Rob Ridgway's "Rat Pack"

[viperk1]

“Thank you for the note,” she replied. “Do keep me posted. I wish I could go with you!”

Tut tut Ms. Fulton - you have a job to do

Exceptional work, 10-3 - I just hope that things go well whilst they're in Monaco. Shame that the F1 team left there about 5 months ago - would've been interesting to see that kind of thing

[WelshWolf]

I don't know why, but I much prefer Fulton to Patty. It might be that I now can't stop thinking of her as J. Alba, but I think its more than that.

Dump Patty, get with Fulton.

... 'part from that. A great story.

[Fergie1983]

great story from day 1 in padova til now keep up the great work!

[Marcussy]

My first comment on Rob Ridgeway's adventures although i've been reading for a while.

Terrific stuff, just gets better and better.

I agree with WelshWolf as well - I just dont like Patty at all. Fulton all the way baby!

Great stuff - kudos!

[copperhorse21]

I don't know why, but I much prefer Fulton to Patty. It might be that I now can't stop thinking of her as J. Alba, but I think its more than that.

Dump Patty, get with Fulton.

... 'part from that. A great story.

Hmmm....what if 10-3 were to tell you that Patty is a celebrity twin to Scarlett Johanssen's role as "Black Widow" in Iron Man 2? Would that make a difference as to whom you want Rob Ridgway to be involved?

Safe for work warning: http://www.google.com/images?rlz=1T4GGLG_enUS309US309&q=iron+man+2+scarlett+johansson&um=1&ie=UTF-8&source=univ&ei=s6MLTMPhF4q4NYraqLYE&sa=X&oi=image_result_group&ct=title&resnum=1&ved=0CCsQsAQwAA

At least Scarlett Johanssen is who I imagine when I read the story...I can't say much on behalf of 10-3, however. He'll have to answer that for himself.

[tenthreeleader]

Well, this is certainly an interesting conversation! First things first, though .. Fergie and Marcussy, welcome to the Rat Pack!

So, what does Patty look like? Did anyone ever see the episode of M*A*S*H* where Hawkeye drove himself nuts trying to figure out what B.J. Hunnicutt's initials stood for? The answer he finally got was 'anything you want them to stand for'. Because B.J. wouldn't tell him.

I have made reference to Patty's physical appearance throughout the text at various points. She is tall (5'9"), with shoulder-length red hair, green eyes and obviously, a model's figure. Rob didn't do too badly, when all is said and done.

Personality-wise, she is insecure due to her failed relationship with McGuire and the way he used her for his own ends. She has had a difficult time finding her place in the world and now that she has an idea of what it might be, she is adjusting to the changes her chosen career has forced her to accept.

She is a complex character to write, and getting more complex by the day, to be completely honest.

___

Tuesday, October 6

I felt like a normal married man. What a nice feeling it was.

The Principality is a wonderful place to live, especially if you don’t care to pay taxes, and it’s not a bad place to visit, either.

The second-smallest country in the world is now our host for the next week. We were in Larvotto, near the public beach in the northeast part of the Principality.

Our location wouldn’t have mattered much in terms of getting from one place to another – the Principality has a total area of three-quarters of one square mile – but for what Patty was doing, it was just the right place.

Larvotto was carved out of Monte Carlo. For a guy in need of a rest and simply needing to get away, it was the perfect location.

Waking up in our hotel room was nearly an out-of-body experience. I’m a veteran traveler through my years in the game and I have had my share of mornings where I woke up not entirely sure where I was.

This morning was different.

Our room had a wonderful view of the Mediterranean, and the natural wood in the place gave our little nest a very natural feel.

I leaned back into the overstuffed pillows, the bed’s silk sheets pulled up to my neck. It was just a bit chilly in the room – not enough to cause discomfort but just enough to make it perfect early-morning sleeping weather.

Patty lay in peaceful sleep to my left, facing me this time. I lay still, listening to the early-morning sounds of the sea through our open window.

