[SJ]

Title: A Dark Rear Window
Rating: 12+
Time: about nine months hence
Spoilers: one teeny tiny one, but it's an open secret now anyway...
Characters: Stuart, Jo, Stevie, Kezia
Synopsis: Whilst trying to detain a fleeing suspect on his old turf, Stuart Turner falls and breaks his leg. Stuck in St. Hugh's with his leg in plaster and bored out of his mind, Stu witnesses what he thinks is a nurse being strangled. When no one believes him, Stu sets out to find the proof, with the help of his new best friend, Harry, the former Redcap in the next bed. Together they stumble upon some curious shenanigans involving fake prescription drugs, and faked test results. But a killer is on to them, can Jo and a very irritated Stevie save them from the consequences of their meddling?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Everything was white. He was surrounded by white. On his back, he contemplated the sheets and blanket; the pillows, and there were several of those. But the white thing bothering him the most was the heavy white structure encasing his leg.

Stuart scowled. He couldn’t believe that he had been so stupid. Kezia had yelled a warning, but he hadn’t listened. He’d chased their fleeing suspect out onto the unstable, rotting boards of the ancient scaffolding structure, and everything had wobbled dangerously; the man had reached the end, flashed a grin at his pursuer and made the short leap onto the garage roof opposite. As the sudden change in weights had caused the already wobbling structure to collapse partially, he’d fallen ten feet into the damaged structure and broken his right leg in three places.
It hurt. A lot. Actually, it was agony. Heaton had arrived on the scene, a serene Inspector Rachel Weston in tow, and the general consensus of opinion was that it was Stuart’s own fault. At least no one had said that, but he had sensed they were thinking it.

It wasn’t entirely his fault: Weston had frozen again. Her plan had had a gap in it, and when their suspects had broken through the gap, as Stuart had vehemently argued they would, Weston had frozen. Leaving Stuart and Kezia to chase the main man.

Of course he’d wanted the collar too badly. So when the man cut and changed direction to flee across the waste ground and through the old factory site, Stuart hadn’t hesitated. They’d reached the ancient structure, their suspect had fled and Stuart had followed. Kezia’s shouted warning had made no difference.

Naturally, it was his bad luck that he’d remained conscious throughout the whole ordeal. The pain was excruciating, but they couldn’t give him much in the way of pain relief before his leg was set in hospital. He’d been whisked off to St. Hugh’s with Kezia for company. He’d been booked in, and everything had gone fine until Kezia, whilst filling out forms, had asked him who his next of kin was.

“Jo,” he said flatly. Kezia’s eyes had widened in surprise, and he’d prayed she wouldn’t ask any further details. He didn’t want to burden his sister, he didn’t have a girlfriend, and he had made a pact with Jo a long time ago that they would be next of kin for each other in case of emergencies. Eight months in his new job had not changed their closeness, and he’d last seen her only three days before, when they had shared a pint and curry at their favourite Indian.

Indian. He would have done almost anything for an Indian. He eyed his neglected lunch sitting forlornly on the table across the bed, and shuddered. Something white (possibly fish), in a bland sauce, with watery vegetables and something gooey which he presumed was mashed potato. And a spork, presumably so patients, already delirious with boredom, wouldn’t commit hari-kari with a blunt plastic knife.

Raising the covers, Stu peered under them. Staring at his problems didn’t improve them. He was wearing a hideous hospital gown, the kind which opened all the way down the back and far too short, ending somewhere near the top of his thighs. It barely covered his modesty. His eyes deliberately avoided the tube which meandered across his good leg and disappeared over the side of the bed. Of all the indignities visited upon his person in the last day and a half, that procedure was both painful and embarrassing. He concentrated on the expanse of white plaster which covered his leg. Noted a handspan of his tanned, toned flesh, then his leg disappeared into the thick casing, his toes protruding coyly from the other end. He waggled them just to reassure himself that he still could. His leg ached dully, and staring at the cast wouldn’t make it go away.

His health cover should have entitled him to a private room, but the thought of being stuck in room on his own, with no one to talk to, and daytime tv his only companion, was out of the question. So when the doctor had suggested putting him on an orthopaedic ward with several other people, he’d jumped at the chance. Jumped?
He dropped the covers, and sighed heavily.

