"Actually, I think he's a policeman, too." [29/???] [Midsomer Murders]

[k_s_b_l]

"Actually, I think he's a policeman, too."


Chapter 28: Eyes On the Road

As she gathered her belongings from the cluster of bags and jackets and sweaters, Cully resisted the urge to reach for her mobile. Rehearsal had ended for the day-the exhausted cast and crew had already begun to chatter about families and after work drinks-but there was no time for anything yet. Just another evening of criticism, she thought, dropping her bag on her shoulder as she returned to the auditorium.

That was exactly what happened. Paul Pearson, though an excellent director known throughout the country, rarely remembered his cast and crew members had families and homes and lives to return to outside of the theater. Or, some of the crew theorized when he was out of earshot, he just ignored that fact. Once they had all settled in the front few rows of seats with their bags and jackets, leaving only him on the stage, the haranguing began.

The short list of what was to remain the same went first: Higgins' carelessness with Eliza was spot on; Mrs. Higgins' final sympathy for Eliza and her irritation with her son were perfection; Col. Pickering's passion for the languages of the subcontinent was exceedingly well done. A voluminous list of what needed to change followed, covering almost every other interaction in the play, to say nothing of the cast's apparent inability to properly portray any of the characters' deeper emotions to the audience and the crew's incompetence with regards to lighting and sound effects. When she took her seat, Cully had drawn a notebook and a pen from her bag, ready to jot down a handful of notes. By the time Pearson finished, several pages were covered with words, half of them dashed through as he changed his mind mid-sentence.

"As you know," he said after his lists were completed, "tech starts tomorrow morning. Early." Cully released a low breath as she tucked the notebook and pen away. A low murmur spread through the men and women seated around her, mostly groans and sighs, though she heard one of the lighting men a few feet away say, "Bastard couldn't start it before now?", and another of the tech crew mutter, "There goes the pub tonight." Pressing his fists against his hips, Pearson's eyes narrowed as his gaze raked across them all; Cully nearly flinched. "Bright and early-seven-and ready to go," he continued loudly over the new rumble of wordless complaints. "And ready for a late night."

Pearson did not linger, instead reaching for his mobile phone and dialing a number, rushing off the stage before he began to speak. The cast and crew, still whispering and grumbling about the loss of the weekend, soon followed. When she reached the center aisle, finally beginning to exit the maze of folding seats and arm rests, Cully paused as she opened the contacts list on her own phone, quickly scrolling to Gavin and pressing the receiver to her ear as the call went through. After the third ring echoed shrilly in her ear, the hope began to fade; when the fifth passed and his voice mail took the call instead-"Detective Sergeant Troy, and I cannot-" was all she bothered to wait for-hope dissipated entirely.

"Of course," she said quietly, shoving her phone into the back pocket of her jeans as she paused, staring at the carpet. For the past week, she didn't understand why she had bothered calling at all. If he answered, the only response he ever had was no. Not that it was his fault-or all his fault-

Cully nearly jumped as a hand touched her shoulder, and her thigh slammed into the corner of a chair as she twisted around. A high pitched gasp of surprise escaped the person behind her. Of course, she thought, squinting at the new face beneath the auditorium lights. Who else? "I'm sorry, Shannon," Cully said as she rubbed her hand over the stinging spot on her leg.

"No, I didn't mean to startle you." The young woman portraying Clara-Shannon Moyle-was frowning at her, wringing her pale fingers. "I didn't see you stop. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Cully said, gently pressing her fingertips to the patch of muscle now beginning to ache.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Ignoring the deepening pain, Cully took a few steps down the aisle. Her leg twinged; it would bruise, nothing more. "It's fine."

"But-"

"Really."

Pulling her hands apart, Shannon began to twist the fingers of her right hand into a fist, now tapping each digit along her thumb. "Is something wrong, Cully?"

Cully had dropped her head to search for her keys and bus pass in her bag-almost everything had migrated to the bottom when she removed and later returned her notebook and pen-and she looked up at the question. "I'm sorry?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Why would there be?" Cully asked, shaking her head.

