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The entire left side of his face was numb and cold. He had some trouble opening his eyes, but when he finally did and turned his head, he could see why; there was blood on the radiator he had been leaning against. Morse hadn't even tried to move much, and now he realized it would not be much use if he did. The handcuffs aroud his wrists were tight, keeping him right where he was. He blinked a few times. Where was that again?
- 1 hour ago -
"I told you to keep your head down! Normal policework, nothing that stands out, just for a little while! I told you and the first thing you do is suggest that man has something to do with his wife's disappearence!"
Morse sensed a tingle behind his ears, the kind he alwas felt when Thursday was treating him like a child.
"He reported her missing after two hours and he did not even call her workplace? He just went straight to the police. He's overcompensating, I know it!" Why could no one else see that? "A grown woman does not come back from work, and instead of calling the place or driving there to check if she is okay, her husband supposedly sits around for a few hours and the calls it in straight away? Come on!" The last part came out a little louder than he had intended.
"Don't shout at me, do you hear me? He's worried sick, have you not seen him? He was completely desperate. His wife has not had this job for long and he said he could tell something was worring her." Thursday had become very still, glaring at his bagman not even a foot away from him. "You have a theory made up in your head and you will not listen to anything that goes against that, like you always do."
That stung. The inspector had been the only one around the whole place who seemed to think Morse was a good detective, especially because of his distinct way of thinking. Wasn't that why he brought him on in the first place?
T he constable was still for a moment. Thursday knew it hurt him when he suggested he was a bad copper, and even worse, that he only cared about being right, regardless of the cost.
He was fuming, and Thursday knew it. Before he could reply anything else, Thursday walked back to his desk and picked up the black adress book and looked the younger man straight in the eye.
"You drive to Mueller's place, apologize for disturbing him and give him back his directory that he "forgot". Or "fell out of his pocket" or whatever you want to tell him. Then you go home for today, you're off the case anyway"
Morse really felt like slamming the door on the way out.
___
"You started to doubt yourself. That was your mistake." Mueller walked into the room, cleaning blood off the handle of his gun. "You saw through me at the police station, I could tell. I thought playing the worried husband and reporting her missing myself would throw you off, but - well, here you are." He smiled an empty smile, sitting down on a chair a few feet across the room from Morse. "Someone must have gotten into your head."
"You killed your wife."
"I thought that was implied. Yes, you already knew that. Come on, I did not hit you that hard." Mueller was inspecting the gun in the last sunbeams of the day that fell throught the curtains, apparently statisfied now that Morse's blood had been cleaned away. "I did not expect you to come here that soon, and all by yourself for that matter."
"I only came back to bring you your adress book, I swear." Fear was really starting to spread inside of his chest.
"You know, I want to believe you. But it does not matter now. Once I'm finished up here, and I almost am. Well, you know, your colleagues can come and fetch you, I don't give a damn. But if they show up here sooner that expected, I am not going quietly."
"Why?" Morse was not playing for time. Nobody was coming for him. He wanted to know.
"Oh, come on. Not a very original question. I'll give you the short answer: Because I was bored of her. Because she was holding me back and I wanted to get out of this life with her. And I was not giving her a damn thing that belongs to me." Mueller had stopped playing around with the gun in his hands. He was leaning forward an showed nothing of the calmness he had just a few moments ago.
"You were bored of her?!" Morse could not stop himself. He was trapped inside the house of a complete maniac.
Said maniac jumped up form his chair, gun in his hand. Morse flinched, the metal of the handcuffs clinging against the radiator. But his captor seemed to have decided he was not worthy of any more attention, walking out of the room and rummaging around in the other room.
He was not sure wether that was a good or a bad sign.
___
Sergeant Strange knocked on the door of the Inspectors office, dreading the conversation that would follow. He was not too crazy about the whole case, actually.
It hat been pretty standard in the beginning, a man coming in to report his wife missing, very upset, Morse had taken the first statement. Then he'd felt like being clever, of course, asked weird questions, been cold to the man.
Thursday hat sent him to check up on the workplace of the missing woman and disappeared into the office, Morse sitting at his desk, sulking.
He had just come back and another constable hat told him that Morse and the old man had a row. Great. Morse had been thrown off the case, brilliant. And the worst thing, now Strange was sure the smartass was onto something.