“Cheer up mate, it may never happen.” The occupant of the next bed grinned at him, “and it’s visiting time again in about five minutes, you wouldn’t want that nice lass of yours to see you down in the dumps.”

Stu studied his companion, a spry looking man in his late sixties or thereabouts. He smiled a little ruefully. “I think it’s already happened. And Jo’s just a friend...”

“And the pretty lass with the freckles... she was here for a long time yesterday?”

Stu frowned slightly, “Kezia?”

“Think that’s what your friend called her... pretty little thing.” The older man grinned. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, we haven’t been formally introduced, but I’m Harry. Harry Crossman.”

Stu grinned. “Pleased to meet you, Harry. I’m Stuart Turner.”

“Copper?”

“Er.... yes... How did you know?”

“Takes one to know one.” Harry patted his chest. “Royal Military Police...” he sighed, “retired... put out to pasture like an old cab horse.” He grinned. “What are you in for?”

Stu picked up the spork and poked his congealing lunch. “Food poisoning?” he hazarded.

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humour. Not like the gloomy gus on the other side.” Harry jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Although I was meaning that...” he pointed at the elaborate scaffolding which kept the weight of the covers off Stuart’s leg.

“Tib, fib and femur.” Stuart sighed, “eight or nine weeks they keep telling me.”

“In the line of duty?”

“I fell through some scaffolding, then some of it fell on me.”

“Ouch!” Harry smiled sympathetically.

“You?”

“Hip replacement mate, nothing near as glamorous as wounded in the line of duty. Oh lord...” Harry stared in horror at the doorway... “Second daughter complete with children.”

Stuart grinned as Harry feigned sleep, and turned his attention to the doorway. Visitors streaming in, the ward was full, and it seemed as though everyone had a visitor. Except Stuart.

He looked away, out of the window, and tried not to mind too much. He was on his own, a state he was used to being in. Better get used to it all over again.

“Stu?”

He looked round, and tried to control the leap in his heart. He should have known Jo would never let him down.

“Jo.” Her name was pure pleasure.

Jo Masters pulled the visitor’s chair a bit closer to Stuart’s bed and sat down. “How are you hun?”

“Stiff... sore... a bit bored...” Stu reached for her hand.

As her fingers closed around his, Jo gently squeezed his hand; she had heard the full story from Kezia. Stu’s accident wasn’t really his fault, he’d followed Weston’s orders and it had all gone horribly wrong. Exactly as he had predicted it would. Kezia had been quite indignant on Stu’s behalf.

And she hadn’t missed the sudden flare of joy in Stuart’s sad brown eyes, as he looked round and realised that Jo was standing there. Oh Stu... Jo gently squeezed his hand again. She looked at him, he was looking tired, and tense; enforced inactivity was not something that an energetic man like Stuart Turner would take easily and his leg had to be hurting.

“Stu, you have to eat.” She frowned at the abandoned lunch on his tray.

He scowled, “not that I don’t...”

Jo sighed. She couldn’t blame him, the pile of very white food looked miserably unappetizing. “I’ll see what I can do, okay?” She settled in the seat a little more comfortably and began to tell him about her day. Stu held her hand, and let the words flow over him like the waves of the sea. He smiled, all was right with the world when Jo was with him. Even a broken leg couldn’t change that.

[The Referee]

Awesome start :D

[Bambina]

God, you've only gone and injured poor old Stu again! Sadist :D

Sounds like it's gonna be a good one, SJ - looking forward to more.

[SJ]

Chapter 2:

Visiting time was long over. Judging from the loud rasping noises from the next bed, Harry was actually asleep. Stuart was feeling miserable again as his pain medication had worn off, so his leg was hurting in earnest now. He gratefully accepted the tablets one of the nurses had handed to him, and submitted to their ministrations. The two women worked swiftly to put his bed down flat, turning him onto his left side, easing his right leg in its heavy cast onto the neatly rearranged pillows.

It was another hot night in hospital. Though the lights had been off all day, and all the windows and doors open, still the air was thick, hot and humid. Even more uncomfortable with his leg in plaster, Stuart could feel trickles of sweat running down his leg inside the cast. He was worn out, but beyond closing his eyes and praying for sleep, he was actually too wound up to court it.

Yep, sleep was a bust. He opened his eyes and stared out of the window at the tree, tried to empty his mind of all thoughts, as he watched the leaves gently swaying. Gradually he drifted between waking and unconsciousness, and the leaves continued to sway....

