And So Things Go, Chapter 12
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 | Epilogue
Peter drove them to the police station, running inside only long enough to make sure the reports had been picked up, and to grab the keys to the marked police car. There were no messages for either he or Elias, and he hastened back into the late autumn sunshine.
“Right. How’re we going to play this, then?” he asked, stopping in front of Elias.
“We’re going to escort Ms. Quarles here back to her flat, and assist her in the removal of certain personal effects, before bringing her to her new lodgings.”
“And those would be..?”
“The hotel.” The statement was not followed by “you idiot,” but Elias’s tone of voice indicated he thought it.
“Right. And then?”
“Then we drop Ruby, and pay a visit to the clinic.”
Peter extended his hand, giving the keys to Elias. “Your turn to drive, then.”
“No argument, Inspector Carlisle?” Elias’s wry tone gave him pause.
“No...should there be?”
“So the mood does wear off by mid-morning?”
Peter made a rude gesture, smiling, and then walked over to the large police vehicle.
No one appeared to be terribly interested in their arrival at the apartment block Ruby had occupied; certainly no doors were cracked open, although Peter reckoned more than a few residents would have looked through the peepholes in their doors to see what was going on. The soaps weren’t yet on, after all.
They made quite a racket going through the flat, working to encourage the perception that the GGC were turning the place upside-down in search of something. In the end, they wound up removing a few books, and more of the normal, everyday looking objects they’d picked up on their first visit. Peter had learned from Elias, after that visit, that the objects contained film or recordings; Peter had made a remark on the cloak-and-dagger nature of the operation, and had been given a withering glance from Elias in return.
Elias had switched over to the brogue as they worked, trading jibes with Ruby good-naturedly; Peter watched them, their comfort working together, how happy they both seemed to be with their lives. He’d never really given proper thought to working at Torchwood, to moving down to not only live with Rose but also work with her. He suspected he’d not be able to do it, in truth; that he’d be so distracted by having her nearby all of the time, he’d be completely unable to let her out of his sight, to let her do her job without hovering. She’d hate him for it, he suspected, not because he’d got a job at Torchwood, but because he couldn’t let her go when he needed to.
No, working at the same place as Rose wasn’t going to be an option. Not a sane or long-term one, at any rate.
He’d not have to live with her-he’d be happy to simply be in the same city as her, to know that he could walk over or take the subte, that he’d not have to pack a suitcase to spend more than a few hours with her.
He shook his head, trying to clear it, to focus on turning over the flat. He was getting ahead of himself again, thinking about moving to London before he’d talked with Rose about it once again.
“Ready to go, then?” Ruby finally asked Elias in a soft voice.
“You tell me. We’re not coming back here, not for a while.”
“I’m ready.”
Peter glanced back at the room full of equipment. “What about…?” He gestured to the space.
Ruby grinned. “Oh, that’s not a worry.” She turned, pulling the door to the room shut, locking the deadbolt with a type of key he’d not seen before. “Locked safe and sound, that is.”
Peter remained unconvinced, but took her at her word. He hefted a box, ensuring he had a firm grasp on it before nodding that he was ready to go.
“Shall we, m’love?” Elias extended his elbow to his wife; she laughed, swatting playfully at him before passing by.
“Time to give the busybodies one last show, dear.” Ruby winked, before launching once more into a shouted stream of vitriol. The three of them exited the flat, shouting each other down, moving towards the car under the scrutiny of pensioners and mothers on the dole.
Ruby was dropped at the hotel shortly before noon; she’d fixed her hair and makeup in the car, and the polished if weary woman who exited the rear passenger door bore very little resemblance indeed to the rough woman who’d entered it a half-hour before. In a refined voice she thanked them for the kind offer of a lift, reaching into the boot to remove the box before slowly sashaying through the lobby door.
“That is one hell of a woman, Elias,” Peter offered respectfully as Elias drove them towards the clinic.
“Don’t I know it.”
“Did you meet her up here?”
Elias smiled, glancing over at him. “No.”
“Are you ever going to tell me where you’re from?”
Elias laughed. “I’m surprised you’ve not used your contacts to find out.”
“I was trying to be civil,” Peter muttered.
“Where do you think I’m from, then?”
“I think you’re from the military, is where I think you’re from.”
Elias looked genuinely surprised. “Why do you think that?”
“You and Ruby are playing at games I’ve never seen a police service play at.”
“I do work for the Met, and have done for ten years.”