This was how it was supposed to be.

Damn it all anyway.

Why on earth can’t I have more mornings like these?

What is it about me that attracts trouble like a magnet? All I want to do is be around a football pitch and love my family. That’s it.

Why is that so hard?

And more importantly, why does it take flying so far away from my home for me to realize this?

My mind was racing. At 6:12 in the morning, I would have preferred it have other things to do.

With my beautiful wife sleeping at my side, the last thing I wanted to think about was even more trouble.

It was just an opportunity to enjoy her beauty and simply try to forget about everything.

A peaceful thought must have gone through Patty’s head, as she smiled softly and changed position ever so slightly. A lock of her red hair changed position as she did, flopping across her forehead in a sudden change of style.

She continued to smile. Evidently, something was really pleasing her. I rolled to my left side and simply watched her sleep.

I thought back to my own dream, and wondered how I could still feel so haunted by it.

Then I looked at her, wondering if she was having a similar dream.

About me.

# # #

[ScottleeSV]

Always fancied going to Monte Carlo, and I love the tennis tournament there.

A very serene post that in the middle of all the madness

[copperhorse21]

I have made reference to Patty's physical appearance throughout the text at various points. She is tall (5'9"), with shoulder-length red hair, green eyes and obviously, a model's figure. Rob didn't do too badly, when all is said and done.

YESSSS!!!! I'm glad I've chosen well (well, close enough for government work) with Scarlett Johanssen as "Black Widow".

[tenthreeleader]

Scottlee, thank you. Serenity can be very hard to find sometimes. Copper, perhaps close enough for government work, but I have a definite face in mind for Patty and perhaps surprisingly, it's not Scarlett Johansson's.

___

She finally got up at about eight o’clock and prepared for her day. It was unhurried.

I envied her, frankly.

“We have to wait for the right light,” she explained. “The shoot is going to be on the beach starting at ten, which is when they want everything to happen.”

“What is it that’s happening, honey? You never really did tell me.”

“I’m shooting a maternity catalog,” she said, not without a bit of pride. “Today is swimwear, tomorrow is business wear, Thursday is evening wear.”

Her face lit up as she described her week. I felt like an idiot for wanting to deny her that.

It wasn’t the first time I’ve felt that way, and it probably won’t be the last.

I watched her rise from the bed, her stomach protruding just a little more than it had last week, and couldn’t help but smile.

This was the woman who had given me such suspicions? All of a sudden, it seemed odd.

She looked back over her shoulder at me, smiled, and headed into the bathroom to take a shower. She disappeared on the other side of the door, and then peeked her head around it.

I could see her robe fall off and to the floor. Her smile to me was deep and meaningful.

The shower engaged, and I leaned back into the mattress. This was contentment. It had been far too long.

# # #

I tagged along at a respectful distance.

Having never seen her on a modeling shoot before, I was curious. I was also watchful.

This was Monaco. What could possibly happen?

We walked together. It’s not at all uncommon to see famous people walking the streets of the Principality, so our presence was hardly noticed. And again, those who recognized the couple recognized her before they recognized me.

It’s amazing what a wildly successful photo shoot can accomplish in a person’s life.

The walk to the beach wasn’t long. The place isn’t that big.

Yet, when she arrived, it was like old home week. Many of the crew from her previous shoot were on this one too, so there was a degree of familiarity that put her at home right away.

They had a facility already set up where she could change from one outfit to another, and as photographers adjusted lights, she entered the tent set up near the rear of the beach.

It was cordoned off, and my arrival was greeted with indifference by those on the shooting set. It wasn’t greeted with such indifference by the security on site, though.

“I’m her husband,” I said, with a rueful grin and a flash of my wedding band.

So much for fame. It was Patty’s world, and I was just living in it.

I looked up and down the beach, taking in lungfuls of warm sea air as I did. It was just a really nice moment.

There was a very nice breeze coming off the sea as the cameramen set up their shots. It was going to fluff Patty’s hair perfectly, so everyone seemed pleased about that.

