Fic: The Art of Being Lost and Found (25/?), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Art of Being Lost and Found (25/?)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1881 (this part); (36,336 in total, so far)
Rating: blue cortina
Warnings: none here
Summary: Post 2.08. When the Guv goes missing, CID is saddled with an inept "interim" DCI. To find Gene, and the truth, Ray must team up with a hated enemy.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15
Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24
The neat stacks of abandoned books were scattered across the floor. The bed sheets were torn and crumpled. Bits of the yellowed floor were stained with drops of blood. Tyler had had the stuffing knocked out of him, but it looked like he’d put up a fight.
Ray crossed the room, heading immediately for Sam’s bedside table. The drawer stuck as he pulled it forward, but a good yank drew it all the way out. Tossing the wooden drawer onto the bed, Ray crouched down and stuck his hand in the empty space. He felt around carefully, but found nothing.
“Tyler, you bastard,” he sneered and shook his head. As he rose, he caught sight of Bresson’s bedside table. Deciding it couldn’t hurt, he reached for the other drawer, pulling it out in one fluid motion. Setting the second drawer aside, Ray again reached inside, tapped his hand against the bottom, and immediately felt paper. He quickly pulled out two slips of paper, folded in half together, and opened them to see “Dear Mr. Hunt” across the top.
“Tyler, you beauty,” he smiled as he started to read the letter.
“DS Carling.”
Upon hearing Dr. Wynton’s voice, Ray folded the letter, shoved it in his pocket, and turned round.
“Doctor,” he nodded.
“How is Sam?”
“Few cuts and bruises. Nowt broken, far as I could tell.”
“Did he regain consciousness? When he was found, we were unable to wake him,” she surveyed the damage to the room as if seeing it for the first time.
“Came to just before I left.”
“Was he cognizant?” she asked, frowning as she examined the blood on the floor.
“Were he what-ant?”
The doctor sighed in the way Sam used to.
“Was he aware of his surroundings? Did he understand what happened?”
“Oh, sure. Well, I think he did. Can’t remember who did it, though. Least not yet. Did your staff tell you owt?”
“No one knows exactly what happened,” she replied with obvious aggravation, crossing her arms tight against her chest. “They heard shouts, but I’m afraid they are all too accustomed to shouting around here. When they finally decided to investigate, they spotted a man escaping via the fire escape and Mr. Williams unconscious on the floor.”
“Who’s they?”
“Joe Blackton, an orderly, and Lucy Miles, one of our young nurses.”
“I’ll need to speak to ‘em meself.”
“I don’t believe they are lying.”
“Course not. I’d just like to hear the story straight from the horse’s mouth.”
“Very well, then. I’ll arrange it,” Wynton uncrossed her arms and smoothed down her white coat, readying herself to leave. “Am I allowed to have my staff clean the room or do you need to preserve it as a crime scene?”
Having found what he came for, Ray hadn’t even considered the room as a crime scene or thought of calling in forensics. He thought he’d get whatever he needed from Tyler, once the bloke got around to remembering it.
“I’d leave it for now,” he decided, hoping to appear professional. “I’ll have our gay...our boys drive up in the morning to look it over.”
Wynton nodded in compliance.
“I’ll send Mr. Blackton and Miss Miles to the staff lounge. You may interview them there. If you’ll follow me, Detective.”
Without waiting to see if Ray would indeed follow, Wynton walked briskly out of the room. Ray padded his pocket, making sure the letter was still there, and hurried after her.
*
“Joe, is it?”
“Aye,” the disinterested man nodded.
“What can you tell me ‘bout the attack?”
“Dunno,” he shrugged.
“Well, just start from the beginning. Tell me what you heard. What you saw.”
“Nowt, really,” he shrugged again and stretched his neck from side to side. “Little prick started shouting.”
“And you went to check on him?”
Joe shrugged again.
“Not right away. Shouting and screaming. ‘S all normal, really. Nowt unusual ‘bout that.”
“So what did make you check, then?”
“He stopped screaming. That don’t happen. They never stop screaming on their own. Can I bum a fag?”
“Sure,” Ray nodded, reaching into his pocket and tossing his pack on the table.
“Cheers,” Joe said, sliding a ciggie out of the pack.
“So, what’d you see when you went to his room?”
“Turned the corner,” Joe began, pausing to light up. “Saw this bloke running down the corridor, towards the stairwell. Weren’t in white, so I knew it weren’t a patient making a run for it.”
“That happen often? Patients making a go for it?”
“No,” Joe shook his head. “What the drugs are for, innit?”
“Guess so. So, you chased this bloke, yeah?”
“Yeah. But ‘stead of going down the stairwell, he ducked out the window. Jumped onto the fire escape and took off.”
“So, the window was already open?”
“Yeah. Guess it’s how he got in,” Joe flicked a clump of ash to the floor.
