Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alec Hardy rubbed his temples and groaned at his laptop screen. He’d been sitting in front of his computer for hours, fighting with PowerPoint to get the slides finished for tomorrow’s lecture. He glanced back down at the outline he’d been given on Friday, detailing what material training module 4 was supposed to cover. It was dry, uninteresting administrative stuff no matter how he phrased it–no way to make the content anything other than utterly boring, regardless of what his superiors wanted from him. Not even a bubbly, happy person could make a discussion of the probationary officer period sound anything other than bland.

After far too much effort, Alec finally found the Wessex Police watermarked blank template slide. He told himself he really should save it to his desktop or something, somewhere he could find it quicker than hunting through the dozens of emails he received from various academy mailing list groups, and re-downloading it each week. He’d bullshitted his way through most of the presentation, in large part copying the verbiage of the outline verbatim without adding much of his own. One or two more slides should do it, he thought, realizing he was only on his seventh slide. Stretching that out for a whole lecture would be mind-numbing, but it would have to suffice. He would still have time to get more together for Wednesday. With Joe Miller set to enter his plea on Tuesday, he’d already been granted the time off to be there. He could sort out the rest of the week later on Tuesday evening when he hoped his brain would feel less soggy than it currently did.

Looking back and forth between the screen and paper outline was making him dizzier than it should have, even while wearing his glasses. He knew he probably needed to make an appointment with an optometrist and get his prescription adjusted, but in the grand scheme of medical issues he was currently dealing with, his vision ranked pretty low. There didn’t seem to be much point in getting new glasses if his heart was going to give out before the NHS scheduled his pacemaker procedure. Based on how he was feeling on this particular Sunday evening, that felt highly likely. His symptoms were coming on faster as of late, and while he did have a date booked for his surgery, the fear as to whether he’d make it to the hospital at this point had begun to replace his previous fear of whether he’d survive the operation. The dizziness was accompanied by a dull headache just behind his eyes, but both were minimal compared to the near-constant pressure in his chest that had persisted throughout the day. He scolded himself for not having finished this presentation yesterday, when he’d been feeling marginally better. It wasn’t like he’d spent his Saturday doing much other than sitting outside, listening to the water lap against the concrete barrier just below his back step, and thinking about how much more miserable he was now that he’d been medically invalidated out of his job as DI at Broadchurch CID. How empty he felt without the job that was slowly–rapidly, as of late–killing him, how much he missed Daisy and even Tess, or where he might have gone if he’d had the energy to leave.

He dragged a text box onto the top right corner of the slide, and typed out “Training Module 4” in all caps, highlighting it, and clicking the button to bold the lettering. In a second text box, he wrote “Probation Period.” Alec leaned back in his chair, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes again, trying to figure out what else to say about a two-year probationary period. Another text box: “As a new police constable, you must undertake,” he hit the backspace button. He’d spelled ‘undertake’ wrong. “A 2-year probationary period,” he finished, adding the full stop. He took another look at the outline. He squinted at the page, making out vague shapes that looked like the words “positive performance reviews and completion of the Student Office Record of Competence.”

Alec got up to make himself another cup of tea. He swayed as he stood, immediately breaking out in a cold sweat. He began patting his trouser pockets, and his vision swam as he searched around the small house for his coat, hoping to locate his pills. Finding the blister pack in his pocket, he sat back down and dry swallowed two of them, wincing as he waited for the medication to take effect. As soon as he could be reasonably sure he wasn’t going to pass out, Alec inserted three more text boxes onto the slide, placing them somewhat haphazardly, with no real regard for spacing or formatting. “Formal completion of the probation has two elements,” he wrote. In the other boxes, he entered those two elements from the outline, hit save, and closed the laptop. Close enough, he thought. If he wanted to add anything else, he’d take care of it when he inevitably woke up far too early in the morning. For now though, he needed to lie down.

—

Just as predicted, Hardy woke up choking on the invisible water after only a few hours asleep. He rolled onto his side, heaving over the bin he was glad to have had the foresight to place beside his bed a few nights ago. The nausea was new, one more physiological symptom for his subconscious to perceive as drowning, and something he should probably let his GP know about–if the man would take his calls. This was the first time he’d actually vomited though. Alec leaned over the side of his bed, loud gasps and gags echoed in the quiet. Snot and tears dripped into the bin as he retched, bringing up bile mixed with the undigested remnants of the vegetable soup he’d eaten for lunch.

Seemingly done being sick, Alec wiped his face with his t-shirt, and then immediately discarded the shirt onto the floor. He shivered, pulling the blankets up tightly around his shoulders and underneath his chin. He curled inward on himself, trying to make himself small enough to keep his feet from hanging out the bottom of the covers. It was too cold to go shirtless in the drafty space where he’d situated his bed, a feeling made worse by the sweat clinging to his skin. He’d need to get up to get a fresh shirt if he stood any chance of falling back to sleep and staying there until a more reasonable morning hour. He figured he could do that once the shaking subsided.

—

Alec groaned when his alarm clock went off at 7am. The chime jarred him from a restless half-sleep. He was still shirtless, still huddled under his blankets, with a sour taste lingering in his mouth. He went about the rest of his morning routine in a fog, forgoing his usual toast when the thought of eating made him queasy.

The walk to the academy felt as if it took twice as long as usual, and Alec was out of breath by the time he got there. From the moment he set down the bag containing his laptop, Alec was seriously beginning to question whether he’d make it through the class. The tightness in his chest he was accustomed to each morning felt more like a thick, heavy band stretched around his torso, pinching under his armpits all the way down his sides. With his back turned to the auditorium seating, he downed his pills, and plugged his laptop into the AV setup at the podium. Muddling his way through the first couple slides, it became apparent that he wasn’t going to be able to finish. His voice sounded more and more strained in his own ears the longer he tried to fight. Alec released his white-knuckled grip on the sides of the podium when his knees began to give way. He slid to the floor, breathing hard. He was dimly aware that a couple of the recruits had rushed to his aid as he lost consciousness.

—

“What? No, that’s absurd,” Alec complained into the phone from the hospital bed. He wedged his mobile between his shoulder and ear as he disconnected the ECG leads and peeled off the electrodes. “Medically unfit for standing in front of a podium, reading from slides? How is that even possible? If I drop dead up there, it’ll be out of boredom. Dehydration, that’s all this was,” he lied, on the off chance that the caller was not fully aware of his entire history.

The woman on the other end apologized once more, reiterated what paperwork Wessex Police would process for him, and what he’d need to do in order to be reinstated once he was medically cleared. Alec wasn’t listening. A nurse, alerted to his attempts at leaving when he’d disconnected the wires, came rushing into the room, trying to stop him from removing his IV.

“I’m not, leave it alone, gotta go,” he hung up the phone and pulled his arm away from the nurse. “What are you doing? I’m leaving,” he growled.

“Sir, you need to get back into bed,” the nurse tried, letting go of his arm. “You had a major cardiac event and–”

“I stayed the night, which, if you read my chart, isn’t something I normally do,” he cut her off. Alec hadn’t had much of a choice but to remain in hospital overnight. He assumed an ambulance had brought him in, but he’d been too out of it until well into the night to be fully cognizant of the events between when he’d arrived in the auditorium for the lecture, and when he’d woken up in the inpatient ward. Even then, he’d only managed to stay awake long enough to question whether he’d tried to fight to leave at an earlier point and been given some manner of sedative. Late now in the morning, he had a hard time reconciling how else he’d been able to sleep for so long. He tried to shoo the nurse out of the room so he could finish getting dressed in privacy.

“Take this thing out,” he waved his arm at her. “I have to go.” He glanced over at the clock on the wall, grinding his teeth together in thought as the nurse removed his IV. By the time he made it to the courthouse, Joe’s plea would have already been entered, and he’d be too late. Miller would be furious with him–rightfully so, he reckoned. He hadn’t spoken to her since her transfer down to Devon, a point she most certainly wouldn’t let him forget. And while, at that very moment, he felt marginally better than he had in the several few days, he still wasn’t fully up for the bollocking he’d receive from her if he showed up after the fact. Alec stormed out of the hospital as fast as he physically could, wondering if he should try to call Miller that afternoon or give it more time. He didn’t want to bother her, wanted her to have some time to be able to fully feel the weight of knowing they’d gotten justice for Danny lift without him there to wear on her. But he also knew that if he gave her too much more time, he’d never call either.

On his cab ride home, Alec pushed aside his thoughts about Miller and the sentencing, and considered whether he should pay Claire a visit. Claire Ripley was stashed away at the cottage, but with his health deteriorated, several weeks had gone by since he’d been over there. Given that he’d just been put entirely on leave from even the teaching job, Alec was even more concerned about the cab fare to get there and back. He sighed, deciding that after a shower, a cup of tea, and maybe even something to eat, he really should go check on her.

Chapter Text

“DCI Carl Morck, and this is DI Akram Salim,” Morck jutted out his thumb, pointing at Akram before folding his hands in his lap. The expression on the face of the woman sitting in front of them remained neutral as they explained their business in town: theirs was a department based in Edinburgh, focusing on solving cold cases. After successfully wrapping up the investigation of a prosecutor who’d gone missing several years ago, they’d identified another case that they felt could benefit from their unique attention: the murder of Pippa Gillespie, and the disappearance-presumed-murder of Lisa Newbury. The fact that they had traveled all the way from Scotland without so much as the courtesy of a call, just to arrive at South Mercia CID and make demands to meet with detectives was galling enough. DS Tess Henchard still offered a professional smile as she shook their hands and introduced herself, but all trace of that smile faded the moment Carl mentioned Sandbrook.