A sudden movement caught his eye, and he focussed on the window opposite, in the hospital wing across the courtyard. A shadow crossed the window, a woman’s shape. Another shape, less distinct, appeared behind her. The woman turned, and the figures then merged.

Suddenly, the smaller shape fell back against the window. Stuart could see long blonde hair, the larger shape towering over the smaller one. He could see hands around her neck.

He tried to yell a warning, but his throat was dry. He pushed himself into a sitting position, and grabbing the alarm bell he squeezed it hard. A blinding pain seared up his injured leg as the nurse reached him. Frantically Stuart pointed out of the window. “Help her,” he croaked.

“Who??” The nurse stared round in bewilderment as Stuart looked across at the opposite window. The shadowy figures were gone. He pulled himself up.

“They were there, a blonde girl...and a man...he was strangling her....” Stuart was panting with effort and his leg was agony, but he had to get help. “Call the police. Sun Hill.” The nurse was trying to persuade him to lie down again. “NOW!!” he barked.

*~*~*~*~*

“A report of a woman, possibly a nurse, being strangled at St. Hugh’s came in at 3 am.” Jo flipped shut the file and looked across at Stevie. “Uniform kicked it upstairs to us.”

Stevie got to her feet. “Okay, let’s go.”

Casually Jo tossed the file on her desk and reached for her jacket as Stevie turned back to her friend. “Who’s the informant?”

Jo winced slightly, as she had been dreading the question. “It’s Stuart.”

His name hung between them, unfinished business, and potentially a nightmare; Jo had a bad feeling about this. Stevie and Stuart had a ‘thing’, something that they had both resolutely ignored while he was working at Sun Hill. Now Stevie was sergeant, Jo could see further points of awkwardness between them. And loyalty ran deep with her; Jo and Stu were close friends, so she didn’t want to have to side with Stevie against him.

Stevie shrugged. Stuart had moved on. She had a nice flirtation going on with Smithy. It wouldn’t be a problem.

“You’re okay with this.” Jo watched her closely.

“Sure, I am. Now let’s go.” Stevie headed for the stairs.

Jo was not convinced by Stevie’s apparent indifference, but there was little that she could do about it, but follow her new sergeant out to the car.

# # # #

Arriving at St Hugh’s, Stevie immediately sought out the doctor, while Jo went to see Stuart.

As soon as she approached his bed, she could see he wasn’t fully awake. “Stu?” She pulled up the chair and sat down. He turned his head to look at her, his eyes were barely open.

“Jo.” His fingers squeezed hers. “I saw her.... only they won’t believe me.” His eyelids drooped closed.

“Stu?” Jo leaned forward and gently patted his cheek, he stirred, his eyes opened a little and he smiled at her, muttered something completely incoherent and drifted back into a semi-conscious state.

“You won’t get much sense out of him, love.” Jo looked round at the old man in the next bed. “He got upset when they wouldn’t believe him, so that miserable quack had Nurse Hatchet-Face slip him a mickey to keep him quiet.”

Jo looked back at her partner, who was actually starting to snore softly, and she huffed in frustration acknowledging the old man was right. She turned back to him. “Thanks, Mr...”

“Crossman. Harry Crossman.”

“I don’t suppose you actually saw anything?”

“Not me, love. I was dead to the world. But he told me.” Harry leaned forward conspiratorially. “Well, to be honest, he told the whole ward, which was when Dr Misery-guts and Nurse Sourpuss zapped him with a mickey.”

Behind her Stuart’s snoring ratcheted up a notch. “On your side, hun,” Jo muttered absent-mindedly, thinking furiously. She looked back towards the window as Stuart shifted slightly and settled with a defiant snort.

“Harry?”

“Yes, love.”

“I don’t suppose you know which window it was he was looking at?”

Harry slid down in his bed a little, glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching, and pointed “third one from the end, on this floor.”

Jo peered out, calculated which window it was, and turned back to Harry. “Thanks.” She extracted her fingers from Stu’s loose grasp and patted the back of his hand. “You stay there. Now let’s go and find some evidence.”

# # # # #

Jo bent down and examined the ground just under the window sill. Nothing. She’d had the feeling as soon as she entered the store room that she wasn’t going to find anything. She looked out of the window, she could clearly see her partner in the window opposite. Stu had good eyesight, and wasn’t prone to inventing things. He’d clearly seen something. But what?

