Perpetual Motion (1/2)

[oxfordtweed]

Title:Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Hot Fuzz
Character/s:Like the film
Word Count (chapter/total): 9,800 (part one)
Rating: R
Summary/Warnings: Nicholas learns things about Sandford he never wanted to know.

A long time ago, mikes_grrl proposed this idea to the masses, on the grounds that the idea bothered her too greatly to write it herself.

Well, I finally got around to writing the damn thing, and I think it broke me. Clearly, if it took me a YEAR AND A HALF to get around to doing. There are bits in this that made me cringe as I wrote them, and other bits that are just... ouch.

The ending's also a bit emotional. I also feel obligated to put a "major character death" warning in here. Because it happens. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I plan on posting a few humorous things later this month to make up for the evil that is this fic.

Also, it's my intent to post this in two parts, but I have a feeling LJ's gonna be dicky about the size and make me post it in three. We'll see.


It was 1989 when Danny Butterman purchased his first VHS film. It was at the shop, cellophane wrapping glossy and brand new under the lights, with Bruce Willis on the cover, looking utterly bad ass.

He hadn’t even left the car park before tearing into the plastic film that protected the cassette tape. As he walked home, he took in every detail of the box, and as he recklessly crossed Quentin Lane, he realised that he’d been totally and completely ripped off. According to the copyright date, the film was nearly a year old, but the shop owner had assured him that it was brand new; just hit the shelves earlier that afternoon.

He’d forgotten all about the false advertisement by the time Alan Rickman did a ridiculous job at pretending to be German, and rewound and rewatched the movie three times (well, he started watching a fourth time, but fell asleep half-way into it), and slept right through breakfast the next morning.


Despite his protests, Danny did have to admit that he enjoyed the extra attention. He still ostensibly lived alone, Nicholas spending all but his sleeping hours and some of his working hours rushing back and forth through the cramped flat, fetching tea and pills and DVDs, which he silently suffered through. It was clear that he hadn’t enjoyed Rumble in the Bronx, and would have probably gnawed his own hand off to avoid Enter the Dragon under any other circumstance, but there he was, sitting quietly on the other end of the sofa, doing a gamely job at trying to pay attention to the contrived plots and choreographed martial arts.

Nicholas had begun spending so much time around Danny’s flat that he’d begun to know when Danny was in pain, or when he needed to get up before a word was ever exchanged between the two of them. He’d jump to his feet and rush right to wherever it was he was needed at that exact moment, ignoring Danny’s complaints that Nicholas was just going to mother hen him to death.

“Do you really want me to stop?” Nicholas asked one evening, prying the lid off of Danny’s prescription bottle.

It was not what Danny expected to hear.

“Well,” Danny started awkwardly. With some effort, he pushed himself upright far enough to grab the bottle from Nicholas. “I like having you around, yeah? But I am an adult, Nicholas.”

Nicholas stood silently, looking at Danny with concern. “I’m sorry,” he said. But it wasn’t the words; it was the way he’d said it that Danny knew he honestly was. That small tinge of guilt underlying Nicholas’ voice that gave him away as not just saying the words because it was the polite thing to do. He slowly sat back down on the sofa, holding his weight up with his arms against his knees. “I just can’t help but feel responsible, somehow.”

Suddenly, Danny forgot all about the bottle of pills in his hand as he silently studied Nicholas with his eyes. Responsible? Well, yes; the crazy fucker came back when he should have been in London.

“Yeah, but my dad would have found out soon enough,” he pointed out as he tilted the fished out one of the Vicodin from the bottle. “I think he already knew something was up when I walked to work. D’you know when the last time I walked to work was?”

Nicholas shook his head lightly. “I’m sure you—”

“When Andrew wrecked my Fiat, six years ago.” He quickly swallowed down the pill, blindly reaching for the glass of water he knew Nicholas would have ready.

“Was it bad?” Nicholas asked as he took the glass back and set it on the coffee table.

Danny shrugged. “Why you think he grows out that stupid moustache?” he asked with a light chuckle. “Teeth went straight through. S’what happens when you rear-end a tractor, I suppose.”

Now Nicholas was laughing, still not entire acclimated to “quiet” country living. “That’s why I came back, you know,” he said, stone sober again. “I knew the NWA would find out. You don’t leave your partner behind in a dangerous situation.”

Danny glanced sideways at him. “You sure you ain’t been watching too many films behind my back?”

Nicholas finally settled back into the sofa, his posture more relaxed. “I’d prefer to nap through them, if it’s all the same,” he admitted. “It’s not like Partridge is letting me get any sleep as it is.”


Everyone knew it, but no one ever put it to words. It was obvious. He used his usual excuse of doing more out on the street than in the station, but even when he was at the station, he never spent more than a few minutes at a time in his office. He’d rush in, stay long enough to make sure the stapler was straight and find whatever file he needed, and join everyone else in the bull pit. Once, he even made the mistake of saying that if the other officers saw him as being on their own level, they’d feel he was more easily approachable. And then Andrew threw a bin at him, and Doris made a very blatant attempt at getting him up to her flat. After that, Nicholas ran any announcement he needed to make by Danny before actually telling the rest of the officers.

The entire station had been completely rebuilt from the ground up, exactly as it was, except for that office. Every detail had been built just that little tiny bit differently. The door was a few centimetres to the left, or the window just that much higher. He even arranged his desk to face in a different direction, but the fact remained that that office had still been the Chief’s office, and that “Chief” had previously been Frank Butterman.

By all standard definitions, neither Nicholas nor Frank actually held that title. For a few weeks after London grew bored with the village and promoted him so the whole fiasco could be forgotten, Nicholas was at arms with the other officers against their liberal use of the title. Eventually, he gave in and gave up, realising that his reactions only fed their fires.

Two days out of each week, Nicholas would actually settle into his role of inspector. He’d quickly gather whatever he needed from his office, commandeer an empty desk from one of the other officers, and go through his paperwork that really, he should have been doing every day. Gloucestershire Head Office had phoned once, confused about the dates being slightly misaligned between his reports and his officers’ reports. The proper Chief Inspector seemed eager to reprimand Nicholas, until he very calmly pointed out that the paperwork was at least being done, and a few misaligned dates was completely innocent next to twenty years of no paperwork at all.