Her red mane was going to look glorious. So when she finally emerged, it was nearly to a trumpet fanfare.

It took about twenty minutes for her to emerge from the changing room in a very tasteful outfit. She wore a swimsuit that flattered her growing shape very well, but which contained a mesh top that hid as much of her pregnancy as it could.

She gave a dazzling smile to her photographers and I could tell that she hadn’t been alone in that tent. Her makeup was different, her hair was different, and her whole outlook seemed different.

She was happy. She walked to the water’s edge, conversed briefly with the three men with cameras, and began her work.

She was physically near to me, but at that moment she was a thousand miles away at the same time.

I watched her walking up and down the beach front, the water playing at her legs and feet as she walked. She didn’t have a care in the world – and she was going to be well paid for her walk up and down in the Mediterranean sand.

That’s the life. That is her life. It seemed at that moment to beat the hell out of mine.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Wednesday, October 7

The dream came back.

This time, though, it wasn’t Hardcastle I was pounding on. It was Emiliani, of all people.

This time I woke up with a smile on my face. It was just too comical to be true.

I don’t need to sneak up on my old media rival to hammer on him. Yet in the dream, that was what I did.

The rest of the dream repeated itself, too. I wound up in Alba Fulton’s arms again, which wasn’t what I had planned after yesterday’s contentment.

The day had gone really well. Yet Patty wasn’t in my dreams.

Fulton was.

That was starting to make me feel pretty odd.

Yeah, the Inspector is beautiful, but I’m married to a model who is having our child. You’d think that would be enough for me.

Yet there is something about that dream that makes it keep coming back. I wish I could figure out what it was.

I sent along the rest of the itinerary as I knew it to the Inspector this morning and received a friendly note back. We get along – that much is clear – but she has never intimated she was interested in a relationship with me and I’ve certainly never led her on.

Maybe that’s why I thought about Emiliani. I’m mad at him for making the insinuation. God knows I’d never think about him for any other reason.

This morning, though, I took counsel of my fears. Patty had gone for the morning and I was about to join her on the beach – when I started thinking.

She had said something peculiar when I showed her the e-mail last week and the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me.

Sitting on the veranda overlooking the sea, I pondered her exact words.

“..if you think I would leave you while I am carrying our baby…”

The words now seemed to scream themselves at me.

While she’s carrying the baby?

What about afterward?

I don’t trust Hardcastle any farther than I can throw him, and I am coming to the point where the people I truly do trust are becoming fewer and fewer in number.

I despise that man for what he wants to do to my family, and the more I thought about Patty’s words, the less I trusted.

‘What if she sees that?’ I thought to myself. ‘What if she decides that after all of this, I’m just not worth it to her?’

Lately, everything I say or think seems to have a double meaning. I don’t know if people mean what they say, or if there is a hidden meaning behind their words. I think I’m losing the ability to read people. That’s frightening.

I wonder if I’m losing my mind.

I sat and thought for most of the morning. That was even more frightening. Patty was gone, I couldn’t get my mind clear, and I sank with surprising speed into a morass of misery.

I leaned back on the mattress of the hotel bed, and then threw myself over into the pillows. I gave vent to my misery, digging my burning eyes into the soft white pillowcase. My tears flowed and my mind raced with words and phrases – whether or not they were the truth was now anyone’s guess.

She was on the beach, having a good time. I was in the hotel room, wondering if anyone in my life is telling me the truth.

I can handle the truth. I’d just like someone to tell it to me.

# # #

[Panpardus]

pffff, toughen up princess!

--

Great as always 10-3

[Balthazars]

The truth is out - RR is hot for Emiliani and secretly hates Fulton’s guts!

Also, great work this post. What RR has picked up on is exactly the kind of thing that I would pick up myself when I'm in a place where I'm doubting myself and those around me. The difference is subtle, but it is tangible!