“There’s nothing here.”

Jo turned around, “There has to be something, Sarge.” Aware that her tone was pleading, but Stevie’s face had an inflexibility to her exp​ression which said this didn’t interest her.

“There’s no one missing, everyone is accounted for. Stuart either had a very vivid dream or he was too doped up to know what he was seeing.” Stevie was dismissive.

Jo suddenly felt a flash of real irritation. It wasn’t so long ago that Stuart Turner had thrown everything onto the line for Stevie Moss, his career, potentially his liberty or even his life. And Stu wasn’t a fantasist, he wasn’t inclined to make things up, so Stevie’s attitude was unfounded in Jo’s eyes.

But there was nothing she could say. Nothing she could do, except go back and tell her distressed and injured best friend that until there was some evidence it was NFA.

# # # # #

“NFA?” his voice was scarcely above a whisper and his eyes were barely open, but he understood all right, and she could hear the distress in his voice.

“Stu... there’s nothing there, and no one’s missing.” Jo tried to explain as gently as she could, there was a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach and she felt a twinge of resentment at Stevie, which wasn’t fair.

But this is Stu, Jo sighed, he wasn’t given to flights of fancy, he was an intuitive and intelligent officer who didn’t make things up; and he was looking upset... damn. Jo wrapped both hands around his right hand and gave it a firm squeeze. He was already in a lot of pain, it wouldn’t hurt to give him some reassurance.

“Stu, I believe you, but there isn’t any evidence.... until there’s some evidence we can’t do anything.”

“I... know...” whatever they had given him was clearly swamping his senses again. Jo made to leave, but his fingers tightened over hers “stay...”

Jo bent over him and kissed him on the cheek, “okay... for a while”. She was meant to be heading back to the station with Stevie, but Stu needed her and that was enough for Jo.

[Bluee]

^_^

Characterization is perfect, and the plot's interesting. Brilliant! :)

Also, Harry is awesome stuff :lol:

[SJ]

Stuart slid down in the bed as far as the heavy cast on his right leg would let him and glared at the window opposite, as if it might provide the answers, he thought gloomily.

He couldn’t blame Stevie. Whoever it was had obviously covered their tracks. He lifted the covers and stared irritably at the massive cast. He couldn’t even stand up. DAMMIT. He eased onto his side, and slammed his fist into the pillow.

“Penny for them.”

Stu looked across at Harry and grinned a little sourly. “Not worth that much.”

Harry looked over his shoulder. “If they couldn’t find anything, perhaps you can?”

“How?” Stu scowled. “I can’t even stand up.”

Harry smirked. “But I can. And I happen to know where there’s an abandoned wheelchair.” He leaned over a little further. “I’m up for it if you are,” he whispered.

Stu thought about it. The fractured pictures in his mind’s eye of the long blonde ponytail, the brief glimpse of a terrified white face, superimposed by an image of him cracking the case. Justice for the girl, and kudos for nailing the killer vied with one other for dominance in his mind.

“When?” Nodding his consent, Stu glanced across at the nurses’ station. “And how are you going to get that wheelchair?”

Harry tapped the side of his nose. “Ask no questions,” he winked. “What you don’t know, can’t incriminate you.”

Stu grinned. For the first time since the fall, he felt as though he was actually on top of things again. He hated not being in control. He eased down onto his side, and pulled up the covers a little. The nurses would be making their rounds soon; if he appeared to be asleep, they’d leave him be. His leg ached, but not as badly as last night, and he figured he could cope for a while.

He watched Harry climb slowly off the bed, and reach for the Zimmer frame he’d been given. “Back in a minute,” the older man whispered as he passed by. Stu nodded, and Harry winked again and wandered vaguely in the direction of the loos.

The nurses were coming. Stu closed his eyes and feigned sleep as they reached him. Hands gently re-arranged and smoothed the covers over him, and then moved on.

Cautiously Stu raised the covers a little and peered down at his most pressing problem other than the cast: the tube. He hated that tube.

He could scarcely dive under the covers and start messing around, or the nurses would notice. But the tube reached to the bottom of the bed. Dropping the covers, Stu felt around carefully with the toes of his left foot and located the tube, and with a little wiggling, he managed to get a grip and slowly pulled.