It was the quickest telephone call of Nicholas’ career to date.

Nicholas was tucked away at Danny’s desk, a cup of store-bought soup beside his arm as he hunched over an incident report, carefully going over the forms and making sure to triple check every last box and field. He hadn’t even noticed anyone else in the area until he heard someone try to open his office door.

“Excuse me?” he called out cautiously, slowly getting to his feet. He slowly circled round Danny’s desk as younger man wandered back into the bull pit. “Can I help you?” Nicholas said sternly.

“Oh, Inspector!” the man said, sounding almost startled. He quickly rushed over to Nicholas, lightly grabbing hold of his arms like a frightened child. “I thought you’d be...”

“I prefer to keep myself more visible,” Nicholas answered slowly. He guided the man to a nearby chair, motioning for him to sit. “Is there something going on, sir?”

“It’s my wife,” the man said. “Kathy. She never came home last night after her knittin’ thing at the church.”

“All right,” Nicholas said, reaching for his notebook and flipping it open. “Is it possible she went somewhere else?”

He pressed his biro to the page as he watched the man frantically shake his head? “What? No,” he said, seeming almost terrified at the implication. “She’s seven months on with our first. She’s no reason to go somewhere else.”

Nicholas nodded slowly and closed his notebook. “Okay,” he said slowly. “I’m going to go ahead and refer you to our CID. One moment.” He turned round in his seat to look at the white board on the wall, and the duty roster written on. Both of the detectives were on today; that much everyone in the station knew. Keeping track of who was running the Enquiries Desk was a task Nicholas feared he may never conquer. “Kevin,” he called out lightly. “Could you put a call out for the detectives? Make sure they know it’s urgent.”

Kevin Turner poked his head out from behind a door, looking wide-eyed across the bull pit. “Sure thing, Chief!” he said before disappearing again.

A few moments later, he could hear Kevin rattling on over the radio, not really putting out any sort of call at all. Hoping he’d eventually get round to it, Nicholas picked back up his notebook and pen. “Okay, sir, what’s your name?” he asked lightly.

“Randal,” the man said. “Randal Butcher.”

Nicholas quickly wrote the man’s name down and nodded. “Randal, you said she didn’t come home last night?”

The man nodded. “I work nights in Buford Abbey,” he explained. “Don’t get home until morning. She weren’t there when I got in this morning, so I rung up Miss Baker, who hosts the knitting thing, and she said Kathy was there, and left with everyone else. I know she weren’t home after because the cat weren’t let out.”

Nicholas nodded slowly as he wrote everything down, correcting for bad grammar. “Randal, our detectives should be here shortly, and they’ll be able to help you further, all right?”

Randal shook his head nervously as he wrung his fingers together. “You’re the inspector. Why can’t you handle it?”

Nicholas tried very hard not to sigh. “I’m not actually authorised to do any sort of real questioning. Regulations.”

The man only shrugged. “But you’re the inspector,” he pointed out.

Nicholas leaned in slightly. “Sir, I can assure you that these men are trained professionals. I don’t have the right qualifications for this area.”

Finally, Randal nodded awkwardly. “Yeah, sure,” he said quietly.

“Would you like something to drink while we wait?” Nicholas asked. “Tea? Coffee?”

The man beside Danny’s desk only shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Nodding lightly, Nicholas shut his notebook and got to his feet. “I’m going to go have a word with the desk sergeant,” he said, still able to hear Kevin rambling on over the radio. “I’ll be right over there if you need me.”

He wanted for Randal to give some sort of affirmative signal before making his way over to the Enquires Desk, pushing through the door that probably should have been kept lock, but no one knew where the key went off to.

“Kevin,” he said stiffly, holding his hand out for the radio.

Kevin jumped slightly at Nicholas’ voice. “Right,” he said into the radio. “Chief wants you at the station. Says it’s important.”

“If it’s that bloody important, why didn’t he tell us, himself, then?” The voice was unmistakably Andy.

Nicholas snatched the radio out of Kevin’s hand, clicking it to life. “Station. Now,” he said through his teeth before putting it back down on the table. He pushed the door shut a little bit more before leaning in close enough to whisper. “This gentleman outside says that his wife’s been gone since last night,” he said. “I’m going to have the detectives question him properly, but I want you to get Tony and Doris to go round to his house and take a quick look around.”

Kevin nodded slowly. “Right, Chief,” he said, picking up the radio. As he put the call out for the officers, the Andes pushed their way through the main doors, cigarettes pressed between their lips.

“Not in the station,” Nicholas reminded them firmly as he tore the page from his notebook. “Randal Butcher’s out there at Danny’s desk,” he said as he pushed the page underneath the lexan shield. “His wife never came home last night.”

Andrew took the slip of paper from the desk and looked over the writing. “There’s a darts tournament going on tonight,” he groaned as he opened the main door to throw his cigarette out onto the pavement.

“Well, get this done, and it won’t be a problem,” Nicholas said sternly, feeling more like a parent than a police officer. “The man’s distraught. Get out there.”

Andrew waited for Andy to toss his cigarette outside before the two shuffled out to the bull pit, doing their best at not groaning very loudly.

Nicholas watched from the Enquires Desk with Kevin as the detectives approached the distraught man, Andrew reading over the page from Nicholas’ notebook.

“Mister... Butcher?” he asked, pretending to struggle with Nicholas’ handwriting.

Randal got to his feet quickly, looking back and forth between the detectives. “Where’s my wife gone?” he asked frantically.

“Well, that’s what we’re here to find out, isn’t it?” Andrew asked.
Randal nodded slightly, his fingers still squeezed round one another. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Find out.”

Andrew glanced at him over the notebook page. “Chief says you work nights,” he said, directing the words nowhere in particular. “If you were gone last night, how do you know she didn’t just step out this morning?”

Randal stammered slightly. “I...the cat weren’t out. I let it in when I get home.”

The detectives exchanged glances as Andrew slid the notebook paper into his shirt pocket. “Tell ya what, Mister Butcher,” he started, lightly placing his hand on Randal’s shoulder. “Why don’t we go round your place and talk there? You might notice something you didn’t see when you got in this morning.”

Randal looked back and forth between the detectives again, faltering slightly. “Yeah,” he agreed finally. “Sure.”

