SG-7 in Local Hero

Complete
Action/Adventure, Drama
Set in Season 8

Disclaimers:

Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, The Sci-Fi Channel, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is written purely for my own entertainment, and that of anyone else who may happen to read it. No infringement of copyright is intended. It is not intended and should never be used for commercial purposes.

The original characters, situations and ideas contained within this work are the property of the author.

Author's Notes:

The Vidocq Society actually exists. I have invented nothing but the character and methods of DCI Tenniel.

Same Cop/Same Neighbourhood is the Boston PD's commitment to neighbourhood policing, involving beat officers spending most of their time working the same beat, so that people come to know and trust them.

Acknowledgements:

Many thanks to my beta reader, Sarah, who has a much better grasp of my continuity than I have.

SG-7 in Local Hero

Stargate Command

Captain Meredith 'Merlyn' Lloyd sat in her office, feeling listless; it had been a difficult week. After their return from the planet Nign, her CO, Lieutenant-Commander Louis Ferretti, had spent three days sitting at Lieutenant Alexa Rasputin's bedside. Alexa had now been flown to Moscow for psychological and parapsychological evaluation at the Special Directorate; the Colonel had taken to moping in the saloon bar at Martine's and could not be persuaded to re-enter circulation. Lieutenant Roberts, ever the pragmatist, might have been able to pick Ferretti up, but he had been called away to pilot the Wilhelmina – a Shay spacecraft, the artificial intelligence of which had taken a shine to Roberts – on a clandestine mission.

Meanwhile, Sergeant Alexander Pearson had been on post-traumatic leave and that troubled Merlyn for several reasons. While being brainwashed into becoming a Goa'uld vampiress' consort would be enough to traumatise anyone, let alone a gay man, he had also been forcibly outed during the mission and Merlyn could not help feeling that he had been pushed into counselling because of that. Of course, she was conflicted by the revelation herself. Merlyn operated within two overlapping moral universes concurrently, one informed by her civilian education and the other by her Catholic upbringing. Intellectually, she had never had a problem with homosexuals in theory, but actually knowing one – being friends with one, even – suddenly brought the dichotomy of her pragmatic and dogmatic moralities into focus.

"I mean, I feel I've always managed to be both a good Catholic and a kind, liberal individual," she explained. "Now I have to face the fact that my religion may force me to condemn Sergeant Pearson for being gay, even though I think – as an academic – that I know it isn't a choice and even though I don't personally see it as a sign of perversion. I mean, we're talking about Pearson." She sighed. "Do you see what I'm saying?"

Merlyn's RA, Eleri Goffanon, blinked at her.

"Eleri?"

"Xander's gay?" Eleri asked, crestfallen. "But he's so cute."

Merlyn sighed, packed up her things and went home.

*

Merlyn lived in a state of almost profound austerity. Her small apartment was almost entirely devoid of luxuries and the decoration was plain and dark. As she closed the door, the telephone rang and Merlyn hurried to answer it.

"Lloyd," she said.

"This is Cheyenne Mountain switchboard, Captain Lloyd," a voice said. "I have a call from a Miss Catherine Bird."

"Who?" Merlyn wondered aloud.

"Catherine Bird," the operator repeated. "She called for Lieutenant Roberts and asked to speak to you instead when I explained that he was incommunicado."

Merlyn pursed her lips in thought. "Put her through," she decided at last.

"Yes, Ma'am."

The line clicked.

"Hello?" Merlyn said.

"Merlyn?"

It took a moment for Merlyn to recognise the voice. "Sparrow?"

"I hope this isn't a bad time," Sparrow said. "They said Dmitryi was busy."

"No, it's fine," Merlyn assured her. "I welcome the distraction, believe me. I was just a little surprised to hear from someone called Miss Catherine Bird. I don't think I ever heard your Christian name before. What can I do for you?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Sparrow admitted. "There's...someone who's been asking questions around the neighbourhood; about Dmitryi. I just figured he should know."

Merlyn heard the deep concern in Sparrow's voice and she found it infecting her. Of course, it didn't help that Merlyn knew that she and Roberts both inhabited a world of intrigue in which it would not be unreasonable to expect a hostile agent to be asking questions about them. Only a few months before, she had been questioned by the NID over her latest exposure to alien nanites. "What sort of person?" she asked. "Who is he?"

"I don't really want to bother you..."

"Too late," Merlyn assured her, "and I could really, really use the distraction. Give me the details."

There was a short pause. "He's an investigator of some sort," she explained. "He's been asking about a murder that was never solved. It happened about fifteen years ago and for some reason this guy is dredging it over again. I'm worried he's going to try and pin this on Dmitryi. I hoped if he came back and spoke to this guy..."

Merlyn shook her head. "No," she added, recalling that Sparrow could not see her. "I mean, yes; you're probably right, but Roberts is incommunicado."

"Crap."

Merlyn thought for a moment, and then said: "I'll be on the next flight to Boston."

*

Boston

Sparrow met Merlyn at the airport, carrying a card which said: 'Merlin'. Merlyn almost needed the sign, because Sparrow had changed so much in the last few months. When Merlyn had last met her, she had been a second-rate street-punk's first-rate moll, with a bruised face, bedraggled hair and casual clothes a size too tight to be truly casual. She still wore her battered leather jacket, but underneath she wore a smart pair of trousers, a white blouse and black shoes with low heels.

"You've become respectable, Sparrow," Merlyn noted. "It's a good image for you."

Sparrow grinned delightedly. "Still feels kinda awkward, but I do look pretty sharp, don't I? I'm working as a clerk at Barnaby and Marston while I train as a paralegal."

Merlyn gave an affectionate laugh. "That's pretty ambitious," she said.

"Well, I've wasted a lot of my life," Sparrow replied. "I don't want to hang around any more. I'm almost thirty; there's not much time left."

"Quite," Merlyn noted, archly.

"To make a start," Sparrow explained. "You've got a good lead on me, Merlyn. Shall we go? I've brought my car," she added excitedly; clearly she was delighted with the idea of owning her own car. "I haven't got my own apartment yet, but my mother has agreed to put you up."

"That's very kind," Merlyn said. "I just need to check in with the station."

Merlyn left Sparrow in the main concourse and found her way to the telephones. The number that she dialled was not that of Cheyenne Mountain, however; it was a Boston number.

A woman's voice answered. "The Four Seasons Hotel; how may I help you?"

Merlyn felt a pang at the thought of The Four Seasons' huge, soft beds and power-showers, but there was no way that she could refuse Sparrow's offer. For a family like the Birds, it was more than generous to invite a near-stranger to share their home and material things were, after all, transient. "I need to cancel a reservation," Merlyn said.

*

Sparrow dropped Merlyn off at her family home, then had to go back to work at the law offices of Barnaby and Marston. Her mother, Anna Bird, made Merlyn feel right at home. The lounge was a mess, but Anna sat her down at the kitchen table and set it for lunch.

"You really don't need to go to all this trouble," Merlyn insisted.

"This is important to Kate," Anna replied. "That makes it important to me. If you mean the lunch, I have never been accused of being a bad hostess and I don't intend to start now."

Merlyn nodded, making no further protests. "So what really is going on?" she asked. "Sparrow gave me the basic run down, but..."

"But Kate does tend to see Timothy through rose-tinted lenses," Anna finished. She set a pan on the table and sat down to serve. She waited patiently while Merlyn said Grace and murmured a simple "amen".

"Can you tell me about the murder?" Merlyn asked.

"Not much," Anna admitted. "I couldn't even swear that it was a murder." She sighed. "I'll tell you as much as I do know. Ian Baxter was one of Roberts' gang, back in the day. He was an odd kid, a second generation Russian, like Roberts."

Merlyn's brow creased in concern. "Roberts is Russian?" she asked.

"You didn't know?"

"I had no idea," Merlyn admitted.

Anna chuckled, gently. "Why exactly did you think my daughter still calls him Dmitryi?"

"I didn't like to ask."

"His name was Dmitryi Rybalko, when he was born. His parents – actually, I think they were Ukrainian, not Russian – had only been in the country for about a year at the time. Three years later, his father changed the family name to Roberts in an attempt to integrate. Dmitryi became Timothy, but his mother couldn't make the switch; she always called him Dmitryi. Kristina was the only one of that group who ever used to visit him at home and she picked it up there; Kate copied it from her sister.

"Ian Baxter was born that way, but his family had been called Baikov before they came to America. He was...mean; an aggressive kid with a violent streak. He was a little unstable and afraid of nothing; of nothing and nobody, except Timothy. Timothy was the only one who could control him...Or so they thought."

"What exactly happened?"

"I don't know," Anna admitted. "I only heard about it...afterwards."

*

1990

Anna simply could not believe the injuries that had been inflicted on her daughter. She knew that Kristina was a beautiful girl, but it was impossible now to see it. Her face was a welter of bruises, her lips were split and crooked; the skin around both eyes was swollen and black. Clumps of her hair had been ripped out and her throat was ringed with livid marks.

There was a gentle knock at the door. Anna looked up. "Bob," she said, with some fondness.

"Hello, Anna," Detective Robert Stevens said. "Is it alright to talk to Kristina?"

"You can try," Anna sighed. "She isn't being very forthcoming."

Stevens nodded and sat opposite Anna. "Hello, Kristina," he said.

Kristina gave a hostile grunt. "I've nothing more to say," she told him.

"I haven't come to ask about the attack," he assured her. "It's something else. Ian Baxter."

Kristina gave an involuntary shudder. "What about Ian?" she asked.

"He's dead," Stevens said.

"What?" Anna gasped.

"Someone threw him off a bridge, Kristina," Stevens pressed. "I think we both have a pretty good idea who that someone was, don't we?"

"I have no idea," she assured him, her voice taut.

Stevens leaned closer to the girl. "Roberts is losing the plot," he hissed. "He's becoming dangerous. You know it and I know it."

"Since you already seem to know everything I know, we don't have very much to talk about," Kristina said. "I want to get some sleep."

"Kristina..."

"Miss Bird!" Kristina snapped. "Isn't that what you're supposed to call me, Detective Stevens?"

Stevens fumed. "Miss Bird, the bastard who attacked you has now murdered a young man."

"So why not arrest him and leave Dmitryi alone?"

"Baxter can't talk and you won't. That means he's going to walk away from this. Is that really what you want? The man who raped you...!"

"Just shut up!" Kristina screamed. "He didn't! He wouldn't!"

"Kristina...!"

"That's enough!" Anna snapped.

"Anna," Stevens appealed.

"Outside," she whispered, an inch away from erupting in fury. "Now!"

In the corridor, Stevens turned to Anna. "You have to talk sense into her," he insisted. "If she won't be reasonable..."

Anna slapped him hard across the face. "How dare you?" she demanded, oblivious of the stares she was drawing from the hospital staff. "How dare you come in here and browbeat my daughter? Hasn't she been through enough?"

"Timothy Roberts has to be caught and punished and I can't do that without her statement," Stevens replied, evenly.

"You've had her statement, Bob," Anna replied. "You've had half-a-dozen statements from her, they just don't say what you want them to say so you keep coming back in the hope that she'll tell you what you want to hear, just to make you go away and leave her alone. It's low, Bob, and I can't forgive you for using her like this."

"Using her! I'm trying to help her, like I've always tried to help her. Roberts is dragging her down, Anna."

Anna gave a snort of bitter laughter. "Of course; this is all about Kristina."

"Her and others like her," Stevens retorted. "Damnit, Anna! The boy is a menace; his father's son, through and through." He ran a hand down his face. "There's more, Anna. Harry Roberts is dead; it looks like his wife finally snapped. With both parents gone, what's left to keep a boy like that in check?"

"I don't care," Anna said. "I want you to leave Kristina out of this unless she decides to come to you. She is my daughter and I will not let you treat her like this."

"Do you think I don't care about her?" Stevens demanded. "Anna; you know I do. I love her like she was my own."

Anna looked at him sadly. "No you don't," she said. "If you did...Well, if you did, I wouldn't have to tell you why what you just did was wrong. I think you should go now, Bob. Goodbye."

"Anna..." he began, but she had already turned away.

*

2005

Merlyn knew that she could not sit idly by while she waited for Sparrow to finish work and so she borrowed Anna's car – Anna would not hear of her taking a taxi and she had not had a chance to pick up her hire car – and drove to the police precinct to speak to Detective Cressida Merchant. Merchant was the now-Lieutenant Stevens' partner, but was basically well-disposed towards Merlyn and Roberts.

An officer who looked almost too young to be wearing his uniform showed Merlyn into Merchant's office, and the detective rose to her feet with a smile. "Hello again, Captain Lloyd," she said.

"Please; call me Merlyn, Detective Merchant."

Roberts had once told Merlyn that Merchant's eyes were an extraordinary shade of dark blue; Merlyn could not help looking to see if this was true. It was. She knew that Roberts threw these little observations in to tease her, knowing that she disapproved of his highly-active sex life, but she had never yet known him to invent anything.

"Cressida," the detective replied. They shook hands and Cressida showed Merlyn to a seat. "Coffee?" she offered, then asked the young officer to bring some.

"Is it bring your kid to work day or something?" Merlyn asked, after the officer had left.

