Sarah Pinborough - Into the Silence

Feeling his tension escaping with his words, Gwen stayed silent. He needed to vent his frustration and it might as well be at her. An extra ten minutes or so wasn't going to make any difference. More steam pumped out from the restaurant opposite, drifting towards them before dying somewhere in the middle of the alley, ripped apart by the cool air.

'Bruno's husband's a broken man.' Cutler tucked the cigarettes back in his pocket but stayed where he was. 'But then I think he was pretty much there before this happened. He's got that look of a man on the edge of collapse. She was going to fire him, he said. Sack him and divorce him.' He raised an eyebrow. 'She definitely would have done when she found out that he owed the tax man a bloody fortune. I don't even think it's his fault. From what I gather, she liked to live like a star and her best days were behind her.'

Gwen lifted her chin to let the cool breeze touch her face. 'Poor workman blames his tools.'

Cutler laughed a little; a soft, hollow sound. 'Yeah, and he definitely is her tool. Still,' he went on, 'Martin Meloy says he didn't care about that. He reckons he loved her.' He shook his head slightly. 'And I believe the sad little twat.' He pulled the cigarettes back out of his pocket and defiantly lit one. 'Love. Who'd bother? It only lets you down in the end.'

'Worth it sometimes, though.' Gwen looked down at her own wedding band.

Cutler laughed again. 'Give it time and some challenges. Then come back and tell me you're still happy.' At least this time there was a twinkle of genuine humour in his eyes, and for a brief moment Gwen saw almost behind the dark shadows in them to the person he might once have been.

He frowned. 'Anyway. Where's Mulder?'

Gwen smiled. 'Captain Jack Harkness is spending the morning doing what he does worst. He's strapped to his desk, fielding calls he doesn't want to take.'

'Him too? Maybe we've got more in common than I gave him credit for. So, what's he sent you to tell me?' He raised an eyebrow. 'Does he want to make sure the puppet doesn't try pulling his own strings?'

The bitter edge stung through the last sentence, and Gwen felt her own hackles rising a little. 'I don't know what happened with you and Torchwood One, that's not my business, but you really don't know Jack Harkness if you think that's how he sees or treats people.' She paused. 'He wants to set some kind of trap for the alien and he wants you in on it.' The first drops of rain fell heavily from the over-burdened sky. 'He thinks Torchwood owes you.'

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Cutler shrugged. 'Mulder may be right on that one.'

The fire door opened and the constable who had been keeping an eye on the journalists at the main entrance to the station peered round the door.

'Sorry to disturb you, sir.' He looked warily over at Gwen before continuing. 'There's a bloke at the front desk. Says he wants to see you.'

Cutler snorted. 'Tell him to join the queue.'

'I did tell him you were in a meeting, but he's refusing to leave. I think he's a bit hysterical. Says he's that poof's boyfriend. Says you spoke to him this morning.'

' That poof 's name was Ben Pritchard,' Cutler growled, making the young constable visibly flinch and pull back slightly behind the safety of the heavy door. 'And as we're as yet unable to tell his boyfriend who was responsible for ripping his loved one apart in a park, I suggest you start showing a little more respect.'

The constable's face was beetroot. 'Sorry, sir. Didn't mean anything by it.'

'And that,' Cutler dropped the half-smoked cigarette and left it to die on the damp ground before letting his eyes slash through the man as they passed him, 'makes it worse.'

Drew Powell was sitting dejectedly on the hard bench that lined one bleak wall of the reception area, his face blotchy from tears, his fingers worrying at a cotton handkerchief. Gwen looked at the chubby man. His short hair was fluffy and unkempt where she thought it would normally be carefully styled with wax or gel and his eyes were exhausted.

'I told you to pack up and go home, Mr Powell.' Cutler's voice was weary, but kind, as if he felt some of the other man's grief personally. 'We'll let you know when we can release the body. Go back to your family and friends. This place can't be any good for you.'

Drew Powell stood up and paced. 'I can't go home. Not now.' He paused and looked from Cutler to Gwen and back again. 'I saw the news. Couldn't help it. Maria Bruno's dead too. You didn't tell me.' He held the handkerchief up to his nose, pressing it against his face, sucking the smell in rather than using it to clean himself. It wasn't his, Gwen realised. It was Ben's. Powell was using it like a comfort blanket.

'Do you think whoever killed her killed my Ben too? They said… they said she was mutilated. Just like Ben.' His voice dropped to barely a whisper, his energy draining.

Cutler glanced at Gwen and shrugged slightly. 'I can't discuss the details of the case with you. Not at this stage. It could jeopardise the ongoing investigation. I'm sorry.' His apology sounded hollow.

Drew turned his desperate stare on Gwen. 'You can't tell me anything?'

'Detective Inspector Cutler's right,' she told him. 'I know this is terrible, but the best thing for you is to go home and grieve. We'll do everything we can.'

The chubby man lifted his chin and took a deep, snotty breath through his nose. He pursed his lips. 'I am not going to be going home. I shall sing in that competition.' His lips wobbled a little as tears threatened, but he swallowed them back. 'Pritchard and Powell came second last year, and we would have won this year. I'm not letting Ben down now. I'll sing on my bloody own if I have to!'

Drew turned on one heel in a dramatic pre- exit stage left moment worthy of any theatre in the world, but it only seemed pathetically fragile in this situation. He was about to flounce out of the station and into the glare of the hungry media, when Gwen felt the tingle of an idea run through her. Reaching forward, she touched his arm. He turned.

'What?'

Although they were the only people in the front of the station apart from the desk sergeant, she stepped in closer. Beside her, Cutler did the same.

'What are you doing, Scully?'

She didn't look at him, focusing on Drew. 'What if we could find you another singing partner?'

He stared, his pale eyes searching into hers. 'I don't want to sing with anyone else.'

'But what if you could sing with someone and maybe have a chance of helping catch whoever did this to Ben?'

'Scully-'

She glared at Cutler cutting him dead. 'The name's Gwen Cooper. And back off.'

Drew's eyes widened. 'I'll do it,' he whispered.

'It's too dangerous,' Cutler snapped. He looked at the small, chubby man, whose eyes at last held something other than sheer desolation. 'I'm sorry. It's too risky.'

'But it's my risk, isn't it?' Drew stood up close to Cutler and pulled himself as tall as he could manage. 'And Ben wouldn't hesitate… wouldn't have hesitated… to do it for me.'

Gwen was pleased to hear that the smaller man had his own reserve of steel to coat his words with.

She pressed speed dial on her mobile. 'Ianto. Tell Jack I think I've got a plan.' She paused. 'And it involves you.'

Be careful what you wish for… The old saying ran through Ianto's head as he walked up the stone-flagged stairs to the tiny Gothic chapel of St Jude's. Its dark walls were aged and weather-beaten and, surrounded as it was by the comparatively vast and bright office buildings that had grown up in the nearby streets since the 1970s, it was almost forgotten and invisible, just a dark shadow of history clinging to existence against the inevitability of change.