“We can take my car,” Andrew continued. “It’s just out front.”

Randal hesitated slightly before finally following the detectives back through the station. As Andrew led him out to the Renault parked out front, Andy stopped by the Enquires Desk, where Nicholas had begun straightening up a bit.

“Chief, we’re taking him back round his place,” he said by way of en explanation. “See if maybe he might have overlooked something.”

Nicholas nodded without looking up. “Good,” he said simply.

Andy leaned against the small ledge of the desk. “Between you and me, his story’s a bit flimsy.”

Nicholas looked up to make eye contact with the detective. “Good,” he repeated. “But you’re not making any progress standing here talking to me, are you?”

Andy shifted nervously before slipping out of the station, letting the door swing shut behind him. The station back to a comfortable two bodies, Nicholas let out a heavy sigh as he pushed the door to the bull pit open. “Hold my calls,” he muttered. “I need to get this stuff done.”

“Right, Chief.”


Randal and Kathy butcher lived in a small farmhouse that used to be on Brannigan Farm, but the Reapers had sold off parts of their land in the forties when three of their boys went off to fight. Most locals knew even the most outlying regions of the village well, and Andrew was able to find the property easily enough without directions from Randal.

He parked in the grass out front, next to the cruiser that was already at the scene, and before they were all even out of the car, he and Andy had lit cigarettes in their mouths.

“All right, Mister Butcher,” Andy said, motioning for him to lead the way. “Take us through your morning.”

Randal nervously nodded as he walked up to the front door. “Well, I got home, like I always do, yeah. Donnie dropped me off like always, and I came up here, and noticed that the cat weren’t waiting for me like he usually is. It’s Kathy what lets him out at night. But I didn’t really think much of it.” He pulled his keys from his trousers and unlocked the door, pushing it open against heavy hinges. “And I come inside, and all the lights is still out, cept for the kitchen. I went upstairs, like I always do, only Kathy weren’t there. That’s when I came back down and noticed that her coat weren’t hung up, neither.”

Andrew and Andy both began slowly walking through the small house, careful not to touch anything. “Seeing anything unusual, Andy?” Andy asked lightly.

Andrew shook his head. “Not here,” he responded. “Mister Butcher, what’s out back?”

Randal shrugged. “Ain’t much,” he said. “I can show you, though.”

Andrew nodded. “Why don’t you?”

Randal led the detectives through the house, jumping slightly at the sight of two people moving about in the back garden. “Looks like a few of your own are already taking a look.”

“Won’t hurt if we take a look as well, will it?” Andy said, unlocking the door and making his way outside to Tony and Doris. “Oi, you two,” he said. “We got it covered. If we need anything, we’ll call for backup.”

Tony and Doris both shrugged as they made their way back round to the gate where they’d gotten in from. “Just about lunch, anyway,” Tony pointed out.

They let the gate swing shut with a clatter as they made their way back to the cruiser, the detectives silently listening for the engine to start. “And she’s never just run off before, has she?” Andy asked as he started kicking about near the wood fence.

Randal shook his head sharply. “Why would she?” he asked. “She’s seven months on with our first. I ain’t given her any reason to go nowhere else.”

Andrew shrugged. “You don’t always have to be the one giving the reason,” he pointed out.”Sometimes, they just go on their own.”

“What are you saying?” Randal. “That’s my wife’s been playing around on me?”

Andy shook his head. “What my partner’s trying to say,” he started, shooting Andrew a hard look, “is that sometimes things aren’t always what they seem.”

Randal took a step backwards. “Well, what if they are?” he asked. “It’s your department what says to report anything suspicious going on, and my wife up and disappearing ain’t exactly normal!”

Andy sighed, rejoining the small group. “Mister Butcher,” he said calmly. “Why don’t you take us through your morning routine once more? What my partner’s trying to say is maybe you just overlooked something.”

Andrew sneered at his younger partner as the two followed Randal back inside. “Well,” the young man said. “Like I told you lot. I came in, and the kitchen light were still on. That happens sometimes, because we don’t have a loo upstairs, and Kathy don’t want to trip if she has to get up in the night, yeah? Might hurt the baby, and all.” He mimed putting his jacket up on the hook near the door and made his way up the stairs, both detectives close behind him. As they reached the top landing, Randal pointed at a small window “I come up here, and first thing I noticed were the cat, up there on the ledge. He ain’t supposed to be in during the night, on account of he’s a bastard and wakes us up all the time.”

Both detectives tried very gamely, albeit not very successfully, not to laugh as they continued after Randal to the bedroom. “Then I come in here, and she just ain’t there. The bed’s made. I ain’t touched it, because when I saw she weren’t there, I went back downstairs to the phone and tried to ring her mobile.”

“She’s got a mobile?” Andrew asked quickly.

Randal only shrugged. “It went right to her voice mail, which means that it’s off, or the battery’s flat.”

Andy nodded lightly. “Who else’d you call?” he asked. “Friends? She got any family in the area?”

“I called that knitting lady,” Randal responded. “But she said Kathy left last night with everyone else. Becky Reaper saw her out to her car, but I can’t tell if she ever even made it home last night.”

Andrew shook his head lightly, stepping closer to Randal as he put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Sir, it looks to me just like she might have gone off somewhere. No one’s reported any abandoned cars today, and I’m not seeing any signs of a struggle—”

“My wife doesn’t just go swanning off, Detective!” Randal shouted, shoving Andrew off of him. “This is how things were back when all them crazy old fuckers were crawling all over this place. No one ever did nothing, and just let things happen!”

Again, Andy sighed and stepped in between the two of them. “Mister Butcher, please,” he said calmly. “We’re trying to do everything we can, but we just don’t have much to go off of. Do you know what her registration is? Maybe we can track down where her car is right now?”

After a few moments and a few deep breaths, Randal seemed to calm down a bit. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

The detectives exchanged quick glances before Andy started making his way back downstairs to the back door. “I would like to take another look round back, though,” he said lightly.

Randal shrugged. “There’s nothing back there,” he said indignantly. “Just weeds.”

“I’m just trying to make sure that we have a thorough investigation, here.”

“Right,” Randal said, nodding lightly has he followed after. “Of course. Sorry, Detective.”

The trio carefully made their way back out to the garden, Andy leading the path back to the edge of the property. “I’m a little curious about what’s going on over here,” he said, pointing down at a rather dull patch of grass.