Cressida laughed. "I think that's a sign of aging," she warned Merlyn. "Now; what can I do for you today? I really hope we aren't going to have a repeat of last time."

"Believe me, so do I," Merlyn assured her. "At the moment, I'm just here to look into some disturbing events. I was told that someone was raking over old coals."

Cressida nodded. "The Baxter case," she said. "I heard that someone was reopening that one, but I don't think it's anyone in the department." The door opened and the officer brought in the coffee. "Thank you, Officer Kelsey," Cressida said. She waited for him to leave again before continuing: "I thought that might be what you wanted to talk about, so I took the liberty of pulling a few of the files. I can't tell you much myself, I'm afraid; I was in high school at the time and certainly not the one Roberts, Baxter and the Sparrow girls attended. The man you really want to talk to is Stevens; he was born in Philadelphia, but he's worked that neighbourhood since he was a beat cop."

Merlyn grimaced. "He may have the knowledge, but since I'm trying to clear Roberts of a murder charge, he may not want to help me. I got the feeling Roberts wasn't Stevens' favourite person, even before he stole his sidearm."

Cressida stifled a chuckle. "Yeah; he wasn't happy about that. But he's a good cop," she added, sternly. "I trust you, but I need your promise that you aren't going to try and clear your friend by burying mine. I know you have the clout to do it, so if that's what you want, you'll have to do it without my help."

"I understand," Merlyn agreed. "I have no quarrel with Detective Stevens and, as I have complete faith in Roberts' innocence, I have no reason to slur his name or damage his career. I just want to find out the truth."

"Alright, then," Cressida said. She picked up two files and passed them across the desk. "Help yourself; just don't take them outside the office. I've got some things I need to do; just ask one of the uniforms if you need to speak to me. And Merlyn," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"Yes?"

"I'm assuming there's some reason you can't just ask Roberts himself what happened fifteen years ago, but you really should talk to Detective Stevens. He's a good cop and a good man and he wouldn't suspect Roberts without a reason. You may have to face the fact that your friend is a killer."

"Oh, I know he's a killer," Merlyn assured her, "I just don't believe that he's a murderer."

The files made for harsh reading.

Ian Baxter had died on the 9^th of August, 1990. Just after two o'clock in the morning, he had plummeted from an overpass, landed on the hood of a moving van, bounced up and over the roof of the vehicle and then fallen under the wheels of the car behind. He was dragged over a hundred yards before the car stopped; identification had been made by reference to dental records and a tattoo. The only eyewitness to see Baxter before he impacted on the van was a vagrant, somewhat the worse for drink, who said that the youth had climbed out onto the concrete support struts underneath the overpass to avoid another man, who had been chasing him. The witness had fled before Baxter had fallen; the man he described could have been Roberts or any one of a million other men.

The case of Kristina 'Starling' Bird was even more unsettling, but in some ways that made it easier for Merlyn to read. Fifteen years ago, without the experience and depth of character that endeared him to Merlyn, there was just a chance that Roberts could have killed Ian Baxter, but she was as certain as she was of her faith that he would never have inflicted the injuries suffered by Sparrow's sister. People changed, but surely not that much.

Merlyn was still sitting with her back to the door, so she only heard it open. Nevertheless, she was aware of a sudden cooling of the atmosphere that told her Detective Stevens had entered.

"Have you seen Officer Kelsey?" she asked, without turning. "He was going to bring some more coffee."

"You're entering a world of pain, Captain Lloyd," Stevens told her.

"Well, I've tasted better, but it's not that bad."

"Things learned can not be unlearned," he pressed. "I will see Timothy Roberts go to jail for his crime, but that doesn't mean you have to know all the nasty, sordid little details of his early life. I think there are a lot of things you'll be happier not knowing."

"I can't help him if I don't know the truth," Merlyn replied.

"If you know the truth you might not want to help him."

Merlyn shook her head and turned at last to look at the detective, his solid frame blocking the doorway. "I don't care who he was, Lieutenant," she said. "He is my friend and my team mate. He has protected me from harm on many occasions. I would not be able to look at myself in the mirror if I let him down when he needed my protection."

"Whatever he needs, he doesn't deserve your help, Captain."

"You've said that before," Merlyn reminded him. "It's no more your business now than it was then."

"I swore to protect the innocent from harm," Stevens quipped.

"I'm not that innocent," Merlyn assured him. "Look; if you want to help me, why don't you tell me what happened? Cressida tells me you know the case – and the area – better than anyone."

"Same cop, same neighbourhood," Stevens said. "That's the idea. Hardly a day goes by now that I don't wish I'd been assigned to a different neighbourhood when I joined the department. Come on," he sighed. "I'll buy you some lunch; assuming you still have any appetite."

Merlyn laughed. "You'd be surprised what it takes to turn my stomach these days," she told him.

Stevens took Merlyn to lunch in an Italian diner across the road from the precinct, where he was clearly a regular. Merlyn insisted on paying for her own lunch and, to her relief, he did not argue, as some men would have done. He recommended the calzone.

"So," she said, blandly.

"Right," he agreed. "Well, you've read the file on Kristina Bird; to actually see it..."

"I understand," she assured him.

Many men would have assumed that Merlyn could not in fact understand what Starling had looked like and told her so in no uncertain terms. Again, Detective Stevens impressed Merlyn, this time by not attempting to correct her.

"Then you'll understand that I was upset, especially as I...I knew the family well and I looked on Kristina and Catherine almost as if they were my own daughters."

Merlyn nodded. "Anna Bird mentioned something of the sort," she noted.

"Hm," Stevens replied; Merlyn seemed to have touched a sore point. "Anyway, I was determined to bring the bastard in."

"What makes you so sure it was Roberts?" Merlyn asked.

Stevens sighed. "I'll say this once and you can argue it as much as you like, but Roberts was a bastard. Kristina was in floods of tears more nights than not; he treated her like crap and ground her into the dirt. She was a brilliant student before she started going with him. He destroyed her life, then he almost destroyed her and she was too frightened to say boo about it."

"He told me that he never hit her," Merlyn said.

"He didn't have to."

Merlyn felt awkward; Stevens had been right that there were elements of Roberts' past that were uncomfortable to her.

"I'm not excusing anything that he did," she insisted. "I know that he doesn't. But to go from verbal abuse to a physical assault of that savagery...You must admit it's a bit of a stretch."

"Not if something provoked him," Stevens said. "Baxter provides the link, you see. He was a good-looking boy and came as near as anyone in that group to not being afraid of Roberts. There were about fifteen of them in the gang altogether, including Irving Washington; I think you met him?"

"Charming boy," Merlyn agreed, dryly.

Stevens gave a grim smile. "Well, the Beasts were and are the local gang; Roberts' lot were a sort of associated youth movement and they tried to take after the big boys as much as possible. Girls came and went as they took up with and walked out on various members of the gang, and Roberts slept with most of them."

"That sounds like Roberts," Merlyn admitted.

"But this was while he was going with Kristina," he explained, "and he never made any effort to hide it from her. Now, all the boys liked Kristina, just like all the girls liked Roberts. It would have taken a brave girl to cheat on Roberts, but Kristina was brave and I think she did just that."

*

1990 

Ian Baxter ran, terrified, headlong, with Roberts close on his heels.

"Baxter!"

Ian reached the base of the overpass and stopped. He turned and faced his pursuer. "Come on, Roberts!" he pleaded. "I'm sorry, man. It was stupid, I know it!"

"Keep going," Roberts growled.

Baxter backed away along the concrete support. "Please!" he called.

"Nobody touches Starling but me," Roberts declared.

"Oh, come on! She came onto me!" Baxter insisted, but this argument was cutting no ice. "I'll never do it again."

Roberts lunged forward and gripped Baxter by the shirt. "I know," he said, and then he pushed.

 *

"You have a lurid imagination," Merlyn drawled.

Stevens blushed. "Well whatever the details, I think Kristina went with Ian Baxter to get back at Roberts and Roberts found out; that's why he did what he did to her and that's why he killed Baxter."

"I don't buy it," Merlyn told him.

Stevens shrugged. "Nor did the DA; not without evidence and certainly not without a witness statement, but I know she was protecting him."

Merlyn shook her head. "That she was scared, I might accept," she said. "Even ashamed. But women don't protect men who rape them; not like that."

"You'd be surprised what women will stand for," Stevens told her. "And probably quite nauseated. In this case, I guess she didn't want to talk because she blamed herself. Somewhere, deep down, she thought that she'd brought it on herself by cheating on Roberts."

Merlyn shuddered. "Do you have any evidence at all?"

"We know he burned his clothes that night," Stevens said. "We found the remains of the fire in a trash can in the back yard and his jacket was gone. We also know that he bought a ticket for a bus going upstate in the name of Roberts; it seems he later sold it on, but he was planning to leave town. You seem to have me pegged as a bitter man with an axe to grind," he noted. "I won't deny that I never liked Roberts, but it's my job to ask questions even of myself. I just can't find anyone else to make sense but him."

"I'll let you know if I turn anything up," Merlyn promised.

"For your sake, Captain Lloyd, I almost hope I'm wrong," Stevens allowed.

"You're a good man, Detective Stevens," she said. "God bless you, and thank you for the recommendation; the calzone was excellent."

*

In a pensive mood, Merlyn made her way back to Anna Bird's apartment. She had been entrusted with her own key and so she let herself in. She heard voices as soon as she opened the door, but she assumed that Sparrow had come home and so she went straight through to the kitchen before she realised that Anna was speaking to a man.

"Oh. Hello."

"Hello, Merlyn," Anna said. She looked towards her visitor with a smile. "This is Alistair Tenniel."

The man turned towards her. He was a tall, lean man, a little older than Anna, with a sombre face and a droopy, old-fashioned moustache. His hair had been black, but was rapidly turning grey; he turned with his feet instead of at his waist and, by the way that he favoured his left leg, Merlyn could see that he had an injured hip. A carved, black cane stood against the door, so this must be an old injury.

Alistair extended his hand and Merlyn took it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Merlyn," he said; his voice was soft, confident and inspiring of confidence. He had a British accent, English with a trace of Scots. "That's a very unusual name."

Merlyn smiled. "It's Meredith, really – Meredith Lloyd – but I prefer Merlyn, Mr Tenniel."

"It's Detective Inspector, actually," Anna added, as she turned to attend to a whistling kettle.

"Detective Chief Inspector, but who's counting," Alistair corrected. "I retired ten years ago. It is just Mister Tenniel these days, and I prefer Alistair."

"So, you were a police officer?" Merlyn asked.

"Thames Valley CID. My hip was broken in the line of duty..."

"You were shot?"

"I was playing squash with the Chief Constable; bloody stupid game, but the Superintendent had cancelled. I retired and, five years ago, I was invited to join the Vidocq Society."

"Won't you both take a seat?" Anna asked. "Tea's nearly ready."

"Thank you, Mrs Bird," Alistair replied. "Allow me." He lifted the teapot and placed it on the mat in the centre of the table. He would have gone back for the mugs, but Anna waved him down.

"You're my guest," she insisted, "as is Merlyn, and I asked you to call me Anna," she added. "Anyway; you were about to explain this Vidocq Society to me when Merlyn arrived, so you can finish that up now."

"Of course," Tenniel agreed. "Well, the society is a sort of think tank of 82 forensic scientists and retired law enforcement professionals. It was founded in 1990 as a venue for the discussion of..."

"Cold cases," Merlyn realised, her manner suddenly turning cool. "You're the one investigating Roberts."

"There I must correct you," Alistair replied, apologetically. "The Society is not an investigative agency; we merely provide a fresh eye to consider the evidence in a case. I am turning such an eye on the death of Ian Baxter, it is true, but despite Detective Stevens' bias, I am not seeking to locate evidence against any one individual. I understand you are a friend of Mr Roberts?"

"Lieutenant Roberts," Merlyn corrected, stiffly; she was deeply annoyed with herself for liking this man in the first place. "He is an Air Force officer, not retired, and therefore not a Mister."

"I stand corrected, Captain Lloyd."

Merlyn pursed her lips, tightly. "And you needn't think you can get round me with any of that Sherlock Holmes business," she said. "The hair gives me away as Air Force, I call him just Roberts so I must be his superior and I'm not old enough to be a major."

Tenniel coughed, delicately. "Actually, Anna told me about you," he admitted. "But thank you for thinking I could work it out so brilliantly. I was going to say that, as a friend of Lieutenant Roberts, you could provide an alternative to Detective Stevens' views."

"Alright," Merlyn said, tightly. "Lieutenant Roberts is the most loyal, steadfast and honourable man I have ever known. More than that, I can not say."

"Detail would be helpful to me," Tenniel admitted.

"No. I really can't say," Merlyn insisted. "I can't discuss our work with anyone."

Tenniel nodded once, and then turned to Anna. "It might be better if I were to leave now," he suggested.

"No," Anna insisted. "You and Merlyn are both guests in my home," she added, directing her emphasis towards Merlyn.

"And I have no wish to cause trouble," Tenniel assured her. "I shall call on you at a more convenient time. It has been a great pleasure to meet you, Anna; and you, Captain Lloyd."

