to town with James and Jake. They made a quick stop for takeaway-the donuts had been hours ago--before returning to the station for a thorough review of what had been found in Philippa’s flat.
Jake briefly excused himself to go speak with the forensic tech he had befriended during the morning, while James followed Peter to his desk. He pulled out the list of evidence collected, and began to run through it with the new arrival. The fact was, there hadn’t been much; Philippa spent more time at McGreevy’s than her own residence, and it showed. They’d packaged a few items of interest and brought them back to the station, including a gadget no one could figure out, but other than that it was simply a collection of clothes and very nice furniture.
The gadget piqued James’ interest, at least, and Peter was happy to retrieve it from the evidence locker and hand it over. He watched as the dark-haired man picked it up, turned it this way and that, held it up to the light, then tossed it up in the air. James looked right at him as he caught it, and grinned.
“You’re right, there wasn’t much there Inspector. But this? This is gold.”
Peter leaned forward eagerly. “Is it now? Don’t suppose it’s going to magically solve our case for us, is it?”
“Not quite. But it’ll come in dead useful when we go back to the cottage.”
Jake was in eager discussion with the forensic tech when they went to collect him; the additional evidence collected from Philippa’s body had only served to bolster the proof that McGreevy was the murderer. There were also some unidentified fibres which matched neither her flat nor McGreevy’s cottage. Peter felt a small surge of hope that perhaps they’d find some hard physical evidence in the near term.
The three of them piled back into the white police car and returned to the cottage, pulling up shortly before mid-afternoon. Giving a brief nod to the PC still standing watch at the door, the three of them made their way to the garden; he was unsurprised to see Rose, Mickey, and Penington sitting in the gazebo animatedly discussing the best method of travel between London and Paris, their voices carrying down the garden path. Penington was advocating for zeppelin, while Mickey and Rose were both lobbying for the train-an interesting choice, he thought before remembering that Rose had opted for the train back to London instead of going to Lancaster to catch the zeppelin.
“Glad to see things have been quiet here.” He said as he walked up to the wooden structure.
“Quiet as the grave, sir.” Penington replied, grinning.
“Well, we might be able to liven things up a bit for you. Seems Philippa’s flat wasn’t as complete a waste of time as we originally thought.” He fought the urge to look exclusively at Rose as he spoke.
James joined him on the steps to the gazebo, the evidence bag dangling from his hand. “Look what we found.”
“Is that what I think it is?” Mickey leaned forward to grab the bag, but James snatched it back.
“Sure is. Care to give it a test?” James grinned mischievously.
“Hang on, boys; let’s make sure we’re ready for that.” Rose turned to Peter. “Is there anything we need to do before we all pile in there and start poking around?”
She had kept her face carefully neutral, and he was hard pressed to tell if she was serious or winding him up. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to buy time; he might have to reconsider playing poker with Rose until he had a much better feel for this sort of thing. That is, unless they were playing strip poker, where losing wouldn’t be a bad thing...he felt himself flush, and was relieved when Rose’s voice brought him back to the present.
“Sign contracts in blood, notify the media, that sort of thing?”
Winding him up then. He’d have to pay her back in kind over dinner. “I think we’ll be fine as is, Miss Tyler.” She arched an eyebrow in response, grinning, the tip of her tongue peeping out of the corner of her mouth. He’d finally been on the receiving end of that look, and he grinned in response.
“Yes, well, perhaps we should get to work.” Mickey interrupted their tête-à-tête, and Peter recalled that there were more people in the gazebo than he and Rose.
The group outlined the plan for entering the room; Peter understood none of the technobabble they were spouting but gathered that whatever the technology was, it was relatively harmless. They still had no idea what was on the other side of the wall. He, Rose, and James would go down into the cellar and make the actual entry, while Jake, Mickey, and Penington would stay up in the library. If anything happened to any of the group in the cellar, the three above ground were to radio for help, try to get the forward team out, and keep whatever bad thing might have emerged from escaping.
They had moved to the library, everyone reviewing their responsibilities one last time before they put their plan into action. James had brought his weapon with him, along with some kind of stun gun; Peter had forgotten that Rose wasn’t weapons certified until he watched James give Rose the non-lethal weapon. He seldom, if ever, regretted being unarmed, but he had a feeling that this was one of those rare occasions where he would have felt more comfortable with some form of protection greater than capsicum. One quick look around at everyone’s faces, and then the three of them descended the ladder into the cellar.
~ - ~
Chapter Nineteen