“I’m sorry, that case is closed,” she told them, turning her attention back to a file on her desk with an air of dismissiveness.

“No, it’s still open, which is why we’re here,” Carl argued. “You see,” he leaned against her desk. “A cold case is one where the original investigators have exhausted all their resources and all their brain power until blokes like ourselves can come in and clean up their messes. During this time, though, the case remains very much still open.”

Tess shook her head. “I do not appreciate your sarcasm, sir. South Mercia CID does not wish to comment on the Sandbrook investigation–”

Carl rolled his eyes, “spare me the official line, if I wanted that I’d be in your boss’s office speaking to him. But I’m here talking to you, and as one of the investigating officers on the case, I’d think you’d like to get this one solved. But if you can’t help me, maybe the senior investigating officer, DI,” Carl paused as he twisted in his chair, looking around the room toward the offices lining the open area.

“Hardy,” Akram noted, causing Carl to wince.

“For fuck’s sake, Akram, you really think I’d forget a name like that?” he muttered under his breath.

Akram gave him a small shrug.

“Maybe I could speak with DI Hardy–”

Tess clearly wasn’t buying that they’d come all this way so ill-prepared and under-researched. “As I’m sure you’re aware from the ample case file your partner is holding, DI Hardy is no longer with South Mercia CID.”

“But you know where he is,” Akram spoke, a statement more than a question.

Tess slowly nodded, smirking as she looked at Akram and then back at Carl. In some ways, he reminded her of Alec. The abrasive bristliness, unkempt hair and beard, and nature of the argument couldn’t help but remind her of a more emotive, English version of her ex-husband.

“A few hours south of here, a tiny beachside village called Broadchurch. And I’m sure he’d love to talk to you about Sandbrook. In fact, it’s probably the only thing he’ll willingly talk to you about,” she added, not elaborating further that she believed Alec would, at the slightest hint, hop into a car with two strange detectives and come running back up to Sandbrook to jump back into an investigation of his own–that is, if he wasn’t already trying to do so from down south. With the Latimer case finished, she could only imagine how bored he must be going back to the doldrums of small town crime, investigating reports of bar fights or petty theft. Tess suppressed a smile as she almost could hear his sigh of discontent from there.

“That is if he hasn’t been removed from that department as well,” Carl turned to Akram in mock jest. “What’s that newspaper woman said about him, called him the ‘Worst Cop in Britain?’ Said he was fouling up the murder of another child?”

“Alec–DI Hardy is a competent detective, and as I also suspect you are aware, solved that case with the boy found on the beach. I’m sorry I can’t give you a more specific location where to find him, but I trust you're capable of tracking down one man’s home address on your own. See yourselves out? I’ve got work to do.” With that, Tess turned back to her laptop, ignoring the pair still staring at her. Carl continued to stare at her, as if he was debating whether to push harder, issue some veiled threats and reminders that whenever a prior investigating officer sounds reluctant to provide a colleague with information, it makes them also look suspicious. Akram tapped him on the shoulder, and they got up to leave.

“We’re going to be back here before we know it, once we find out what she’s covering up,” he grumbled to Akram as they got back in the car.

Akram flipped through the file he’d been holding while Carl sped toward the highway. “Don’t you think we should try to speak with some of the other officers, perhaps the family of the girls, before we leave town?”

Carl shook his head. “You’ve got the man’s address. There was another story, in a small local paper. It centered around the other murder Henchard was talking about, but in it, Hardy,” Carl rolled his eyes again at the name, “talked quite a bit to the reporters about Sandbrook as well. We’re not going to solve anything unless we figure out what she’s hiding, and I get the feeling that he either knows what it is, or would be willing to help us find out. If he’s really as eager as she made him out to be to talk to us, it’s probably eating him alive. I say we bring him along when we go back and talk to her again. Wind him up and let him go.”

Akram shrugged. “Could have been facetiously saying that. Perhaps he’s more difficult than she is.”

Carl shook his head again, “If he is, we’ll get him to talk. No, I don’t think she was lying though. Did you see that look on her face? There’s something between them. Pull up the story, too. That’s a man who wants to talk. He talked to journalists, what cop talks to journalists unless they’re desperate?"

—

Carl laughed, surveying the run-down seaside hut where DI Hardy was presumed to be living. The house looked somewhere between poorly kept and dilapidated, and the wind whipped around in a way that implied a strong enough gust might be enough to push the whole thing into the water–or at least clear out some of the clutter gathered around the DI’s door.

As if thinking close to the same thing, Akram started to say, “she did make it sound like we were being sent on a quest to find a character out of a storybook who–”

Through the window, Carl watched as the house’s occupant approached the door. He knocked anyway. A pale and disheveled-looking Alec Hardy opened it, his shirt tucked into his suit trousers but quite rumpled and only partly buttoned. His damp hair stuck out at odd angles, looking very much like he’d either been stuck out in a rain storm, or just gotten out of the shower.

“Ah, the mad wizard himself then,” Carl said with a grin, pushing past Alec as he let himself into the house.

“Who are you? Oi, you can’t just barge in here,” Alec protested. The tea kettle screamed in the background. Akram followed when Alec went to turn off the stove.

“Milk, no sugar,” Carl added, taking a seat on the sofa. He shifted himself as if to comment on how lumpy the cushions were, smoothing out the throw blanket covering what he assumed to be upholstery as hideous as the curtains.

Akram did the introductions this time, offering a word of apology for his partner’s rudeness at abruptly entering another man’s home. Silently, Alec prepared a single mug of tea for just himself.

“We’re here about Sandbrook,” Carl said.

Of course they were, Alec thought. He was good at his job, and Sandbrook was the one high-profile case he’d ever worked on that had gone unsolved. Sure, a few smaller, less sensational cases of his had gone cold, but he’d merely assisted on those back when he was a lower ranked officer. As he listened, the purpose of their department struck him as sounding rather fake. But if he was to take them at their word, then Sandbrook was the only thing of his that would fit their requirements. “Why Sandbrook?” he asked anyway.

“You were so close with Lee Ashworth when the pendant went missing, and we think we can help,” Akram started, still standing in the middle of the room. Carl explained they’d been to Sandbrook, spoken with a DS at South Mercia who’d brushed them off, acting as if the case was closed. He told Alec that she’d highly encouraged them to find him, and that they hoped he’d be able to fill in some of the details that they weren’t able to access in either the case files or glean from the newspaper reporting at the time.

Alec nodded. Naturally, Tess hadn’t wanted to speak to them. His stomach turned, feeling somewhat responsible. It was one thing for her to not want to speak with him, but an entirely different thing that she wasn’t still doing everything she could to put away Ashworth–one he didn’t think he’d ever be able to understand. Alec took a sip of his tea as he sat down at his table, motioning to Akram to have a seat as well. He barely managed to hide the pained look on his face at the mention of the newspaper stories written about the case. Karen White’s coverage had been brutal, and he’d had to relive it all over again during the Latimer case. Having it come back again to haunt him again so soon, while he was even sicker, made him feel all the more exhausted. His mind drifted back to the time Miller had stood in his office and asked him about whether his failures at Sandbrook were impacting his ability to find Danny’s killer. He looked at his watch, wondering if Joe was in the dock at that very moment. He really did need to give Miller a call.

“Aye,” Alec nodded. “I can take you to talk to Claire Ripley, she’s staying not far from here,” his voice grew quiet while he considered his next move. It sounded simple. He couldn’t drive, but they had arrived in a car. He could have them take him to Claire. The three of them could talk to her at the cottage, he could check up on things. Two birds, one stone, and importantly for his finances–zero cab fare.

“Give me the address, we’ll swing by, have a chat,” Carl said, eyeing Alec suspiciously. Akram had been unable to track down an address for Claire, and yet this DI–former DI, Carl thought from the look of things–knew exactly where she was? Not far from here?

Alec shook his head, “I’m coming with you,” he set down his mug.

“Right. Well, on the drive, you can explain to us then how you know exactly where she is when all official channels have her in the wind,” Carl got up, gesturing toward the open door. As if on cue, a stiff breeze blew through the house.

Chapter Text

“Take a left,” Alec leaned his head against the window. His nausea was returning, however he attributed it more to Carl’s driving rather than his heart. Carl slammed on the brakes, cursing as he tailgated the car in front of them. He swerved, speeding past it in a clear no-passing zone. Akram continued his discussion of the case from the back seat, asking Alec questions when he wanted clarification on a detail. He ran down all the parties involved in the case, the murdered girls, Ricky and Kate, Lee and Claire. Alec didn’t bother to argue that technically Lisa was still missing, agreeing with Akram’s gut that she was also dead. He took some level of relief in being able to trust that at least one of these detectives had read the files. He’d have less to explain that way. Akram’s questions turned to focus on the pendant.

“It was our smoking gun. We found it in Ashworth’s car, a flimsy explanation as to how it would be there–he said he’d driven her to school a number of times, but we knew that Pippa was wearing it when she died. One of the DS’s on the case,” he sighed as Carl interrupted.

“Your DS left it in her car and it was stolen, you lost your key piece of evidence and your case. Your suspect fled the country, and you’ve been disgraced. Remind me again what value bringing you with us right now is? And how she came to be living down here in the middle of fucking nowhere?”