[tenthreeleader]

Okay, housecleaning items here ... first, RR is neither a princess nor is he hot for Emiliani

However, Balty has hit on something important here. With everything going on around him, RR is on the edge and is in danger of sliding. Many of us have been to this place before at some point in our lives.

___

“That ought to get some results.”

Richmond leaned back in his high-backed office chair, curling his fingers comfortably around the ends of the armrests.

“I think you’re right,” his visitor said.

“Peter, you are a mess,” Richmond replied.

“Well, I have to admit I wouldn’t mind knowing who did this to me.”

McGuire still wore a bandage across his nose, and the bruises under his eyes had yet to fully subside. However, the surgeons were optimistic that even though he might look a bit odd at the moment, his face would eventually return to visage so many people knew and hated.

“I have taken steps,” Richmond said. “I’d like to know who did this to you as well.”

“Kind of you, Sidney,” McGuire answered sardonically.

“You are an employee and a limited partner,” Richmond said patiently. “I do not like to see key employees roughed up, or in your case beaten to within an inch of their lives.”

“So, do you have any ideas?” McGuire asked.

“None,” Richmond admitted.

McGuire sighed and leaned back in the guest chair across from Richmond’s polished wood desk.

“But you did give the ultimatum at the board meeting?”

“Yes. Ridgway got the message loud and clear.”

“Was it difficult?”

“Certainly not,” Richmond snorted. “Expectations are part of a manager’s job. And since the board likes winning, it was certainly not difficult for me to convince them that it should be expected to continue.”

He took a sip of coffee. “That is, continue at a rapid pace to meet our growth goals.”

“Do the board know what those goals are?”

“When I am in charge of the club, the goals will be made plain to them,” Richmond said. “For the time being, it is best that they not know. They simply defer to me on matters of finance. They trust me.”

With that, a half-smile crossed his face, and he took another sip from his cup.

McGuire had seen that smile before. It had always led to good news, but now he wasn’t so sure.

His aggressiveness was tempered by his bruises. With no real idea of who had attacked him, he wasn’t in a position where he could trust anyone.

His disagreements with Richmond over strategy had been frustrating to him. ‘I know Rob Ridgway’, he thought. ‘I know how to push his buttons.’

Why couldn’t Richmond see that? For crying out loud, there was only one thing standing in the way of all the financial success they could have possibly hoped for.

His name was Sir John Madejski. Ridgway was small potatoes and could be dismissed at leisure no matter how popular he was with the fans.

Fans get over things like that. It’s how things work in the world of bread and circuses.

There’s always another manager coming along, someone else to be the golden boy.

There’s always another fan favorite player, too. It’s the way of the game.

Yet for Richmond, there was only one Reading FC, and he wanted it. The rest be damned.

So the director’s half-smile now told McGuire something else.

Watch for him. Maybe he was the one.

# # #

[dechardonay]

Nice post! Love the idea of Richmond organising the beat-up, shows how nasty and ruthless he is. It's about time he stood up to be the big bad.

[tenthreeleader]

Richmond is a big bad, but we don't know yet whether he is in fact THE 'big bad'.

___

“Rob, wake up.”

Patty’s voice was insistent, so I thought I’d better listen.

I struggled to open my eyes, and I saw her bending over me.

“You’re a mess. What happened?”

“Just slept hard, I guess,” I moaned, rolling to my right side to face her.

“We didn’t see you on the shooting set today. Were you all right?”

I thought back to the misery I had felt this morning and how it seemed to have gone away now that she was here with me.

It seemed to hit me right then. All I needed was a little attention. From her.

When I get it, I’m fine. When I don’t for prolonged periods, I’m an absolute mess.

“No, hon, I wasn’t,” I said. “I wish I could say I was, but I’m just not.”

“Are you sick? Do we need to find you a doctor?”

“No, I’m not sick,” I sighed. “What I am is sick and tired. If you catch my drift.”

“Of what? You’re in Monaco, you’re with me, what more could you want?”

“The truth. That’s what I want. The truth.”

Her expression bordered on shock.