“But before that. Local boy, wants out of his small town on the border, enlists in the army…”
Elias didn’t reply, and Peter continued. “Bright spark, I could see you being pulled into some special service. Intelligence, I’d warrant, although military intelligence-”
“Is an oxymoron. I’ve heard that one.”
“Why’d you go to the Met, instead of working for the civilian intelligence services after your discharge?”
“That, my friend, is a tale for another day.” Elias pulled into the small parking lot of the clinic.
Peter fought down a self-satisfied grin; he’d taken a stab in the dark, and had been pleasantly surprised that he’d guessed correctly.
The clinic appeared to be empty when they walked in; Peter supposed they’d have another round of appointments during the lunch hour, beginning shortly before one.
Peter found the bell, ringing it merrily for service; a harried clerk appeared from one of the side doors, glowering at them. “We’re closed.”
“Door’s open.” Elias pointed to the door through which they’d just entered.
“It shouldn’t be. Now, we’re closed.”
Peter reached into his pocket, lazily pulling out his credentials. “And I’m Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle of the North Lakes Constabulary. This here is Detective Inspector Elias McCoy of the Metropolitan Police Department of London. And we’d really like to have a chat with Doctor Phillips.” He paused briefly, before adding, “Please.”
The clerk glared at them, recognizing a superior force when faced with it. “Very well. Come this way, please?”
They were escorted back to the Doctor’s office, a small white box of a room, complete with diplomas and pictures on the walls, and bookshelves full of books on indecipherable topics.
“Nicest room in the place, I’d wager,” Elias offered, glancing at one of the diplomas.
“He certainly has a deep appreciation of his own merits,” Peter replied, idly picking up pictures from the desk and glancing at them. He handed one of the larger framed pictures over to Elias, a shot of several couples flanking President Jones at some black-tie gala or other.
“I know this woman,” Elias said, squinting his eyes, peering at the picture Peter had handed him.
“Very funny, Elias.” Peter reached for the picture.
“No, I do.” Elias paused, glancing to towards the door. “She was involved in a case down in London. Was a witness.”
“The world’s not that small.”
“I’m not kidding, Peter.”
Peter took the picture back, setting it back into its space on the desk, jerking his hand back guiltily as the door was pushed open.
“This had best not be a waste of my time.” Doctor Phillips stalked into the room, brushing rudely past Peter and sitting at his desk.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir,” Peter offered.
Elias arched an eyebrow; the sarcasm was lost on the man behind the desk. “We just wanted to ask a few questions about some of your patients.”
“We can’t share patient records.”
“You can if they’re dead.” Peter gazed steadily at Phillips as he said it, watching for a reaction.
A muscle in the Doctor’s cheek jumped briefly. “We’ll need proof of that before any documents can be released.”
“How’d you wind up in Glasgow, sir?” Elias interrupted Peter’s next question.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re from London, surely?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Your degrees. And the pictures of you and your lovely wife.”
Phillips shifted uncomfortably. “I was asked to come up here as a favour to an old friend.”
“Holly Kaas?” Elias asked, curious. Peter sat back and watched, fascinated.
The icy façade cracked a bit. “Yes. You know her?”
“I met her several times. How is she?”
“She’s fine.”
“Did you work with her at the House of Mary shelter, in Cheapside?”
“No, I was over on the west. Why are you asking me these questions?”
“I saw her picture on your desk; it’s always nice to find common friends.”
“Yes, well. Is that the only reason you’re here?”
“We’ll need those files, Doctor. As they’re not available, we’ll be on our way.” Elias stood, taking Peter by surprise. They were done?
It seemed so. Elias extended his hand, shaking the doctor’s; Peter followed suit before walking out of the office behind his partner. He’d just missed something. And he had no idea what.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“He’s our man,” Elias said flatly, without preamble, as he started the car outside the clinic.
“What?”
“He’s our man.”
“He…but…What did I miss?”
“All sorts of things.” Elias offered him a rueful grin.
Peter leaned back against his seat, feeling like a right failure. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this sort of work-at least not in a city any larger than Kendal. He wasn’t half as good as he thought he was...
“Don’t worry-you’d never have picked up on them; it’s all tied into what we’ve worked in the Met,” Elias interrupted his self-pity.
“Then tell me. Explain it,” Peter shot back.
Elias sighed, driving them back to the hotel. “Holly Kaas-the woman in the picture, who was a witness years ago? She’s one of our key people of interest. She runs these shelters, but there’s always been some shady things going on with them.”