Shannon slowed the tapping of her fingers as she chewed her lip, but the pace soon returned. "You've been a little down the last week or so."

"It's nothing-"

"He hasn't been here to pick you up at all."

"Really, Shannon," Cully said loudly as she closed her own hand into a fist, "it's nothing."

Shannon opened her hand as she dropped it, though her fingers still twitched. "Are you sure?"

Cully did not attempt to conceal her sigh. It was only reasonable that they had noticed his absence over the past few days; his presence had been almost standard at the end of each rehearsal session. "Gavin's just been-quite busy."

"He wasn't before?"

"No." Cully shook her head again. "They haven't been this busy for a few weeks. Maybe a few months."

"They?" Shannon asked as she took a few steps forward into the center aisle, her hand thrust into her own small bag, searching for something.

"Everyone at CID." That much was true, but how much more needed to be said? Nothing. As pleasant a person as Shannon was, Cully knew not to mistake fellow members of cast or crew for friends. "For a while, he said they were all on just one case."

"All of them? That must have been a lot of people."

"I suppose it had to happen," Cully said. "They weren't getting anywhere on their own-and then they were investigating the murders at Midsomer Magna as well."

Shannon had turned her gaze to her bag, no longer searching blindly, and when she looked up again, a ring of keys dangled from her grasp. "All that to-do around the Easterly Grange hotel?"

"Yes."

"Blimey," Shannon said slowly, whistling after the word was finished. "That must have been a mess."

"It was." Slowly, Cully began to walk to the end of the aisle at the front of the theater, Shannon beginning to follow her after a few moments. "He tried to talk me through everything that happened. I still think it's confusing."

"The newspaper had a fair explanation, Cully," the woman said, her footsteps quicker to make up the initial distance.

"Not of everything."

They had climbed the short set of stairs from the auditorium to the stage before Shannon spoke again. "Cully," Shannon said as they reached the back corner, "does your father work there too?"

Cully stopped, spinning around to look at her, the now forgotten ache in her leg returning as she twisted. "What do-"

The other woman's footsteps faltered and she had take a step back to keep them from colliding. "I just remembered seeing the name in the paper. Inspector Barnaby, something like that."

"He does," Cully said slowly. But god, what did it matter to her if the rest of the cast knew of the extra complication in her relationship with Gavin? Probably nothing. "Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby. He and Gavin have worked together for the past several years." And, really, even if they met as cast members in another play, how often would she see Shannon after this run of Pygmalion was completed? "It's-how we met."

"Oh," Shannon said, stepping back again. "He must like that-your dad, I mean."

Even with the obvious sarcasm, Cully rolled her eyes. "Not really."

"My dad has never really liked any of my boyfriends either." Shannon laughed for a moment. "My mum thinks he's pickier than I am."

"My parents have never said much to me, even when I was younger."

"But to work with him every day..."

"We don't talk about it much," Cully said quickly, starting to head toward the far corners of off-stage again, her fingers itching to open her mobile. She hadn't thought of Shannon as a busybody, but the sudden flurry of curiosity was beginning to prove her wrong. "Or I don't, at least."

"It must get old," Shannon said, still following her.

"What?"

As Cully reached the door leading to the dressing and prop rooms, Shannon added, "Avoiding the subject."

Really? Cully thought as she pushed the door open, the hinges squeaking harshly. I guess some people just have to say everything that comes into their heads at times. "I suppose." It had been hard enough the past few weeks-just over a month-almost exhausting, certainly exasperating. And who knew what was to come in the future? No, Cully decided, her eyes boring into the floor and steps before her feet, that was too much to worry about right now when just the week ahead was uncertain.

Shannon's voice and feet trailed behind her down the stairwell. "He's really been that busy?"

"That's the way it is when a case becomes this large." The words echoed up and down the concrete walls as they passed the entrance to the prop room and the corridor to the dressing rooms, and Cully was suddenly grateful that Shannon had begun her interrogation when they were able to speak quietly and almost privately in the theater itself. If it had been in here, the entire company would know about it.

"I would have thought he could make some time for you," Shannon said when they reached the bottom of the stairs. "I mean, if you're dating, he really should-"

"Shannon, there aren't that many hours in the day."