“Do you think I’m lying to you, Rob?” she asked. “Honestly?”

I took a deep breath.

“I’m just having a very hard time with how all this has gone down,” I said. “Read that e-mail from Hardcastle again. It said I would never have suspected a thing and he would have you. The inference there is that you knew.”

She said nothing.

“And then after that you said you wouldn’t leave me as long as you were carrying the baby.”

Now her eyes widened.

“Rob, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said.

“How was I to know unless I asked you?” I asked. “We don’t communicate any more. We say things past each other. Well, I want this out in the open.”

“You and Alba Fulton, too,” she said.

“You might have noticed that she isn’t here, and that I left England without her.”

“Doesn’t prove anything,” she said, “from my point of view.”

She paused.

“Let me look at your e-mail,” she said.

# # #

[WLKRAS]

Oh dear. Farewell Mr Ridgeway, it was nice knowing you...

[hertzvanrental]

Finally caught up after some time away, got straight back into it and I am left wanting more!

Good work as always 10-3, look forward to continued reading!

[tenthreeleader]

Gentlemen, thank you very much! Interesting days ahead

___

I handed my Blackberry to her and she flipped it into my sent mail folder. There were three e-mails to Fulton inside – one per day – and they were all quite businesslike.

She checked my trash folder.

I had no problem with this. I had nothing to hide.

There was a lot of e-mail to Downes and Dillon in it, but nothing to Fulton.

I looked at her.

“Well?” I asked.

“You could have emptied your trash to hide e-mail,” she said.

“Could have. Didn’t.”

She sighed, and handed me back my Blackberry. “Oh, Rob, I know I’m probably being unreasonable. But I can’t get past this, just like you can’t get past that e-mail you got.”

I nodded. I didn’t want to elaborate any further. It wouldn’t have done any good and would have just caused trouble anyhow. It wasn’t worth it to say she had suspiscions based on the press, while I had suspiscions based on something tangible.

But not necessarily provable.

I thought back to the source of the original e-mail – Kate Southerland McGuire, my former fiancée.

Divorced, with a bushel basket full of kids she loved but who had no father living with them due to his spectacular infidelity.

The woman who told me in Venice that she made a mistake in not marrying me.

Oh, God. No. Don’t bring Kate into it. Please.

# # #

Thursday, October 8

Another day, another … whatever it is Patty makes for a day of shooting.

We seemed to have found a DMZ in our conversation late last night. The very real possibility that Hardcastle’s e-mail is a complete set-up has entered my mind in the past, but our talk last night seemed to indicate that we might be able to trust each other again.

That was a good thing.

Oh, there have been flashes of normal married life, like the first morning we were here, but each time we make progress it seems like something happens to get in our way.

And always, it seems like the thing that happens to obstruct us isn’t of our doing. That’s maddening.

As a result, the first part of my vacation hasn’t been terribly restful. I’ve spent it either worrying or living on the beach with Patty and two dozen of her closest friends.

The only good thing I can say about it is that at least I’m not alone. I get to be that next week when we prepare to play Liverpool.

That’s a time when I will need absolute concentration – they are the first and so far the only league club to beat us on our home ground in my charge – so the match is very important to us. They are in the UEFA Cup this season thanks to our resurgence and they have both revenge and our Champions League place on their minds as a result.

Since their taking the first thing might lead to their also taking the second, I need to have my mind clear. That means at least trying to fix what is now wrong between me and my wife between now and Saturday, when I fly home.

That seems like quite a task.

No pressure or anything like that.

My mind was racing this morning. I managed to get out of bed just fine, though, without worrying about anything surrounding Patty. That was helpful.

This time, though, walking to the beach was a good thing. They were shooting some extra shots in swimwear before her evening shoot, so it was a full day.

I was appropriately dressed this time, and someone on her crew was kind enough to get a chair for me so I could watch the shoot without having to stand up all day.

It was an act of human kindness that was really appreciated.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“It’s good to have you back, Inspector.”