Randal looked down at the ground surrounding their feet. “What going on where?” he asked. “I don’t see nothing.”

“Right here,” Andy insisted.

Randal looked around, certain he was just looking in the wrong area. “What are you talking about? I don’t see nothing.” He turned round slightly, stumbling backwards as he caught sight of Andrew. “What the hell!” The detective swung an exhaust pipe through the air, the heavy metal colliding with a crunch against Randal’s skull. The man fell gracelessly to the ground as Andy reeled backwards, slamming into the fence behind him.

“Jesus Christ, Andy!” he hissed, looking down at the crumpled heap that was once Randal Butcher at his feet. “Fuck, be a bit more careful next time, would you? Trying to give forensics something to find, back here?”

Andrew shrugged, tossing the exhaust pipe down next to Randal. “Got the job done, didn’t I?”

Sighing, Andy stepped up onto the fence and peered across the surrounding area. “You’re lucky nobody saw that.”

Andrew shrugged. “Who’s gonna see?” he asked as Andy dropped back down to the ground.

“Neighbours,” he said simply. “There’s a tarpaulin over by the gate. Cover this mess up.”

Rolling his eyes, Andrew wandered over to the gate, finding the tarpaulin right where Andy said it would be. He gathered it up from the tall grass and dragged it over to where Andy stood, the two of them spreading it over Randal’s body as inconspicuously as possible. Satisfied with the job at hand, the detectives began making their way back to the car. As they got situated, each pulling out a cigarette from inside their coats and lighting it, Andy’s mobile rang.

“Expecting a call?” Andrew asked.

Andy shook his head. “No,” he said as he pulled the offending device from his pocket. “Shit, it’s Nick.”

“Don’t answer it,” Andrew warned.

“Yeah, because that’ll go over well,” Andy muttered as he returned his phone to his pocket. “We’d better get back, though. He’ll send someone out after us before much longer.”

Sighing, Andrew started the engine. “Who’s he gonna send?” He asked. “The spaz and Dory?”

“He might come after us, the twat.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke from his nose. “We’ll need to do something about that tonight,” he pointed out. “Even Doctor Hatcher would have a hard time explaining away the job you did on his cranium.”

Andrew jerked sharply, nearly driving them right off the road. “Well what the fuck was I to do?” he demanded, righting the car. “Tickle the bastard to death? Tell him to wait there while I fetched some cyanide?”

Andy crossed his arms over his chest. “Word gets back to—”

“It won’t,” Andrew insisted. “We’ll come back tonight and figure out something to do, then?”

“What about the bird? She could come back and find him in the garden,” Andy pointed out.

“No, she ain’t.” Andrew pulled up next to the station and cut the engine. “The missus does that same knitting thing. Woman’s got a boyfriend in Buford Abbey.”

“Isn’t that convenient,” Andy snorted.

Andrew shrugged as he got out of the car. “I tried to tell him,” he said.

“You’re a prick.” Andy climbed out of the car and followed his partner into the station, quietly walking past Kevin as he took a call.

“Wot? Where you calling from, love?... No, this is Sandfor—yeah, Sandford. I’ll get you through to Somerford, then.” He hung up the telephone and stepped out into the main bull pen, ignoring as the detectives quietly made their way back to their office. “There a tower down, or something?” Kevin called across the room at Nicholas. “S’the third one this week I got from Somerford.”

“How should I know?” Nicholas said, not looking up from his pathetic pile of paperwork. “Phone the...phone company.” He looked up in time to see Andrew disappearing down the hall. “Oi! You two!” he shouted, slamming his pen down as he jumped to his feet. “Dou you mind telling me why, in complete disregard for regulations, you didn’t take a radio with you?” he demanded as he stomped across the floor after the detectives.

“Radio’s uniform stuff,” Andrew reasoned.

“And why, when I phoned, I failed to get anything other than voice mail?”

“I left it in the car,” Andy said simply.

Nicholas seethed at the detectives. “Do it again,” he said almost too calmly, “and you’ll both be back in uniform. Permanently. I’ll bring some real detectives in who have been praying for a country transfer.”

“Ain’t we supposed to get a final notice before something like that?” Andrew pointed out.

“It’ll be on your desks by the end of the day,” Nicholas said, keeping his unnerving calm. “You have a call out on Riggs Lane. You can get the details from Kevin.”

He started to turn to go back to Danny’s desk, when Andrew spoke up again. “Fuck, Nick. We were just out there. You want us to go all the way back, now?”

“If you’d answered your phone, you wouldn’t have to!” Nicholas shouted. Inhaling deeply, he pinched the bridge of his nose and pointed toward the door.

Andy made the first move toward the Enquires Desk, waiting for Kevin to find the note he’d scribbled down. “Right, here it is,” the sergeant said happily as he read it over once more. “Mister Baker’s missing a few cows, it seems. Thinks someone took ‘em in the night.”

Andy snatched the note up from the desk and shoved it in his pocket. “Thanks,” he said bitterly as he and Andrew turned to leave the station.

“And take a fucking radio!” Nicholas shouted across the room, the sound of a coin dropping into the swear box following shortly after.


Nicholas sighed as he left the detectives’ office, not surprised when they failed to return from their cattle rustling call. More infuriating, they hadn’t been back to sign their final written warning, so he couldn’t take their badges for this offense, instead being forced to roll the whole day into one incident.

Stumbling into the bull pit, he was surprised to find Danny waiting by his desk, his brow furrowed at the mess Nicholas had made with all his paperwork.

“Oh, let me get that real quick,” he said, gathering up the various forms and folders and stacking them in his arms. “Sorry, I just—”

“Don’t like bein’ alone?” Danny finished with a smile.

“No,” Nicholas said, trying to defend his position.

“It’s nothing, man,” Danny assured. “I wouldn’t want to leave these pricks alone, either.”

“Right...” Hesitating slightly, Nicholas turned back toward his office, quickly leaving the stack of papers on his desk. As he left the office, he drew the shades and locked the door. “I’m gonna go change real quick,” he said, pointing vaguely toward the locker room.