"Come in." Strange was sitting at his desk, going through some files. He gestured to his chair for Strange to sit down. "Please."
He was being overly polite, still shaken what hat happened between him and his bagman. Strange knew he was no Morse, but he was no idiot. Better get straight to the point.
"I was just at the office Mrs. Mueller worked at. They said she did not even come in to her shift this morning." He made no move to sit down.
"He couldn't have known that until she was supposed to come back afterwards. She took the bus to work and back "
"But here's the thing: They called her home not long after they had notices and called her home. Her husband picked up and when her boss said who he was, he immediately hung up the phone. When he tried to call again, the phone did not work again. He only heard about Mrs. Mueller when I came by to tell him she was reported missing."
"What are you trying to say? He was starting to get an alarming feeling.
"She was not supposed to work today! She took on an extra shift because her colleague called her last night and asked her to, she was not feeling well."
"Do you thing her husband was not expecting anyone to notice her going missing so soon? He only put two and two together when his wife's boss called in and panicked"
"Could be. That's why he came by only now to report her missing. He did whatever he had to do, hid all evidence he felt he needed to hide. He would have told use she had gone out for errands and has not come back, had it now been for her boss calling."
"Do we have anything besides his word?" Thursday was clutching at straws and he knew it. He had been wrong. He had been played.
"I talked to some of Mrs. Muellers co- workers as well. Apparently she had been spending more and more time at work. Things seemed to be rough at home".
"We need to get there. Right now."
___
Mueller was being loud.
Morse was not sure what he was doing, planing on packing up the whole house and running away with it or just losing his mind, but he did not want to think about that. He said he wanted to take care of things and then run away, and if his plan worked, Morse would be spared. He could only hope he was telling the truth, that he had decided that killing another person and getting rid of them would be to much of a hassle.
It probably made him a bad police man, but he hoped that the murderer next door would just pack up and get out of here, that the others would be following wrong leads long enough for him to get away. If they did show up before the psychopath currently taking apart his kitchen, it would be a bloodbath.
There was a knock on the door less than five seconds later.
The house went completely silent. Mueller appeared in the doorway, gun drawn. He came closer with slow, quiet steps, until he was standing right next to his hostage, then he pointed the gun to his head.
"Who is it?" His voice sounded as clear and innocent as it had at the station a few hours ago.
"Mister Mueller, it's DI Thursday. We have new information regarding your wives disappearence." Morse was not sure if he should feel relief or dread at the voice he heard through the door. Someone was here to help. On the other hand, there was a gun right in his face, and he was sure it was going to be used now that the worst case had occured.
"I'm not an idiot, inspector. The car constable Morse drove here is parked right outside. You must have seen it." Mueller was speaking as calmly as before, but he was turning away from Morse now, pointing the gun at the door.
Thursday did not get a chance to react.
"Sir, get away from the door! He's got a gun-"
Before he could even regret his action the killer next to him had swung around and hit him across the face with his gun. And that was the last thing he knew.
___
As bad as Thursday felt about Morse getting hurt, it bought him the time he needed. And, if he was being honest, hearing him shout from the inside of the house of an armed criminal, plus the deathly silence that followed seconds later made him kick down the door even faster.
"If you come any closer, I will shoot both of you."
There was the man, as plain and inconspicuous as he had been a few hours before, pointing a gun at him, his unconcious colleguae right next to him. If the situation weren't so dangerous, Fred Thursday might have worried that he was losing his instinct. He was also worried that Morse might be worse off than he thought, but with his attention forced to the man before him, he could not risk a better look until they were safe.
"Now, Strange." He said calmly.
A noise from the other room with the back door. The suspect turning around. One shot through the heart.
"Well done, Strange. He bought it."
The Sergeant nodded. He had not even been armed, except for a lockpick. Making a man backed into a metaphorical corner believe he was, was enough. He picked up the gun from the hand of the dead man. It was both regulation and habit.
His DI was certainly not going to do it, he had other things on his mind.
"Morse?" Fred kneeled down next to Morse, whose face was buried in his arms. He liftet the lads head carefully, to get a better look at him. A bruise was darkening on his right cheekbone, the temple on the other side was caked with blood. When Morse gave no response, the inspector felt for his pulse, which was there, of course it was, what was he thinking?