Alec winced. Carl had read Karen White’s press clippings. Alec had already told Maggie and Olly the entire story, how the pendant had been stolen from Tess’s car while she was shagging Dave. Alec also hadn’t read the story they’d printed in the Echo, although he was reasonably sure they’d honored his request to leave her name out of it when they’d cleared his of direct involvement. Having already told the story once before wasn’t making it any easier to repeat it though, and he wanted to be sure that these two would also avoid keeping that detail out of their official reports. Alec forced out the words, feeling a painful tug in his chest as Carl let out a condescending laugh.

“I need you to keep Tess’s name out of it,” he said in a low voice. He glared at Carl, and then back at Akram.

“The DS we spoke with before we came to you,” Akram nodded. “That story in the local newspaper didn’t mention you two were married, but they did mention how the pendant came to be missing. They said it wasn’t your fault, even though you were senior investigating officer.”

Alec closed his eyes, fending off a wave of dizziness. He was going to need his pills soon, but there was no way he’d be able to take them as long as the three of them were sitting in the car together. The Echo story, while acting to somewhat absolve him of responsibility with residents of the town, hadn't done the same for him. Alec still felt very much that since it had happened on his watch, just as Tess’s infidelity had gone on right underneath his nose, he was still doing his penance for those failings. And mixed in with all the emotions he still felt toward her, was no small sense of guilt that maybe he had pushed her away. Alec hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. He was focused on work, something he thought she a) liked about him and b) was also consuming her every thought. On that first point, she’d told him as much back before they’d gotten married, that one of the things she found most attractive was the way they worked well together. At the time, he’d agreed the feeling was mutual. When that had changed for her, he couldn’t say he noticed. Secondly, with Sandbrook, she was working on the same case. Given the brutality of a murder case involving a child the same age as their own daughter, he still couldn’t entirely wrap his head around how she was able to think about anything else, let alone sex, during the investigation. But in hindsight, and with less work to think about during his first week in Broadchurch, Alec spent several lonely nights lying in bed at the Traders, picking through his memories and finding years worth of evidence to indicate he’d been less than a stellar husband. And then during the investigation into Danny Latimer’s death, he’d been plagued by all the missed birthdays and dance recitals that seemed to equally suggest he’d been a lousy father to Daisy.

“So that’s what she was hiding,” Carl interrupted, smacking the steering wheel. “Akram, I told you she wasn’t just a bitch. Sorry, but she does seem like a bit of a bitch. And now I’m driving her pathetic cuck of an ex-husband around while he looks like he's about to pass out. Are you sure you’re up to this, Alec?”

“Hardy,” Alec muttered, sensing that correcting the DCI would be futile. In fact, he figured that the more he insisted that Morck called him by his surname, the more he assumed that the man would not. “You’ll keep her name out of your reports, Morck,” he grunted. He made no effort to defend either himself or Tess to Carl.

“I’ll put whatever information into my reports I please, and I’ll lock you up for obstruction if I find you’re withholding anything else you don’t want to see in an official report. So I’m giving you one chance now, to tell me how it is you know where Claire Ripley is staying,” he paused, as Alec told him to take his next right. Carl didn’t finish his sentence, but Alec felt the threat seemed real enough. If he were Carl, he’d make the same threat and do everything in his power to follow through with it. He waited until they were parked in the driveway to the cottage before explaining.

“Ashworth is France. I’ve got eyes on him. Claire is here, she doesn’t trust Lee won’t come looking for her. I can’t trust her, either. Which is why I’m keeping her here. She’s changed her story on me. I’m trying to keep her close, keep surveillance on her as well, make her think she’s safe. It’s just until I can convince South Mercia to re-investigate the case,” he took a deep breath, sliding his hand into his pocket to feel for his pills. His fingers shook as he popped two of them out of the blister pack without removing it from his pocket, and palmed them.

Alec straightened up in the passenger’s seat. He knew Carl was watching him, reading him to get a measure of whether he was still keeping details to himself. Possibly judging him for the way he was handling Claire. It wasn’t like he felt had other options without worrying she’d flee, though. He figured that if he were in Carl’s shoes, he’d take his silence to mean he was still hiding something too. Alec’s heart stuttered again as he got out of the car. Still holding the pills in his pocket, he carefully watched Carl as he exited the car. He turned his head, popping them into his mouth and swallowing them dry, then quickly dragging his hand through his hair to obscure the motion. He’d dealt with enough witnesses and suspects hiding information from him to understand where Carl was coming from through all of this, but his medical condition wasn’t relevant enough to share.

—

“Alec, where have you been? I’ve been alone for nearly a month!” Claire rushed toward him with a look of desperation in her face.

Alec’s own face softened slightly. “I’m sorry, I was busy,” he put his hands on her upper arms, giving her a light squeeze as he shifted her out of the way so he could get in the door.

“Who are they?” she asked in a whisper.

“This is DCI Morck and DI–” he paused, forgetting Akram’s name. “They’re here to help me catch Lee,” he looked her in the eye. “I need you to tell them everything you’ve told me, have a seat.” He motioned toward the kitchen table.

Claire looked back at Carl and Akram, “I think Lee found out where I am, I’m so scared, Alec.”

Carl regarded Claire with caution. “When you say you think he found you, what do you mean? Alec says he’s in France.”

“He is in France,” Alec asserted, pacing the kitchen. He ran his hand through his hair, stopping to look out the window. He thought he saw movement in between the trees, but decided it must be the wind.

“How can you be sure? You said you’ve been busy, you could have missed a call from whoever it is you have watching him?” All three detectives turned their attention to her.

Alec shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

Claire looked to Carl, “are you from South Mercia police then? I don’t remember you,” she gave him the same wide-eyed watery look she’d given Alec when he’d first walked in the door. Both Akram and Carl hardened their own facial expressions in response.

“Ma’am, we need to hear your story,” Akram spoke up, folding his hands on the table. “DI Hardy has told us some, but we need to hear it from you. And then you can tell us why you think your husband is back in the country.”

Claire ignored his initial request, “two nights ago, there was a knock at the door, and when I went to look, no one was there. An unknown number called me repeatedly after, every 20 minutes or so. It’s him, I know he’s found me!”

Carl held out his hand, “give me your phone.”

Alec leaned over the table, resisting the urge to scream at her in front of Carl and Akram. The medication was working, and he raised his voice, “How would he have your number? That’s a new phone, new number. If all that happened two nights ago, why didn’t you call me?”

Claire shook her head, “I was too upset, I smashed it, threw it in the bin.”

“We may still be able to recover something from it, or give the phone company a call for their records,” Akram moved to get up. Alec and Carl looked at him, both shooting him questioning looks as if to ask whether he was going to go picking through the bin in his suit.

“They came to collect the trash this morning, it’s gone.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “This is brilliant,” he folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in the chair.

Alec was back to pacing. He rubbed his forehead as Claire recounted her story for Carl and Akram’s benefit. He tried to listen closely, to make sure she wasn’t altering any details yet again. He balled his fist at his side when she suddenly started adding new details, telling them that Lee drugged her on the night. She said that she woke up, and he was cleaning.

Alec tried to ignore his mobile, but it was buzzing loudly in his pocket. It had been buzzing in his for the duration of Claire’s story, on at least a third consecutive ring after he’d let the other calls go to his voicemail.

“You’re saying he drugged you now? You’ve never told me that before,” Alec stopped pacing and banged his fist on the kitchen counter.

“I think you should answer that,” Akram noted, pointing to his pocket.

Alec pulled his mobile out of his pocket and turned his back to the three of them.

“What?” he answered.

“Bloody bastard pled not guilty,” he felt his stomach drop at the tearful sound of Miller’s voice on the other end.

“What?” Alec repeated. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They had Joe’s confession, from all accounts he was to enter a guilty plea and move on to sentencing. “We have his,” he paused, turning back to the kitchen table. They were all watching him, and he didn’t want to say anything more. “Miller, I need to call you back.”

“Don’t hang up on me, you fucking wanker,” he heard her shouting at him as he hung up and stuffed his mobile back into his pocket.

—

Carl angrily stalked over to Alec before he could get back in the car, grabbed him by the lapels and pushed him against the passenger door. “One chance, tell me now. Are you too close to this because you’re shagging her? Because I saw you in there, and you’re definitely too involved. You’re letting her string you along with bits and pieces of a story.” Flecks of spittle hit him in the face as Carl growled much louder than he needed to, given the proximity of his own face so close to Alec’s.

Alec glowered. “Don’t start, Morck,” he rolled his eyes at him as he said it. Carl’s accusations seemed absurd, as if he was only asking to bait Alec into humiliation if he answered that he and Claire had never had sex. He wondered if then Carl would mock him for passing up an opportunity. He wanted to think that Carl wouldn’t have ascended to the rank of DCI if he was willing to be that unprofessional himself, but he also couldn’t be sure. Carl had already alluded once to apparent Alec’s physical state, noting on the drive that he looked unwell. Maybe he was angling for a joke at his expense about being surprised Alec wouldn’t keel over from the effort, implying that he also wasn’t physically capable of assisting them with the case. Whatever Carl was getting at, he didn’t offer an answer that would allow him to find out. Alec and Carl stared at each other for a moment, Akram hovering close as if he was waiting to break up a fight. Alec put his hands on Carl’s wrists to shove him back. Carl gripped his lapels tighter, pressing his fists against Alec’s chest to let him know that whatever strength Alec thought he might have on a good day, it still wouldn’t match his own. He released Alec’s jacket, pushing him out of the way as he let go.