He didn’t particularly have much to change out of, having picked up a few bad habits of his own since his transfer. Only his shirt was actually part of the “required” uniform, his trousers and shoes from his own wardrobe, since it was one of his station-bound days anyway. And what with summer starting in, the polyester trousers only added to the discomfort caused by the heat. He shoved his shirt into his locker, exchanging it for the simple blue one he’d worn in. Too tired to care that his shirt wasn’t tucked properly and too hot to bother with doing his top two buttons, he shut off the lights and stepped out to the corridor, surprised to find Danny in his way.

“Hey, where’s Andy?” Danny asked, following the inspector out to the main entrance. “I wanted to ask him something.”

Nicholas only shook his head. Your guess is as good as mine,” he said tiredly. “The rate they’re going, they won’t be around much longer, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Danny asked, holding the door open for Nicholas as they walked out to the street. “Promotion? Dad always said the reason Andy never went for DI was because we can’t support one, and he’d have to transfer out.”

Nicholas sighed. “He very well may be transferring, but it won’t be because of a promotion.”

Danny hummed negatively, turning a sharp corner that led to the pub. “Hey, maybe they’re in here,” he said hopefully.

“They’d better not be.” Nicholas followed after anyway, letting the sergeant lead the way down the sidewalk.

The pub was filled with the usual assortment of farmers, shop owners, and predictably, detectives. Danny’s happy grin faded instantly as Nicholas stomped over to the men, his hands balled into tight fists.

“I didn’t see any reports on my desk today,” he hissed. “Nor did I see you in the station to clock out, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re both still on the clock.”

The detectives glanced back and forth between Nicholas and Danny for a moment before putting their drinks down on the bar. “We were just leaving, actually,” Andy said slowly. “We were just talking to a witness and—”

“Spare me the bullshit, detective,” Nicholas said.

He watched with his arms crossed over his chest as the men made their way to the door, slipping out into the sticky setting sun. He barely noticed when the barman sat two glasses down on the bar, a wineglass for Nicholas and a pint for Danny.

“I’m getting too old for this,” Nicholas muttered, his hand automatically reaching out for the glass.

Danny snorted. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “You ain’t even forty.”

Nicholas couldn’t help but laugh back slightly. “If I wanted a bunch of children running around, I’d have become a school teacher.”

“You’re right,” Danny said around his drink. “They’re getting too old for this.”

Nicholas smiled back at him, that wonky, crooked smile that let Danny know that everything was all right, despite the yelling and shouting being done.

“You know what you need?” Danny said suddenly. He downed half his pint in one go.

“Don’t.”

“No, come on. Finish that up.”

“If you make me watch Keanu one more time,” Nicholas warned.

“Fine, we won’t watch Keanu,” Danny agreed. “Finish that up. I got that new Indiana Jones movie this weekend. You like them, don’tchya?”

Nicholas blinked slightly. “New one? Danny that came out...” he looked up and bit his lip, as though trying to do the maths in his head.

“Not the one with Sean Connery, you twat,” Danny said. “They made a new one with that Transformers kid.”

Again, Nicholas blinked. “What, like the cartoon?”

Growling slightly, Danny snatched Nicholas’ glass away from him and put it on the counter, along with a tenner. “You can’t possibly be this thick,” he said, leading Nicholas away by the arm.

“I can try,” Nicholas responded. “I’m quite good at anything once I’ve put my mind to it.” Danny laughed as they stepped out into the street, making their way to his flat. “I can’t stay too late, though,” Nicholas warned. “There’s a lot been getting neglected round my place lately.”

“Oh, come on,” Danny pleaded. “That’s what the weekend’s for, innit?”

“If you people would let me take weekends, maybe,” Nicholas conceded. “But when was the last time I wasn’t needed on my day off to go swat at spiders?”

“That were only once!” Danny defended. “And in Tony’s defence, it were a mighty big spider.”

Nicholas sighed defeat and followed Danny to his door, waiting patiently as he found the right key and let them in. They made their way up the stairs and to his door, Danny making a line straight for the kitchen while Nicholas lingered by the front door long enough to take off his shoes and set them neatly against the wall. “If you’re planning on making me eat something frozen, or from a can, I’m leaving right now,” he called after Danny.

“Fuck, you’re a picky bastard,” Danny shouted back. “Find a menu, then.”

“I don’t want take away, either,” Nicholas muttered as he found Danny’s box full of printed menus from various restaurants and shops in the area. Most of them were old, stained, and scribbled over with biro, but there were a few which seemed new since the last time he’d been dragged over for a night of torture by action films.

“What’s this place?” he called out, holding up a yellow-folded paper.

“I dunno,” Danny shouted back. “Read it.”

Shrugging, Nicholas carried the box and menu over to the sofa, dropping down into the abused cushions. “Looks Italian. Are they any good?”

“How should I know?” Danny asked, appearing back in the living room with a can of beer in each hand. “I haven’t ordered from them yet, have I?” He shoved one of the cans into Nicholas’ hand as he snatched the menu away. “We can try it, I guess. Looks a bit too fancy for my tastes.”

“Your idea of a fancy meal is a frozen pizza from Somerfield’s,” Nicholas pointed out. “Order something. I’ll pay.”

Danny snorted as he hunted down his phone. “DVD’s in the kitchen,” he said. “Start it up.”

Putting his beer down on the table, Nicholas got back to his feet and wandered out to the kitchen, finding the DVD on the table next to a collection of unwashed dishes and a pair of shoes. He tried to tell himself that Danny was still healing, and excessive physical stress could hurt him, but that excuse only had so many miles to it.

“What’s this about, then?” he asked, looking over the back.

“I don’t know! Indiana Jones shit,” Danny called back. “I’m on the phone.”

“Right.” He brought the DVD back to the front room and tore off the plastic wrap, tossing it into an empty take-way bag from earlier that week. Listening to Danny ask questions about the menu, he queued up the DVD and returned to his place on the sofa, giving in and drinking the beer that he’d told himself every time he visited that he wouldn’t touch.

The opening title looped three times before Danny finished placing their order, tossing the phone down on the sofa between them. “Be about a half hour,” he said.

“Good.” Nicholas picked up the remote and started their movie.


So much for leaving early, but at least he’d managed to leave at all, this time. Stumbling down the road, he managed to make it to his cottage after about a half hour. There was supposed to be a minicab company opening shop in town, and it could not possibly happen soon enough.