Fowler glowered at Fulton from behind his desk in London. The two were meeting for the first time since the Thames Valley DCI had been reassigned to the case. They were comparing notes.

“It’s good to be back, Commander.” Fulton’s expression in return showed her frustration.

“Any idea who nicked you?”

“Oh, I have my suspiscions,” she said. “It wasn’t helpful.”

“For either of us,” Fowler admitted.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t your fault.” Fowler had been overworked since Fulton had been pulled from the cases at hand. He sat back in his chair and rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes. Though it hadn’t been her fault, he had paid the price for someone’s indiscretion.

Fowler had to settle for coffee while indoors. He really wanted a smoke, but couldn’t light up inside. It would have to wait. Caffeine was good, but it was certainly no nicotine in terms of keeping his nerves steady and his eyes focused.

“What do you make of the news from Italy today?” Fulton asked. Fowler snapped back into the land of the living, pulled back from his wishful reverie by the younger officer’s question.

“Which would be?”

“The release of the two accomplices in the Patty Ridgway incident in Venice?”

“Hadn’t heard that,” Fowler said. “Has anyone told Mr. Ridgway or his security people?”

“Not that I’m aware of, it was only a few hours ago.”

Fowler leaned in. “Inspector, I suggest you detail your people to make that contact,” he demanded. “Your situation with the Ridgway family suggests it should not be you who makes that contact.”

While Fulton admired the Scotland Yard man’s skills, she was also not one to be patronized.

“I’m aware of the rules of propriety, Commander,” she said. “And since none of them have been broken, I’ll thank you to leave this to me.”

Fowler raised his eyebrows, having learned rather forcefully just how far he could push the detective. He had pushed too hard, and she had snapped back. She was a chief as well, and from her point of view it was high time she showed it.

“Very well, I meant no offense,” he said.

“You meant exactly that,” Fulton said, not quite done with him yet. “You meant to get a reaction out of me so you could read whether I really do have feelings for Rob Ridgway. I’m not stupid. I question the same way.”

“And what do you suppose I found out?” Fowler said.

“You got the answer you wanted to get,” Fulton replied.

“Good. Now, go and make your contact,” Fowler said, getting up from behind his desk. “I need a smoke.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

She did, but Fulton also had unfinished business.

Hardcastle sat across from the detective in an interview room at Thames Valley Police headquarters.

“I tell you, Inspector, I had nothing to do with that incident. I didn’t hire anyone to go to Peter McGuire’s flat, I didn’t beat him myself and I have no idea who stole that picture and mailed it to Ridgway.”

“Then tell me about Mr. McGuire’s natural enemies.”

“Where do I start?” Hardcastle asked. “Patty – I mean, Mrs. Ridgway – told me all about them.”

Fulton tried to stifle a frown at Hardcastle’s choice of words, but continued on with her questioning.

“You could try ‘from the beginning’,” she said.

Hardcastle nodded, trying to concentrate. “Of course, there’s Rob Ridgway. I tell you, Inspector, everyone sees that man as the golden boy around these parts, but honestly, he will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”

“Mr. Hardcastle, please stick to the facts,” Fulton said. “We know there was a failed business relationship between the two of you and we know that relationship failed, in part, because of Mrs. Ridgway.”

“I never once…”

“…that is not the issue here,” Fulton interrupted. “That is a purely personal matter unrelated to this line of questioning.”

Hardcastle smiled thinly in reply.

“Then what is the issue?” he asked. “Why have you dragged me in here today?”

“To have you answer my question, to which I would like to return,” Fulton said. “We know that both you and Mr. Richmond have issues with Mr. Ridgway. That’s hardly news. I want to know who else Mr. McGuire has problems getting along with.”

“Sidney Richmond,” Hardcastle said immediately. “That much I do know, since we both work for the man.”

“We are aware of that too,” Fulton said smoothly. “But please describe their relationship.”

“Love-hate,” Hardcastle said. “When Peter is able to make money for Sidney, they are best friends.”