“I get it, I really do,” Carl said with a chuckle. He made a gesture with his hands in front of his own chest to indicate large breast size before getting into the front passenger’s seat. They drove back to town, Akram following the car’s GPS to Alec’s address.

“Do you believe her story? About smashing the mobile and the strange knock? Or Ashworth spiking her drink? Because it sounds like bullshit to me. And you,” he looked back at Alec in the rearview mirror, pointing. “Even if you aren’t sleeping with her. She’s got you wrapped around her finger with that doe-eyed babe in the woods routine. It’s so blatantly an act, but you’re letting it cloud your judgement.”

Alec sat in the back of the car grinding his teeth, thinking about Miller’s phone call and the impending pain of Joe’s case going to trial. He’d have to go down to the courthouse, and having Carl and Akram there, knowing where Claire was, was going to complicate things. She was still reliant enough on him that he didn’t think she’d flee immediately, but the situation felt even more tenuous now than it had before.

“I know, that’s what I need help with,” he murmured. He was silent for the rest of the ride.

—

“We’re heading back to the hotel, but except us round in the morning. Akram will want to see your notes, which I assume you’ve got somewhere in there,” Carl rolled down the window, not even looking at Alec as Alec got out of the car. Carl’s arm rested on his knee. He clenched and unclenched his fist as he spoke.

“You should drive up to Sandbrook first thing. I’ll meet you up there in the afternoon. Talk to Ricky and Kate, they should know no one’s given up on them,” Alec told them. They might actually believe it if they see a fresh pair of faces, he thought to himself.

Carl rolled up his window without a response. Alec sighed, turning to go inside. He took out his mobile and dialed Miller’s number.

“Oh just come in the bloody house,” she yelled, hanging up immediately. Alec looked up to see Miller standing on the other side of the door, arms folded across her chest. The look of anger and hurt on her face was worse than anything she’d given him before.

“Miller, what are you doing here! For God’s sake!” he burst in the door, shouting.

“What am I doing here? Where were you this morning? You knew what today was! How could you? How could he,” she paused, looking away as her eyes began to water.

Alec nodded. He moved to put a hand on her shoulder, but Miller swung her arm to bat him away before he was even close. “I know, I’m sorry. I was,” he glanced around the room, half expecting more uninvited guests to have made themselves welcome inside his home without his permission. “Detained,” he tried.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she glared back at him.

Alec chewed the inside of his cheek, “medically,” he added quietly. He fell back onto the sofa as he sat, trying to hide his exhaustion. His pills had kicked in at the cottage, allowing him to avoid an episode while meeting with Claire, but the entire thing had taken a lot out of him.

The look on Miller’s face shifted from one of anger to one of angry concern. She no longer looked as if she was ready to hit him, but she was clearly still too upset to ask for further explanation as to how sick he must have been to miss Joe’s court appearance.

“I’ll be there tomorrow. Go home to wee,” he paused.

“Fred!” Miller shouted at him, tears in her voice, just angry once again.

“Fred,” Alec repeated, rubbing his eyes. “I need your help with something,” he knew he’d regret mentioning it now, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow at the courthouse, though.”

Miller’s tears vanished. She picked up a pen from his table, the first thing she grabbed that she could throw, and chucked it in his general direction. “You’ve got a lot of nerve asking for my help for anything right now, sir,” she said, storming out of the house. The glass rattled as she slammed the door behind her.

“You don’t have to call me sir anymore,” he called weakly as she left.

Chapter Text

Back at the Traders, Carl pulled out his laptop and began re-reading all the information, both public and internal, that he and Akram had relating to the Sandbrook case. He cursed the painfully slow hotel wifi connection as he tried to log into his email, looking for a response from a digital forensics examiner he’d messaged that afternoon. Asking the local SOCO was one way to get a read on what others thought of a detective, but you never could be sure how truthful they were being. Fields like digital forensics were small enough that it had taken no time at all for Carl to identify an examiner who he’d both dealt with on his own cases prior to the shooting, and had also worked a number of times with Alec Hardy. He opened the email, skimming the professional wording of electronic correspondence sent over police communication channels. Between the lines, Alistair Murray actually sounded quite fond of Alec. He even went as far as to explicitly say that Carl should enjoy working with him, citing their mutual dedication and refusal to put up with anything less than that from their peers or subordinates. Carl drummed his fingers on the desk in thought. He continued his investigation into the DI, staying up well past 2am as he read through all other information he could access, either via official means or googled press stories.

—

Alec woke at around 1am, gasping as he pulled himself from the grip of another nightmare. He leaned over, expecting to vomit into the bin beside the bed, except there was no bin. Thankfully nothing came up as he nearly pitched sideways off the sofa and onto the floor. The disorientation, upon realizing he’d fallen asleep on the couch rather than in bed, only added to his sense of panic. Alec rolled back onto the sofa, covering his face with his forearm as he began sobbing.

—

Carl punched an address into the car’s GPS. Akram looked at him when the estimated arrival time was much sooner than the drive back to Sandbrook.

“We’re going back to talk to this Claire first,” he explained.

Akram nodded. “I think it’s a good idea. We should see what she’s like without DI Hardy.”

“You really need to stop calling him that,” Carl grumbled. “He’s not even a DI anymore. I called around. He’s out for health reasons, which is probably why he looked like he was going to be sick on the drive. He’s even been bounced from a teaching job because he’s that ill.”

Akram nodded again. “That would explain the medication, then.”

“What medication?” Carl asked.

“When we got out of the car. He waited until your back was to him, and swallowed a couple tablets he took from his pocket,” Akram told him.

Carl slapped the steering wheel. “Why didn’t you say something? Either that, or he’s an addict, which is a whole other problem to contend with. But I called around to that local paper to see what they’d tell me off the record regarding their dealings with him during the case with the murdered boy. And I learned,” the GPS began rerouting as Carl drove past a turn he’d needed to make. He swore, flipping a u-turn in the middle of the road instead. Akram held onto the handle at the side of the door, not saying that another explanation for Alec’s appearance on the drive might have also had something to do with Carl’s driving. “He’s been hospitalized for a heart condition. Went down during a chase, got put on leave. He’s been teaching new recruits at the academy since, which, can you imagine? That limp sod is going to chase off anyone worth keeping in any department, as pitiful as small town police work is. But as I was saying, he’s not even doing that now,” Carl shrugged. “Unfortunately for us, that means he’s got some free time on his hands.”

“His murder case is going to trial, I don’t think he’ll have as much free time,” Akram was reading from his phone. “It seems the man pleaded guilty.”

Carl didn’t say anything. He drove past the driveway of the Cottage, parked the car in a location just up the street where the car was well obscured from the house and they could approach the door without being spotted from as far away.

—

“Christ, you look terrible,” Miller’s angry look faded slightly when he was close enough for her to get a good look at him. Alec had made no effort to shower that morning. A few greasy strands of hair stuck to his forehead as the rest was tousled by the ever-present wind. He’d put on a fresh button-up, but he hadn’t bothered to change out of the trousers he’d fallen asleep in from the day before.

“Leave it alone, Miller,” he grumbled, handing her both cups of tea that he’d been carrying so he could tie his tie as they walked up to the courthouse. The knot came out uneven, the skinny side two inches longer than the wider piece. He left it that way, ignoring the disgusted look she gave him as she handed his tea back to him and moved on to discuss the upcoming trial.

“It was horrible,” she filled him in on more of the details of the previous day. She told him how awful she felt for Mark and Beth, how disgusted she was at Joe. From his barrister’s reaction, she hadn’t even been apprised of Joe’s decision to change his plea. They passed through security, and took a seat in the concourse at a small table. Miller continued talking while Alec nodded along, barely listening. His back was killing him from spending the night on the sofa, and he was still preoccupied with Carl and Akram’s appearance to work on Sandbrook. The echo of footsteps, voices, and the loudspeaker announcing room assignments made it hard for him to hear most of what she said over his own thoughts.

“Are you even listening to me?” Miller asked after several minutes.

“I was, but it’s out of our control now. Well, mostly. What I said yesterday, I need your help. With Sandbrook,” he told her.

“You weren’t listening at all! You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she didn’t get up to sit elsewhere, which he took as his cue to continue. He launched into the events of his last couple days, carefully omitting key details–like passing out during the lecture, his overnight stay courtesy of Dorset Health Care, being removed from his teaching job, and his upcoming scheduled surgical procedure where he’d either get his pacemaker placed or die in the process. He told her about Carl and Akram, and their visit to Claire’s.

“I looked this guy up, well. The one. I’m not sure who the other one is, this Akram bloke. He seems to have shown up as a DI almost overnight as best as I can tell. DCI Morck though, he was shot in the line of duty not too long ago, and he’s been assigned to some department where they solve cold cases up in Edinburgh.”

“Edinburgh? Why are they all the way down here? I wouldn’t have imagined a cold case department having the finances to send a DCI and a DI all the way to Dorset to solve your old case?” Miller sounded confused. He squirmed as he was forced to explain Claire’s presence at the cottage, and Miller slapped his arm, scolding him for trying to hide Claire off the record.

Alec ignored the slap and talk of Claire, nodding and agreeing that it didn’t make a ton of sense to him either why a team normally operating out of Scotland would be all the way in the south of England. He rotated his cup of tea on the table, not looking at anything in particular as he continued. “Morck saw right through things with Claire. He’s right. I am too close, and she’s been manipulating me every step of the way. That’s why I need you there. I need someone I can trust,” he looked up from his paper takeaway tea, pleading with Miller.