"Likewise, I'm sure," Merlyn replied, frostily.

Anna shot Merlyn a scowl as she passed to show Tenniel to the door, and returned to the room with a face like fury. "And I thought you were a well brought-up young woman," she said, sternly, but without anger in her voice; she sounded almost disappointed.

"I'm sorry," Merlyn said, sincerely, "but he's the one that Sparrow is worried about. It didn't feel right sitting down to tea with him."

"If you were uncomfortable, you could have left," Anna suggested. "I think you should understand, also, that this is not a clear cut matter, Merlyn. I like the man that Timothy Roberts has grown into and, because I have Kristina's word for it, I have never suspected him of attacking her, however badly he might have treated her. For Kate's sake, I truly hope that he is innocent of this other crime, but you must realise that he was not always as he is now. Perhaps you should speak to someone who knew him before; someone other than Kate, I mean."

*

"Does anyone in Boston actually like Roberts?" Merlyn asked Sparrow, after she got back from work.

"I do," Sparrow assured him.

"Your mother doesn't."

"Yes she does," Sparrow insisted. "But you're right that she didn't like him. I guess I can understand that. After Dad died, Mom invested everything in us; Starling and me. With one of us moping about after Roberts and the other weeping over him every hour of the day and night, we can hardly have expected her to welcome him with open arms."

"And Stevens?" Merlyn asked.

"Yes," Sparrow said, awkwardly. "Stevens."

*

1990

Sparrow took a short cut home from school, hopping over the fences and running through the narrow backyards of the neighbourhood, as Dmitryi had taught her to do. She couldn't manage the higher fences yet, but she was working on it as diligently as any Marine in basic training. She dropped to the ground in her own yard and ran up to the kitchen door, throwing it open onto a scene of consummate horror.

"Oh, God!" she cried. "Oh! I did not see that!"

Anna broke away from Bob Stevens with a sudden start. "Kate! What...?" Alarm turned to anger. "How many times have I told you not to come through the yards?"

"Thirty-seven," Sparrow groused.

Anna sighed. "Go on upstairs and get ready for supper," she said.

"Is he eating with us?"

Anna's eyes flashed angrily. "He is eating with us, he is staying the night and he is standing right there," she snapped.

2005

"Wait! What?" Merlyn gasped. "Stay the night?"

"You didn't know?" Sparrow asked. "Stevens was Mom's lover. I thought it was common knowledge; someone must have mentioned it to you."

Merlyn shook her head.

"And you didn't pick it up when you spoke to them?"

"I'm not good at subtext," Merlyn admitted.

"Apparently not," Sparrow agreed. "Maybe you need to get laid."

Merlyn gave her a withering look. "How did you know...No, never mind. Roberts agrees with you, anyway," she noted.

"Great minds think alike."

"And fools seldom differ," Merlyn reminded her. "Carry on with the story."

1990

"Kristina!" Anna called out. "Tina! Dinner time!"

There was a thunder of footsteps on the stairs. "I'm going out!" Starling yelled as she ran for the door.

"You come in here and eat with your family!" Anna insisted. She rushed along the hall to stand in front of the door and crowded her daughter back towards the kitchen.

"Roberts is here!" Starling pleaded. "I gotta go, Mom!"

"You should keep away from that boy," Stevens told her, sternly. He stood up from the table and moved to stand over Starling. "Mark my words; he'll be in prison before he's eighteen."

"No he won't!" Sparrow proclaimed, proudly. "He's too clever to go to prison. You'll never catch him."

"He isn't clever, he's a fool," Stevens replied. "He'll be lucky to go to prison, since the alternative is going to be an early death. If we don't catch him and put him out of circulation, then someone else, someone more like him, will kill him."

"No one can kill him," Sparrow declared.

"Shut up, Sprat!" Starling snapped. "What would you know about it anyway?"

Sparrow scowled hard at her broccoli.

"Can't you just sit down and eat with us, Tina?" Anna asked.

"I'm going out," Starling insisted.

"Not with him," Stevens said. "I forbid you to go."

Starling stared at him. "You forbid it? You the hell do you think you are?"

"Tina..." Anna began.

"You have no right to talk to me like that!" Starling shrieked. "Screwing my mom does not make you my dad!"

Even Sparrow was shocked by that.

"Kristina!" Anna gasped, appalled.

Stevens just looked as though she had struck him. For once, Sparrow's heart went out to him; she had never been all that fond of Stevens, but he made Mom happy and Starling had almost seemed to accept him as their father. They had built up a bond, Stevens and Starling, a bond that had been crumbling ever since she started going with Roberts.

Starling stormed past her mother and was gone before Anna could react, slamming the door behind her. Stevens slumped into his chair; he looked exhausted.

"I'm sorry, Bob," Anna said, softly. "When she comes back..." She tailed off, unable to promise that Starling would apologise.

Sparrow reached out under the table and slipped her hand into Stevens'. She gave his rough fingers a squeeze, and then withdrew. He shot her a grateful glance from eyes that brimmed with unshed tears and for that one moment, they understood each other.

*

2005

"He never told anyone about my moment of weakness," Sparrow finished. "Not even Mom. I still don't like him much, but for that, if nothing else, I respect him."

"So what went wrong?" Merlyn asked. "Why did he and your mother split up?"

"Mom and Stevens were lovers for almost five years," Sparrow said. "When he made Detective, I think he was working up the courage to ask Mom to marry him. He was a shoe-in, but then Starling started going out with Roberts and it all went sour.

"It was always me against them and I'd probably have come around eventually, but when Kristina turned on him as well, Stevens lost his nerve. He dithered about it for a long time, then there was the attack on Kristina. I think he wanted to get Roberts for it because he thought that if he could turn Kristina against Roberts, she'd come back into the fold and things would settle down again. He was probably right, but she never turned. He was a little too determined to pin the attack on Roberts and he pushed her too hard. Mom rebelled against the way he was treating Starling; she told him she didn't like what had happened, or what Kristina had been doing, but she couldn't be with a man who called her daughter a liar.

"He moved his stuff out of the house a week after the attack. I hardly ever saw him after that."

"How did he take it?" Merlyn asked.

Sparrow shrugged. "About as well as could be imagined," she replied. "He was heartbroken, far as I could tell. He really tried, you know? With me I mean. He was crazy about Mom, she was wild on him and Tina was psyched to have a dad at last; the three of them just fit together and I did all I could to spoil it. Part of the reason I hated him so much was that he went so well with them. I thought, or maybe felt, that family meant three and now there wasn't a place for me. He tried real hard to show me it wasn't so and I kept pushing him away.

"I only really saw what I was giving up when he was gone." Tears shone in Sparrow's eyes. "I missed him," she choked. "I missed tripping over his big, stupid shoes in the hall and I missed the stink of his stupid pipe. Most of all, I missed Mom smiling when she looked at him; Mom smiling when he came home at night or laughing at his stupid jokes because she was happy there was someone there to tell her stupid jokes."

Sparrow stopped and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Fat tears were rolling down her cheeks and she forced herself to stop and get a Kleenex rather than continue messing up her work jacket.

"Of course, I was young and stubborn and half in love with Roberts, so I blamed Stevens," she went on, at last. "I can see now why he needs it to have been Roberts. He lost a family going after him the first time round; if he was wrong..." She shook her head, sadly. "Poor, miserable bastard," she whispered.

Sparrow blew her nose and looked up at Merlyn, a wobbly smile on her lips. "So. What next?"

"Anna suggested I talk to some of the people he knew back then," Merlyn suggested.

"I know just the man," Sparrow promised with an enigmatic smile. "Let's go to an art gallery."

*

"He always talked tough," Sparrow said, as she turned the car into a parking lot, "but he wasn't a violent man. Well...that is to say..."

"I know what you mean," Merlyn assured her. "He can use violence and he is very good at it – if that's the right word – but he isn't what you'd normally call violent."

Sparrow nodded her agreement. "He got into a few fights with the other guys and he could be vicious, but he never raised a hand to Starling." She gave a nervous chuckle. "Not that he was a sweetheart towards her. He treated her like crap, but he never took a swing at her, even at their worst times."

Merlyn shook her head. "He's such a gentleman these days. I wonder if that's guilt," she mused.

Sparrow shrugged. "He was sweet as anything to me. I used to tell myself that he really wanted to be with me, but I realised some time ago that it was just part of being cruel to Starling."

Uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation, Merlyn looked up to see where they were going. "Whom did Roberts know in his days as a youthful ne'er-do-well who now frequents art galleries?" she asked. "Even Roberts doesn't like art galleries."

Sparrow said nothing, she just smiled and led the way towards the doors.

"Ah, Sparrow," Merlyn called. "The gallery's closed."

"Is it?"

Merlyn pointed to a sign. "Grand opening. Invitation only. The first public display of works by new artist...You have got to be kidding."

Sparrow laughed.

"Irving Washington!"

"Uh-huh."

"We're going to an art show given by the testosterone-poisoned ape who used to slap you around for giggles?" Merlyn asked, incredulously.

"He's actually very good, and he's calmed down a lot since he's felt able to express his artistic side. And live idly off a rich girlfriend," she added.

Sparrow reached the door and approached the man on the door. The dapper doorman would not have looked twice at the woman Merlyn had met two months ago before ordering the burly security guard to eject her, but Sparrow was now a respectable legal clerk and it was Merlyn – who had not dressed for a gala opening – who attracted dubious looks.

With a flourish, Sparrow produced a gilt-edged invitation. "Miss Catherine Bird and guest," she said.

"Miss Bird," the doorman said, cordially. "If you take the passage to the left, Mr Washington and Miss Alisen are expecting you and your guest."

Sparrow followed his disapproving glare and tipped him a wink. "Artists, eh," she said.

"Indeed," the doorman replied. His voice held no hint of judgement, but his gaze did.

Merlyn dutifully followed Sparrow into the gallery. "Of course," she whispered, "judging by past experience of Boston, he probably thinks I'm your lesbian girlfriend."

Sparrow shrugged. "I can live with that on my reputation," she assured her.

"You're a bad person. Now, is that Beth Alisen we're taking drinks with?" Merlyn asked, warily. She did not much care for Beth Alisen, who was the worst kind of privileged dilettante. As a self-made, convent-educated orphan, Merlyn's prejudices against the more decadent members of the hereditary moneyed classes were deep-rooted.

"It is," Sparrow replied. "She got out of antiquities and now she owns the gallery. She's been acting as Wash's artistic agent."

"Yes, that was Roberts' idea," Merlyn noted, "although it sounds like a marriage made in...well, no; I don't think I can imagine where that marriage was made."

"Actually, you're closer than you know," Sparrow said. "That rich girlfriend I mentioned..."

"Oh my."

"She'll be horribly superior when she meets me – Wash seems to be claiming that he left me and I really can't be bothered to argue over it – but I try not to begrudge her. I honestly don't think she'd been decently laid in about a decade when she met him."

Merlyn shook her head. "I think Roberts must have been a very bad influence on you," she said.

Sparrow shrugged. "Be fair though," she countered. "He did come back to be a very good influence. It's because of him I'm becoming a respectable citizen instead of getting knocked about by Wash." She paused for a moment. "I guess I can be charitable towards her. I mean, if Wash rates as a comparatively good lay, I can only imagine what the poor woman was getting before that."

"Speaking as someone who literally can only imagine, but prefers not to, could we drop this line of discussion?" Merlyn asked patiently.

"Huh?" Sparrow asked, staring at Merlyn as though she had just announced that she travelled across the galaxy to fight things that man was not meant to wot of, which of course Merlyn never would. "I...Oh. God, I'm sorry."

Merlyn sighed. "See; this is why I never tell people, and please, as a favour to me, could you not blaspheme when I'm in earshot?"

"Sorry," Sparrow said again.

"And there's no need to apologise for the other," Merlyn added. "It isn't an accident, it's a matter of choice."

"Oh," Sparrow said, eyes bulging as though Merlyn had told her that she had a dread reputation as a powerful sorceress among the alien vampires who dwelt on a distant, twilight world, which of course Merlyn never would. "Wow," she added, with a strange kind of melancholy in her voice.

Merlyn took Sparrow's arm, gently. "Are you okay?"

Sparrow shrugged. "I kind of hooked up with Wash because he was the only one who'd have me," she admitted. "Starling said I should wait, but..."

Before Merlyn could say anything in response, they reached the end of the passage and emerged into a large display area. Uniformed waiters and waitresses served drinks at a set of long tables with shining-white tablecloths. The walls were hung with large, framed canvases.

"He's...good," Merlyn said, incredulously. She had never seen Wash's painting before and she could not help but be impressed by the layered landscapes and expressionistic portraits.

"This one's mine," Sparrow said, indicating a weirdly ethereal image of a woman gazing out of a window. The blanket around her shoulders was the same colour as the curtains and the sofa; a figure in the foreground was visible as a dark silhouette at the extreme left of the canvas. "I mean, it's of me," Sparrow went on. "Make what you will of it, although given the nature of my relationship with Wash, it could have been a lot worse."

Merlyn found the picture somewhat unnerving so she moved on to the next, which showed a looming figure with a red face, burning eyes and sweeping, blood-stained wings. The creature was framed by a broken stained-glass window.