The sensation of the thing leaving his body was nearly as unpleasant as them having put it in, but Stu persisted, and finally it was free. He grabbed the end, and carefully wedged it in the frame of the bed.

“Got it.” Harry reappeared pushing a wheelchair.

“When?” muttered Stu.

“In a while.” Harry eased back into bed, and waved the nurse away. “The nurses’ station will be empty in about half an hour,” he explained once she reached the corridor. “We can slip past then.”

They lay still and faked sleep as the ward grew quiet, apart from the occasional snoring. The lights were out and the windows were open again. Stu eyed the window as a thought occurred. How would they know the right room?

Cautiously, he leaned over and pulled his bedside cupboard door open. The clothes he had been wearing were in there: the black tee-shirt, his wrecked jeans and.... He pulled out his emerald green jumper, folded it, and wedged it under his pillow so it was visible to the window, but not to the rest of the ward. Not much of a marker, he decided, but it would have to do.

He watched the nurses’ station in a fever of impatience; remembering Jo’s sarky comeback during the Statham case, asking him if he expected to find a head in the fridge. He grinned at that. It was funny how all his best memories were Jo-related.

“Let’s get out of here.” Harry shuffled out of bed, reached for the wheelchair, and carefully positioned it next to Stu’s bed. Stu lifted back the covers and pushed himself into a sitting position, putting his good leg down.
It wasn’t going to be that simple, he quickly realised. The heavy cast was going to be awkward at best. He looked at Harry. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

“Hang on.” With some difficulty Harry bent down and pulled the foot rest out at an angle. “We need to take some of those pillows.” Stu reached over and pulled himself across the wheelchair.

“Whoa,” Harry winced. “Well, that’s a view I’d rather not have had. Let’s see if we can’t get a larger gown from somewhere.”

Stu blushed and scowled a little. “Just give me a hand.” He wrapped his hands securely under the plaster cast on his thigh, Harry sliding his hands under Stu’s ankle. Stu took a deep breath and nodded. They lifted the heavy cast down from the bed, resting the massive plaster on the three pillows that Harry had hastily stuffed on the wheelchair.

It hurt. Like hell. Stu released his hands from beneath his thigh, and bent over, breathing deeply. His leg throbbed.

“Are you all right?” Harry gently patted Stu’s shoulder.

For a second, Stu’s desire to win vied with the pounding pain in his broken leg. He gritted his teeth and nodded. “I can take it.” The blonde ponytail swung in his mind’s eye again, and he was conscious of a feeling that he might let her down.

Stu hated failure. This time, he really wanted to win.

Harry moved behind the wheelchair, and cautiously they made their way past the nurses’ station.

“Hang on.” Stu spotted a box of gloves. He reached over, pinched some from the box, and grabbed a bio-hazard bag to put them in. Harry picked up a handful of the bags.

He looked at Stu, “Evidence bags?”

Stu grinned.

They moved on. Finding themselves at the end of the corridor, Stu checked ahead. The side corridor was dark and uninviting, but that was where they were headed. Stu tried to peer into the gloom and work out exactly where they were as they moved further down the corridor.

They came to a stop. And Stu looked up. “This isn’t it.”

Harry tapped the side of his nose again. “Laundry room.” He disappeared inside, from where Stu could hear rummaging-about sounds. Soon, Harry emerged. “Told you.” He held out the gown. “Go on, I won’t look.”

Stu took the gown, which certainly seemed longer than the one they’d saddled him with. Harry had turned his back and was whistling quietly and tunelessly. Stu reached for the ties that were holding his gown together.

The replacement gown was baggier and even more ill-fitting than the one he’d been issued, but at least it was longer. Stu tied the strings of the new gown as Harry hastily dumped the old one in the laundry room.

They paused outside the door which had obvious signs of police tape on the frame. “This is it.” Harry pushed it open and they went in.

It was a large store cupboard, mostly unremarkable. Stu looked towards the window, he could see his window, and his bed, but something about the eyeline seemed off. He looked up at his companion. “Harry, this isn’t the room.”

[Bluee]

This is interesting ^_^ I love the way that Stuart is so determined to figure out what's happened :) It's so like him to do that! And Harry is such a cool character (I know I said that before, but yeah, he's so cool he should be mentioned twice! *nods head approvingly*