As he opened his front door, a familiar yowl cut through the air.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Nicholas insisted, holding the door open. “What, do you want out first?” In the dim light, he could see the old Siamese perched atop his desk on the other side of the room. “Fine. Dinner it is, then.” He let the door swing shut and stumbled into the kitchen, turning on the light. “You’ve still got some, you...”


Nicholas made his way into his office, quickly rifling through the papers in his inbox near his door. It didn’t take him very long at all to find that what it was that he needed simply wasn’t there, so he unlocked his office and picked up a folder from the stack on his desk and stomped out of his office, making a line straight for the detectives’ office.

“You two are working on my very last nerve,” he said, letting himself into the office.

Both detectives scrambled to hide their cigarettes as they sat up straight. “What the fuck we done now?” Andrew demanded.

“Isn’t it your day off?” Andy added.

Bored with arguing, Nicholas slapped identical sheets down on the desk. “Final written warning. Sign it,” he ordered.

The detectives looked nervously at one another before each reaching for a biro, scrawling their names on the bottoms of the papers. Exhaling loudly, Nicholas snatched the forms back up again and looked them over. Convinced they were up to par, he slid them back into the folder.

“If I don’t see those reports in my inbox tomorrow morning, you’re done,” he said evenly. “I’m done fighting you two. Someone else can do it.”

“But you’re off tomorrow,” Andy pointed out. “Why we gotta have it done by then?”

“Because it’s your job!” Nicholas shouted as he turned back to face them. “I don’t know how you two managed to get into CID, but your level if incompetence and unprofessionalism would never work in London!”

“This ain’t the city,” Andrew reminded him.

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Nicholas shot back. “If it were, you’d both still be on the beat.”

“If you want to show us how it’s done so badly, why don’t you apply, then?” Andy prodded. “Apparently they let anybody in.”

“Maybe I will!” Nicholas snapped. He turned back to leave the office again. “Reports. Tomorrow!” he shouted as he slammed their door.

“Everything all right, Chief?”

Nicholas looked up, startled to see Doris standing before him, holding a cup of tea in her hands. “Yeah,” he said tiredly. “Just...”

“We haven’t heard you shouting like that since... well, you know,” she said quietly. “Things ain’t bad again, are they?”

Nicholas shook his head. “No, Doris,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Doris nodded awkwardly. “Right, then,” she said. “Brought you your tea. Know you like it in the mornings.”

Nicholas took the proffered cup, nodding lightly. “Thank you,” he said.

“Just be sure to shut the door next time,” Doris said with a little wink before turning off to go do whatever it was she did in the mornings.

Nicholas took his tea and his folder to his office, dropping the second into his outgoing box, and putting the first down on his desk near the telephone. All the time he’d spent chasing after the detectives the day before, he hadn’t actually finished his actual work. A quick survey of the bull pit revealed that all available desks were already taken, leaving him no alternative than to use his own for a change.


For the first time in a couple of months, Nicholas was surprised to find that he’d managed to catch up on his paperwork. Everything had been signed, dated, filed in triplicate, and ready to be sent out to home office. Even the backlog of missing CID reports had been taken care of, which even Nicholas was ready to deem a miracle.

He made quick work of tidying up his office, ready to take his mug to the kitchen to rinse it out when Danny appeared in his door, wide-eyed as the day they’d first met.

“Oi, Nick,” he said, letting himself in. “We got a call out to Mister Baker’s on Riggs Lane.”

Nicholas sighed. “He just phoned yesterday. Tell him we haven’t got any leads since then.”

“No, weren’t that,” Danny said. “Well, sorta. Says he found one of them guys been doing it on his property this afternoon.”

Nicholas perked slightly at the implication and forgot all about rinsing out his mug. “I’ll go get changed,” he said simply.

Danny followed him to the locker room, waiting as Nicholas changed into his uniform shirt. For a few moments, he debated the practicality of messing about with all the buttons and his tie, but the idea of standing in a cow field in the heat with his collar done up wasn’t very appealing at all, so the professional-appearance option was thrown right back into his locker.

“Ready?” Danny asked him after a few moments.

Nicholas looked up as he shut his locker. “I’m still not sure where Riggs Lane actually is,” he admitted. “Drive?”

Danny grinned widely as he made a path for the door. “Only time you let me, any more,” he pointed out. “Let’s go!”


They arrived at the farm to find half the station already standing about in the grass, looking more confused and disoriented than the cows that inhabited the area.

“I thought you said he caught one of the men trying to steal his cattle,” Nicholas said, trying not to sound condescending.

“Well, not caught, as so much,” Tony piped in. “He’d have to still be moving, then.”

Nicholas stepped closer to the group, immediately wishing he hadn’t. The lot of them all stood round a man – or, that is to say, what was left of a man – that had been quite severely tread over by what appeared to be every cow in the field.

“Looks like he wasn’t alone in this,” Tony continued, gesturing further east. “Tyre tracks over that direction, probably from a truck of some sort.”

Nicholas sighed. “Do we know the identity of the victim?”

“Won’t know that until we can get a medical crew in here,” Andrew quipped. “You ought to know that, Sherlock.”

Nicholas bit his lip and tried very hard not to sigh, or growl, or make any other indication that the detective was wearing on his very last nerve. “Detective,” he said, controlling his temper best he could. “Why don’t you go have a word with the property owner?”

“We just talked to him yesterday,” Andy pointed out.

“Let me rephrase that, then,” Nicholas said stiffly. “Go question the property owner again.” He watched as the detectives sulked off and pulled Mr. Baker aside before return his attention back to the victim in the grass. “Has medical been called in yet?” he asked tiredly.

“On their way,” Tony said simply.

Nicholas nodded. “Good.” He surveyed the area once more before turning back toward the car. “I’ll let you finish up, then, since you have everything under control.”

“I do?” Tony asked. Nicholas chose to ignore his remark.


“Any officers near the church?”

Making a personal note to tell off whichever Turner was at the station that day for pushing his work onto the constables, Nicholas picked up the crackling radio. “Go ahead, Doris.”

“Chief, we got a report of some hippie types messing around with the recycling bins at the supermarket.”

“Leave it with us.”

The J-turn might have been a bit much, and they didn’t really need the sirens, but Nicholas couldn’t help but indulge in the urge to make recycling bins feel important. He could almost feel Danny grinning like mad beside him as they sped along the High Street.