"What's this one supposed to be?" Merlyn asked.

"That's you," Sparrow replied. "I think you made an impact."

"I suppose I must have done."

"There is one of Roberts, but Wash's put it aside for me," Sparrow added. "I think it's showing in one of the side galleries. I've seen it and all I can think is that Wash has some really serious inferiority issues he still has to work out."

"And this is the man we're here to speak to?"

Sparrow shrugged. "Well, he invited me; it seemed rude not to drop by at least. Besides," she confided, "I never can resist an opportunity to tweak Beth Alisen."

"A bad, bad person."

"Come on," Sparrow laughed. "Let's meet the artist."

Merlyn hardly recognised Beth Alisen, but then she had met her only once before and at that time Alisen had been drenched in sewage. Now she wore a quietly classy black dress and her long, dark hair was piled up into an elaborate coif. She looked radiant as she stood with one arm hooked possessively around the waist of a tall, powerful man. Irving 'Wash' Washington was also difficult for Merlyn to match to her memory of him. In her mind's eye she saw the sodden, long-haired thug who had tried to intimidate her and that did not mesh well with the man before her, with his dark-blonde hair immaculately cropped and his powerful frame wrapped in a thousand-dollar suit. Only a slight kink in his nose told of his violent past.

"Sparrow!" he called, amiably.

"Hello, Wash ," Sparrow replied, in an amused voice. She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, then turned to exchange acid air kisses with Beth Alisen. "Elizabeth," she cooed, sweetly.

"How lovely to see you again, Catherine," Beth replied in the tone of voice usually reserved for speaking to tax inspectors and in-laws. "And Captain Lloyd," she added, warily.

"Captain Lloyd," Wash echoed, not so much wary as nervous. "I didn't expect...Are you two...together?"

"Yes," Merlyn replied. It took her a moment to work out what Wash actually meant and to understand why Sparrow simultaneously said: "No."

Merlyn rolled her eyes at Sparrow. "See," she said. "Boston."

"Actually, Merlyn came here to see you, Wash," Sparrow added. "Why don't you two have a little chat while Beth shows me around the exhibition?"

Wash did not look as though he were keen to be left alone with Merlyn. "Well...I think you've seen all of the pictures before," he demurred.

"She has?" Beth looked as though it was news to her.

"He exaggerates," Sparrow assured her blithely. "Go on, Wash."

"I'll only keep you from your public for a few minutes," Merlyn promised.

"Sure," Wash agreed. He kissed Beth on the cheek. "I'll be back soon," he promised. "Why not show Sparrow some of the newer canvases."

"Don't be long," she chided. "You have a speech to make." She turned and took Sparrow's arm with a tight smile.

"She's rather territorial, isn't she," Merlyn asked.

Wash sniffed. "I assume you haven't come here to discuss my domestic arrangements," he noted.

"No," Merlyn agreed, "although she looks a lot less battered than Sparrow did."

"I wasn't as bad as all that," he assured her. "No Harry Roberts, certainly. Anyway, my therapist says that we were caught in a mutually self-destructive co-dependency."

"So it was her fault that you hit her?"

Wash had the good grace to blush at that. "But Sparrow snapped me out of that and I've never raised a hand to Beth in six months. I owe Sparrow big, so ask me whatever you like; I'll tell you what I can."

"Thank you," Merlyn said, sincerely. "I wanted to ask you about Roberts; about what he was like when you knew him."

"Frightening," Wash replied.

That did not sound promising. "Can you elaborate?"

"Maybe," Wash said, evasively. "Alright, I don't know," he admitted. "What does elaborate mean?"

Merlyn sighed. "I need to know more detail," she explained.

"Right," he nodded. "Well, he was...violent, I suppose you'd call him, but not aggressive exactly. He was violent in the kind of careful way that makes violence really scary. It wasn't like he'd blow up on you or had a temper or anything; just sometimes he'd lash out at someone who'd been riding him or who didn't do what he said fast enough and knock 'em down hard."

"How hard?"

"Hard enough everyone'd know about it from the bruise – if he wanted to leave a bruise – but not so hard they'd have to go to hospital or anything. You see, if he'd been a thug we'd just of avoided him, but we knew if we played him straight we'd be okay; so we stuck with him and no-one ever crossed him."

"Did he ever hit you?" Merlyn asked.

Wash gave his jaw a rueful rub. "Lots of times," he admitted. "See, I wasn't so smart, so I used to tell him what I thought of him. Mostly it was all good, but I gotta say, I never liked the way he treated Starling."

"Oh?"

Wash nodded. "I always had a bit of a thing for her," he admitted. "I mean, she was really hot and she had this sweet and innocent air that just made you want to..." He coughed, uncomfortably. "She was too good for the likes of us, so of course we all wanted her like crazy, but then Roberts hooked her and things changed. She started hanging out with us and she lost that...goodness. She was like us; touchable. So long as you didn't mind Roberts breaking all your fingers."

"He was possessive, then?"

"Not so much," Wash replied. "I mean, he used to say – and I believed him – that he didn't much care if she slept with other guys; he'd always take her back and he'd never hurt her. Course, what he'd do to any guy who touched her he never said, but we knew. And he cheated on her any chance he got. Never missed a chance to make her feel small; even if he never hit her, he roughed her up real bad inside."

Merlyn squirmed inside; she did not like what she was hearing, but could find no trace of dishonesty in Wash. "What about Baxter?" she asked.

Wash shivered. "Now there's a name," he said. "Well; like I said, Roberts was just violent enough to make it count. Bax was so violent it kind of lost all meaning. We only let him hang out with us 'cause he was too scared of Roberts to make trouble, but even then, sometimes...I remember this time, not long before it all happened..."

*

1990

Wash lay back on one of the couches that furnished the gang's lair, an abandoned house with boards on the windows. They called themselves the Vermin – Roberts' idea; not quite Beasts yet, but still vicious – and there were fifteen of them in total. Only five of them were there now: Wash, who was notionally in charge in Roberts' absence; Marty, the number three guy in the gang; Taylor, Marty's girl; Roberts' attack dog, Bax, a barely-controlled bundle of nervous aggression; and Baxter's girl, Nadia. Taylor was an oddity, a sleek rich girl with a taste for the rough. Looking at Taylor, Wash felt sure that the glamour was wearing off for her and she would be heading back uptown before long; there seemed to be a chance that Marty might go with her. Nadia was more the Vermin's usual speed; a budding alcoholic with an abusive single mother, a borderline psychotic ersatz stepfather and dependency issues; not bad-looking, but painfully thin.

Starling had taken off about half-an-hour earlier with Roberts escorting her and Wash was hoping that Roberts would be back soon. Aside from the fact that it was hard to keep Bax in check when Roberts was away, Wash hated to think of him spending time alone with Starling.

Taylor leaned over and whispered something in Marty's ear.

Marty laughed, and then turned to Wash. "Hey, Wash!" he called. "We're gonna take off and, uh..."

"I don't need a diagram," Wash assured him. "Go on; split. I doubt Roberts' is going to have big plans when he gets back."

Marty and Taylor left quickly, leaving Wash alone with Baxter and Nadia, worried that Roberts might return and curtail their departure. In truth, the Vermin didn't really do big plans, but Roberts did sometime like to hold court and act like a big man.

"Bye Taylor !" Nadia called. She looked up to the other girls – as she looked up to almost everyone. She was like the least popular kid in school, desperate for any attention she could get. That was the only reason she was going out with a nut-job like Bax.

Oblivious of Nadia's need for her recognition, Taylor waved distractedly and then they were gone.

"We could go somewhere too," Bax suggested, pulling Nadia roughly against him.

She shrugged. "Roberts said he'd be back soon. Shouldn't we wait?"

Baxter snorted angrily. "Oh yes, you want to wait for Roberts don't you!" he snapped. "Never miss a chance to flutter your eyes at him!"

Nadia blushed. It would have been difficult for her to argue the point, but Wash knew that it was unwise not to.

Baxter stood up and hauled Nadia to her feet. "Who're you with?" he demanded, shaking her roughly. "Who looks after you?"

Nadia shivered, tears of fear in her eyes. "You do," she snivelled, although it was patently untrue.

"Bax!" Wash snapped, but his warning tone only seemed to make Baxter angrier.

"Please calm down, Bax," Nadia whispered. "I didn't mean anything, honest." She put her hand on his face and tried to kiss him. "I just know how mad he gets if you don't do as he says and I don't want him to hurt you, baby."

Wash cringed. He could rarely summon the energy even to pity Nadia; she was the pathetic product of a life of neglect and cruelty and had no spark of life in her; not like Starling.

The crack of the slap which Bax laid across Nadia's cheek sounded like a gunshot in the small room. She half-fell, but Bax kept a tight grip on her arm and pulled her back up. He dragged her close and kissed her, then pushed her away and slapped her again.

"That's enough!" Wash barked. He started forward, but Baxter released Nadia and drove his left elbow into Wash's face.

Nadia tried to run, but Bax swung at her, fetching a punch to the side of her head as she passed him. She dropped hard, while Wash staggered away, blood streaming from his nose. Bax was a skinny kid but he hit like a steam hammer; Wash was amazed that Nadia was still moving. Ignoring Wash, Bax stepped over to Nadia, delivering a vicious kick to her leg. He laughed, not cruelly, but as though he had just said something that he thought was funny, even if no-one else did.

"Get up," he told Nadia.

"You broke my leg!" she wailed.

"Get up!"

"Bax."

Wash looked up in astonishment; he had neither seen nor heard Roberts enter the building. Baxter turned at the sound of his master's voice and Roberts hit him hard in the stomach. Now it was Bax who doubled over and almost fell and Roberts who supported him by grabbing hold of his messy, blond hair. Roberts held Bax up while he drove two more punches into Bax's midriff, then he let him fall.

"You know the rules, Bax," Roberts said, softly. "Now get the hell out of my sight."

Baxter crawled away, clutching his stomach in agony. Roberts knew just where to hit; Baxter would be passing blood for days and there would hardly be a mark on his skin.

" Jesus, Wash," Roberts sighed. "I leave you in charge for ten minutes..."

"Mo dike a nah," Wash replied.

Roberts came over and crouched down in front of Wash. He squeezed his nose between two fingers and popped it sideways.

"Christ!" Wash snapped. "And it was more like an hour," he repeated.

"Stop whining," Roberts replied, harshly. "Get yourself down to the hospital," he suggested. "I think your nose is broken."

"And you thought you'd find out by poking it?" Wash asked, although once the pain eased it felt much better.

Roberts ignored him and walked over to Nadia. He probed her leg with his fingers, then slid the flat of his hand along her thigh. "No real harm done," he promised her.

"He hit me," she sobbed.

Roberts held up his hand in front of her tear-streaked face. "How many fingers?" he asked.

"Three," she replied, correctly.

Roberts helped her to her feet. Nadia favoured her bruised leg and Roberts supported her by looping his arms around her waist. "Let's walk you around a bit," he said kindly. "You took a nasty knock on the head and I don't want you passing out."

It was obvious to Wash that he had failed to get Starling into bed and was going to make up for that lack with Nadia, but she of course saw it as nothing but loving concern.

*

2005

"So Stevens was right," Merlyn said. "He didn't just cheat on Starling; he cheated on you as well? On his gang."

Wash shrugged again. "To my knowledge, Roberts had nailed Nadia several times before that night. He had a regular thing with Buddy's girl Lacey on Sunday nights – when Starling got an early night before school and Buddy's dad made him help unload the beer delivery – and I ditched my girl Ruthie because she'd been sleeping with Roberts. I don't know if you'd call it cheating though; most of us knew all about it."

Merlyn was appalled. "I know he can be charming," she said, "but surely..."

"Okay," Wash sighed. "Try to understand this: Being a teenage punk in a wannabe street gang is a really bad way to meet girls. I suppose you were always the prom queen..."

"We didn't have proms at my school," Merlyn assured him.

"Well, whatever. What did you have?"

"Martinmass," she replied.

"Well..." Wash looked a little lost. "Anyway, none of us – with the exception of Roberts, of course – could ever have gone with the Martinmass Queen. We wouldn't even have managed to land a Martinmass Baroness. The whole rebel thing may seem all cool, but it really wasn't working for us in high school, probably because we didn't have bikes. So, most of the girls who wanted to hang with us had the morals of a pine weasel or were only there because they were after Roberts; or both. Either way, anyone else was a stepping stone to him. Basically, we picked up the ones he didn't want to take on full time. We didn't have our own girls; there were just women we were keeping warm for Roberts."

"That's horrible!"

"Tell me about it. I mean, there were exceptions; like Taylor. She met Marty at a careers thing they held at one of the big finance offices. Marty was really good at math," he added, by way of explanation. "She genuinely liked Marty and she couldn't stand Roberts. Eventually she pulled Marty away from us and made him go straight. We all jeered at the time, but he was the smart one. He's a tax assessor now and she runs the family business. Speak of the devil."

He pointed at the door and Merlyn saw a well-dressed couple entering, flanked by an angelic little girl and a brooding boy, perhaps twelve and ten respectively.

"That's them," Wash explained. "I really should go and say hi. Up until I sent the invite last week we were only in Christmas card contact."