“So arrest her.”
“We can’t-there’s no evidence. But…she ties into the officers being investigated. We think the drugs are moved through people at the shelters, even if we can’t prove it.”
“So…how does Dr. Phillips fold into it, then?”
“The officers currently under investigation work on the west side. We were ultimately tipped off to the whole thing when a resident of one of the shelters came forward, alleging that he’d noticed two officers engaging in illegal activity at the shelter, more than a few times. We didn’t think to bring the witness in, and he fell off the face of the earth a few weeks after we began our preliminary investigation.”
“At which point I’d imagine you took his claim a bit more seriously.”
“Not really. But when he turned up in the Thames? We took it seriously. I don’t recall Doctor Phillips’s name being associated with that shelter, not when we started to investigate; but if he was there any time before five years ago, we’d not have caught it.”
“So. He comes up here to open a clinic as a favour. But I though clinics were state-run?”
“Only in England, not in Scotland. It’s something to do with Scottish law, I don’t know. So it’s entirely possible for Doctor Phillips to get together a group of civic-minded investors or what have you, and open a clinic. And then run it with very little in the way of oversight.”
“And they’d use that clinic for…?”
Elias pulled into a parking space at the station, turning the car off in frustration. “I don’t know. It’s an excellent way to obtain drugs legally, but they’d not be able to have too much go missing. There’s not much oversight, but there’s enough.”
“So it’s a distribution point.”
“Eh?”
“Get the drugs to Phillips or his staff. Have them hand various quantities out to dealers. Dealers like Wilson.”
“Or Shields.”
“Exactly.”
Elias grinned. “I think we might just have a fully workable theory, Peter.”
They swapped out cars, did a quick check for messages, and hurried back to the hotel. Ruby was in Elias’s suite, working off a laptop; Peter recognized the setup from when Rose had worked with him, a satellite connection giving her secure access to whatever she was connected to. She’d changed out of her tracksuit, was now wearing jeans and one of Elias’s shirts, and she’d pulled her hair back. She looked stunning, and Peter wrestled briefly with a flash of guilt for thinking so.
Ruby was impressive, and lovely, and Elias was lucky to be married to her. The recognition that she was stunning, though, was followed almost immediately by a far deeper conviction: Ruby was lovely, but all things considered he much preferred his Rose.
There were some drinks in the chiller, and they settled around the small table in the sitting area, ironing out their theory, trying to solidify potential connections and relationships for each of the principals involved, working to ensure there was proof to support the theories being bandied about. Peter lost track of time, focusing all of his attention into the work they were doing, determined to carry his weight.
It was fully dark outside by the time they had something they felt would hold up to scrutiny; something with which they could report back to the Met, or use to request the bevy of warrants that would be necessary in order to collect evidence tying Shields, Wilson, and Phillips together. And there was still a decent amount of legwork yet to be done. Still, it was with a feeling of satisfaction that Peter leaned back, stretching his arms above his head trying to remove the kinks from his back. He brought his arms down, glancing at his watch; he was startled into exclaiming, “It’s ten!” as he noted the time.
“Well. That’s one way to spend a day,” Elias noted.
“And nary a call. That’s odd,” Ruby observed.
“Nothing from our friends at forensics, at any rate,” Elias added.
“Remember how long it took to get anything back from our non-decayed corpse?” Peter reminded him.
“There’s a point.” Elias tossed his trusty fountain pen onto the pile of papers on the table. “I could murder a pizza.”
“Then order one,” Ruby suggested.
“I may go to bed,” Peter interjected. “What’s the plan from here on out?”
“We’ll get in touch with London, and get them to start working it from their end. For us? Surveillance. Lots of it, too.”
“I can’t wait. And Judy?”
“We’ll check in with our local man, make sure she’s still safe; we’ll try to get a picture or two down to him, to see if Judy recognizes any of our suspects.”
“Usual time tomorrow, then?”
“In the lobby.”
“I’ll be there, fully caffeinated.” Peter stood, twisting to loosen his back. He grabbed his coat, draping it over his arm as he walked to the door to the suite.
“Peter?”
He paused, turning back to Elias. “Yes?”
“Thank you.” Elias paused, then added, “It was good work.”
Peter ducked his head, embarrassed. “Thanks.” He opened the door, hurrying out of his partner’s room and back to his own.