The hippies at the recycling bins who looked more like students to Nicholas were oblivious to the Impreza pulling into the car park, frantically digging through the bins and throwing items into large black bin bags. Nicholas parked the cruiser just a few feet from the boys, stepping easily out of the car.

“Scuse me!” he barked as he shut the door. “Mind telling me what you’re up to?”

The hippie students quickly dropped their bin bags behind one of the recycling bins and turned quickly to face Nicholas.

“Nothing,” one of them said quickly. “Sir.”

“Don’t look like nothin,” Danny pointed out, reaching behind the bin and hefting up the pillaged loot. “Whatch’yer got in here?” He opened the bin bag and peeked in, only to close it back up immediately after.

“What is it?” Nicholas asked simply.

“Buncha shirts,” Danny said, handing the bag over to Nicholas.

The inspector peered into the bin bag before glancing over at the bin the boys had actually been digging through. “Planning on selling this at the student union, then?” Nicholas asked flatly. The boys only shrugged weakly. “Danny, put it back.”

Nodding, Danny tried to put the bag into the bin, finding it already stuffed pretty tightly. “They ought to pick this stuff up more often,” he said. “No wonder people just walk up and take things.”

Nicholas pulled his notebook from his pocket and readied himself to take down notes. “Now,” he said stiffly. “I should arrest out outright. This bin is property of Oxfam, and taking items out of it is considered theft of private property.”

“Yessir,” the bigger of the two boys said.

“I’m going to let you off with a formal caution, though,” Nicholas continued. “If you’re caught doing this again, you will be arrested, and probably kicked out of school. Understood.”

The boys nodded.

“Get out of here.”

He watched as they awkwardly walked backwards a few steps before turning and picking up speed. Convinced that they were gone, Nicholas turned and got back into the cruiser.

“What would they want with Oxfam clothes?” Danny asked, getting settled as well.”

“Sell them,” Nicholas said. “Books are expensive, and students will do nearly anything to pay for them.”

Danny chuckled lightly. “You tried it, didn’t you?”

Nicholas started the engine. “No,” he said, a light tinge of embarrassment in his voice. “I tried aluminium. Cost me more to get it all down to the dealer’s yard than I actually got back from it.”

Danny laughed as the radio crackled to life.

“Chief, you still at the supermarket?” Doris asked cautiously.

Sighing again, Nicholas picked up the radio. “Tell Kyle he needs to start doing his own job, but go ahead.”

There was a bit of a pause, leaving Nicholas to only imagine what might have been going on at the station just then. “We got a noise complaint up on Quentin Lane,” Doris finally said. “Number seventeen.”

“Leave it with us.” He and Danny exchanged pained glances before Nicholas pulled out of the spot, trying to figure out how to get to the address from the supermarket.


“Randal Butcher.”

“I’m sorry?” Nicholas looked up from his computer screen suddenly as Danny slapped a folder down on his desk.

“That bloke that were stealing them cows,” Danny clarified. “Just got the information back on him. Someone called Randal Butcher.”

Nicholas took a few moments to fully process this information. “I just spoke with him a few days ago,” he said.

“What? About the cows?” Danny sat down in the chair in front of Nicholas’ desk.

“No,” Nicholas said as he turned around to reach into one of the tall filing cabinets behind him. “His wife had gone missing. I put the Andys on it, since it is technically their department.”

Danny hummed lightly, watching as Nicholas frantically flipped through the pages of one of the reports. It was sparse in detail, but given his horrendous backlog he’d rushed to catch up with, he wasn’t surprised that it had been overlooked. “Wife left; case closed,” he read aloud. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Getting to his feet, Nicholas stomped out of his office and down the hall, throwing open the detectives’ office door.

“Consider your case reopened,” Nicholas said, throwing the file at Andy.

“What’s got your knickers in a bunch this time?” Andrew demanded, taking the folder from Andy. “Fuck, Nick. Are you intentionally being impossible to please, or is this just your default setting?”

“The day after Butcher’s wife left, he gets trampled by cows?” Nicholas asked. “And where’s she gone off to, anyway? You don’t mention that in your notes.”

Andrew shrugged. “She’s got a beau. Out in Buford.”

“Oh, really, now?” Nicholas demanded. “And you didn’t think this was important enough to include in your report? How’d you come by that information?”

The detectives exchanged nervous glances. “Wot?” Andy asked.

“Who did you interview? There are no names or contacts listed.” He watched the detectives sit and do nothing for a few moments longer. “I want everyone the couple knew interviewed, starting with friends of the wife’s,” he ordered.

“Oh, not this shit again,” Andy muttered.

“It was an accident!” Andrew insisted.

Nicholas bit his lip and inhaled deeply. “I will not allow that explanation to be used in this station,” he said simply. “Something about this doesn’t feel right.”

“We’re going off of feelings now, are we?” Andrew asked.

“Get it done!” Nicholas demanded as he left the office, throwing the door shut behind him.

Several minutes later, Danny wandered through the back halls, finding Nicholas repeatedly thumping his forehead against the wall.

“Hey, what the fuck you doing that for!?” he demanded, grabbing Nicholas and pulling him away from the wall. “You could at least do that somewhere where you won’t cause any property damage.”

He spun Nicholas round so they faced one another, trying not to laugh at the red mark spread across the inspector’s forehead.

“I don’t want this,” Nicholas said quietly.

“Don’t want what?”

“I never did.” He reached up and rubbed his face with his hands, inhaling deeply. “I never even wanted to be a sergeant.”

“Yeah, but you’re good at it, though,” Danny reasoned.

“I can’t lead a team,” Nicholas said simply, allowing Danny to pull him closer. “I just get fought against every step of the way, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

“Yeah, well... Someone’s got to, right?” Danny asked. “You could always promote Tony, if you really wanted. Not sure that would be any better, though.”

“They might feel sorry for him and behave out of pity,” Nicholas said, his tone suggesting that he thought Danny’s idea was actually a good one.

“I know what you need,” Danny said, firmly pushing Nicholas in the direction of the locker room.

“If you utter the words ‘DVD’ or ‘take away,’ I’m never going to your place again,” Nicholas threatened.