"Just one more thing," Merlyn pleaded. "Do you think that Roberts – the Roberts you knew – would have killed Baxter?"

Wash shrugged. "If he felt he had to? Sure."

*

Merlyn woke up the next morning, feeling dreadful. The bed was comfortable enough, but she had still slept badly. So far, only Sparrow seemed to share her faith in Roberts. She said her prayers then showered, emerging to find that Anna had begun making breakfast.

"Do you often get up this early?" Merlyn asked.

"Only when I'm worried," Anna admitted. "I'm afraid that Kate is going to get hurt again and...And I'm worried that Bob is going to start this whole thing up again, whatever Alistair finds out."

"He does seem rather...committed," Merlyn admitted.

Anna looked up in surprise. "You actually spoke to him?"

Merlyn nodded. "I know he has his reasons to suspect Roberts, but he isn't exactly unbiased. Maybe it is best that someone like Mr Tenniel is looking into things. It seems that no-one else believes in his innocence."

"If there is one thing Timothy Roberts is not, it is an innocent," Anna replied. "I suspect that you know that more than most."

"I suppose that is true," Merlyn sighed. "I just can't believe that he's guilty of this."

"Neither can I."

"What?" Merlyn asked.

Anna shrugged. "I think he was capable of it, but you seem like a good judge of character, Merlyn, and you are so sure. If you trust him and my daughters trust him, I'm willing to go a little way on faith at my age."

"That's...Thank you," Merlyn said. "That means a lot to me."

Feet thundered on the stairs.

Anna chuckled. "Someone smells her bacon," she laughed. "How that girl is going to survive on her own I do not know. Good morning, sweetheart!"

"Morning, Mom!" Sparrow called as she crashed into the kitchen. "Morning, Merlyn."

"Good morning," Merlyn replied. "Are you at work today?"

Sparrow shook her head. "I managed to get the day off. I thought we could go see Lilia."

"Is that a good idea?" Anna asked, warily.

"It'll be fine," Sparrow assured her.

"Who is Lilia?" Merlyn asked.

Sparrow looked surprised. "Lilia," she replied, simply. "Lilia Roberts. Dmitryi's mom."

"Roberts has a mother?" Merlyn exclaimed. "Okay; that came out wrong."

"I guess he doesn't talk about her much?" Sparrow suggested.

"He doesn't talk about anything much," Merlyn replied. "I didn't even know he came from Boston until he came and found us in that church."

"Well, Lilia..."

"After breakfast!" Anna commanded, sternly. "Even if you refuse to get dressed you can wash your hands, Kate, and if she will, Merlyn can say grace."

After a truly epic breakfast – Sparrow seemed to take the scale of the meal as read and Merlyn wondered how Anna could possibly have afforded to feed such an appetite when Sparrow was not working – Sparrow and Merlyn shared the work of washing up while Sparrow talked.

"I've been visiting Lilia regularly since Roberts left," Sparrow explained. "To be honest, I'm about the only person who still bothers. Her so-called friends and her neighbours have all avoided her since she killed her husband."

Merlyn's eyes widened. "You don't say?"

Sparrow sighed. "You don't know about that either, I suppose. Well, Harry Roberts was a thug who put his wife in hospital three times and almost killed his son. He used to beat Lilia every night; if we saw her outside the house she'd be wearing these huge shades to hide her black eyes and always a headscarf to hide the bruises. Harry knew how to hit without leaving bruises, you understand; he'd just stopped bothering." Sparrow's voice was growing tight with suppressed rage; it was clear that she had long hated Roberts' father.

"I'm sorry," Merlyn whispered. "I didn't know."

"The neighbours turned a blind eye, their friends pretended they hadn't seen anything and the police didn't really want to know. I told Stevens once, but she wouldn't make a complaint so there was nothing he could do. I hated him for that, but he probably hated himself just as much."

"So eventually she cracked?"

Sparrow nodded. "Took a kitchen knife to him one night. Amazingly, the police never even brought the case to court. They accepted that she had attacked him in self-defence and she was released without a formal charge being brought."

"That's impressive," Merlyn noted.

"I think Stevens may have had a hand in it," Sparrow admitted. "He knew what went on there, even if the arresting officers couldn't be bothered to check the files."

"And when was this?"

"When else could it be?" Sparrow asked. "Fifteen years ago." She sighed. "Everything happened fifteen years ago. With Stevens riding him, Starling locking herself in her room, Harry dead and Lilia in and out of the precinct, it's hardly surprising that Dmitryi went off the rails. It was only a few weeks later that Stevens managed to get him for aggravated assault, although the other guy started it." She chuckled, softly. "I'll always treasure the look on Stevens' face when the judge gave Dmitryi the option of military school instead of prison."

"And that's how he ended up in the Air Force?" Merlyn asked. "It seems so strange."

"Well he has changed a lot since then," Sparrow agreed.

"Yes, but I always felt that he belonged in the military," Merlyn explained. "What I find strange is that it was only a quirk of fate that brought him there." She smiled. "Or then again, maybe it isn't."

"What do you mean?"

"He moveth in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform," Merlyn replied.

Sparrow gave her a sceptical look. "Let's try to convince a few people of Dmitryi's innocence before we move on to confirming his status as divine wonder, shall we?" She rinsed the last plate, stacked it neatly on the rack and then pulled the plug out. "We should go," she said. "We want to make sure we get to Lilia's before ten."

"What happens at ten?" Merlyn asked.

Sparrow gave a sad smile. "Most days, that's about when she starts drinking."

*

"Katarina!" Lilia Roberts folded Sparrow in a warm hug.

"Hello, Lilia," Sparrow replied. "This is Merlyn," she added. "She's a friend of Dmitryi's."

"A pleasure," Lilia assured Merlyn. She spoke with a slight, Slavic accent.

It was easy to see from where Roberts had inherited his looks, and his easy charm. Lilia Roberts was a tall, blonde woman with lively blue eyes, a little gaunt, perhaps, but still looking good for her age. She had a bright smile and Merlyn liked her at once.

"Please, come in," Lilia said. "You have come about the detective, yes?"

Merlyn nodded. "Tenniel," she agreed. "I just want to make sure that Roberts gets a fair hearing."

Lilia led Merlyn and Sparrow through to the living room and motioned for them to take a seat on the threadbare, green-and-gold couch. The air was slightly stale and a faint scent of alcohol was the first sign Merlyn had seen that Sparrow had been serious when she referred to Lilia's drinking.

"You are Captain Lloyd, are you not?" Lilia asked.

"That's right," Merlyn replied. "Roberts has mentioned me?"

Lilia smiled. "He speaks very highly of all of his comrades, although we have only recently begun to speak again. Things between us became strained as he grew up. I think that he blamed me for my husband's behaviour towards him."

"I can't believe that," Merlyn gasped. "Why would he blame you?"

Lilia gave a small, sad shrug. "Because I encouraged his...misbehaviour," she admitted.

*

1982

Harry Roberts must have found some work that day, because he came home drunk. Dully, Lilia wondered if he would have managed to save anything from his meagre wages or if he would have managed to drink them all.

Little Dmitryi – his doting mother had never learned to think of him as Timothy – ran out to greet his father. Lilia tried to catch him, but she knew that he would only have cried out in anger. He loved his father with a child's devotion and he did not understand how different Harry could be when he was under the influence of alcohol. Lilia knew why he drank, of course, but it was hard for her; harder even than it was on Dmitryi.

"Strasvuyte Otyets!" Dmitryi called.

Lilia winced, anticipating the slap of hand to face before she heard it. She hurried out into the hall and tried to corral the weeping child away from her drunken husband.

"English!" Harry snapped. "How many times must I tell you, we speak English? I am spurned for my accent; I must learn to speak like an American if I am to get a proper job and support this family again. And you are born in this country! You are American and still speak like a Slav!"

"He is only a child, Harasym," Lilia protested.

Harry slapped her, much harder than he had struck his son. "I do not blame him," he assured her. "It is you. Always cuddling him and whispering in Ukrainian, still calling him by his old name and telling him tales of the old country. He is Timothy," he reminded her, giving her another slap to remember it by. "I am Harry." Slap. "You are Lily." Slap. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Harry," Lilia lied. She was proud of her heritage, proud of where she came from, and she knew that Harry was as well. She could not understand why he was so determined to bury the past. "Won't you come sit down? Dinner is ready. All American food," she added, hurriedly. Later he would criticise her cooking and note that she had once been an excellent cook. She still was, but she knew only the recipes of her home in the Transylvanian Alps and he would no longer touch those.

"Fine," Harry said, dismissively. "Stop snivelling, Timothy!" Harry instructed Dmitryi. "You come from a long line of warriors; you should be able to take a slap much harder than that."

*

2005

"No wonder he grew up so hard," Merlyn sighed. "I never would have guessed..."

"We are good at keeping our feelings to ourselves," Lilia assured her. "Most people think I should have left Harry," she noted. "I see that you do not."

Merlyn shrugged, helplessly. "I don't think you should have put up with it, but I don't believe in divorce," she admitted.

"Putting up with it was easy," Lilia said, and she made it sound almost as though it truly had been. "I have a high threshold of pain and I heal fast."

"Like your son."

Lilia shook her head. "Like my husband," she corrected. "Dmitryi was stronger than either of us. Harry...He was a great man, once, respected by many people. When I first met him, he was tall, strong and handsome, with a proud and noble bearing. He was much like the man Dmitryi has grown to be, but darker and more thickset; I gave Dmitryi his colour and his build." Her face became haunted. "After we left the Soviet Union, however, things changed. There was no work for him here, no call for his talents; you can not imagine what it does to a man used to skilled work, a warrior, to find that there is nothing for him but to fetch and carry."

"I think I can," Merlyn replied. "It is a common problem for people who leave the military."

"Well, it crippled Harasym to find that he was not needed," Lilia explained, "and it is the case that those who are most glorious in action grow dissolute in idleness. He drank to forget and his violence was loosed on those he cared for, rather than his enemies."

"So...he was in the Red Army?" Merlyn asked.

Lilia shook her head. "He was a warrior of a...a different kind. For him it was a calling and he fought always with honour, to defend his comrades. To see him fall from such grace hurt me more than any blow he ever struck me. I know that Dmitryi grew to hate his father, but I could only pity him."

"So through all that, you never stopped loving him?" Merlyn asked, dubiously.

"Oh, no," Lilia replied. "I said that I could not hate him, but I found that I could no longer love him, either. The thought that my son could fall into the same darkness..."

"He won't," Merlyn assured her. "I know what you mean about protecting others; it's his calling. That's why I don't believe he would have killed anyone in the name of vengeance."

Lilia gave a melancholy smile. "But if he were drunk..."

"I never knew him to be a drinker," Sparrow assured Merlyn.

Lilia's smile deepened. "Ah, but would you see it if he were, Katarina?" she asked, fondly. "You have always been blind to his faults."

Sparrow blushed.

"His father had never been a drinker before he came here," Lilia went on. "Neither had I and look at me now. Sherlock Holmes numbed his mind with cocaine when he had nothing to think on, we numb our bodies with drink when we have nothing to do."

"So you think he could have done what they said?" Merlyn asked. "That he might have killed Ian Baxter?"

"Yes, I believe that he could have done it. I know that Harry could have, even back in the mother country."

Merlyn sighed deeply.

*

Merlyn sat back in the passenger seat of Sparrow's car, her head resting against the side window, staring out at the houses that streamed past.

"It's not that bad," Sparrow said. "Is it?"

"We've spoken to the police, your mother, his mother and his friends and we've turned up nothing but lack of character witnesses. It seems that no-one but we two believes in Roberts' innocence, whatever the evidence."

"But...you still believe it, don't you?" Sparrow asked, nervously.

"Yes," Merlyn sighed, "but it would be nice to feel we were doing something more productive than beating our heads against the wall. And it's just kind of dispiriting to find that so many people dislike my best friend."

Sparrow was silent for a long moment. "I'll get Mom to make you pancakes," she suggested at last.

Merlyn could not stifle a chuckle. "Pancakes?"

"Everything seems better with Mom's pancakes," Sparrow assured her.

Merlyn lifted her head from the window as they approached Anna Bird's house. "I hope you're right," she said, her eyes fixed on a car that she had seen once before; a dark green, right-hand drive saloon. "The detective is back."

"Good day, Captain Lloyd," Alistair Tenniel said.

"Chief Inspector," Merlyn replied.

"I hope you've had a productive morning, Merlyn," Anna said. "And this is my daughter, Catherine. Kate; this is Detective Inspector Tenniel."

"Charmed," Tenniel said, shaking Sparrow gravely by the hand.

"Likewise," Sparrow replied. She shot her mother a wink. "You and cops; what's up with that?"

Anna blushed, but Tenniel merely smiled, gently. "Miss Bird, Captain Lloyd; I need your help, and before you regale me with another tirade of abuse, Captain, I assure you once more that I have no preconceptions in this case."

"Alright," Merlyn agreed. "Speak your piece."

Tenniel smiled and gave a grateful nod. Anna let out a breath that she had been holding, and then went to make the tea while her daughter sat down with their guests.