He paused.

“But when McGuire gets in the way, particularly regarding Ridgway, Sidney finds a mean streak in him that frightens even me.”

He sat back in his chair, thinking such a statement from such an obviously tough man would have an impact.

Instead, Fulton simply ticked a mark in her notebook and looked at him again.

“Describe your own relationship with Sidney Richmond, please,” she said.

“Respectful,” Hardcastle said. “As I said, I work for the man. My company is owned by his, so I report my results to him.”

“And how long has your company been owned by his?” She already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from him.

“From 2007,” he said. “Long before I met anyone named Ridgway.”

Fulton nodded.

“Inspector, you’re fishing, even I can see that,” Hardcastle snapped. “Really, I had nothing to do with this McGuire incident. I can prove that through my personal logs and records. What is more, Inspector, you know that is true.”

Nonplussed, Fulton moved on to her next topic.

“Are you also able to explain the document initialed ‘SH’ and sent to Peter McGuire two days before the beating took place? The document that was then e-mailed to outside sources?”

“I don’t know anything about it.”

“It was sent from an IP address that corresponds to your Internet Service Provider.”

“IP theft happens and you could look it up.”

Fulton’s face did not change expression, but now she pounced.

“At the very least, Mr. Hardcastle, you are now asking me to believe that the owner of one of the leading private security services in Britain is unable to secure his own internet connection. Is that what you are telling me?”

Fulton, all five-foot-seven of her, had landed a verbal blow to Hardcastle’s solar plexus. She was not to be underestimated.

Fulton leaned back in her chair. The two sat on either side of a conference table that to Hardcastle now seemed very wide indeed.

Hardcastle was no longer ‘Hardman’. He was nervous.

He looked down at the table, as if studying its nicked-up woodgrain finish. He sat for a long moment.

“Yes, Inspector,” he finally said. “That is what I am asking you to believe. I did not send that note.”

Fulton wrote a quick note on a small pad of notebook paper. Some people still did things the old-fashioned way, and she was one of those. No ‘IP theft’ for her.

“You are also asking me to believe the truth of your computer-generated schedule and records regarding your whereabouts on the night in question, while also telling me that your computer network and systems are vulnerable to invasion and piracy.”

Hard right hand number two, this one to the jaw.

He swallowed hard, his confident demeanor gone.

“While I call my attorney, I am answering your question in the affirmative,” he said.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“She is getting close.”

Richmond peered down his pince-nez at the blotter on his huge mahogany desk. If he was frightened, he did a good job of masking that emotion.

“Close to what?”

“To making some potentially embarrassing allegations.”

“Peter, I’m surprised at you. Really, how I choose to conduct my business affairs is none of her business, and neither is it the business of the SFO as long as we haven’t done anything illegal. We are businessmen, Peter. We are still allowed to try to make money in this country.”

“All it will take is one leak,” McGuire cautioned. “And we’ve already had trouble with leaks.”

“Only because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut about Happy Day,” Richmond snorted. “The leak came from you.”

“Not quite my point, Sidney,” McGuire said. “Someone inside the operation is making trouble for us. The business about that e-mail is starting to become annoying.”

Richmond didn’t quite know how to reply to that.

“Peter, someone re-arranged your face and you have no idea who,” he finally said. “I should think that the matter of that e-mail would be more than annoyance to you.”

“I will wait for Inspector Fulton to make the necessary connections,” he said smoothly. “When the time comes, I’ll have my revenge on whomever did this. Don’t you worry about that.”

“Make certain that your revenge, when you take it, does not reflect negatively on me,” Richmond warned. “Believe me, Peter, if you do anything to interfere with the takeover of this club, you will rue the day.”

Richmond’s face assumed a slit-eyed expression that was made more daunting by the pince-nez now gripping his nose like a hawk’s talons.

The two men locked eyes. McGuire, who had already been through enough over the last few weeks, was not ready to back down.

“I have no intention of interfering,” he said. “I have every intention of taking revenge.”

