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[oom] 2x08,i: Operation Rose
50 mls.
Kill or cure time.
~~~
She'd slept on the couch again. Summers wakes her from her slumber by snapping the lid of one of her cassette tapes. The bastard thinks he owns her, thinks he can waltz right in whenever he pleases. (Her name is Molly. And I can't do anything to screw this up and prevent me from getting home to her.)
"Guilty conscience? You covered up a murder, Alex. That young bobby had his whole life ahead of him. As crimes go, it's a biggie."
She lifts her chin in defiance. "Clock's ticking. I've got until fifty mils to beat the infection that's killing me and that's you, by the way."
"You think I'm the rot? That's ironic."
"And then I'm going home."
"If you're strong enough."
"I'll stop you and then I'll be strong enough."
"Oh, well you've done a good job of it so far. See?" He laughed, a dry, forced sound, as he produced the handgun used to kill his younger self. "I'm one step ahead of you, Alex, all the time. See I understand you. Why you make these tapes. Private agonies of someone who's trying to figure out the meaning of life. Or death."
"I am going home."
"Do you really want to go home that badly? I'm the next room to you. We share nurses, I hear them talking, you've only said one word since you came to the hospital. Just the one. Gene."
The ache flares in her chest. (Her name is Molly.) But she will not let him see her falter. "No great surprise, I mean—this world, it's a maze. He's the one constant."
He scoffs at her. "But you lie to him too, I mean—what if you told him the truth? What you've done? How you buried that body, eh? Would he be a constant then—ALEX. I am in control."
"No." (Today is her birthday.)
"I knew there was a reason I came here. I knew it the moment I arrived, and to stop me, you need to find out what it is quickly. Because, as you say, the clock—is ticking."
The television is nothing but white snow and the ping of medical machinery tracking her heart beat, flashing .
"Good luck."
~~~
Time fragments again, and she's dressed, walking through the car park outside Fenchurch East. She pauses to take a breath, leaning heavily against the cold concrete wall. What would she say to him? How could she make him understand? None of this is her choice. None of this is under her control anymore.
She's careening through this dream world like a puppet with her strings cut. No sense of direction, no sense of control. She doesn't know what is required of her, save that she has to stop Operation Rose and she has to stop Summers. She has to get home to Molly.
Chris is standing, smoking a cigarette, avoiding the inevitable. She coaxes him inside, telling him in a voice she barely recognises as her own, "It'll be all right."
Will it? Really? With her desk covered in rose petals? Drowning in a sickly sweet sea of red.
They're all drowning, it feels like. Shaz looks like she hasn't slept in days.
"You okay? You look drawn." She's always been the most perceptive of them all.
"Yeah. I've got a bit of a headache, Shaz."
"I'll get you something."
"Thanks. 1981. I came back to 1981 for a specific reason, to see my parents, right?"
"Okay?"
"And he came back to 1982 because this year is important to him, why?"
It wasn't any use. The Guv emerged from his office, informing them that the guns they'd discovered had upset some bigger plan, and things were moving. The seedy underbelly of London was all in a stir. One of his snouts, Rock Salmon Doyle, had wanted to talk about it, but had clammed up at the last minute. When they went round to talk to him again, someone had had their own set of words.
Doyle was in little bits all over the chip shop and his missus was certain it was their fault. She told them it was a really big job and Doyle had been excited about it, until he'd found out more. And then he'd been terrified. And apparently with good reason.
~~~
Back at Fenchurch East, Gene called her in to his office to meet his counter point, DCI Carnegie, Fenchurch West. And of course, with the boy's club came the worst of the Guv's insults, insinuating that her 'infection' was a dose of the clap, or perhaps a full round of applause.
"Yes, it's third stage VD, Guv. I'm an aggressively promiscuous nymphomaniac, you know that."
That seemed to shut them both up.
Carnegie was there to report that they'd found PC Summers' body. Lafferty had already been charged with murder, of course, but she couldn't help but think how convenient that was. She waited until DCI Carnegie left to share her suspicions with the Guv.
"Big night on the gin slinks?"
"Lafferty did not kill PC Summers. It was a bent copper." She was adamant on this point.