"Is he alive?" Strange sounded alarmed by the DI's silence. Thursday had forgotten he was there for a few seconds. He nodded.
"Yes. Yes, he's alive, but call an ambulance please. And the station, while you're at it." He started to look around for the keys to open the handcuffs. Strange left the room to find a phone. "Try Mueller's pockets."
___
Strange had been right. Any other day he would have told him off for being cocky, suggesting he did not know how to search a crime scene. Today he was busy freeing his unresponsive colleguae. He oppened the cuffs and eased Morse's hands down to his lap when one of his fingers started to twitch.
"Morse." Fred said loudly, trying to pull the younger man back to reality.
Morse gave a faint groan and queezed his eyes tighter before finally opening them. He looked at Thursday in confusion.
"Where's Mueller?" His voice sounded a bit slurred.
The DI almost laughed. Of course that was his first question.
"He's over there. He's dead." He nodded toward his right, the part of the room where the body was slowly starting to cool down. "How are you feeling?"
"I want to get out of this house." Without anymore of an explanation, Morse tried to stagger himself upright, his hands clawing at the radiator. Thursday pushed him back down gently.
"Now, hold on. You got hit pretty hard. Don't strain yourself. Ambulance is on it's way." He laid his hands on both of the bony shoulders. He could feel a slight tremor underneath his fingers.
Morse was starting to breathe heavier, his eyes on the corpse behind Thursday. He was growing paler by the second, his pupils blown wide as if he was still being threatened by an unstable person with a gun.
"Now, look at me, okay? You probably have a concussion, you're a little confused, but you're safe, okay?" Thursday tried to keep Morse's eyes on him, but the Constable seemed to have other things in mind.
"Please. No hospital. I'll be fine." Morse spoke quietly, wrapping his arms around himself. He was looking at the floor, completely shutting himself in.
Thursday took his hands off the young man's shoulder and sighed. So that's how it was going to be.
"You need a doctor to look at you, there will be no discussion about that. If he decides you have to go to the hospital, I will take you there, no moaning, alright?"
Morse's ganze went up, meeting Thursday's. For the first time since he had freed him, the stubborn idiot seemed relieved to be alive. When the Inspector stood up and reached out to take one of his arms to help him up, Morse let himself be pulled up and steadied when he swayed a little.
A minute later, Sergeant Strange was walking back into the room, smiling a little when he saw Morse awake and upright.
"How are you feeling matey?"
Morse gave a little smile and nodded, not really sure what to answer. He felt like just standing took all the energy he had, and if it weren't for his superior's hands on his arm and back, he would be on the floor right now.
"Strange, cancel that ambulance. I'm taking him to DeBryn."
___
Morse was leaning against the car door, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of the engine. It was now completely dark outside, and even though he had no idea how long ago he had been captured, he was pretty sure it was late enough for the station to be empty.
He could ask the police officer next to him, of course, but he did not feel much like talking. His head was still ringing and he was a little scared of looking that particular police officer in the eye.
"Don't fall asleep yet, well be there in a few minutes."
He sat up, trying to look straight ahead. The street lights passing by made him feel dizzy.
He blinked once, twice, and when he tried to focus on where they were on their way back to the station, the car was already slowing down. Was he worse of than he thought or was Debryn standing in the parking lot, waiting for them?
"Doctor." Thursday said, getting out of the car and walking around to the other side. Debryn did not lose any time, he was already opening the car door and leaning down to get a look at his patient.
"Inspecor." he said, directed at the man behind him, but already in full work-mode, looking at the gash at Morse's temple. "Sergeant Strange called me, he said you'd need my help before I can offer my assistance at the crime scene."
He was now turning Morse's head gently, trying to get a better look at the bruise on his face in the light of a nearby streetlamp. He had a look about him that was both professional yet concerned, which made the DI certain he did not need to be bothered with an answer to his earlier statement. It seemed like Morse thought the same. He followed to doctor's every move with dull eyes, but did not utter a word. Fred started to become restless, not being able to help. Had he made a mistake bringing him here? Had he wasted valuable time and the unresponding man in the car, his responsibility, should be in the hospital by now?
"Help me bring him inside." Debryn turned to Thursday, really looking at him for the first time since they'd arrived.