"He can't be working that much."

Cully turned around, catching the other woman's gaze. "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, not caring about the echo this time.

Shannon's fair skin was almost glowing in the harsh lights of the corridor and her blue eyes were wide. "People can only work for so long," she said, almost whispering. "That's all I was trying to say."

"I'm sorry," Cully said, crossing her arms. Another of the cast or crew must have left the stage door open up ahead, for a fast, chilly wind was racing through the hall. "I didn't mean to be sharp."

"No worries."

Cully had intended to walk quicker when they reached the flat, safe surface at the end of the stairs, but something kept her feet firmly on the ground. "I've known him for years. If he didn't have to spend so long there, he wouldn't."

Once again, Shannon had her hand in a fist, now holding it against her cheek. "Well, how long is he there, if he can't make any time for you?"

"Gavin is there by eight in the morning and often doesn't leave until nine or ten in the evening. Eight is early right now."

"What takes so long? Surely they can't still be out at that time-"

"Paperwork."

Pressing her knuckles still harder against her face, Shannon said, "But you said that isn't normal."

"It isn't." Shannon raised an eyebrow and Cully swallowed. "Well, most of the time."

"And I guess now there'd be no time at the weekend either."

Cully sighed. As unpleasant as it was to think about, it was worse to say or hear it out loud. "He really doesn't have weekends at the moment."

"That can't be easy."

"It isn't," Cully said, finally beginning to walk again. Shannon continued alongside her. "But I'm used to it."

"How do you get used to something like that?"

The stage door appeared at the end of the hall, half open to the cool, late summer evening. "My dad never had much time while I was growing up. He missed a lot of things he'd rather not have." Or Mum and I wished he hadn't missed, she thought, biting back a small grin. "But he can't stop thinking about work. When my parents were married, as soon as the clerk was finished, he dashed off with a new thought on a case."

"What?"

"It was the right thought."

"But you must be joking!"

"I'm not. That's just the way he is. But-Gavin isn't like that." No, not at all. Just a week ago, if his phone had been turned off, neither of them would have cared in the least. Whatever was happening outside of his flat-outside of his bed-could have waited.

"Sounds a little like it right now," Shannon said quietly.

"Because now there really isn't time. There's too much going on."

"It could always be that way."

"It won't be," Cully said quickly, finally taking her first steps into the proper wind wafting through the alley. "He lets work be when he's not there."

Behind her, Shannon tugged a scarf from her bag, knotting it around her neck against the cool air. "Then that's a good change for you, as far as policemen are concerned."

"It is," Cully added, her eyes dropping to the rough alley pavement. "Most of the time."

"It still doesn't sound like it's all right." Stepping forward, Shannon twisted the small ring of keys around two of her fingers. "Would you like to go for a cup of tea?" she asked quietly, the jangling of the metal competing with her slight voice. "Get your mind off it?"

Cully already had her mobile out of her back pocket-her jacket pushed back down to her waist as protection against the breeze, the screen open to her list of contacts, and her thumb ready to dial Gavin's phone number again. The thought of a hot cup of tea was tempting, something to warm her after only a minute or so in the cooler air. But then the conversation: sitting at a table across from this woman, watching Shannon's blue eyes set in that pale face watching her, barely touched with concern and instead filled with curiosity. "No, thank you," Cully said, drawing her jacket closer. "I'll be fine. But I'll see you tomorrow."

Shannon sighed, shaking her head as she did. "Don't remind me."

Laughing lowly, Cully shrugged her shoulders. "He's right-we all knew it was coming."

"But Saturday?" The other woman shook her head again. "I suppose that will just amuse your policeman."

Tapping her thumb on the send button, Cully lifted the phone as she half turned away from Shannon. "Probably. Turnabout is fair play."

Just offering a small wave, Shannon also turned and headed down the back alley, rounding the corner in a matter of seconds. As she vanished, Cully let out a quiet breath she didn't remember holding. The ringing began, shrill and interminable in her ear. As the fourth ring finished, Cully frowned. Another message, she thought, searching for something to say. She had no idea at all, had had no idea when she dialed-

"Troy."