"No, it was Lafferty. His MO."
"No, you don't understand. It was a bent copper and I have to stop him."
"Right now we need to figure out where Doyle's guns went and who they were for. There's a major blag going on and I want to nab it, Drakey. The Summers case can wait."
"I have to stop this infection. Time's running out for me, Guv."
"Yeah, and time's running out for moi."
That took her aback. "That's French."
"Sorry. I'm under pressure. Doyle is dead. I want these bastards who were planning this."
She couldn't think of something to say to make him understand.
"What, you go the DTs? Pour yourself a large Scotch, that should sort it out."
And she didn't have the patience to deal with his bedside manor either.
"You could do with something stiff inside you."
She just sneered and turned her back on him. Childish, bull-headed, arsehole. She didn't have time for this.
~~~
Ray would help. She had to convince him to get on board, to investigate PC Summers, his connections, who he was associating with, what he was really supposed to be doing in 1982 other than being dead. Because he wasn't supposed to be dead. He was supposed to be involved in something big.
Coroner's report showed huge hand mark bruises on Doyle's body. The Guv pulled a suspect out of thin air, as he was wont to do, only this morning, she wasn't keen to question it. If the murderer was in that chip shop, he'd have chip oil on his shoes just like the rest of them.
And if she could prove that, maybe he'd let her off to look into Summers' murderer.
Of course, Tiny Tim wasn't having any of it. He pulled a torch on his sister and they still nicked him.
They found reinforced carry all bags at Tiny Tim's, strong enough to carry a baby elephant. And according to Tim's sister, the blag was going off in the next twenty four hours.
Which meant she was stuck there trying to get information out of a brick wall. She'd raged internally for about two seconds, and then she'd gone still. If she couldn't get something out of this bloke, she didn't deserve her warrant card.
A little sweet psychology, a word association game and bingo: Operation Rose. Bent coppers were what had Tiny Tim so terrified. Bent coppers on a huge blag.
That was the blag they were planning. The Guv was pleased enough to actually say thank you, and for a moment, she was pleased too. She could do this. She could figure this out. It was just a matter of working the case.
~~~
She should have known it was too good to last.
Kill or cure time.
~~~
She'd slept on the couch again. Summers wakes her from her slumber by snapping the lid of one of her cassette tapes. The bastard thinks he owns her, thinks he can waltz right in whenever he pleases. (Her name is Molly. And I can't do anything to screw this up and prevent me from getting home to her.)
"Guilty conscience? You covered up a murder, Alex. That young bobby had his whole life ahead of him. As crimes go, it's a biggie."
She lifts her chin in defiance. "Clock's ticking. I've got until fifty mils to beat the infection that's killing me and that's you, by the way."
"You think I'm the rot? That's ironic."
"And then I'm going home."
"If you're strong enough."
"I'll stop you and then I'll be strong enough."
"Oh, well you've done a good job of it so far. See?" He laughed, a dry, forced sound, as he produced the handgun used to kill his younger self. "I'm one step ahead of you, Alex, all the time. See I understand you. Why you make these tapes. Private agonies of someone who's trying to figure out the meaning of life. Or death."
"I am going home."
"Do you really want to go home that badly? I'm the next room to you. We share nurses, I hear them talking, you've only said one word since you came to the hospital. Just the one. Gene."
The ache flares in her chest. (Her name is Molly.) But she will not let him see her falter. "No great surprise, I mean—this world, it's a maze. He's the one constant."
He scoffs at her. "But you lie to him too, I mean—what if you told him the truth? What you've done? How you buried that body, eh? Would he be a constant then—ALEX. I am in control."
"No." (Today is her birthday.)
"I knew there was a reason I came here. I knew it the moment I arrived, and to stop me, you need to find out what it is quickly. Because, as you say, the clock—is ticking."
The television is nothing but white snow and the ping of medical machinery tracking her heart beat, flashing .
"Good luck."
~~~
Time fragments again, and she's dressed, walking through the car park outside Fenchurch East. She pauses to take a breath, leaning heavily against the cold concrete wall. What would she say to him? How could she make him understand? None of this is her choice. None of this is under her control anymore.