____
Morse was sitting on the sofa in DI Thursdays office, in a near empty police station. The few officers that had still been there at this time of night had been called to investigate the mess they'd just left behind.
Max had brought his bag from downstairs, because forcing Morse into the morgue in his condition was not even a discussion. They both knew from experience that he was not crazy about that place even at perfect health.
While Debryn was shining a little flashlight into Morse eyes, Thursday was lingering at the door, unsure what to do with himself. He felt like he did not belong, useless. But there was no way he was going to leave now, especially after hearing the doctor speak up.
"Can you tell me your name?"
"Endeavour Morse. I am not experiencing an type of memory loss." Came the raspy response. Fred had never been so happy to hear a smartass remark.
"No, I don't think you are, but you definetly have a concussion. I need to check if you are going to be alright before I let you rest." Debryn answered, as patiently as ever, while he was starting to clean the blood of the side of Morse's face. "Now, tell me what day it is and what you were doing before you got hit?"
"It's wednesday, seventh of april." Morse's gaze wandered directly to his superior, then to the floor. Thursday knew that face, and Debryn seemed to have noticed it, too.
It was shame.
He did not want to talk about what had happened, at least not with Thursday around.
"Inspector, would you mind getting some water while I finish up here? I completely forgot." Debryn said, not even trying to be convincing. Morse did not look up.
It did hurt his pride a fair bit, he was practically being asked to get out of his own office, all because Morse was being a stubborn idiot. But he knew him well enough to know he was not going to open up with more people watching him than absolutely necessary, especially after messing up like that. "And he did mess up." Thursday told himself. "You could not have know this would happen."
He nodded, turned around and closed the door behind him.
____
Fifteen minutes later, Max stepped out of the office, his bag in his hands, his coat over his left arm. Thursday was sitting a few feet away at one of the empty desks. No water in sight.
The doctor spoke with a quiet voice. "He's settled down now. I don't think anything is going to happen, he will be fine."
"What about earlier?" Thursday asked, standing up and trying to catch a glimpse of morse through the doorway.
"He was just very tired, I think he also had a bit of a shock. I would not have gotten him to lay down with someone else in there, no offence." Debryn answered, putting his coat on. Thursday remembered that the doctor was really just starting his workday, going to the crime scene they just left. "I need someone to watch him overnight, just to make sure he's not to disoriented and he's breathing alright overnight. I assume you're not going to be leaving anytime soon?"
"Of course." Thursday answered. "If it's alright with him." He added, ashamed the moment it was out of his mouth.
Max gave a small sigh. "He told me what happened, and trust me, he already feels terrible about it." When Thursday opened his mouth to answer, he beat him to it.
"I know you want the best for him, I'm not telling you how to do your job. I'm saying that any reluctance he showed was directed completely at himself, no one else. And you know him good enough to know he already has enough of that to go around."
Silence hung between them for a moment, the bitterness Thursday felt melting into guilt and, if it was possible, more worry.
"Thank you, doctor. I'm not sure what we would do without you." And he meant that.
Debryn gave a small smile and grabbed his bag. "When he wakes up, make sure he does not drive home and do not let him work for the next two to three days. He needs rest." Then he disappeared out into the night.
____
He closed the door as quietly as possible and went straight to his desk. He wanted to give the lad his space, so he took a look at him from afar, so not to wake him.
Morse was laying on the couch, face as relaxed as Thursday had ever seen it. Debryn had covered him with the constable's own coat. There were one or two little bloodstains on it, the dark red spots that never came out.
Apart from taking off his coat Morse had not made himself comfortable, he was still wearing his shoes and his tie had only been slightly loosened. Thursday had to admit that Debryn had been right; Morse would never have slept in this office willingly, if the DI had been around, especially with the row they'd had. It was surprising he had relaxed this much.
The Inspector sat down at his desk, but before he began the inevitable paperwork he had to do, he took one last glance at the sleeping figure before him. Only when he was sure that his chest was calmly raising and lowering beneath the fabric, he allowed himself to focus on the documents on his desk.
_____
Sergeant Strange did not knock on the office door, but gave a little wave until the Detective Inspector noticed him. It took a few seconds before he noticed something moving in the corner of his eye, but then he also had barely noticed that the sun was already starting to come up.