~ - ~
Chapter 13
Peter drove them to the police station, running inside only long enough to make sure the reports had been picked up, and to grab the keys to the marked police car. There were no messages for either he or Elias, and he hastened back into the late autumn sunshine.
“Right. How’re we going to play this, then?” he asked, stopping in front of Elias.
“We’re going to escort Ms. Quarles here back to her flat, and assist her in the removal of certain personal effects, before bringing her to her new lodgings.”
“And those would be..?”
“The hotel.” The statement was not followed by “you idiot,” but Elias’s tone of voice indicated he thought it.
“Right. And then?”
“Then we drop Ruby, and pay a visit to the clinic.”
Peter extended his hand, giving the keys to Elias. “Your turn to drive, then.”
“No argument, Inspector Carlisle?” Elias’s wry tone gave him pause.
“No...should there be?”
“So the mood does wear off by mid-morning?”
Peter made a rude gesture, smiling, and then walked over to the large police vehicle.
No one appeared to be terribly interested in their arrival at the apartment block Ruby had occupied; certainly no doors were cracked open, although Peter reckoned more than a few residents would have looked through the peepholes in their doors to see what was going on. The soaps weren’t yet on, after all.
They made quite a racket going through the flat, working to encourage the perception that the GGC were turning the place upside-down in search of something. In the end, they wound up removing a few books, and more of the normal, everyday looking objects they’d picked up on their first visit. Peter had learned from Elias, after that visit, that the objects contained film or recordings; Peter had made a remark on the cloak-and-dagger nature of the operation, and had been given a withering glance from Elias in return.
Elias had switched over to the brogue as they worked, trading jibes with Ruby good-naturedly; Peter watched them, their comfort working together, how happy they both seemed to be with their lives. He’d never really given proper thought to working at Torchwood, to moving down to not only live with Rose but also work with her. He suspected he’d not be able to do it, in truth; that he’d be so distracted by having her nearby all of the time, he’d be completely unable to let her out of his sight, to let her do her job without hovering. She’d hate him for it, he suspected, not because he’d got a job at Torchwood, but because he couldn’t let her go when he needed to.
No, working at the same place as Rose wasn’t going to be an option. Not a sane or long-term one, at any rate.
He’d not have to live with her-he’d be happy to simply be in the same city as her, to know that he could walk over or take the subte, that he’d not have to pack a suitcase to spend more than a few hours with her.
He shook his head, trying to clear it, to focus on turning over the flat. He was getting ahead of himself again, thinking about moving to London before he’d talked with Rose about it once again.
“Ready to go, then?” Ruby finally asked Elias in a soft voice.
“You tell me. We’re not coming back here, not for a while.”
“I’m ready.”
Peter glanced back at the room full of equipment. “What about…?” He gestured to the space.
Ruby grinned. “Oh, that’s not a worry.” She turned, pulling the door to the room shut, locking the deadbolt with a type of key he’d not seen before. “Locked safe and sound, that is.”
Peter remained unconvinced, but took her at her word. He hefted a box, ensuring he had a firm grasp on it before nodding that he was ready to go.
“Shall we, m’love?” Elias extended his elbow to his wife; she laughed, swatting playfully at him before passing by.
“Time to give the busybodies one last show, dear.” Ruby winked, before launching once more into a shouted stream of vitriol. The three of them exited the flat, shouting each other down, moving towards the car under the scrutiny of pensioners and mothers on the dole.
Ruby was dropped at the hotel shortly before noon; she’d fixed her hair and makeup in the car, and the polished if weary woman who exited the rear passenger door bore very little resemblance indeed to the rough woman who’d entered it a half-hour before. In a refined voice she thanked them for the kind offer of a lift, reaching into the boot to remove the box before slowly sashaying through the lobby door.
“That is one hell of a woman, Elias,” Peter offered respectfully as Elias drove them towards the clinic.
“Don’t I know it.”
“Did you meet her up here?”
Elias smiled, glancing over at him. “No.”
“Are you ever going to tell me where you’re from?”
Elias laughed. “I’m surprised you’ve not used your contacts to find out.”
“I was trying to be civil,” Peter muttered.
“Where do you think I’m from, then?”
“I think you’re from the military, is where I think you’re from.”
Elias looked genuinely surprised. “Why do you think that?”
“You and Ruby are playing at games I’ve never seen a police service play at.”
“I do work for the Met, and have done for ten years.”
