Sarah Pinborough - Into the Silence

Gwen stared at Jack, and then glanced over at Ianto, whose face looked as surprised as she felt. 'Hiding inside the Rift? Is that even possible?'

Jack matched her gaze. 'You know as well as I do, with the Rift, anything could be possible.'

'So we're in exactly the same position we were in yesterday?' Ianto asked.

'No. We now know we can catch it. A portable prison cell will work on it, at least for an hour.'

'And then what will we do with it?' Gwen peered over the top of her coffee mug. 'Sing it a lullaby and send it back through the Rift?'

'Let's worry about that when we've caught it.'

'Which brings us back to the original question.' Ianto finally looked away from the screen and back at Jack. 'How are we going to do that?'

Jack's sparkling grin flashed. 'We're going to have to set a trap.' The sound of his mobile ringing pealed out from Jack's pocket and he groaned. 'Great.' Pushing away from the workstation, he took his coffee with him and headed back to his office. 'Gwen, I want you to get hold of Cutler and bring him in on this one. If we set a trap, I want it done with him in the know.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yeah.' Jack paused at his door and looked back over his shoulder. 'I read his file last night. I figure maybe Torchwood owes him.' The phone refused to go silent. 'Ianto, you get all the information from the crime scenes and see if there's anything we can use. Anything at all. Let's not lose any more people to this thing.'

Closing the door, he finally flipped open his phone. Gwen sighed and pulled out her own mobile to find out exactly where Cutler was. Up to his eyes in crap, she should imagine, just like Jack Harkness was.

Journalists swarmed outside the police station like summer flies on roadkill and, pushing through them to reach the stairs, Gwen fought the urge to swat them away. What did they really want here: answers, or news of another gory death? Cardiff was selling record numbers of newspapers today and these vampires weren't going to want that to stop. Not just yet anyway.

She bit back her disgust. Journalists were the leaders in the 'bad things happen to other people' brigade, as if their own lives were wipe-clean. One day, they'd each find out different. If they happened to become the news rather than just scavenging for it.

'Are you with the police, lady?'

A young man followed her up the stairs and tugged her sleeve slightly too insistently, making the collar of her jacket cut into her neck. 'You got any news on the Bruno murder? What about these other killings? They all by the same guy?'

Yanking her arm free, Gwen glared at him. 'I've just lost my cat, that's all. Now get off me.'

Taking the last few stairs two at a time, she pushed through the heavy door, shoving past the constable who was guarding the entrance, and headed straight for the desk sergeant.

'Gwen Cooper. Torchwood.' The man behind the desk was a stranger to her. He raised his greying head and looked her up and down, and the disgruntled look was clear on his middle-aged face. She couldn't blame him entirely. The police knew very little about Torchwood, other than that they turned up and took over every now and again, and that could get under the skin. Still, they were all just doing their jobs, and ultimately they were all on the same side, even if it didn't always feel like it.

Staring him down, she didn't smile. She was long past the stage of feeling split loyalties between her old job and her new work. Gwen was Torchwood through and through.

'Where's DI Cutler? He's expecting me.'

The sergeant stared at her for a moment before picking up the phone. 'I've got a Gwen Cooper here for DI Cutler.' He glanced up at her again, his disdain obvious. 'Apparently he's expecting her. Says she's Torchwood.'

Gwen kept her own expression neutral. She knew his type; they were in all walks of life. The kind of man that was never going to respect a woman under 35, someone who was always going to think she had got to wherever she was by shagging someone.

He put the phone down, and nodded very slightly towards the double doors. 'You'll find him through there somewhere. The incident room's on the second floor, but he might be out the back having a smoke.' He smiled. 'But you're Torchwood. You should find him no problem.'

Gwen smiled back. 'I know where the incident room is.' Despite her smile, the words had an unmistakable acid edge. 'I used to work here. But thank you for being so helpful.'

Leaving the sergeant to stew into his tea, she strode into the heart of the station. Phones rang, and printers rattled off reports and incident logs. She could feel the heightened energy in the air. While the rest of Cardiff was focused on the murders, there were men and women housed in this building who had to get on with solving all the other crimes that were still insisting on being committed daily: the domestic violence, the car thefts, the vandalisms. It was never ending.

'Hi.' A smart WPC was scurrying by, a pile of papers in her hands, and Gwen stopped her with a gentle touch on the arm. She'd been just like that in these very corridors not so very long ago. 'I'm looking for DI Cutler. The miserable bastard on the desk said he might be out the back having a fag?'

The young woman flashed a quick smile. 'Oh yes. He is. I saw him heading out five minutes ago. Just follow the corridor round and right at the end there's a fire escape. He's normally there.' Her smile lingered a little and, thanking her, Gwen wondered if the WPC had considered taking up smoking just to get to share that fire escape with the untidy London detective. Gwen wouldn't blame her. If she was single herself, she'd be tempted. There was something about a damaged man with a chip on his shoulder that was too bloody attractive. And she might not know Cutler well, but she knew him well enough to know that he fulfilled both those criteria.

The fire door was ajar and, pushing it open, she found Cutler leaning on the railings and staring into the alleyway. Steam chugged out of vents on the wall opposite, which, if Gwen had her mental geography right, was the back of Giovanni's Trattoria. She suddenly wondered if this street even had a name, housing, as it did, only the ugly backsides of offices and businesses.

Taking a long drag on his cigarette, Cutler didn't even turn round. 'I was hoping you wouldn't find me out here, Scully.'

Stepping forward, Gwen joined him, peering out into the unsightly street full of bins and potholes now filled with dirty rain water. At least that had stopped for a while, even if the clouds were darkly ominous above them. 'We're Torchwood. We can find you anywhere.'

'Really?' Cutler didn't contain his sarcasm. 'Then maybe rather than finding me, you should go find the bad guy.'

'Fair comment.' She paused. 'I saw the reporters out the front. I take it you're not having the best day.'

For the first time, Cutler turned to look at her, his haunted eyes both defensive and appraising. 'The hyenas I can handle. Trust me, I've dealt with worse.' He paused and sucked on his cigarette again before flicking it out onto the tarmac below. 'Although if this isn't sorted soon they'll be dragging all that shit up again. That'll be fun.'

Gwen noticed a flash of gold on his left hand and took a second to realise it was a ring. He was married. The information jarred in her head. That couldn't be right. He was too disaffected, too distant from the world to have anything like what she and Rhys shared. He was widowed or divorced. Had to be. Curiosity aroused, Gwen wished she'd taken a peek at his file. Maybe she'd get a look at it later.

'Today I've been doing what I do worst,' Cutler continued, peering thoughtfully into his cigarette packet. 'Facing grieving people and having to lie and tell them that I'm chasing leads and going to catch whoever's doing this. Like I'm bloody Morse or Taggart or some other fictional character who never fails to help good win over evil.' He paused. 'What a pile of shit this is.'