With one last look behind him, he stepped into the lobby and closed the door behind him. The Sergeant had seemingly already assumed that Morse would be at the Station, he also spoke with a lowered voice when he asked about his condition.
When Fred walked back inside his office and once again tried to close the door as quietly as possible, he could not help smiling a little. Good or bad, his Constable could not help but be on people people's mind.
What Strange had just told him about what the officers at the crime scene had found at the house made him feel a whole lot different. Something between guilty and powerless.
Before he could indulge in those thoughs any further, Morse was starting to wake up and rub his eyes. He looked around a few seconds and sat up quickly when he realized he was not in his apartment.
Morse only seemed to notice his superior when he came closer and said: "You're at the Station, Morse."
Morse's head turned to look Thursday in the eyes. "Sir, I'm so sorry, I don't know how I could fall asleep here-" He was struggling to sit upright and swung his legs off the couch, feet on the floor in the blink of an eye.
Thursday laid a hand on each of his arms, leaning down slightly to meet his gaze straight on. "I brought you here with Debryn a few hours ago. I only left to give you some privacy and to rest. You were hurt, remember?" He spoke as softly as he could, but fear was starting to climb back. Was Morse having trouble remembering things?
There was a wrinkle between Morse eyes while he thought about what had been said. "I remember that. And coming here and meeting Doctor Debryn. I must have fallen asleep after he examined me." His face started to relax a little, he had figured out it was probably fine after Thursday was the one who had brought him here.
"How are you feeling?" Thursday took his hands off the skinny arms again and sat down across from Morse on one of the visitor's chairs. Morse looked down at his hands, shrugging his shoulders. There was that damn hurt pride again. When the boy looked up again, his eyes were moist, but that did not prepare Fred for what he said next;
"I'm sorry." Before Thursday could find a response he continued: "I took the book from Mueller. Before you came in I had started taking his statement and he could not remember the adress of the place his wife worked at. Or so he said. And when you came in he wasn't looking for a moment. I was sure he was lying and there would be something in there."
"You are never going to do it again?" Morse shook his head, unsure why Thursday was not yelling at him. "Alright then. There's enough crooked coppers out there."
He still must have looked confused, because Thursday started explaining himself after seeing his face: "You almost got yourself killed yesterday. I'm not going to kick you while you're down. Especially after I was the one who sent you there."
Morse opened his mouth to respond, but Thursday shook his head. "No, I was. I sent you to a house of a murderer, completely alone."
"Sir, you couldn't have known-" Morse was interrupted by Thursday snorting loudly.
"You told me, didn't you? But I decided not to listen to you and because you were being difficult, I almost got you killed." Now it was Morse's time to stare at the Detective while he avoided his gaze.
Seconds passed while none of them spoke. Outside the office a police officer was making his first phone call of the day.
"They found the body of his wife in the kitchen." Fred said finally. "From what Sergeant Strange told me, you're lucky you didn't have to see that."
Morse nodded, his stomach growing heavy.
"You may have saved mine and Sergeant Strange's life by warning us, but it was still a stupid risk of our own life."
"I can't promise you that I won't do it again." Morse answered straight away. He knew that what he did could have ended a lot worse, just thinking about it made the hairs on his arms stand up. But he was telling the truth; the moment it had happened, when a person he cared about had been in danger, a gun ponted at them, he had not even thought about himself. It had been like a reflex, something he had no controll over. "And I don't regret doing it."
Fred nodded an stiffled a sigh. He was proud of Morse, but he did not want to tell him just now. He didn't know if he would ever tell him how much he admired the selflessness his young colleague had in him, the will and bravery to sacrifice his own health and safety, maybe even his life. Primarily because he was sure nothing would be worth losing the young constable that was looking at him so eagerly.
"Let me give you a ride home." He said finally, making it clear that the topic was finished. "You are going to take tomorrow off, you hear me?"
Morse stood up slowly, put on his coat and followed the Inspector out of the office. Thursday could not tell him he had done a good job, but he knew him well enough to read between the lines; he would just leave it at that.
He would have to be careful the next few weeks, maybe actually take tomorrow off instead of just ignoring Thursday and showing up at the station the next morning. But they had caught a murderer and they had all come out alive, even though it had been close.
It had been worth it. It would always be worth it.