“But before that. Local boy, wants out of his small town on the border, enlists in the army…”
Elias didn’t reply, and Peter continued. “Bright spark, I could see you being pulled into some special service. Intelligence, I’d warrant, although military intelligence-”
“Is an oxymoron. I’ve heard that one.”
“Why’d you go to the Met, instead of working for the civilian intelligence services after your discharge?”
“That, my friend, is a tale for another day.” Elias pulled into the small parking lot of the clinic.
Peter fought down a self-satisfied grin; he’d taken a stab in the dark, and had been pleasantly surprised that he’d guessed correctly.
The clinic appeared to be empty when they walked in; Peter supposed they’d have another round of appointments during the lunch hour, beginning shortly before one.
Peter found the bell, ringing it merrily for service; a harried clerk appeared from one of the side doors, glowering at them. “We’re closed.”
“Door’s open.” Elias pointed to the door through which they’d just entered.
“It shouldn’t be. Now, we’re closed.”
Peter reached into his pocket, lazily pulling out his credentials. “And I’m Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle of the North Lakes Constabulary. This here is Detective Inspector Elias McCoy of the Metropolitan Police Department of London. And we’d really like to have a chat with Doctor Phillips.” He paused briefly, before adding, “Please.”
The clerk glared at them, recognizing a superior force when faced with it. “Very well. Come this way, please?”
They were escorted back to the Doctor’s office, a small white box of a room, complete with diplomas and pictures on the walls, and bookshelves full of books on indecipherable topics.
“Nicest room in the place, I’d wager,” Elias offered, glancing at one of the diplomas.
“He certainly has a deep appreciation of his own merits,” Peter replied, idly picking up pictures from the desk and glancing at them. He handed one of the larger framed pictures over to Elias, a shot of several couples flanking President Jones at some black-tie gala or other.
“I know this woman,” Elias said, squinting his eyes, peering at the picture Peter had handed him.
“Very funny, Elias.” Peter reached for the picture.
“No, I do.” Elias paused, glancing to towards the door. “She was involved in a case down in London. Was a witness.”
“The world’s not that small.”
“I’m not kidding, Peter.”
Peter took the picture back, setting it back into its space on the desk, jerking his hand back guiltily as the door was pushed open.
“This had best not be a waste of my time.” Doctor Phillips stalked into the room, brushing rudely past Peter and sitting at his desk.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir,” Peter offered.
Elias arched an eyebrow; the sarcasm was lost on the man behind the desk. “We just wanted to ask a few questions about some of your patients.”
“We can’t share patient records.”
“You can if they’re dead.” Peter gazed steadily at Phillips as he said it, watching for a reaction.
A muscle in the Doctor’s cheek jumped briefly. “We’ll need proof of that before any documents can be released.”
“How’d you wind up in Glasgow, sir?” Elias interrupted Peter’s next question.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re from London, surely?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Your degrees. And the pictures of you and your lovely wife.”
Phillips shifted uncomfortably. “I was asked to come up here as a favour to an old friend.”
“Holly Kaas?” Elias asked, curious. Peter sat back and watched, fascinated.
The icy façade cracked a bit. “Yes. You know her?”
“I met her several times. How is she?”
“She’s fine.”
“Did you work with her at the House of Mary shelter, in Cheapside?”
“No, I was over on the west. Why are you asking me these questions?”
“I saw her picture on your desk; it’s always nice to find common friends.”
“Yes, well. Is that the only reason you’re here?”
“We’ll need those files, Doctor. As they’re not available, we’ll be on our way.” Elias stood, taking Peter by surprise. They were done?
It seemed so. Elias extended his hand, shaking the doctor’s; Peter followed suit before walking out of the office behind his partner. He’d just missed something. And he had no idea what.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
“He’s our man,” Elias said flatly, without preamble, as he started the car outside the clinic.
“What?”
“He’s our man.”
“He…but…What did I miss?”
“All sorts of things.” Elias offered him a rueful grin.
Peter leaned back against his seat, feeling like a right failure. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this sort of work-at least not in a city any larger than Kendal. He wasn’t half as good as he thought he was...
“Don’t worry-you’d never have picked up on them; it’s all tied into what we’ve worked in the Met,” Elias interrupted his self-pity.
“Then tell me. Explain it,” Peter shot back.
Elias sighed, driving them back to the hotel. “Holly Kaas-the woman in the picture, who was a witness years ago? She’s one of our key people of interest. She runs these shelters, but there’s always been some shady things going on with them.”