“And you chased after him?”
“Outside? No. Once he were outside, weren’t me problem no more. When I was walking back, I heard one of the nurses calling for help.”
*
“Oh, he just looked awful, he did. I was so certain he was dead! Lying there, silent as the grave, blood all around. Were afraid to check for a pulse.”
Lucy Miles shivered as she recounted the story.
“Course I did, of course. It’s me job. Course, I made sure not to touch his blood, of course. Sight of it always makes me a tad queasy, it does. Why I chose to work here, ‘stead of a regular hospital.”
“Did you see the bloke what did it?” Ray asked, making a valiant effort to stare at her face and not her chest, though it was a losing battle.
“No, I’m afraid not,” she sighed. “I heard Joe yelling at someone, so I went to see what the matter was. Sometimes Joe, well he can be a bit rough with the patients. And sometimes all they need is a pretty face to calm ‘em down. Not in the women’s ward, mind. Thank the Lord I don’t work there. Heard them women can be a right terror to deal with. Is Mr. Williams going to be alright?”
“Sorry?” Ray cleared his throat and raised his eyes.
“Will Mr. Williams be alright? Such a nice man. A bit, well, odd, but it’s how they all are round here, else they wouldn’t be here, would they?”
“He should be fine.”
“Oh good. I’ve been so worried ‘bout him. His treatment hasn’t been going well at all. That’s what I’ve heard Dr. Wynton saying. And now to have this happen? Why, I just don’t understand it. Who’d want to break in here just to beat someone up? Doesn’t make any sense. Bet that man who did it should be locked up in here with the rest of ‘em. Oh, goodness. Look at the time. Me mam will kill herself with worry I don’t get meself home. Is there anything else you needed, Detective?”
“No. No, that’s all. You can go on your way.”
“Thank you, sir. Evening,” she smiled and excused herself from the table. Ray turned and watched her walk out of the room.
“And what a way it is,” he whistled as she left.
*
Ray left the asylum, but not the car park. Instead, he sat in his car turning the letter over in his hands without unfolding it. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just open it and read it. He wouldn’t say he was nervous. Ray Carling was never nervous about anything. He was just...not quite ready to read it.
What if it was another dead end? What if it wasn’t the right letter? What if it didn’t say anything useful? What if Tyler had written it himself and this whole “the Guv has a niece” lead was just something the nutter concocted to make himself feel important, like the whole “future” bollocks?
That was the question that worried Ray the most - that he had wasted time believing what that psycho said instead of chasing a real lead.
He took a deep breath.
He wouldn’t know until he read the letter.
He unfolded the paper in his hands.
*
Dear Mr. Hunt,
You don’t know me and I don’t know you. But, I think we have a common concern. It’s possible you won’t even know about it till I tell you, but I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t know a lick about you. You could be a thug like everyone else I know. But, I hope you’re not, Mister Hunt, cos it’s not another thug I need right now.
Well, that’s misleading, I guess. I don’t need anyone. But, there is someone who does. I’d do it on me own, if I could. I have done me whole life. But, I can’t now. Not unless I want to risk both our lives.
Right then. I’ll get to the point, sir.
Her name is Dorothy. Like that girl from Oz. And a girl she is. I don’t know her age. But, she’s six or seven, I think. I’ve known her about year. Her mum and I used to work together. But, now her mum, her mum is gone now. I don’t know if she’s dead or just done a runner, but little Dorothy’s on her own now.
Thing is, Mister Hunt, her mum owed debts. A lot of debts. Now she’s gone, those she owed, they see nothing wrong with using a little girl to pay off those debts.
Now, sir, you must be wondering why I’m coming to you with this. See, I know you’re a police officer, sir, but there are plenty of coppers I could talk to in London bout this. Thing is, I don’t trust the lot of them. I don’t know if I can trust you, either, but there’s one thing that might make you different than the rest.
See, Dorothy’s last name is Hunt, sir. What her mum always called her when she made trouble. Dorothy Hunt. Just like her father, she’d say.
I don’t know if she is your daughter, sir. I don’t mean to imply nothing, specially if you have a wife, sir. No disrespect. But, I know she and her mum came from Manchester, long time ago, Linda used to say.
Well, I’m not as dumb as they like to think, and I called in some favors and found your name.
I don’t know if you can help or if you even want to or if you even believe me. I don’t blame you if you don’t. But, I’m scared for her, Mister Hunt. She’s just a kiddie, and I don’t want her to end up like her mother or like me, and if there’s even a chance someone can help her.
I’ve included this photograph of Dorothy’s. Maybe it’ll help you make up your mind. All she has of her father, she told me, but I told her it could help us find him and she left me have it. Broke me heart to take from her.
I don’t know if this man is you, sir, or if you know who he is. But, if you do decide to help her, Dorothy said she would very much like the picture back, please.