“I need to be here, and they’ll call you too. Neither of us can be running off with two Scottish detectives–”

“Morck’s English. The other one is from, I’m not sure where,” Alec wasn’t sure why he bothered to clarify. Miller immediately gave him a look as if to say, why does it truly matter where they’re from.

“It’s more eyes on the case, which means a greater chance of getting justice for the Gillespies, but,” he trailed off. “Please, Miller. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Miller shook her head, “then let them solve it. Since when do you care about who gets the credit?”

Alec cocked his head sideways, realizing he didn’t have a good answer. Or at least not an answer that wouldn’t sound like some dramatic admission of how poorly he was doing. It wasn’t credit he was after, as much as needing to see this through. And quickly, because the clock was ticking far more steadily than his heart was these days. Crown vs Miller was announced over the PA system, sparing him from further debate over whether he’d need to divulge more in order to persuade her. They filed into the courtroom, sat and listened as the trial began. Alec tried his best not to look over at the Latimers. They had a confession, the evidence pointed strongly to Joe. He tried to tell himself this wasn’t going to be a repeat of Sandbrook. But every time his eyes wandered over toward Beth and Mark, all he could see were Kate and Ricky.

Miller looked on the verge of tears for the duration of the morning, and he couldn’t blame her either. She’d transferred down to Devon and was demoted to PC, lost friends and family over Joe’s actions. Tom was staying with her sister, and as their conversation that night in his hotel room made clear, she didn’t have anyone else to talk to other than him. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, allowing himself to admit that if he were in her shoes, he wouldn’t want to only have himself for support either.

“Consider it, Miller, what else are you doing? Issuing traffic violations in Devon is so exhilarating?” Alec followed her back out to the concourse when the trial broke for the day.

“You’re insufferable,” she picked up her pace, trying to lose him.

“Drive me back,” he took a deep breath as he caught up to her. “And I’ll get lunch,” he said, wincing at the nakedness of his bribe.

“Fine, I’ll drive you,” she slowed down, muttering ‘knob’ under her breath.

—

“Tesco were out of the,” Lee paused as he opened the front door of the cottage. He stopped in the doorway, still holding the groceries when he realized Claire had company. “Who are you?” he asked, setting the bags down on the floor and approaching Carl. Carl stood up, and walked toward Lee. Akram got up as well, leaving the kitchen entirely to go search the house while the others were preoccupied.

“Wait, don’t tell me,” Carl said, feigning surprise. “Lee Ashworth. How long have you been back in the country? Have you been hiding out here this whole time? Or did you stop off in Sandbrook on your way here, maybe talk to Ricky and Kate Gillespie, issue a threat or two perhaps. How’d you shake your surveil–no, wait, don’t answer that one. Were you ever really in France? How’d you manage to find Claire, she’d let us believe that you’re the most terrifying man she knows and that she’s hiding out here off the grid, so to speak, to get away from you. At least that’s what Alec thinks, because he’s a fool. Claire told us you’re stalking her but that’s clearly not the case, when she most certainly invited you in,” Carl turned to Claire. “Didn’t count on me being brighter and not quite so smitten with you, did you, Claire?”

Lee stepped in between Carl and Claire, only answering one of the questions from Carl’s barrage. “You’re right, she rang me.”

From behind Lee, Claire shook her head in disagreement. Carl caught the gesture out of the corner of his eye, but he found her denial to be ridiculous.

Carl rolled his eyes. “This intimidation bullshit might work on Alec, but it’s not going to work on me,” Carl took another step closer toward Lee, his chest only a few inches from the other man’s.

The first thing Akram noticed when he opened the wardrobe was that it looked very much like Lee had been there a while. His clothes were put away neatly, his suitcase tucked under the bed–not even the perception of a man who hadn’t made himself at home. Both men’s and women’s shirts hung on the hangers. A mobile fell out of the pocket of a woman’s shawl as Akram rifled through the wardrobe. He picked it up, eyeing it suspiciously. Presumably, this was the one Claire had told them she’d smashed. It confirmed for him what he’d already suspected: that she was a liar, either a very quick-witted liar or she had planned that story for when DI Hardy came around again. Regardless, Carl’s assertion that she was playing Alec appeared to be on the right track. Akram pocketed the phone and continued his search. He pulled out an envelope and opened it. Inside, was one single flower, a bluebell he believed, pressed between a piece of paper. He put that back in the wardrobe where he found it, and went back out to the kitchen.

Carl and Lee were still posturing in front of each other, quietly sniping as if they were both daring the other to make the first move. Claire stood to the side, body language waffling somewhere between appearing as if she was scared of Lee, but also indicating she didn’t trust the detectives either.

“We’ll be going now, but we’ll return. We’ve got eyes on the two of you here,” Akram said quietly.

Carl nodded, quickly picking up the thread. He stared Lee in the eye, “and I assure you they’re far more competent than your previous tails. Proper resources and all,” he nearly winked at Lee.

“Whatever you say, DCI Morck,” Lee smirked back at him.

“Let’s go, Carl,” Akram headed toward the door.

On the drive back to Alec’s, Akram updated Carl on what he’d found in the wardrobe. His phone buzzed, a text from Rose to say she’d just arrived in Sandbrook. Akram relayed that message to Carl.

“Have her get down here. We’ll put her on those two. Ashworth is probably going to leave the cottage, but he’ll stay close. Claire though, she may run, and we can use Rose to keep tabs on her. Rose can play the part of her new best mate,” he told Akram.

Akram nodded, quickly googling train schedules. He sent the link to Rose, along with the addresses to both the Traders and Alec’s house, and told her to head south as soon as possible.

—

Alec was surprised when Miller took them directly back to his house. He’d expected her to stop at the chippy, pester him about not eating, and then insist they go their separate ways–until he’d considered that the chippy was a stone’s throw from Broadchurch CID. Each and every employee there probably knew her by name, and exactly what she always ordered. Joe’s trial would be in the paper, and even if she didn’t personally know the girl working the counter, she’d still be taking a chance at being recognized by someone. He’d spent the majority of the silent drive trying to think of something else he could use to convince her to help. It hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t want to go anywhere she might run into someone who knew her.

“Miller, I’m going into hospital at the end of the month,” he murmured, looking away from her as she parked.

“You what?” she asked.

Alec nodded. “Aye, so, I really need to solve this. There’s going to be a day or so where I’m totally out of commission,” he hesitated. “Recovering,” he added, voice rasping a bit as he avoided mentioning the alternative. At that moment, he couldn’t remember if he’d told her that there was a solid chance he wouldn’t make it, and was trying not to think about how his chances of survival had probably decreased recently. He was using his medical situation as a last resort bargaining chip, but he still couldn’t bring himself to tell her how bad his heart had gotten. Too much information and she’d go the other way, making more of a fuss about him and why he should relinquish all control to the other detectives, let them work without either of their help.

“Good,” was Miller’s one word response. She looked away as soon as he turned his head toward her, but something in her voice indicated that she might have begun to change her mind.

“Look things over,” he told her once they were inside the house. He pulled a thick folder out of a desk drawer and tossed it onto the table in front of her before taking down a larger box full of more crime scene photographs, maps, and statements.

Alec shuffled off to the kitchen to start the kettle, and began cobbling together two salads from the sad selection of produce in his fridge. He sighed, scraping some mold off a bell pepper before giving up and throwing it into the bin. Not that he was ever some great chef with a wide and varied stockpile of ingredients in the kitchen before the arrhythmia, but things had gotten particularly dire over recent months as he did his best to keep some semblance of a healthy diet. The past few weeks, he’d barely had an appetite at all.

They exchanged brief looks as he set the plate down in front of her: hers of mild irritation, and his of trying to pretend the simple wilted greens and slices of tomato were intentional.

—

“You incompetent, bumbling, small town fucking arsehole!” Carl threw open the door to Hardy’s house without a knock. The glass panes of the door clattered dangerously.

“Oi! What are you doing!” Alec shouted, nearly dropping the pile of papers he was holding.

“We met your friend Ashworth. Get this, he’s living there. All moved in, suitcase unpacked, clothes in the wardrobe. Akram reckons he’s been there at least a month, while you’ve been fumbling around in the dark like the clueless fucking twat that you are. Or do you not know what I’m saying unless I stoop to your idiotic level and call you a bloody bampot?”

Alec stood up, taking off his glasses. “You went back to see Claire again? After I told you to drive up to Sandbrook and talk to the Gillespies?” He suddenly wondered if the motion he’d thought he’d seen at the treeline yesterday had actually been Lee, and kicked himself for not paying it more attention. He grit his teeth together when he felt his pulse speed up and become less regular. Alec grimaced–his heart really had terrible timing, pun intended.

Carl closed the distance between them with long strides, and laughed in Alec’s face, “Oh, like any of us should listen to you now, you’re as dim as the rest of them, you haven’t got one iota of sense in there,” he flicked Alec between the eyes.

“Piss off, Morck,” Alec growled, shoving Morck in the chest. He stared Carl in the face, ignoring the sharp pain shooting across his chest from the effort. Carl hadn’t moved at all, and he saw Carl’s face begin to blur around the edges as he struggled to keep his glare on him. He hoped that once Carl finished berating him, he’d get a moment to catch his breath, for the feeling in hsi chest to subside enough that he wouldn’t need his pills.

“So what else have you found?” Miller asked, not bothering to introduce herself after that entrance. She introduced herself as just Ellie to Akram, once he briefly told her who he was.