“So arrest her.”
“We can’t-there’s no evidence. But…she ties into the officers being investigated. We think the drugs are moved through people at the shelters, even if we can’t prove it.”
“So…how does Dr. Phillips fold into it, then?”
“The officers currently under investigation work on the west side. We were ultimately tipped off to the whole thing when a resident of one of the shelters came forward, alleging that he’d noticed two officers engaging in illegal activity at the shelter, more than a few times. We didn’t think to bring the witness in, and he fell off the face of the earth a few weeks after we began our preliminary investigation.”
“At which point I’d imagine you took his claim a bit more seriously.”
“Not really. But when he turned up in the Thames? We took it seriously. I don’t recall Doctor Phillips’s name being associated with that shelter, not when we started to investigate; but if he was there any time before five years ago, we’d not have caught it.”
“So. He comes up here to open a clinic as a favour. But I though clinics were state-run?”
“Only in England, not in Scotland. It’s something to do with Scottish law, I don’t know. So it’s entirely possible for Doctor Phillips to get together a group of civic-minded investors or what have you, and open a clinic. And then run it with very little in the way of oversight.”
“And they’d use that clinic for…?”
Elias pulled into a parking space at the station, turning the car off in frustration. “I don’t know. It’s an excellent way to obtain drugs legally, but they’d not be able to have too much go missing. There’s not much oversight, but there’s enough.”
“So it’s a distribution point.”
“Eh?”
“Get the drugs to Phillips or his staff. Have them hand various quantities out to dealers. Dealers like Wilson.”
“Or Shields.”
“Exactly.”
Elias grinned. “I think we might just have a fully workable theory, Peter.”
They swapped out cars, did a quick check for messages, and hurried back to the hotel. Ruby was in Elias’s suite, working off a laptop; Peter recognized the setup from when Rose had worked with him, a satellite connection giving her secure access to whatever she was connected to. She’d changed out of her tracksuit, was now wearing jeans and one of Elias’s shirts, and she’d pulled her hair back. She looked stunning, and Peter wrestled briefly with a flash of guilt for thinking so.
Ruby was impressive, and lovely, and Elias was lucky to be married to her. The recognition that she was stunning, though, was followed almost immediately by a far deeper conviction: Ruby was lovely, but all things considered he much preferred his Rose.
There were some drinks in the chiller, and they settled around the small table in the sitting area, ironing out their theory, trying to solidify potential connections and relationships for each of the principals involved, working to ensure there was proof to support the theories being bandied about. Peter lost track of time, focusing all of his attention into the work they were doing, determined to carry his weight.
It was fully dark outside by the time they had something they felt would hold up to scrutiny; something with which they could report back to the Met, or use to request the bevy of warrants that would be necessary in order to collect evidence tying Shields, Wilson, and Phillips together. And there was still a decent amount of legwork yet to be done. Still, it was with a feeling of satisfaction that Peter leaned back, stretching his arms above his head trying to remove the kinks from his back. He brought his arms down, glancing at his watch; he was startled into exclaiming, “It’s ten!” as he noted the time.
“Well. That’s one way to spend a day,” Elias noted.
“And nary a call. That’s odd,” Ruby observed.
“Nothing from our friends at forensics, at any rate,” Elias added.
“Remember how long it took to get anything back from our non-decayed corpse?” Peter reminded him.
“There’s a point.” Elias tossed his trusty fountain pen onto the pile of papers on the table. “I could murder a pizza.”
“Then order one,” Ruby suggested.
“I may go to bed,” Peter interjected. “What’s the plan from here on out?”
“We’ll get in touch with London, and get them to start working it from their end. For us? Surveillance. Lots of it, too.”
“I can’t wait. And Judy?”
“We’ll check in with our local man, make sure she’s still safe; we’ll try to get a picture or two down to him, to see if Judy recognizes any of our suspects.”
“Usual time tomorrow, then?”
“In the lobby.”
“I’ll be there, fully caffeinated.” Peter stood, twisting to loosen his back. He grabbed his coat, draping it over his arm as he walked to the door to the suite.
“Peter?”
He paused, turning back to Elias. “Yes?”
“Thank you.” Elias paused, then added, “It was good work.”
Peter ducked his head, embarrassed. “Thanks.” He opened the door, hurrying out of his partner’s room and back to his own.
~ - ~
Chapter 13