Author: dak
Word Count: 1881 (this part); (36,336 in total, so far)
Rating: blue cortina
Warnings: none here
Summary: Post 2.08. When the Guv goes missing, CID is saddled with an inept "interim" DCI. To find Gene, and the truth, Ray must team up with a hated enemy.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15
Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24
The neat stacks of abandoned books were scattered across the floor. The bed sheets were torn and crumpled. Bits of the yellowed floor were stained with drops of blood. Tyler had had the stuffing knocked out of him, but it looked like he’d put up a fight.
Ray crossed the room, heading immediately for Sam’s bedside table. The drawer stuck as he pulled it forward, but a good yank drew it all the way out. Tossing the wooden drawer onto the bed, Ray crouched down and stuck his hand in the empty space. He felt around carefully, but found nothing.
“Tyler, you bastard,” he sneered and shook his head. As he rose, he caught sight of Bresson’s bedside table. Deciding it couldn’t hurt, he reached for the other drawer, pulling it out in one fluid motion. Setting the second drawer aside, Ray again reached inside, tapped his hand against the bottom, and immediately felt paper. He quickly pulled out two slips of paper, folded in half together, and opened them to see “Dear Mr. Hunt” across the top.
“Tyler, you beauty,” he smiled as he started to read the letter.
“DS Carling.”
Upon hearing Dr. Wynton’s voice, Ray folded the letter, shoved it in his pocket, and turned round.
“Doctor,” he nodded.
“How is Sam?”
“Few cuts and bruises. Nowt broken, far as I could tell.”
“Did he regain consciousness? When he was found, we were unable to wake him,” she surveyed the damage to the room as if seeing it for the first time.
“Came to just before I left.”
“Was he cognizant?” she asked, frowning as she examined the blood on the floor.
“Were he what-ant?”
The doctor sighed in the way Sam used to.
“Was he aware of his surroundings? Did he understand what happened?”
“Oh, sure. Well, I think he did. Can’t remember who did it, though. Least not yet. Did your staff tell you owt?”
“No one knows exactly what happened,” she replied with obvious aggravation, crossing her arms tight against her chest. “They heard shouts, but I’m afraid they are all too accustomed to shouting around here. When they finally decided to investigate, they spotted a man escaping via the fire escape and Mr. Williams unconscious on the floor.”
“Who’s they?”
“Joe Blackton, an orderly, and Lucy Miles, one of our young nurses.”
“I’ll need to speak to ‘em meself.”
“I don’t believe they are lying.”
“Course not. I’d just like to hear the story straight from the horse’s mouth.”
“Very well, then. I’ll arrange it,” Wynton uncrossed her arms and smoothed down her white coat, readying herself to leave. “Am I allowed to have my staff clean the room or do you need to preserve it as a crime scene?”
Having found what he came for, Ray hadn’t even considered the room as a crime scene or thought of calling in forensics. He thought he’d get whatever he needed from Tyler, once the bloke got around to remembering it.
“I’d leave it for now,” he decided, hoping to appear professional. “I’ll have our gay...our boys drive up in the morning to look it over.”
Wynton nodded in compliance.
“I’ll send Mr. Blackton and Miss Miles to the staff lounge. You may interview them there. If you’ll follow me, Detective.”
Without waiting to see if Ray would indeed follow, Wynton walked briskly out of the room. Ray padded his pocket, making sure the letter was still there, and hurried after her.
*
“Joe, is it?”
“Aye,” the disinterested man nodded.
“What can you tell me ‘bout the attack?”
“Dunno,” he shrugged.
“Well, just start from the beginning. Tell me what you heard. What you saw.”
“Nowt, really,” he shrugged again and stretched his neck from side to side. “Little prick started shouting.”
“And you went to check on him?”
Joe shrugged again.
“Not right away. Shouting and screaming. ‘S all normal, really. Nowt unusual ‘bout that.”
“So what did make you check, then?”
“He stopped screaming. That don’t happen. They never stop screaming on their own. Can I bum a fag?”
“Sure,” Ray nodded, reaching into his pocket and tossing his pack on the table.
“Cheers,” Joe said, sliding a ciggie out of the pack.
“So, what’d you see when you went to his room?”
“Turned the corner,” Joe began, pausing to light up. “Saw this bloke running down the corridor, towards the stairwell. Weren’t in white, so I knew it weren’t a patient making a run for it.”
“That happen often? Patients making a go for it?”
“No,” Joe shook his head. “What the drugs are for, innit?”
“Guess so. So, you chased this bloke, yeah?”
“Yeah. But ‘stead of going down the stairwell, he ducked out the window. Jumped onto the fire escape and took off.”
“So, the window was already open?”
“Yeah. Guess it’s how he got in,” Joe flicked a clump of ash to the floor.