Tempted to test Nicholas’ threat, Danny bit his tongue until he was certain he could trust himself. “I was thinking more dinner on your terms tonight,” he offered. “So long as you don’t make me eat none of that ruddy tofu shit again. That were awful.”

Nicholas finally laughed slightly. “I think I’ve got some chicken that needs to be done up, anyway,” he conceded. “You’re helping me clean the oven, though.”

Danny stopped in the middle of the hall. “What we need the oven for?” he asked honestly.

Nicholas let his jaw drop, not sure if this was Danny’s idea of taking the mick. “To bake the chicken,” he said simply.

“You can bake chicken?”

Nicholas grabbed his head as he stumbled into the locker room. “Shut up and go sign out before I change my mind.”


Nicholas rushed back and forth through the long kitchen, stopping every two minutes to wash his hands or fiddle with the oven. Perched at the small dining table, Danny watched from a suitably safe distance, his attention divided between a book of number puzzles on the table and Nicholas.

“You call this relaxing?” he asked, doodling in the margins of the puzzle book. “You act like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Nicholas paused long enough to glance at Danny. “This is relaxing,” he insisted. “Everything has to be done in just the right order. It makes you slow down and think about what you’re doing.”

Danny blinked. “You’re as bad as James May, you know that?”

Nicholas shook his head, once again fiddling with the knobs on the oven. “He that cousin of yours?”

“No, he’s a twat.” Danny tried to turn his attention back to figuring out how to work the puzzle book, but it did a rather poor job at explaining the rules. “You ain’t making none of that health food shit, are you?”

“Not as such, no.” Nicholas tried not to look offended as he sprinkled something green and flaky over the chicken before finally sliding it into the oven. “If by that, you mean that there’s no soy in the mix, then no. It is, however, not take-away, and not full of preservatives, so by nature it is—”

“I’ve got twenty quid on me as back-up, just in case,” Danny announced.

Nicholas slammed the oven shut and returned to the sink to wash his hands again. “I’m going to go change,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

He left Danny alone in the kitchen and made his way up the steps to his bedroom, very obviously closing doors behind himself. Sighing, Danny got to his feet and pulled open the refrigerator, forgetting that all he was going to find was the equivalent of rabbit food.

“Ain’t you got any beer?” he called up the steps, hoping Nicholas would hear.

A few moments later, Nicholas came trotting down the steps in a clean shirt. “There’s some w—yeah, go to the shop if you want.” He opened a few cupboards before finding a very specific black plastic bowl and placed it on the counter before washing his hands again. Ignoring Danny as he left the cottage, Nicholas began pulling various salad fixings from the refrigerator, laying them out in a neat little row on the counter.


Danny slid up next to Nicholas at their might-as-well-be shared desk, a little scrap of paper gripped tightly in his fingers.

“Office day?” he asked innocently.

Nicholas didn’t look up from his puzzle book, finally caught up on all of his reports and forms and everything else that had been previously past-due. “Yep,” he said simply.

“Respond to a call with me?”

Nicholas slapped his book shut almost instantly. “Okay.” He quickly made his way to the locker room to fetch the rest of his uniform pieces and put himself together. He was out quickly, finding Danny waiting eagerly by the door. “Where are we going?” Nicholas asked, pulling his cap on.

Danny handed the slip of paper over to the inspector. “Some noise complaint.”

Nicholas read the scrawl and scowled as they got situated in the car. “I’m arresting him,” he said simply, cramming the slip into his pocket. “If for nothing else, then for wasting my time.”

The sergeant laughed, watching as Nicholas dropped the Impreza into gear. “What else was you doing, besides counting to nine over and over again?”

“That’s not the point,” Nicholas insisted. “We’ve been out here three times in the last two weeks.

The arrived at the small house, finding a rather annoyed-looking neighbour standing on her front garden, and hearing the unmistakable sound of a wood chipper running at full torque.

“I feel like we ought to have ear plugs for this!” Nicholas shouted over the noise.

“I can’t hear you!” Danny shouted back. “Some cunt’s got his yard tools on again!”

Nicholas started to repeat himself, but realised that it was pointless and began making his way round to the back garden, where the noise was unmistakably coming from. With his hand reaching back for his badge, he rounded the last corner, and immediately felt a familiar sick feeling in his stomach. It was, as he remembered, the exact same feeling of impending sick he felt when he last saw Tim Messenger.

The first thing he noticed was the spray of blood surrounding the wood chipper, immediately followed by the bottom part of a person, presumably the property owner, in the feeding end of the chipper.

His hand over his mouth, Nicholas stumbled backwards, falling into Danny’s chest. “Call for backup,” he shouted, not seeing Danny with his hands already on his radio.


“You all right?” Danny asked quietly as the two stood at the front edge of the property in front of the line of tape set up to cordon off the scene.

Nicholas nodded lightly. “Think so,” he managed after a few moments.

“You ain’t gonna start having Vietnam acid trip flash backs on me, are you?”

It took Nicholas a few moments to register the tone in Danny’s voice. “No,” he said, forcing a light laugh. “None of that.”

“Good. I had an uncle what had them.” There was a brief pause. “Not from Vietnam; he’d just freak out sometimes.”

Nicholas considered this for a moment. “Oh, yeah?” he asked. “What happened to him, then?”

Danny shrugged. “Fell down some steps.”

Nicholas cringed. “Do you mean...”

“No, he really fell down some steps,” Danny clarified. “Was at some veteran’s building in Gloucester and wasn’t watching what he was doing.”

“I’m sorry,” Nicholas said, feeling guilty for feeling better about the situation.

Danny shrugged again. “Weren’t really close with him. Family didn’t talk about him much.”

“That’s how it was with my uncle Derek,” Nicholas explained. “My mum isn’t terribly close with most of her family, though. Something about Dad being Church of England, or something. I’m not sure.”

There was another pause in their exchange as Danny surveyed the area. Finding nothing of any sort of interest at all, he turned back to Nicholas. “How come you never talk about your family, then?” he asked. “I wasn’t even sure you had a mum until now.”

Nicholas only shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not like we don’t get on or anything. I still call my mum every Sunday.”

Danny smiled rather sinisterly. “You’re a bit of a mummy’s boy, ain’t you?”

Nicholas looked away, pretending rather intently not to hear Danny’s question.