“We found the mobile Claire said that she’d smashed, and we also found a bluebell. The flower? Pressed in an envelope in the wardrobe where Ashworth’s clothes were stored, hidden as if she suspected we might go looking for them.” Akram added, “the flower could have been there before, but it seems relevant.”

“It could very well be–” Miller started shuffling through the photo evidence on the table, but was interrupted before she could connect it with the picture she was looking for.

Carl’s hands were already balled into fists long before he took the first swing. Alec managed to duck enough that the first punch only glanced the side of his head. It still rattled him, made the rapidly increasing dizziness worse and he staggered backwards. Alec heard Miller shout, something that sounded like “bloody hell,” and “stop.” He’d misread Carl’s blind rage as bluster, and the DCI was on him. Carl hit Alec with a stiff uppercut to the abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. Alec’s eyes went wide as he doubled over to his knees, choking and gasping for air. Carl hit him again, and Alec’s body went limp and he crumpled. In one swift motion, Carl followed Alec to the floor, landing one more blow to Alec’s face as he went down before he could be stopped.

Akram pushed Miller away before Carl could inadvertently injure her in the crossfire. She dialed 999 as Akram grabbed Carl around the shoulders, wrenching him off Alec’s unconscious body. Akram kept his body lock on Carl and steered him back out of the house as Miller frantically requested an ambulance for an officer down during an assault. She watched in horror as Akram forced Carl out the door, checking Alec’s pulse.

“Yes, he’s got a pulse, he’s breathing, barely, hurry, 3 Seafront Lane,” she shouted into the phone. Hardy’s nose was certainly broken, and his left eye was beginning to swell shut. He made a wet, gurgling sound each time he took a breath. She was glad he’d removed his tie in the car. She ripped open the top few buttons on his shirt, not taking the time to undo them. Miller rolled him onto his side, wedging her jacket under his head in an attempt to keep him from choking on the blood dripping from his nose down his throat.

Alec began coughing as he momentarily regained consciousness. His body spasmed as he spat blood onto his kitchen floor.

“God. Hold still, Hardy, don’t move,” Miller begged him, trying to hold him in place. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to get up, he seemed far too weak to do much other than cough and gasp. He let out an incomprehensible groan, and slumped back against Miller’s leg. Miller found his pulse again, keeping her fingers placed on his carotid, counting the painfully slow, irregular beats until the paramedics arrived.

Chapter Text

Miller followed the medics in a daze as they brought Alec out to the ambulance. Not so dazed that she didn’t glower at Carl as she passed, but her focus was on Alec. Alec let out a soft whimpering groan at one point, before drifting back into unconsciousness. Lying on the stretcher, unresponsive and face bloody, he didn’t look as if he stood much of a chance. Carl was standing with his back to the car, not looking at her when she walked by. Akram was standing squarely in front of him, talking to him in a firm, but quiet voice. She couldn’t hear all of what he was saying, but at least he seemed to grasp the seriousness of the situation. Miller climbed up the back step after Alec had been loaded into the ambulance, sitting off to the side to stay out of their way as the medics worked. One medic grabbed Alec's arm, starting an IV. He quickly pushed a medication while the other prepared to insert a breathing tube. A small voice in the back of Miller's head began to panic when he didn't as much as gag once the tube was in place. Next, they began scrambling to do something about Alec’s erratic heart rate. Miller noticed the spots where they stuck the electrodes for his ECG were still cleanly shaven, presumably from the episode that had forced him to miss Joe’s hearing. Miller watched, feeling helpless as they placed defibrillator patches on his chest and began turning knobs, pushing buttons, and administering more medications. She was half-listening to their discussion about pacer settings before the second medic quickly got out and went up front to drive. Miller was tossed sideways as they took off quickly, their urgency only continuing to fuel Miller's own worries.

“Don’t worry, we’ll handle that on our end,” she muttered, when asked about the details of Alec’s injuries. Miller grimaced as the paramedic picked up the suction tubing and cleared more blood from around the tube in Alec’s airway. She nodded when he explained that it was probably still dripping down his throat from his nose, and explained that there was a chance he may need facial surgery to repair his nose. Miller thought the nose seemed to be the least of his worries as the monitor continued to beep warnings she didn’t entirely understand.

“So we don’t need to send an officer over to take his statement,” he asked for clarification. Miller shook her head.

“Weapons?” the medic asked.

“Closed fist,” she answered. “Twice in the face, once in the stomach.”

The paramedic nodded, explaining that she’d have to wait in the waiting room for a bit while the doctors worked, but someone would come get her once they had more information on his condition or if he was awake enough to file a report.

Miller walked out of the hospital in shock. She was still processing the information she’d received on Alec’s condition. The doctor had started with things she already knew or assumed, Alec had a broken nose, received three stitches to a laceration over his left eye, but their main focus was his heart. He explained that they needed to expedite Alec’s pacemaker placement due to the increased difficulty regulating his heart rate with medication. According to the quick CT they’d done while the cardio-thoracic surgeon prepared for an emergent operation, they'd determined his nose was the only thing broken. He did warn her that Alec might have a mild concussion as well, but reiterated the point that none of that mattered if they couldn’t get the pacemaker placed. When he assured her that they’d managed to get the rate and regularity sorted for now, she’d asked if it would be more appropriate to get his consent for the surgery while he was stable enough from a pharmaceutical standpoint. The doctor’s answer was that while he was stable for surgery through medication and successful subcutaneous pacing at present, there was no guarantee of how long they’d be able to keep him that way. The pills Alec had been taking were essentially rendered ineffective as prescribed by the amount of damage done, evidenced by his frequent episodes as of late, and the cardiologist working on Alec’s case advised not let Alec take any unnecessary gambles. Miller felt that the hospital must have kept copious notes on the headaches Alec had given them with his insistence to discharge himself early on every other prior visit.

The doctor's final words replayed in her mind as she walked back to Alec’s house to retrieve her car. He’d asked if she knew of any family Alec might like to have contacted to let them know he’d be having surgery. She knew he had an ex-wife and a daughter, but didn’t know their names let alone how to contact them. She told him she’d see what she could do, trying to push aside the very real possibility that the surgery might not be successful. She sat in her car for several, long moments, wondering if he’d been putting off the surgery out of fear of dying, and not necessarily stubbornness as she’d imagined. Miller felt a pang of guilt, remembering that he had essentially told her as much in the days leading up to Joe's arrest. Miller kept her head down as she walked, despite avoiding the more direct path down the high street. She felt utterly alone, and her heart broke to think that this was the same sense of loneliness Hardy would face if he was to wake up in hospital alone, had been going through during the months he'd been in Broadchurch. Stubborn knob or not, she sincerely believed someone should be there when he woke up. Tears began forming in the corner of her eyes, again trying to avoid coming to terms with the idea of not when, but if he woke up. She needed to get back to Fred, needed to be at the court house in the morning. She was still upset with Alec, cursing him when she reached her car, as if she didn't have enough other obligations without worrying about him. She made sure his house was locked up before leaving.

Miller made it back to her flat on autopilot, a thousand thoughts swirling through her head as she drove. Most of those thoughts were about Alec. Sympathy for the parts that weren’t his fault, blame for the ones that were, all muddled into one until she admitted she was worried. There was also the matter of what she should or could do with regard to reporting the assault. She wasn’t ready to phone up Bob Daniels under positive circumstances, let alone to report an incident of a current DCI brutally assaulting their former DI. Miller began imagining a fictitious argument between herself and Alec. She pictured him lying in the hospital bed, similar to their argument in the aftermath of his collapse at the boatyard. In her head, they fought about whether to report the incident, whether they should continue to work with Carl and Akram. Miller found herself getting newly frustrated with him when she assumed that even after all this, he'd continue to put solving Sandbrook over his own health.

Later that night, Miller woke from a nightmare. She was standing alone in the concourse just after the trial broke for lunch. Someone approached her to let her know that the trial would be in recess for the remainder of the day, and likely tomorrow, based on the news. She told Miller to stay put, someone would be coming to take her statement. Miller pulled her mobile out of her pocket, fumbling to play the voicemail she’d missed while her phone had been off in the courtroom. The panic and dread that set in as she listened to a nurse tell her to give the hospital a call was enough to jar her back to consciousness. Miller sat up thinking for the rest of the night, accepting that she would be exhausted the next day. Ultimately, she decided against phoning the hospital to inquire after Alec in the middle of the night, but knew that as soon as proceedings wrapped up for the day, she’d need to go see him. That is, if her terrible dream didn't become a reality during the interim.

—

“This is bad,” Akram repeated once they were back at the Traders.

“I told you, he won’t report it. He’s not the type. Rather work himself to death on a case than–”

“He might not have to,” Akram noted.

Carl looked confused for a moment. “I didn’t kill him,” he sighed.

“DS Miller might report it for him. And you don’t know that,” Akram crossed his arms over his chest, still standing in the doorway. Carl had made himself comfortable at the small table in Akram’s room, and was lightly drumming his fingers on it. He paused, looking at his knuckles, then resumed his tapping. Akram didn’t mention it, but he wished that the department hadn’t budgeted enough for separate rooms. It would be much easier to keep an eye on Carl if they were sharing a space.

“Look, Rose should be here soon. Get with her, coordinate something to get eyes on Claire. I’ll,” he sighed, jumping up. “I’ll be down at the bar.”

—

Carl raised his glass toward the bar, indicating he was ready for another drink. The Traders wasn’t much, he was pretty sure that the hotel proprietor was doubling as his bartender for the evening. He shot back a quick retort to the other patron, an older man who was grumbling about the service when Becca Fisher had dipped out to settle a matter at the front door.