"To get a true picture of events," Tenniel explained, "I really do need to speak to Kristina Bird. She seems to have heard that you are asking questions as well and she says that she will only speak to us together and only if we agree to listen to what she has to say before asking any questions and to leave as soon as she asks it."

"She doesn't trust you?" Merlyn asked.

Tenniel shrugged. "I believe that she just does not want to have to recount the events twice over," he said.

"She doesn't like talking about it, even in broad terms," Sparrow agreed. "I mean, Je...Jinkies, I can't blame her."

"Well I never," Anna commented, as she set the teapot on the table. "I do declare, Merlyn, that you appear to have achieved within hours that which I have failed to manage in almost thirty years and succeeded in breaking my daughter of blasphemy."

Tenniel's smiled broadened. "Shall I be mother?"

*

Kristina Bird was not quite what Merlyn had expected. If someone had asked her to describe, sight unseen, what the erstwhile Starling might look like, she would have suggested a thin, weary creature living in genteel poverty, grey in her dark hair and a hunted look in her eyes. What she found when she followed Tenniel to the door of a very respectable townhouse was a woman of her own age, sleek and vibrant with good living. She looked a lot like Sparrow, only older, more confident and more beautiful, even with a long scar marring her left cheek.

A small girl held Kristina's hand and stared boldly at the two strangers before her eyes settled on Sparrow.

"Auntie Kate!" she exclaimed, happily.

Sparrow caught the girl in a hug. "Hello, Angie," she laughed.

Kristina smiled at the two of them. "Hello, Spar," she said. "I'm Kristina Onslow," she told her visitors.

"Captain Meredith Lloyd," Merlyn replied. "This is Mr Alistair Tenniel."

"Mrs Onslow," Tenniel said, politely.

"Would you mind taking Angel out to see a movie while I talk to these two?" Kristina asked, with a meaningful glance at Sparrow.

Sparrow nodded. "Sure," she agreed, with a trace of gratitude in her voice. "Wadda ya say, kid? They're showing the original Nightmare on Elm Street at the Regal."

It struck Merlyn that if Sparrow were afraid of what her sister might say, then she, Merlyn, might now be the only person involved who was certain that Roberts was innocent. Of course, it might simply be that hearing about the assault on her sister would be too close for comfort.

"I'll meet you back here in a couple of hours or so," Sparrow promised Merlyn.

"Sure," Merlyn agreed. "Have a good time."

The three who remained watched them walk to Sparrow's car, the young woman and the little girl, the latter dancing merrily and chanting: "Nightmare on Elm Street! Nightmare on Elm Street!"

"You'd better come inside," Kristina said. "I'm afraid I don't share my mother's taste for tea, Mr Tenniel," she added, apologetically, "but I can offer you coffee."

"No, thank you," Tenniel replied. In response to Kristina's glance, Merlyn echoed his words.

"Well, come through and sit down then," she said. "You're both cops?"

Merlyn shook her head. "We're not official. He's a detective, but not police," she said. "I'm just a friend of Lieutenant Roberts."

Kristina raised an eyebrow. "That is a surprise," she said.

"He's actually done very well in the Air Force," she assured Kristina.

"I don't doubt it," Starling replied, "but I was more surprised to hear that he either has or wants a friend. He never used to have much use for them. Well, aside from as a place to keep spare girlfriends and I guess you aren't doing that."

Merlyn winced. That was not a promising start.

"You really care about him, don't you?" Kristina realised.

Merlyn just nodded.

"But you're not lovers?"

Merlyn shook her head.

"He must really have changed," Kristina whispered. She shook her head, sadly. "Come in and sit down."

*

1990

"What exactly does it mean to you?" Starling demanded.

"I dunno," Dmitryi shrugged. "What is 'it'?"

Starling fumed. "The fact that we are going together!" she snapped. "What does it mean to you?" She stopped, pulling away from his arm and turning to face him. She put her hands on her hips and scowled at him. She was acutely aware that, as a figure of menace, she must be more comical than terrifying. Her eyes were ringed with dark shadows from lack of sleep and slightly red from the tears that she regularly shed over her boyfriend.

"It...I don't know," Dmitryi said, impatiently. "Why...why do you want to go asking me things like that?" He put his head down and muttered angrily. "Not like we're engaged or anything."

"Well, that's what I mean!" Starling cried. "Are we ever going to be engaged?" Dmitryi turned away and Starling caught hold of his shoulders. "Do I actually mean anything to you?" she demanded. "Or am I just another of your conquests?"

"Well, you're pretty well conquered," he pointed out.

Starling tried and failed to hide the hurt that she felt. "So you don't...?"

"What?" he asked. "Love you?"

"Forget it," she spat. "I wanna go home."

"Fine. Go!"

Starling stopped short. She looked around and swallowed hard. "I...I can't walk back from here," she whispered. "It's not safe."

"Big, tough girl like you, you'll be fine," Dmitryi told her, harshly. He turned and began to walk away.

"Dmitryi!"

Dmitryi turned, but Starling had hated the whine in her voice, so she just spat out: "Don't fall under a bus or anything!"

"I won't!" he replied and then he was gone, with that uncanny speed that sometimes made him seem inhuman.

"Dmitryi?" she called, softly. "Dmitryi?"

There was no response. Starling pulled her leather jacket close around her body and hurried away. She had never had to make her own way back home from the neighbourhood where the Vermin had their lair and she was deeply afraid. She tried to tell herself that showing fear would make it more likely that someone would attack her, but that only made her more frightened.

She almost jumped out of her skin when she heard footsteps.

"Dmitryi?" she called.

"Starling?" A young man appeared from the shadows.

Starling breathed a sigh of relief. "Bax. Oh, thank God it's only you. Hey; Roberts has ditched me here, you think you could walk me home?"

"I'd love to take you home," Bax said, and a gleam came into his eye.

Starling swallowed hard. She had never seen Bax away from Dmitryi's stabilising influence before and she suddenly realised why so many of the Vermin steered clear of the skinny youth and seemed so wary around him. "Walk me home," she repeated. "Back to my home."

Bax took a step towards her. "You don't need to worry about Roberts," he promised. "He came in like a storm cloud and he's gone off somewhere with Nadia."

"Look...Never mind," Starling said. "I'll make my own way."

Moving almost as swiftly as Dmitryi, Bax was right in front of Starling and his hands were on her arms. "Don't worry, Starling," he said. "I'll take good care of you." He leaned forward and tried to kiss her.

"No!" she cried, pulling away from him.

When he tried to follow, she struck out at him and the gleam in his eye turned to a flash of madness. He lashed out and knocked her down.

*

2005

Merlyn listened in horror as Kristina's account unfolded. The events were clearly fresh in her mind, even after fifteen years.

"The worst came at the end," she finished. "I couldn't speak, I could hardly breathe, but he acted as though we'd been in it together. He told me – I'll never forget his words – 'no-one ever needs to know. I won't tell and I'll kill you if you do.' He said it as though he was doing me a favour. After a while, he must have realised that I wasn't breathing properly and he called an ambulance."

Kristina sighed. "You know what?" she asked rhetorically. "I could really use some of Mom's tea and pancakes."

"I'm not sure I can do anything about the pancakes," Tenniel admitted, "but I always carry my own tea, just in case."

Kristina forced a melancholy smile. "Shall we go through to the kitchen then? You can brew up, and then I'll try to answer any questions you have."

"What I don't understand is why you never told the police," Tenniel admitted. "It would have got Roberts off the hook if nothing else."

"I was too afraid," Kristina admitted. "I'd never understood why anyone would be scared of Bax before that, but I was petrified afterwards. Anyway, I didn't trust the police. Stevens had it in for me and he was determined to catch Dmitryi, whether he'd actually done anything or not."

"You could have told someone else," Tenniel said.

Kristina gave a mirthless chuckle. "Aside from Stevens the local cops all thought I was a hooker, or as bad as. They wouldn't have listened. Anyway, there was only one person I knew of who could control Bax, so I went to him; to Dmitryi."

"Even though he'd been with Nadia at the time?" Merlyn asked.

Kristina shrugged. "He always used to go and spend time with Nadia when we'd had a fight," she explained.

"And you didn't mind?" Tenniel asked.

"Better that than going off to you-know-what with Lacey or Sandy or Ruthie," Kristina declared, "or one of the other girls who ended in 'ee'."

Merlyn's brow furrowed as she wrestled with the layers of subtext. "I thought that he and Nadia were lovers?"

Kristina looked shocked. "Who said that?" she demanded. "It was Wash, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was," Merlyn admitted.

"Well, Wash couldn't see Dmitryi with a woman without thinking they were sleeping together; not after Ruthie. He was really gone on her and that sort of betrayal can turn your head, but Roberts never slept with Nadia and he never would have done. I can't say how I know – by which I mean it isn't my secret – but I know."

"I believe you," Merlyn assured her.

"So...what happened when you told Mr Roberts?" Tenniel asked.

Kristina chuckled, dryly. "Mr Roberts. You must be a cop; no one else ever called Dmitryi mister."

"Retired," Tenniel assured her.

Kristina nodded, then went on.

*

1990

Starling lay in bed, unable to cry through her swollen eyes. Her mother had been in tears since Stevens had left and Starling felt as though she were responsible. Mom and Stevens had been so close once, before he turned against Starling.

Before she turned against him.

"Hey."

Starling looked up at the soft whisper. "Dmitryi," she murmured softly.

He came and crouched beside her, sliding his fingers into her bandaged hand. His blue eyes were soft with tears and his hard features had never looked tenderer. "I'm sorry, Starling," he told her. "So, so sorry."

"Not your fault," she gasped. "Anyway, they say I'll make a full recovery."

"Liar," he accused, flatly.

She averted her eyes from his piercing gaze. "I'll never run again," she admitted. "My left lung was damaged and I won't be able to breathe deep enough even when it's healed. There'll be some scarring as well."

Dmitryi bowed his head in shame. "I should have stayed with you," he said.

"There's nothing you can do about it now," she told him. "I just...I'm worried it might happen again," she told him. She swallowed, painfully; she knew that she had passed a point of no return.

"What do you...? You know the man who did this?" Roberts asked, aghast.

"It was Bax," Starling admitted. "Bax did it. He said he'd hurt me if I told anyone," she added.

Dmitryi leaned forward and stroked her hair. "Never happen," he told her. He kissed her cheek, gently. "I'll come back and see you again, but I gotta go now. The nurse is coming."

"You could come during visiting hours," Starling suggested.

"No," he replied. "Your mother will be here. She won't want to see me." He stood up and backed away.

Starling closed her eyes, realising that she had set something terrible in motion. "Dmitryi!" she called, but he was gone.

Baxter whistled as he walked along, musing with some amusement on Starling's fear. He knew that he would not get another chance with her for a while, but it would add a new frisson to his relationship with Nadia to know that he had tumbled Roberts' girl. Of course, in his twisted mind, Starling was a lover, rather than a victim, her terror notwithstanding.

"Bax!"

Baxter turned at Roberts' cry. He saw the look of fury in his master's face, turned and ran. Roberts ran after him, chasing him up onto the overpass.

"Please, Roberts!" Bax wailed.

Roberts grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "Did she say please?" he snarled. "Did she beg you to stop?"

He pushed Baxter out into space and listened until the other man's cries stopped.

2005

"But you never saw that?" Merlyn asked.

Kristina shook her head. "No. In fact, he never even told me what happened, but...Well, I asked him about it once and he certainly didn't deny it. Other than that, I don't think I've spoken about it from that day to this."

"Were you ever afraid that Roberts would hurt you?" Tenniel asked.

Kristina shook her head. "Never. If you're wondering why I didn't tell the police about Bax after he was dead...I didn't want to get Dmitryi into trouble," she admitted, adding quickly: "but not because of fear. I wanted to protect him and besides; I thought I might be implicated. After all, I knew he would do something bad to Bax." Her sad smile flickered back into place. "Anyway, I was pretty low on self-esteem at the time, so I kind of got off on the idea that there was someone around who was prepared to kill for me."

Tenniel stood with Merlyn while she waited for Sparrow to return. Kristina had not exactly asked them to leave, but she had seemed to want to be alone after telling her story and neither of them felt like intruding on that.

"Are you alright?" Tenniel asked solicitously.

Merlyn shrugged. "I...I still can't quite believe it," she said, her voice catching in her throat. "It's so unlike the man I know, but everything seems to point to Roberts' guilt."

"But there is no physical evidence," Tenniel reminded her, "and people get things wrong. After fifteen years, even an eye witness will have had a lot of time for his or her mind to fill in the blanks and 'tweak' the details so that what they 'saw' makes sense to them. I know from the files which community college Mrs Onslow went to after she failed to get a university scholarship. If I had told her that I once gave a speech on enforcement methods to the law students there, she would remember someone she knew who went to my talk, even if she didn't recall attending herself. Of course, I was never there, but memory grows hazy and the mind can easily be tricked."

Merlyn was confused. "Are you telling me that you now believe that Roberts was innocent?"

"I am saying that I am still unconvinced. Whatever you may think and whoever called me in on this case, I have never assumed that Lieutenant Roberts was guilty." He glanced along the road. "Your ride is here."