She's careening through this dream world like a puppet with her strings cut. No sense of direction, no sense of control. She doesn't know what is required of her, save that she has to stop Operation Rose and she has to stop Summers. She has to get home to Molly.
Chris is standing, smoking a cigarette, avoiding the inevitable. She coaxes him inside, telling him in a voice she barely recognises as her own, "It'll be all right."
Will it? Really? With her desk covered in rose petals? Drowning in a sickly sweet sea of red.
They're all drowning, it feels like. Shaz looks like she hasn't slept in days.
"You okay? You look drawn." She's always been the most perceptive of them all.
"Yeah. I've got a bit of a headache, Shaz."
"I'll get you something."
"Thanks. 1981. I came back to 1981 for a specific reason, to see my parents, right?"
"Okay?"
"And he came back to 1982 because this year is important to him, why?"
It wasn't any use. The Guv emerged from his office, informing them that the guns they'd discovered had upset some bigger plan, and things were moving. The seedy underbelly of London was all in a stir. One of his snouts, Rock Salmon Doyle, had wanted to talk about it, but had clammed up at the last minute. When they went round to talk to him again, someone had had their own set of words.
Doyle was in little bits all over the chip shop and his missus was certain it was their fault. She told them it was a really big job and Doyle had been excited about it, until he'd found out more. And then he'd been terrified. And apparently with good reason.
~~~
Back at Fenchurch East, Gene called her in to his office to meet his counter point, DCI Carnegie, Fenchurch West. And of course, with the boy's club came the worst of the Guv's insults, insinuating that her 'infection' was a dose of the clap, or perhaps a full round of applause.
"Yes, it's third stage VD, Guv. I'm an aggressively promiscuous nymphomaniac, you know that."
That seemed to shut them both up.
Carnegie was there to report that they'd found PC Summers' body. Lafferty had already been charged with murder, of course, but she couldn't help but think how convenient that was. She waited until DCI Carnegie left to share her suspicions with the Guv.
"Big night on the gin slinks?"
"Lafferty did not kill PC Summers. It was a bent copper." She was adamant on this point.
"No, it was Lafferty. His MO."
"No, you don't understand. It was a bent copper and I have to stop him."
"Right now we need to figure out where Doyle's guns went and who they were for. There's a major blag going on and I want to nab it, Drakey. The Summers case can wait."
"I have to stop this infection. Time's running out for me, Guv."
"Yeah, and time's running out for moi."
That took her aback. "That's French."
"Sorry. I'm under pressure. Doyle is dead. I want these bastards who were planning this."
She couldn't think of something to say to make him understand.
"What, you go the DTs? Pour yourself a large Scotch, that should sort it out."
And she didn't have the patience to deal with his bedside manor either.
"You could do with something stiff inside you."
She just sneered and turned her back on him. Childish, bull-headed, arsehole. She didn't have time for this.
~~~
Ray would help. She had to convince him to get on board, to investigate PC Summers, his connections, who he was associating with, what he was really supposed to be doing in 1982 other than being dead. Because he wasn't supposed to be dead. He was supposed to be involved in something big.
Coroner's report showed huge hand mark bruises on Doyle's body. The Guv pulled a suspect out of thin air, as he was wont to do, only this morning, she wasn't keen to question it. If the murderer was in that chip shop, he'd have chip oil on his shoes just like the rest of them.
And if she could prove that, maybe he'd let her off to look into Summers' murderer.
Of course, Tiny Tim wasn't having any of it. He pulled a torch on his sister and they still nicked him.
They found reinforced carry all bags at Tiny Tim's, strong enough to carry a baby elephant. And according to Tim's sister, the blag was going off in the next twenty four hours.
Which meant she was stuck there trying to get information out of a brick wall. She'd raged internally for about two seconds, and then she'd gone still. If she couldn't get something out of this bloke, she didn't deserve her warrant card.
A little sweet psychology, a word association game and bingo: Operation Rose. Bent coppers were what had Tiny Tim so terrified. Bent coppers on a huge blag.
That was the blag they were planning. The Guv was pleased enough to actually say thank you, and for a moment, she was pleased too. She could do this. She could figure this out. It was just a matter of working the case.
~~~
She should have known it was too good to last.