“And you chased after him?”
“Outside? No. Once he were outside, weren’t me problem no more. When I was walking back, I heard one of the nurses calling for help.”
*
“Oh, he just looked awful, he did. I was so certain he was dead! Lying there, silent as the grave, blood all around. Were afraid to check for a pulse.”
Lucy Miles shivered as she recounted the story.
“Course I did, of course. It’s me job. Course, I made sure not to touch his blood, of course. Sight of it always makes me a tad queasy, it does. Why I chose to work here, ‘stead of a regular hospital.”
“Did you see the bloke what did it?” Ray asked, making a valiant effort to stare at her face and not her chest, though it was a losing battle.
“No, I’m afraid not,” she sighed. “I heard Joe yelling at someone, so I went to see what the matter was. Sometimes Joe, well he can be a bit rough with the patients. And sometimes all they need is a pretty face to calm ‘em down. Not in the women’s ward, mind. Thank the Lord I don’t work there. Heard them women can be a right terror to deal with. Is Mr. Williams going to be alright?”
“Sorry?” Ray cleared his throat and raised his eyes.
“Will Mr. Williams be alright? Such a nice man. A bit, well, odd, but it’s how they all are round here, else they wouldn’t be here, would they?”
“He should be fine.”
“Oh good. I’ve been so worried ‘bout him. His treatment hasn’t been going well at all. That’s what I’ve heard Dr. Wynton saying. And now to have this happen? Why, I just don’t understand it. Who’d want to break in here just to beat someone up? Doesn’t make any sense. Bet that man who did it should be locked up in here with the rest of ‘em. Oh, goodness. Look at the time. Me mam will kill herself with worry I don’t get meself home. Is there anything else you needed, Detective?”
“No. No, that’s all. You can go on your way.”
“Thank you, sir. Evening,” she smiled and excused herself from the table. Ray turned and watched her walk out of the room.
“And what a way it is,” he whistled as she left.
*
Ray left the asylum, but not the car park. Instead, he sat in his car turning the letter over in his hands without unfolding it. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just open it and read it. He wouldn’t say he was nervous. Ray Carling was never nervous about anything. He was just...not quite ready to read it.
What if it was another dead end? What if it wasn’t the right letter? What if it didn’t say anything useful? What if Tyler had written it himself and this whole “the Guv has a niece” lead was just something the nutter concocted to make himself feel important, like the whole “future” bollocks?
That was the question that worried Ray the most - that he had wasted time believing what that psycho said instead of chasing a real lead.
He took a deep breath.
He wouldn’t know until he read the letter.
He unfolded the paper in his hands.
*
Dear Mr. Hunt,
You don’t know me and I don’t know you. But, I think we have a common concern. It’s possible you won’t even know about it till I tell you, but I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t know a lick about you. You could be a thug like everyone else I know. But, I hope you’re not, Mister Hunt, cos it’s not another thug I need right now.
Well, that’s misleading, I guess. I don’t need anyone. But, there is someone who does. I’d do it on me own, if I could. I have done me whole life. But, I can’t now. Not unless I want to risk both our lives.
Right then. I’ll get to the point, sir.
Her name is Dorothy. Like that girl from Oz. And a girl she is. I don’t know her age. But, she’s six or seven, I think. I’ve known her about year. Her mum and I used to work together. But, now her mum, her mum is gone now. I don’t know if she’s dead or just done a runner, but little Dorothy’s on her own now.
Thing is, Mister Hunt, her mum owed debts. A lot of debts. Now she’s gone, those she owed, they see nothing wrong with using a little girl to pay off those debts.
Now, sir, you must be wondering why I’m coming to you with this. See, I know you’re a police officer, sir, but there are plenty of coppers I could talk to in London bout this. Thing is, I don’t trust the lot of them. I don’t know if I can trust you, either, but there’s one thing that might make you different than the rest.
See, Dorothy’s last name is Hunt, sir. What her mum always called her when she made trouble. Dorothy Hunt. Just like her father, she’d say.
I don’t know if she is your daughter, sir. I don’t mean to imply nothing, specially if you have a wife, sir. No disrespect. But, I know she and her mum came from Manchester, long time ago, Linda used to say.
Well, I’m not as dumb as they like to think, and I called in some favors and found your name.
I don’t know if you can help or if you even want to or if you even believe me. I don’t blame you if you don’t. But, I’m scared for her, Mister Hunt. She’s just a kiddie, and I don’t want her to end up like her mother or like me, and if there’s even a chance someone can help her.
I’ve included this photograph of Dorothy’s. Maybe it’ll help you make up your mind. All she has of her father, she told me, but I told her it could help us find him and she left me have it. Broke me heart to take from her.
I don’t know if this man is you, sir, or if you know who he is. But, if you do decide to help her, Dorothy said she would very much like the picture back, please.