“Slow service doesn’t seem to be keeping you from getting blasted,” his sarcastic tone designed to shut down any further conversation. The other patron finished his glass, paid his tab, and shuffled off. Carl smiled back at Becca. She refilled his glass before she walked away again. He watched as Becca sighed, sucking on the end of her pen as she contemplated the ledger on the desk in front of her. A couple glasses of whisky in, and Carl wasn’t trying to dismiss his thoughts of her lips sucking on something else instead. The bar was empty, and by the time she was back at the bar, standing across from him as she poured herself a small, half glass of wine, he was beginning to like his chances.

“We haven’t properly met, other than when you and your partner checked in. DCI Morck, is it?” she asked, introducing herself to Carl. Carl tried his best to be charming, smiling and telling her to call him by his first name, choosing to level his sarcasm entirely toward the town once her accent made it abundantly clear that she was not originally from the small town. He told Becca that he was in town to clean up the mess that the previous detective inspector had left in his wake.

“Wait, DI Hardy? But he caught Joe Miller. What mess is there to clean up? Something to do with the trial?” Becca took a sip from her wine. She moved around to the other side of the bar to sit next to Carl.

Carl shook his head. “Previous case, not here. But he’s here, ergo,” he paused to address his own beverage. “I am as well. What can you tell me about the Joe Miller case, though?”

Becca ran down what she knew. Carl half-listened. None of what she told him was new information, the same information he and Akram had already learned, colored with a slight bit of local gossip for flavor. Still, it was nicer to have an attractive woman summarize it for him over drinks than to soberly read the printed version.

“Oh, you’ve got something on your,” Becca was looking at Carl’s neck, reaching out to wipe away what she presumed to be a smudge. “Oh my god, I’m sorry,” she quickly interrupted herself. Carl grimaced.

“Got shot,” he shrugged. “Nearly died.”

Becca looked at him in a mixture of horrified sympathy and embarrassment.

“Why don’t you bring that bottle with us,” he gestured toward the wine. “And I can tell you all about it,” Carl rubbed his neck just underneath the scar. Becca nodded, offering an unnecessary equivocation as she looked at the time and justified it being late enough for her to need a break for the night. Carl snatched the bottle from the bar, and led her back to his room.

Chapter Text

Upon waking, Alec’s first thought had to do with the direction he was facing. Strange blinds were open just enough that he could see what looked to be early morning, pre-dawn light. That didn’t make sense. His bed faced the water, on the west coast of England. He shouldn’t be seeing the imminent sunrise. His second thought was that he hurt, particularly his face and head, but also his left shoulder and chest were sore. He was accustomed to some level of chest discomfort each morning, but this was different. Opening his eyes hurt, and his throat felt sore. On his third thought, he noticed it felt like something was stuck to the left side of his chest, underneath his shirt. He raised his hand to touch it, finding unfamiliar shirt fabric. Slowly, Alec winced as he looked down to see the hospital gown. He pulled at it, revealing the bandage dressing just below his clavicle, in the same spot he’d been told his pacemaker would be placed.

A flood of emotions began to hit him as he worked to piece together the events of the day before—now two days ago—trying to figure out what he’d missed. Carl had hit him, hard enough to land him in a hospital bed. That explained his head, why it hurt to open his eyes and breathe through his nose. Alec nearly cried out, experimentally touching the sides of his nose with two fingers. He’d broken his nose once before. This was exactly what it felt like. Even loaded up with the good hospital painkillers, it still was extremely tender to the touch. What he didn’t understand was why it looked very much like they’d done his pacemaker while he was there. To the best of his knowledge, hospitals weren’t in the business of looking up near-future medical procedures their current patients were set to have, and getting them done in one fell swoop.

Alec was hit with a wave of dizziness as he reached for his mobile. He collapsed back into the bed, feeling further disoriented when he saw the date on his phone. His brain was still moving slowly, taking him a few extra seconds to calculate that he’d lost a whole day but was still several out from when he was originally scheduled for surgery. He stared at the phone, wondering who had set it on the table next to his bed.

He closed his eyes, slowly reaching back out to the table to grab his call button to summon a nurse for some answers. Alec wanted to fight the sudden swell of relief that was setting in until he was explicitly sure he’d actually survived the procedure he’d been dreading. He tossed the remote on the bed, realizing that it was for the tv and not his call button. He swept his hands around the bed near his side until he found a cord clipped to his blanket, and jammed his thumb against the end.

“Good morning, Mr. Hardy!”

Alec flinched at the volume and pitch of the nurse’s voice. The nurse seemed to notice, and she continued in hushed tones as she congratulated him on being awake, and asked him a slew of questions he was unable to process. He opened his mouth to speak, but his groggy rasp sounded almost unintelligible even in his own ears. Alec pointed to what he gathered was his pacemaker, croaking out a simple, “what’s this?”

A tremendous weight felt as though it had been lifted when she ran down the short version of events. Given the circumstances under which the operation that occurred, it sounded bad. But he’d survived under even less likely circumstances than if he’d gone through with it as scheduled. He nodded to show he understood, chewing his bottom lip as he endured the blood pressure cuff cycling and a full reassessment of his vitals. Once the nurse was gone from the room, Alec let himself succumb to the full force of the emotion behind the knowledge that he’d lived through the thing he’d been most afraid of. With shaking hands, he picked up his mobile again and called Tess. Daisy would be at school, but that was fine. He wouldn’t be able to hold it together if he talked to her right now.

“Alec. I’ve been expecting to hear from you,” she let it ring several times before answering.

“You what?” his voice still sounded rough.

“I can barely hear you.”

“Why have you been waiting to hear from me,” the words stuck in his throat when he tried to speak louder.

“What’s wrong with your voice?”

Alec explained where he was, that he’d gotten his pacemaker. He sucked in a deep breath, stuttering against the pain as he nearly pinched the bridge of his broken nose out of habit.

“I’m alive, Tess,” he sighed.

“Quite. I thought you weren’t going in for a couple weeks. You’ve spoken to the DCI and DI who were here, then?”

He didn’t tell her she had the date right, or elaborate on the reason why the surgery had been moved up. He didn’t mention the fight with Carl, his nose, or his eye. He stifled a whimper, making a strangled hiccuping sound.

“You’re inaudible again, Alec. They turned up here, asking about Sandbrook. I don’t know what you’re up to, but we’re not re-opening the case.”

“Aye, they came by my place. Listen, I’ll be in town in a couple days. Working with them, on Sandbrook—“

Tess interrupted him. “Alec! Stop. I’m going to hang up.”

He sighed again. “Have Daisy call me when she gets home from school.”

“No, Alec. If you want to talk to her, you can call her. But if she doesn’t pick up, there’s nothing I can do to make her talk to you.”

The tears burnt around his swollen eye. “I miss her, Tess. I miss both of you.”

“I’m sorry, Alec. I have to go,” she hung up before he could choke out another response. He dropped the phone to his chest, jumping when he remembered the pacemaker. The phone didn’t fall on the site, but it served as a reminder that from now on, he’d need to be more careful. Still, his heart was not the reason his chest ached now. He couldn’t stop himself from breaking down. Snot clogged his nose, rendering it more useless and he sucked in deep, sobbing breaths through his mouth. Alec brought his forearm up, hovering an inch away from his forehead in an attempt to cover his face as he cried.

Alec pulled himself back together by the time the nurse returned. She fussed with his IV tubing, swapping out a new bag on the infusion pump and giving him instructions on ordering food if he was hungry. He shook his head at the suggestion of food, accepted the pain meds, and sat back to wait for the narcotics to lull him back to sleep.

—

Miller knew that the entire courtroom was staring at her. She was standing up giving evidence. Regardless of what the barrister had said, they would have been looking to her for her response. But after leveling the accusation that she and Hardy had set Joe up for murder to cover an affair, that she had spent two hours at the Traders with him later that night because they were sleeping together, those stares felt infinitely more hostile. Without Hardy there to receive some of those looks in her place, it was that much worse. Miller defended herself as best as she could, but her emotions were getting the better of her. Things didn’t improve when the judge announced that they’d need to recess until they could hear from DI Hardy. She noted for the record that he was unavailable due to medical reasons. Miller cringed, thinking about how fiercely private he’d been about the situation and how much he would hate to know anything was being postponed on his account.

When Lucy joked about liking the look of a sickly, troubled Alec Hardy, Miller had enough and decided to go back to the hospital to see if his condition had improved. Halfway there she weighed whether that was even a good idea. If Joe’s legal council found out that she was going to see him, it would only fuel their accusations. Maybe she would tell them about the bollocking she gave him while she was there the next time she was called. No, she thought. That seemed like a terrible idea. She could deal with him being upset at her for disclosing personal details, but she couldn’t take Joe’s defence twisting her words to make it sound like the kind of argument two people would only be comfortable with having once they were already involved in some sort of intimate relationship. Miller turned into the car park, shuddering at the myriad bad ways that could play out. The police caution echoed in her head. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.” She wasn’t a suspect, but she couldn’t see how what she was experiencing was anything other than the end of that. She’d be better off saying as little as possible.

—

Akram was in the hall, locking the door to his room when Becca walked by. He nodded to her and wished her a good morning.

“Oh! Hi, good morning to you too,” he ignored how flustered she looked, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her dress. “You startled me, how are you?”

“On my way to breakfast,” he told her.

“Well, I’ll probably see you there then!” Becca turned and hurried off.