"Hmm," Merlyn replied, thoughtfully.

Angel Onslow bounced cheerfully out of the car.

"How was the film?" Merlyn asked Sparrow.

"Not bad," Sparrow replied, "although in the end Angie twisted my arm to go see Robots instead of Nightmare on Elm Street." She let Angel run ahead a short way, then asked. "How's Kristina?"

"Rough," Merlyn replied. "If Mr Tenniel will drive me back, I think maybe you should stay with her a while."

Sparrow nodded. "I'll see you back at home then," she said. Although she must have been bursting to do so, she did not ask what her sister had said. She just said her goodbyes and went over to where her niece was waiting.

"She's a very sweet young woman," Tenniel noted. "I hope that she won't be too badly hurt by this."

"I think if Roberts turns out to be guilty, it could kill her," Merlyn replied. "She's been in love with him for over fifteen years."

"He's a very lucky man."

Merlyn shook her head. "She's nothing more than a sister to him," she said sadly.

Tenniel shrugged. "I can tell you never had a sister if you think that there's much more to be," he noted.

As he spoke, the door opened. Angel ran inside and Kristina hugged her sister tightly for support. Sparrow held her and gently took her inside.

"Nothing else, then," Merlyn corrected. "What happens next?"

"Well, I make my report to Stevens and he may well want to reopen the case. In that event, Lieutenant Roberts will have to come back to Boston and speak to the police again. I understand there may be an outstanding matter of an assault on a police officer?"

Merlyn gave a soft chuckle. "Our lawyers say we can call that one public defence; he was acting to prevent a crime taking place and...well, we have very good lawyers. I'm not actually worried about him being found guilty," she explained. "He's too important to our work for them to ever let that happen."

"How very encouraging," Tenniel drawled.

"I'm just worried that he might be guilty," Merlyn finished. "For Sparrow's sake; and for mine."

"He means a lot to you."

"I love him," Merlyn replied. "He is deeply flawed, but he is a very dear friend. I have grown accustomed to relying on him and it would make it hard for me to do that if I knew he was a murderer."

Tenniel nodded once. "I understand," he told her, and he clearly did. "I'm meeting with Detective Stevens in the morning. It isn't usual procedure, but as you do have some official standing, I think it might be appropriate if you were to join us."

"Thank you," Merlyn replied.

Tenniel smiled. "Come on. I'll drive you back."

*

When Sparrow arrived home, Anna met her in the hall. "Can you talk to her, please?" she begged. "She's wearing a hole in my best carpet."

"I'll try," Sparrow promised. "Tina says she might stop by tomorrow with Richard and Angel," she added and then went through to the lounge. "It didn't go well?"

"Not very," Merlyn replied. She proceeded to give Sparrow the same highly edited version of Kristina's story that she had confided – with Kristina's blessing – to Anna.

"It's not looking good for our boy," Sparrow admitted, "but something will turn up. I mean, if he didn't do it, there has to be some evidence." Her face fell when Merlyn made not reply. "He didn't do it, right?"

"Of course not," Merlyn assured her, hoping that her lying was on form tonight. "But I'm meeting Tenniel and Stevens tomorrow and it would really help to have something conclusive to lay before them. What about Nadia?" she asked.

Sparrow looked uncertain. "Nadia?"

"Baxter's lover," Merlyn explained. "Wash mentioned her and your sister implied that she and Roberts were close somehow, although not physically."

Sparrow shrugged, helplessly. "I really couldn't say," she admitted. "Sure, I sort of remember Nadia Galka; we used to call her the Scarecrow, 'cause she was all skin and bones. She disappeared after Bax died and the rumour was that she ran off and joined a convent upstate; she was a Polish Catholic," she added, by way of explanation.

"So our one possible eyewitness is now a nun in upstate Massachusetts?" Merlyn asked.

"Not much to go on, I'm afraid."

Merlyn sighed. "Alright," she said. "I think I need to make some calls."

*

Once more, Stevens decided that the conference would be better for taking place in Toni's Diner, this time over coffee and biscotti. When he saw Sparrow skulking on the sidewalk, he invited her to join them, despite Tenniel's protests.

"Whatever you tell me, I'll end up telling the Birds anyway," Stevens assured him. "I want it to be clear that I'm not here to grind any axes," he added, with a significant glance at Sparrow.

Tenniel was eventually persuaded and he told them what he had discovered. Merlyn learned little that was new, although Marty and Taylor Sorkowitz had told stories that were very similar to that which Wash had related to Merlyn. His discoveries confirmed Merlyn's own findings: No-one truly missed Baxter and no-one doubted that Roberts could have killed him. Kristina's evidence was the most damning, although it clearly came as a shock to Stevens.

"She...she sent Roberts to kill Baxter?" He sounded as though he were teetering on the edge of madness.

"She was angry," Merlyn reminded him. "She was hurt and she was so high on painkillers that she was barely responsible for her actions. She was also still very afraid of Baxter and she wanted Roberts to protect her. I can't condone what she did, but nor can I condemn it."

Stevens shook his head, slowly. "She should have come to me," he said. "If I hadn't ridden her so hard about Roberts, she would have come to me."

"In my opinion, you have enough to reopen the case," Tenniel noted, "although you would have trouble proving anything in court, especially as I doubt you could persuade Mrs Onslow to take the stand."

"Yes," Stevens agreed, dully. "I suppose that I could start things rolling again..."

At that sombre moment, Merlyn's phone rang. She blushed as she answered. "Yes," she said. "No; the diner across the street. Toni's. Yes. Thank you."

Tenniel took in her relieved expression at a glance. "Good news?"

"I hope so."

She turned towards the door to the diner as it opened and a woman stepped in. She wore a long black dress with a white collar and a veil that covered her hair, but no whimple the sides of her face.

"You have got to be kidding me," Stevens declared.

Merlyn waved and the nun made her way over to the table.

"Sister Halina?" Merlyn asked.

"Meredith Lloyd? Mother Helen told me so much about you; you look just as I imagined. She spoke very highly of you," she added reassuringly.

Merlyn blushed. "Just Merlyn, please, and I'm sure she exaggerated. She always did push charity towards the state of vice, even as a prioress. Please join us."

The nun gave a grateful nod and slipped into a seat. "I was standing on the bus all the way from the railroad station. You'd think someone would stand up for a poor, lost nun. Hello, Sparrow; you look well."

Sparrow stared at the woman. "How?" she asked. "I mean...Hi, Nadia...Halina...erm...Sister?"

"Nadia will do just fine," the nun assured her, "although it's a name I hadn't heard in years before I heard it from Mother Helen."

"And who is Mother Helen?" Tenniel asked.

Merlyn gave a fond smile. "The Mother Superior of the convent where I grew up," she explained. "Well, she was the prioress when I was there. When Sparrow told me we were looking for a nun, I went to her."

Stevens, Tenniel and Sparrow stared at Merlyn in incredulity.

"You used the monastic grapevine?" Stevens asked.

"Shall we move on," Merlyn suggested, feeling awkward. "Don't want to get sidetracked, do we?"

"Of course," Tenniel agreed. "Please, Sister; I take it you understand why Captain Lloyd asked you to come?"

Nadia nodded her head. "Mother Helen explained the situation and of course I had to come. Perhaps, if I start at the beginning?"

*

1988

The knock at the door startled Nadia and roused Alyssa's lover, Ern, from a fitful sleep. Alyssa, Nadia's mother, called from the kitchen: "I'll get it!"

Ern grunted impatiently and tried to go back to sleep. Soft voices drifted down the passage from the door and Nadia heard her name. She went out into the hall and saw that the caller was a young man with golden hair and the face of an angel. Something about him seemed incredibly familiar, but she was sure that they did not go to school together.

"I'm sorry," Alyssa was saying, "but it isn't a good time. It would be better if you spoke to her tomorrow. Her father doesn't like her receiving visitors after seven o'clock." She always started referring to her latest live-in as Nadia's father within a week of meeting them, as though saying it could make Nadia respect any of them, or any of them treat her decently.

Alyssa's lovers blurred together in Nadia's mind, all save a handful: Mike, who had been shot by the cops holding up a corner store; Buck, who had given Nadia her first drink; and Herb, who had introduced her to...another new experience. The rest she could never tell apart, but she hated them all with a fierce passion.

"Who is it?" Nadia called, defying Alyssa's words and Ern's anger.

"Nadia?" the young man asked, stepping gracefully past Alyssa. Three double vodkas and four inches of heel did not leave Alyssa light on her feet.

"Yes," Nadia replied. "Who are you?"

A shadow fell over her and she realised that Ern had emerged from the lounge. "You mean he came here asking for you and you don't even know who he is?" he demanded of Nadia. Lights exploded across her vision as he smacked her upside the head. "You've been spreading yourself around, haven't you?"

Nadia cringed, but the angelic youth stepped forward.

"Leave her alone," he said, softly.

"Get out of my house, you little punk!" Ern demanded.

He swung a meaty fist at the young man, but the youth caught his arm and sent him spinning into the wall. He moved with exquisite grace, so that it barely seemed an effort for him to fling around a man twice his weight. Before Nadia could blink, Ern's arm had been twisted up behind his back and he was held fast with his face pressed to the wall.

"If you touch her again, I'll come back for you," the youth announced, coolly. "Do you understand?" He twisted the arm a little further.

"Yes!" Ern snapped. "Goddamnit, yes!"

"Good. Nadia; will you come for a walk with me?" He flashed Alyssa a charming smile. "I promise I'll bring her back safely."

"But...Who are you?" Nadia asked again.

"Didn't I say?" he asked. He released Ern – who collapsed in a heap – then extended a hand to Nadia. "I'm Timothy Roberts."

"Oh my God!" Alyssa gasped.

Roberts glanced back at Alyssa. "I suppose that confirms it," he said. "Nadia; I'm your big brother."

*

2005

"No way!" Sparrow exclaimed.

"I assure you, way," Nadia replied. "My mother confirmed it. After his son was born, Harry Roberts left his wife and took up with another woman for eighteen months; Alyssa. When she became pregnant, he told her that he had only left his wife to keep away from his son; if he had to face a child in her house as well, he was going back to the marital bed."

"Charming," Stevens remarked.

Nadia shrugged. "We were never sure, but...Lilia once said that she thought that what he really wanted was to protect his children from his temper. He was not a good man, but was not entirely without graces. On the other hand, Roberts only found out about me because he threatened to leave Lilia and come back to his other family."

"What happened to Ern?" Sparrow asked.

"He left pretty soon after," Nadia replied. "It took Alyssa about a week to find a replacement, just as bad. Soon after that I met Bax, though; I moved in with him less than a week after I first met him. Roberts warned me to think carefully, but he had his own place and that was enough for me."

"He had his own place?" Merlyn asked. "But he can't have been much older than Roberts."

"Younger," Nadia replied, "but his father was a foreman on the docks and had more money than most. When he realised that Bax was going to be unmanageable, he got him a cheap apartment and shoved him out on his own. We shared that apartment for almost two years and it wasn't always bad. Roberts always pulled him up short if he hit me."

"Doesn't sound like much of a life," Stevens said.

Nadia shrugged. "It beat home. But then, of course, Bax died."

"Do you know anything about what happened that night?" Stevens asked, eagerly.

"Oh, yes," Nadia replied. "I know everything. I was there."

*

1990

"What's up with you tonight, Bax?" Nadia asked, slumping down on the couch beside her lover. She laid a hand on his arm, but he made no reaction. "Bax?"

"Nothing," he groused. "Nothing's the matter."

"Well...give me a cuddle, then," she wheedled. "I feel like you're miles away."

Bax just grunted in response. His breath stank of beer; he had been drinking more heavily than usual the last few days.

"Bax?"

Any further interrogation was forestalled by an insistent knock at the door. When Bax made no move to answer it, Nadia stood and went out into the hall. She opened the door and smiled at the sight of her brother. "Hello, Roberts," she said.

"Nadia," Roberts replied, his voice cool.

Nadia looked at his face and shivered; he was in the grip of a fierce, seething rage. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Is he here?"

"Yes, but..."

Roberts stepped past her, moving with the same instinctive grace that had carried him so effortlessly past her mother.

"Roberts!"

Roberts disappeared into the lounge. Nadia followed and saw that Bax had gone. Roberts plunged though into the kitchen and out the back door, with Nadia following as fast as she could go.

Bax was fast, but Roberts was faster and it did not take long for him to catch up. Bax, consumed by fear, had taken a wrong turn and reached the side of the defile where the highway cut through the neighbourhood. When Nadia reached them, Bax was already backing up towards the overpass supports.

"Come back, man!" Roberts called. "Don't be a fool."

"Bax!" Nadia screamed.

"I'm not coming back!" Bax yelled, terrified. "Starling told you what I did and now you've come to kill me! I know it!"

"I...I'm not going to kill you," Roberts promised. "I'm not that stupid, Bax. I might've slapped you around a bit..."

"Roberts!" Nadia wailed.

Baxter scrambled out onto the first support pylon and began clawing his way along the horizontal strut.

"Alright!" Roberts called. "Alright, Bax. I swear, if you promise never to go near Starling again, I won't lay a finger on you, just come back now!"