His voice startled her as it replaced the phone's ring and she took in a deep breath of relief. "Hi, Gavin?"

"Oh," he said quietly. For a few seconds, there was only muted noise on the other end of the line, broken by quick, precise footsteps and the click of a door handle. "Cully."

"Just stepping out of the office?"

"It's easier than watching him scowl."

Cully laughed again, the sound as hollow as a few minutes earlier. He'll have to learn eventually. "Will you be able to give me a lift tonight?" she asked, pressing the phone closer to her ear.

Now there was complete silence greeting her, not even the sound of footsteps or a file cabinet opening or closing. "I don't think so, Cully," he said after a moment, the words heavy and unhappy. "We're still not quite done here."

Of course, she thought, pulling her jacket even closer as the wind suddenly rushed down the alley with a gentle wail. "How much longer do you think you'll be?"

"Might be an hour."

An hour? she thought. She could easily be home in twenty minutes, at least if the bus ran on schedule. But after so many days without seeing him and hardly talking to him, his absence was like an ache. Even a few minutes to sit and speak with him face to face had to provide some relief. "Then why don't you meet me for a cup of tea after that?" she asked, the sentence done before she realized she had spoken at all. But really, it was an early end to his day.

"Get my mind off it, you mean?" Gavin had hardly finished when a real laugh burst from her mouth. "Is that funny?"

"It is, actually," Cully said, nodding to herself.

"Why?"

"It's nothing important. But yes, if you want to put it that way."

"Can't I ask why?"

Cully shivered, drawing her free arm tighter across her chest. "Just something someone said a little while ago." Not even knowing why as she did it, Cully glanced over her shoulder. A few of the cast and crew were in the alley, talking, smoking, and paying no attention to anyone outside of their own small worlds. "Where do you want to meet?"

"Same place?"

Where else? Cully thought. Even if she had agreed to Shannon's invitation, she would have refused to go there, not with the actress as a companion. "Of course."

Though it was faint, she heard Gavin's own quick breath. "I'll see you as soon as I can."

"It isn't fair."

"Look, Cully-"

"Not to me- Not to either of us."

"Do you think I like it?"

"No-"

"Not seeing you, barely talking to you?"

"No, Gavin, I don't."

"You know there's nothing I can do, don't you?"

"Yes, Gavin. But I don't have to like it."

"Neither do I."

"You can call when you're done with work, even if it's late."

"That would be really late."

"What do you think my days will look like for the next few weeks?"

"Late."

"As late as yours."

"But-really, Cully-they won't start as early."

"Early enough."

"So now I'll be the one who never gets an answer?"

"It will just feel like a few minutes, if you're so busy with your case."

"Probably longer."

"What do you mean?"

"The chief superintendent is thinking of dismantling the task force."

"What?"

"We've hardly made any progress and he can't keep us all on it forever."

"After all that work, he's just going to give up?"

"It's a bloody waste, putting all that time into it for nothing."

"So you'll be waiting for my calls instead?"

"At a guess."

"That might be fair."

"Didn't you just say it wasn't?"

"But turnabout is fair play, Gavin, you know that."

"Sometimes."

Cully almost made herself another cup of tea when she arrived home, despite the late hour. Both their cups of tea had sat in front of them in the shop, only half drunk before each was stone cold. Instead, she chose a glass of water; her hand did not shake this time, even as she set it on the counter more forcefully than she intended.

"God," she said quietly, pushing it away. Gavin could be so frustrating at times, though she knew that he never meant to be, even if she had only hoped on a few occasions. If anything, Cully wished more than ever that she had not allowed the conversation with Shannon to continue. The words had weighed heavily on her mind, fading yet never disappearing as she sat with Gavin.

But when they finally said their goodbyes after he drove her home-as they embraced in the cool air and she kissed him rather quicker than she had in the past-his touch still brought a chill to her skin. Whether he realized it or not, his hand had again drifted to her waist and hip, and even through the fabric of her jacket, the pressure drew goosebumps. Lying in bed almost an hour later, the mere memory tightened her muscles.

The man truly was driving her mad-and she was doing nothing to stop it.