He didn’t need to see her exiting Carl’s room, nor would he have needed to observe that she was wearing the same dress she’d been wearing the day before. The walls of the Traders were not thick, and he’d heard more than enough to know where she’d spent the night. Akram let out a heavy sigh, knocking lightly on Carl’s door.

“Back so soon? Oh, I thought you were someone else,” Akram remained stone faced when Carl answered still in his boxers and a tshirt, dropping the less than subtle hint that he’d spent the night with someone.

“We should go back to DI Hardy’s and borrow his files. They’re more complete than what we have. And he probably has notes,” he pulled out his mobile, ignoring Carl as he dressed.

“As long as you can read his handwriting,” Carl muttered, zipping his fly.

Akram continued, explaining that with Hardy’s information they could dial in their precise plans on where to go, whom to speak with once they drove up to Sandbrook.

Carl looked at his mobile, frowning at the name on the caller ID before answering. “Why the hell is she calling me?” he asked before answering.

“Oi Carl, shhhh,” on the other end of the line, Rose adjusted her sunglasses. “I did it, I befriended Claire. Much to my liver’s dismay, that girl can drink. And,” she whispered. “I’m pretty sure the bloke she brought home from the pub is still here.”

“I didn’t tell you to do that,” Carl started, glancing at Akram. “Well, looks like the only one not getting shagged on this little adventure is Akram now–”

“Gross, Carl, don’t tell me about that,” Rose scolded him.

“–but I suppose that’s par for the course. Keep an eye on her, keep an eye out for Lee Ashworth, and keep us updated. Going,” Carl hung up and stuffed his phone back into his pocket.

Akram rolled his eyes behind Carl’s back as they headed over toward Alec’s for some light breaking.

“Maybe he really is the ‘Worst cop in Britain," Morck turned over a flower pot, holding up the key that had been hiding underneath it.

“It’s a small town, not much crime. They’re lucky,” Akram shrugged.

“No, they’re stupid,” Carl opened the door. The lights were off. Both men left it unsaid, but a quick scan of the tiny hut, and it seemed apparent that Alec was most likely still in the hospital. The files that Miller had been going over were still scattered across the table, their half-drank teas in seemingly the same places they’d been left before Carl had barged in and assaulted Alec.

Akram pulled a post-it note from the pile. “Thorp Agro Services, what do you make of that?”

Carl shrugged. “Find out what that is, add it to the list.”

“Listed as permanently closed,” Akram showed Carl the results of his quick search.

“Still, add it to the list. We’ll check it out when we head north. See if the parents have any connection. Where did they say they were when it happened? A wedding? We’ll need to find out whose wedding, get a list of attendees,” Carl stopped poking around the books on the shelves and joined Akram at the table, looking to see if Alec already had such a list. Two hours later, they were still at the house, combing through the documents pouring over the map of Sandbrook.

—

Alec was still asleep when Miller arrived. She sat down in the chair next to his bed, debating whether she should disturb him. The nurse had told her he had been awake earlier, assuring her that he’d only made vague threats to leave. The extra observation in the ICU kept him in bed, but she also told Miller that she couldn’t make the same promises once he was moved to the lower acuity unit later that afternoon. Miller was still deciding what to do when she saw he’d begun to stir.

“Miller? What are you doing here?” Alec asked when he realized he wasn’t alone.

“What am I,” she gawked at him. “Bloody hell, do you even remember what happened?” she asked.

“Got into a fight with Morck,” he replied. “Punched me.”

Miller shook her head. “He almost killed you. I should have called to report him for assault, I mean really, almost killed you. Your heart, they had to rush you to surgery.”

Alec agreed much quicker than she thought he would have under normal circumstances. “Aye, weren’t much of a fight, but I’m alive, got my pacemaker and I’m still alive,” he slurred, still groggy.

“You nearly weren’t, and so help me if you don’t press charges against that DCI—“

“Listen, Miller, listen,” he interrupted her. Alec tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed to get up. He swayed as he tried to sit.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing,” she leapt out of the chair, ready to shove him back into bed if necessary.

Alec sank back into the hospital bed, hissing at the rush of pain. The dizziness he’d experienced earlier when he’d sat up too quickly had lessened. That felt promising. As long as he remembered to limit sudden movements, he could deal with some pain and the decrease in vision in the one eye until the swelling went down.

“You aren’t meant to lift your left arm for a bit after surgery, your nose is broken, you’ve got a cut over your eye that’s been sewn up, Hardy, stop!” her voice gradually had grown louder as she detailed the litany of his acute medical issues.

“Miller, I need you to take me up to Sandbrook with Morck and Salim. Talk with the investigating officer, they couldn’t convince her to reopen the case but you should try—“

She looked at him, aghast. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Alec kept talking, “I’m getting out of here. Today–”

“You can’t even sit up without falling over right now,” she cut him off.

“Don’t care what you or those bloody doctors say, I’m leaving. And you’re driving me. Your son can stay with your sister. Please. I can’t do this on my own.”

“Don’t be daft, I’m not working with that twat and neither are you,” Miller glared at him.

Alec stared at her, mouth open for a moment before he let out a small chuckle. His chuckle turned to a full, almost maniacal laugh, one Miller had never heard from him before. Her expression changed. She watched him laugh, a concerned shock playing across her face until she was nearly laughing along with him.

“I don’t need you protecting me. I need to do this,” he sighed, once the uncharacteristic fit of laughter died down. Miller cautiously eyed the IV in his arm, chalking it up to the medications he was receiving.

“Absolutely not.”

“Tomorrow? If I stay in one more day,” Alec tried bargaining. It was a hollow attempt; she wasn’t wrong, he was still too weak to leave on his own. “Pop back to the house, grab me some clothes. Charger,” he pointed to his phone. “We’ll go up there tomorrow. They’re probably on their way now, we’ll be a day behind, but,” his voice trailed off. Miller was shaking her head no. Alec gave her a pathetic pleading look.

“I’ll fetch you some things, but that’s all,” she said quietly before suddenly adding, “What about the trial? You’re due to be called to give evidence. If the judge gets wind of you discharging yourself and traipsing off to Sandbrook–”

“I’ll be back in time,” he slowly exhaled.

“The whole trial is on hold because of you. They’re waiting until you’re medically sound to. They’ve accused us,” Miller’s defiant tone was gone. Her voice wavered and she sank back in the chair. She forgot she hadn’t told him yet.

Alec turned his head away. “They’re trying to cast doubt. The case is still strong, we’ve got the confession. We’ve got,” he flinched when he heard her trying and failing to hold back tears.

“Jocelyn thinks the confession is at risk. Because,” she paused. “Because I,” she couldn’t bring herself to tell him the rest.

Alec slowly turned back to look at her. “I’m sorry, Miller. I’ll,” he stopped, not sure how to finish the sentence. Alec tried to reach out his hand to touch her, offer some kind of reassuring gesture. Miller shook her head, sliding back out of reach.

“They said we framed Joe to cover up an affair,” she said, wiping her eyes.

Alec didn’t respond. He stared back at the wall. An all-too familiar tightness began building in his chest. He tried to keep his breathing steady, but his thoughts were already starting to spiral. He couldn’t watch another case involving another murdered child fall apart over another affair, neither of which he’d had–one that hadn’t even happened this time–pacemaker or not.

“Right. I’ll go by the house, get your things. But if you’re going to be reckless and go to Sandbrook, you can find your way there on your own,” Miller stood up, and stomped out of the room without looking at him again.

—

Through the window, Miller could see there were people inside the house. She froze, watching Carl pace back and forth. He was talking, leading her to believe Akram was most likely with him. She was close enough that he would have been able to see her approach, but he looked focused. She could see him tossing an item, either a ball or other round item. Suddenly, he stopped, pointing to something. Miller let out an angry growl, and steeled herself for the impending confrontation.

“What the hell are you doing here? After what you did? You have the nerve to break in, unbelievable!”

“Good afternoon to you too,” Carl grumbled, turning his attention back to the discovery he had just made prior to Miller’s entrance. Akram got up from the table, and tried to usher Miller outside.

“No, I’m not leaving until you both are gone,” she threw her orange jacket onto the sofa and glared at the two of them.

Carl raised his hands, slowly backing up. He turned, continuing to walk backwards until he was at the door, a mock-sheepish smirk on his face as he went out to the car. Akram began stuffing the pictures and statements into the folder.

“You can’t just take those,” Miller slammed a hand over the folder.

“We’ll return them, ma’am,” Akram looked her in the eye as he told her. He asked whether she had reported Carl to the local police.

Miller stared back at him. She didn’t know what to make of his calm sincerity, and she didn’t appreciate the question.

“What if I did?” she asked back.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Akram paused. “I think you should do what you feel like needs to be done. We’ll be heading up to Sandbrook now. If you leave me your number, I can keep you updated.”

Miller shot him a look of disgust.

Akram explained, “so you can keep DI Hardy updated.”

Miller still felt unsettled. She flipped through her contacts, and scribbled down Alec’s number. She was sure that Alec would hate her giving out his number, but she was also reasonably sure that these two probably had it already anyway.

“Call him yourself, I’m not going to be a part of this. Now get out!” she shouted as Akram left. Miller grumbled to herself, cursing the lot of them as found a bag in his closet. She rifled through his dresser, too angry to be discomfited by her invasion of his personal space when she reached his pants drawer. The pair of sad, worn boxer briefs with loosening elastic and a hole in the side didn’t even register. She crammed a jumper in with the trousers, socks, and shirt. This time when she locked up, she took the key from under the flower pot.