Bax stopped, not because he was convinced, but because he was in trouble. His feet were slipping on the soot- and slime-coated strut and there were no handholds to be found. "I...I can't..."

"Hold still, Bax," Roberts said. He stripped off his jacket and handed it to Nadia. "Just hold still and hold on. I'm coming out to get you."

"I can't!" Panic was rising in his voice now. "I..." Bax broke off with a scream as he lost his footing.

"Bax!" Nadia rushed forward, but Roberts caught hold of her and dragged her back from the edge of the drop. "Bax!"

"Don't look, Nadia," Roberts said, although it was unnecessary; there was no way she could have broken away from his grasp. "It's over. He's gone."

Nadia burst into tears.

"I can walk you back to Alyssa's," Roberts offered, when Nadia had run out of tears.

She shook her head. "I don't want to go home."

"You can't stay in the apartment," Roberts told her, gently. "Bax's father won't keep paying the rent."

Nadia shrugged, then she shivered; the air was getting colder. Roberts picked up his jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

"I wouldn't have killed him," Roberts told her.

"I know," Nadia assured him. "Did he really...? Was it him that did that to Starling?"

Roberts nodded.

"Oh, God. What am I going to do, Roberts?"

Roberts gazed down at her for a long moment. "Go back and get some things together," he said. "Meet me at the bus station in an hour."

Roberts was already waiting when Nadia arrived at the station. She had packed a few clothes, but there was nothing in the apartment that had sentimental value to her.

"I got you a ticket to Cambridge," Roberts told her. "This should get you started, but you'll need to sort something out for yourself. If you need help, just give me a call."

Nadia took the proffered envelope and realised that it was full of cash. "Roberts, I can't..."

"Take it," he insisted. "I said I'd look after you and I've made a lousy job of it so far."

He led her over to the bus and urged her towards the door. She began to climb the stairs, then turned and came back. "I almost forgot; your jacket."

Roberts shook his head. "Keep it," he said. He took her by the shoulders and kissed her cheek. "Be lucky, little sister," he whispered.

"And you, big brother," she replied. She climbed up onto the bus and turned to look at Roberts as the driver examined her ticket.

He was already gone.

*

2005

There was silence around the table, broken eventually by Nadia.

"I let Roberts know where I ended up and he let me know when my mother died, later that year. I sometimes wondered whether that was my fault. He said he'd tell me what happened if I wanted to know, but...Well, I didn't write back immediately and then I took orders."

"I remember the case," Stevens told her. "It wasn't you. She'd been poisoning herself for years on cheap drugs and the kind of drink the bums on the street never touch. The coroner said that she'd been dying for at least a year and a half. I'm sorry."

"It is in the past," Nadia assured him. "And thank you for telling me that; it is a burden lifted from my soul. I really must be getting back," she noted. "Ours is a closed order and I was only able to obtain leave to come here at all on the request of Mother Helen. She's got a lot of swing in the cloistered community," she explained.

Merlyn stood up with her. "I'll come with you to the station. Sparrow, do you mind driving?"

"Not at all," Sparrow replied, shaking her head in confusion as though emerging from a deep reverie. "Don't want to subject the sister to our public transport again."

With the three women on their feet, Tenniel also rose. "I must congratulate you, Captain Lloyd," he said. "You have a brilliant inquiring mind. If you are interested, I would be honoured to put your name forward the next time a membership falls vacant in the Vidocq Society."

"The honour is mine," Merlyn assured him, touched, "but I have very little time to devote to anything but my work." She took out her pocketbook and produced a printed card which bore an Air Force crest and the words:

Captain Meredith Lloyd, BA, MA, PhD
Photographic Intelligence Analyst
Cheyenne Mountain Operations Centre
719 555-1873 Extension 52613

"If you ever need to locate a nun, give me a call," she suggested. "I'm sorry for my behaviour when we first met, Mr Tenniel. You are a good man and a fair one and it has been a pleasure meeting you."

She turned and looked at Stevens, who still sat, with the first glimmerings of black despair beginning to show in his grey eyes.

"And you also, Lieutenant," Merlyn said.

"Huh?"

"It has been a pleasure to meet you. I don't know what I expected of you, but you are a good man, also."

"You're very generous in victory," Stevens told her, but he stood and shook her hand.

"I haven't won anything," Merlyn assured him. "You were right, you know; there are things about Roberts that I would rather not have known."

"Who are you?" Stevens asked. "Really?"

Merlyn smiled. "I'm Roberts' guardian angel," she said.

"A quite remarkable young woman," Tenniel remarked, after Merlyn, Sparrow and Nadia had left.

"Which one?"

Tenniel smiled. "Good point, but I was really thinking of Captain Lloyd."

"The first time I met her, someone told me she was a psychopathic lesbian hit-woman," Stevens noted.

Tenniel laughed out loud and after a moment, Stevens joined him, although his laugh was touched with bitterness.

"Thank you, Detective. I needed that after this little wallow in human darkness," Tenniel admitted.

"Thank you for coming," Stevens said. "I'm only sorry that I wasted your time. My partner – another remarkable young woman – is always telling me to stop living in the past. I guess she's right."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Tenniel suggested. "However it may seem to you looking back, you weren't just grinding an axe. You believed that a man had escaped justice for a terrible crime. Even his friends do not blame you."

"I hated him," Stevens confessed. "He ruined my life and I wanted him to pay."

"You're only human," Tenniel assured him. "Anyway, I have some more wallowing to do; in Atlantic City, this time. Something has come up and the Society wants me to head out there as soon as possible. Actually, you may be able to do me a favour, Detective."

"How so?"

"I, ah...I have an appointment for lunch that I shall have to cancel now. I wonder if you could take the message to my date?"

"You could use a telephone," Stevens chuckled. "I was sure they had those in England by now."

"Of course," Tenniel agreed, "but I do prefer the personal touch. It would be a weight off my mind to know that the message would reach her in person. Would you do that for me?"

"I'd be glad to."

Tenniel beamed. "Thank you, Detective."

*

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Sparrow admitted as she parked the car.

"We have to let her know," Merlyn replied. "She should know that her son isn't a murderer."

"I don't disagree," Sparrow assured her, "but the sun's well over the yardarm and if she's in at all, Lilia will be about seventy-three sheets to the wind by now." She sighed. "I know she's a darling when she's sober, but you've never dealt with an alcoholic, have you?"

"Well, no," Merlyn admitted.

"It's scary," Sparrow said. "I can come back and tell her tomorrow."

Merlyn looked hard at Sparrow. "Why don't you want me to go in there?" she asked.

Sparrow blushed. "She's mean when she's drunk," she confessed. "She says cruel things. I don't want her to hurt you, Merlyn and I...I want someone, somewhere to be able to think of her as the warm, charming woman you met yesterday. I try to, Merlyn," she said, tearfully. "When I picture her, all I can see is a bitter, spiteful drunk. I love her, but I despise her as well. I don't want you to despise her."

"Alright," Merlyn sighed. "Come back tomorrow."

Sparrow gave her a grateful smile and drove away.

Lilia let the curtain fall as the car disappeared and she muttered a curse against ungrateful youth and lonely old age. Once she had drunk to forget her misery, but now she found nothing in the bottle but more pain and bitterness. Behind the alcoholic haze, however, her sharp, compassionate mind remained and that part of her felt an intense gratitude that the red-haired woman was gone, taking Katarina with her. The sodden witch had wanted them to come in so that she could wound them with her words and the kindness at her core shrank at the thought of what she might have said.

Lilia Rybalko slumped into her couch, poured another drink, then passed into unconsciousness and dreamed of the past.

*

1990

"Where is it?" Harry's fist slammed into the side of Lilia's head. A lesser woman would have been knocked unconscious and perhaps found blessed relief there, but not even Harry could so easily subdue his wife.

"Don't have it," she slurred, punch drunk from the blow.

"No? Then what did you do with it?" Harry demanded. "You can't have spent it all on booze already; not even you could hide that many bottles in a house this small. Just once I manage to earn a decent wage and my damned wife picks my pocket!"

"I didn't. I swear," Lilia sobbed.

"Then who...?" Harry stopped short. "The boy," he realised.

"No!"

"That ungrateful little...!"

"No, Harry," Lilia pleaded. "It was me. I took it. I...I'll get it back for you. But leave Dmitryi..."

Harry slapped her with the back of his hand. She reeled and stumbled and blood welled up where the hard band of his wedding ring had struck her. "His name is Timothy!" he roared.

"They just call me Roberts, usually."

Harry turned. Lilia could see only his broad back and the flash of Dmitryi's blonde hair over his shoulder. She heard Harry grunt in surprise, and then he sank slowly to the floor. As he toppled backwards, she saw the knife that jutted from under his ribs. She remembered, dimly, a time in the mother country when Harry had explained to her the best way to strike at the heart was under the breastbone instead of through it; this was a perfect example of that thrust.

"What have you done?" Lilia asked, horrified, although she found that her heart was full of fear for Dmitryi, rather than sorrow for her slain husband.

"I am going to prison," Roberts sighed. "They will think that I killed someone and they will see me sent down for it. I suppose I should be grateful we don't live in Texas," he added, and then he slumped into a chair and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Lilia knelt beside Harry and looked down on his dead face. There was nothing there of the monster who had terrorised her, nor of the man she had once loved. This body was a stranger to her; her husband was gone and all that mattered now was her son. She closed Harry's eyes and left him behind.

Dmitryi was exhausted and he did not wake as Lilia stripped off his shirt, washed his bloody hand and put him to bed. The shirt was also bloody and so she took it into the back yard and burned it in a trashcan. There must be nothing to link Dmitryi to any of this.

Lilia returned to the lounge and knelt once more by the body. Very deliberately, she closed her hand on the bloody handle of the knife. She gripped it tight, making sure that her fingerprints would cover and obscure Dmitryi's, and tried to remember all that Harry had taught her. She leaned her weight on the blade, pushing it deeper into Harry's chest, then gave a sharp twist to loosen it. She wrenched it free and still-warm blood spurted over her. She dropped the knife by his side and rose to her feet.

The telephone lay on the floor. She picked it up, set the receiver in place, then picked it up again and dialled.

"Police, please," she told the operator, when she asked what service she required. "Hello. Yes; my name is Lily...Lilia Roberts. I..." Her voice began to quiver with the enormity of what she was about to do. "I'm afraid that I have just...k-killed my husband."

Dmitryi woke to the sound of a siren and went downstairs. His mother stood at the door, ready, still wearing the dress that was splattered with blood.

"Mama?"

"You saved me, Dmitryi," she told him. "Now let me save you." She lifted her hand to the door.

"I love you, Mama!" he blurted out.

"And I love you, Dmitryi," she assured him.

"Why is it so hard to say?" he asked plaintively. His eyes were wide and pleading and he looked like a child. "Why couldn't I tell Starling that I loved her, instead of driving her away to be hurt? Why couldn't I tell Nadia...Why can't I show them that I care?"

Lilia shook her head, sadly. "Has your father not taught you? We were ill-made to love, my dear boy."

There was a knock at the door.

*

2005

The Sel de la Terre was not the kind of restaurant that Stevens usually entered, either for business or for pleasure. His suit was just about good enough to pass muster, but he still felt awkward coming in here, even if he was not planning to stop.

"Good afternoon, sir," the maitre d' said, politely. "How may I help you?"

"I'm just here with a message," Stevens replied. "You have a table booked in the name of Tenniel..."

"Ah, yes," the matire d' said. "You must be Lieutenant Stevens, yes?"

"I...yes."

The maitre d' snapped his fingers. Almost at once a waiter appeared at his side.

"Table 9," the maitre d' said.

The waiter nodded in acknowledgement, then turned to Stevens. "Please, come this way, sir."

"Thank you." Feeling a little baffled, Stevens followed the man into the restaurant and over to a table.

"May I take your coat, sir?"

Stevens tried not to stare at the waiting woman as he replied. "I...I'm not staying, I just..."

"Mr Tenniel's apologies and compliments, madam, sir," the waiter pressed on, "but he regrets that he has been called away on urgent business. If I may take your coat, sir, and I will bring you a menu."

"But I can't..."

"Mr Tenniel also asked me to give you this note, sir, and to extend his wish that you and madam have a very enjoyable meal."

Stevens took the note and, feeling rather out of his depth, allowed the waiter to take his coat. He sat down at the table and smiled, nervously. "Hello, Anna." He said.

"Hello, Bob," Anna replied. "What's going on?"

Stevens shrugged helplessly. He opened the note and read it.

Please forgive the deception, but I hope that Mrs Bird will not be too disappointed with my substitution and I hate to leave a town without achieving some result. Lunch is on me, the rest is up to you.

Alistair Tenniel.

Stevens wondered what he should say. Should he apologise for never trusting Kristina? Should he tell her what he had learned? Even as he thought this, he heard Detective Merchant's voice in his head: You need to stop living in the past, Sir.

"I missed you," he said.

Anna smiled. "I've missed you too."

*

1990

Lilia turned at the door and gazed sadly at her frightened, lonely little boy. When she spoke, it was in Ukrainian; these words were not for the officers escorting her.

"Love is for humans, Dmitryi; not dhampiri."