Work Text:
‘Did you kill Sam Tyler?’
Long after Drake has left the office, frustrated by his refusal to acknowledge the question (let alone answer it), Gene Hunt ponders the question.
Had he, in fact, been the cause of Sam Tyler’s assumed death? The plain and simple truth is that he doesn’t know. Certainly Sam had once come close to shooting him – the memory of Tyler’s face, boyish features twisted in abject misery as he’d been forced to choose between shooting his DCI or a scumbag criminal which Cartwright claims Sam believes to be his own father (for Christ’s sake what’s that all about...) is one that will remain seared into Gene’s memory forever.
He blames himself of course, for allowing Tyler to go off half-cocked yet again, although he will never admit it to anyone, least of all Tyler, should the little git still be alive somewhere. He should have seen that the bloke wasn’t right in the head right from the off; Christ, the first time they’d set eyes on each other Tyler had looked him up and down as though Gene was something the cat had dragged in and then asked him what year it was ‘supposed to be’. Then there was all that muttering to himself or –even worse- looking at silent radios as if he’s just heard a message from bloody mars and talking to whoever he’d thought he’d heard...
Whether Tyler had been right in the head before his RTA or if he’d always been mad as a box of frogs Gene doesn’t know and responses to his enquiries of his former posting at Hyde had proved frustratingly ambiguous. If Gene hadn’t known better, he’d almost believe that Tyler had never actually been at Hyde; but the paperwork requesting his transfer had been genuine enough, Morgan’s signature plain as the light of day. And whilst Morgan hadn’t actually claimed to remember Tyler, he hadn’t denounced him as a fraud.
For a while Gene had harboured the intention of taking a trip out to Hyde in person, but the realisation that if he did so and Tyler did turn out to be certifiable it would mean the end of the man’s career, had stayed him. For all his faults (and he had many, not least his refusal to acknowledge when he was wrong straight away – he always had to go the long and tortuous route) Tyler was a damn good copper. And by the time he’d disappeared, a good friend.
Gene knows that he isn’t directly responsible for Tyler’s death – he hadn’t cut the brake pipes – but if he had listened to his gut instinct instead of obeying the Chief Inspector’s summons Tyler might still be here today. Well, perhaps not here, in Fenchurch East, because if it hadn’t been for the whole Tyler inquiry he himself wouldn’t be down here in poof-land, along with the remnants of the old team.
He remembers the god-awful moment he’d had to break the news to Annie. She’d opened the door to him and the look on his face must have told her all she needed to know because she had clapped a hand to her mouth and shook her head in denial, tears in her eyes as she’d stepped back to let him into the small terraced home she and Sam shared.
‘I’m sorry, love, really sorry.’ He hadn’t needed to say anymore, had helped her to the settee and been forced to sit down beside her by her grip on his coat sleeve.
After a moment, she’d looked up at him, dread in her eyes. ‘...How?’
Gene had swallowed. ‘Car went in the canal, Annie. Someone... the brakes had been cut.’
‘Oh no... Why? Why would anyone....?’ She’d broken down then, crying in earnest, great heaving sobs that had left the shoulder of Gene’s coat damp. Gene had folded her into his arms and held her for long minutes. Christ, he’d come close to tears himself at that point.
Eventually Annie had pulled out of his hold, and taken the proffered hankie with a watery smile, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. She hadn’t offered it back to him and Gene had had the completely irrelevant thought that it would be returned in a few days, washed and ironed.
‘Can I see him?’ She’d asked, squaring her shoulders and swallowing more tears.
He’d shaken his head. ‘Haven’t found him yet, love.’
Annie had looked at him incredulously then, turned a terrible shade of white, and passed out. Gene had laid her back on the settee and radioed the station.
‘Phyllis – send a WPC round to Tyler’s’, would you – Cartwright needs someone with her right now and I’ve got heads to crack.’ Later he’d found out that Tyler had a kid on the way, and wondered if he’d known before he went haring off like the lunatic Gene sometimes suspected him to be. He’d been gutted to learn at the memorial service that he hadn’t.
‘I was going to tell him that night,’ Annie had said sadly. Gene had gone out and got completely bladdered that night. Ray and Chris had taken him home, although he doesn’t remember that bit, only the waking up feeling like death warmed over the next morning.
Still, life had gone on – when Gene had been offered a transfer to Fenchurch East he’d taken it. There was nothing in Manchester for him anymore; his wife had buggered off a year since, finally unable to take his absenteeism from the home and his moods when he was there. And every street, every alleyway, every time he’d gone into the Railway Arms he’d expected to see Tyler’s face, hear his ‘But Guv!’ every time he’d let rip about another scumbag messing with his city or proposed some action that would have offended Tyler’s sensibilities. Sometimes, when he’d been drunk, Gene was convinced he’d heard Tyler’s voice or had seen him disappear around a corner. One morning he’d woken to find himself face down on the towpath under the bridge where they’d found Joni Mitchell’s body and realised he was heading for a nervous breakdown.
He’d cut back on the drinking, tried to be the copper Sam had always wanted him to be (even though at times he’d wanted to scream and hit someone) by way of atonement. But the die had been cast and when Ray and Chris got to hear about his transfer and applied to go with him, he hadn’t had the heart to refuse.
So here they are, and here Bolly is, poking her nose into things best left alone.
Did he kill Sam Tyler? Gene thinks that he probably did.
FIN