He rose to leave.

“Now it’s time for you to believe me, Sidney,” he said. “I will have my revenge. And when I get it, it will be to the benefit of all of us.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Friday, October 9

So this is what depression feels like.

My days are filled with stratospheric highs and crushing lows. They come, sometimes, from moment to moment.

Today is my last day in Monaco before flying back to London tomorrow. The first set of international matches begin tomorrow, there’s another round Wednesday, and then we prepare to play Liverpool a week from tomorrow. That’s from a professional standpoint.

From a personal one, I’m at the point where none of that matters. Right now, I’m just a basket case.

All I wanted to do today was spend the day with my wife. I needed nothing more, and I certainly expected nothing less.

Yet I couldn’t have her time.

Despite her third and final day of shooting for the week being yesterday, her morning was tied up with a meeting of the photo group.

Understandably, she wants the final sign-off on any pictures of her that are to be published, and since today was a day for the photographers to begin the painstaking process of color correction on the images shot, she was going to have to be a part of that.

My frustration grew with every moment I couldn’t be with her.

Why on earth couldn’t someone in that group simply send her pictures to review? Why did she have to be standing over someone’s shoulder all morning while they ran digital raw images through a processing program?

Did she not care?

Did it not matter to her that her husband has needs too?

She called me at mid-morning to ask if I wanted to watch the process.

“No,” I said. “I want time with my wife.”

The frustration was bubbling under the surface of my mind and it just hurt more and more with each passing moment.

She seemed to brush off my request, which led me to start thinking about why she would do such a thing.

“She’s working,” I said to myself after we hung up. “You can’t infringe on that even if you are married to her.”

I found myself repeating the phrase. Over and over again.

I spent my time examining the wood grain in the wall of our hotel room. I imagined I saw faces in the swirls and found little patterns in the woodwork.

It wasn’t a fun time. All it would have taken would have been one visit, or at least an acknowledgement that yes, I’m important to her.

I was sliding emotionally, and I could feel it.

I could have gone out and pounded the pavement, walked from one side of Monaco to the other and back again a few times just to liven things up, but that wasn’t for me.

It hurt. It hurt so badly I couldn’t even describe it.

The stages of grief started to flash through my mind as I watched the day slowly pass by me. I imagined I could hold down a hand brake and stop the passage of time – a fun fantasy of course, with no actual basis in any sort of fact.

But it was nice to dream.

I looked at the fully stocked bar in the hotel room. Shaking a thought out of my head, I could almost see the walls starting to close in.

I looked again.

“Well, look at that,” I finally said. “A huge bar, lots of booze and nothing to do except sit on the balcony and watch the day go by. Maybe life isn’t so bad after all.”

I poured myself a scotch and water, with a lot of scotch and not so much water, and headed out onto the room’s veranda.

A cool breeze fluttered past my face. The Mediterranean was a bright and brilliant blue. It was simply a glorious fall afternoon in one of the most high-profile places on Earth.

Looking down at the sea beneath the window, I downed the drink in three long gulps.

# # #

[Dalbeider]

I poured myself a scotch and water, with a lot of scotch and not so much water, and headed out onto the room’s veranda.

Two potentially good ideas that, when put together, turn into a very, very bad one. Hang in there, Rob.

[tenthreeleader]

Yes, they are a very, very bad idea. Unfortunately, Rob knows it.

___

It wasn’t how I would have preferred to meet her.

Yet, there she was, in the lobby of the hotel.

Fulton stood next to Fowler and greeted me, the Reading manager, who was drunk as a skunk.

They had flown from Heathrow yesterday evening, after her meeting with Hardcastle. They had traveled in a hurry.

Fowler’s idea of making a phone call had turned into a need to visit and to consult.

“Can we please go to my room?” I slurred. “I really don’t want people to see me like this.”

“Of course,” Fowler said, and they walked – while I weaved – to the elevator.

“I’m very sorry,” I said. “Last day here and all.”

“And you are in a state of flux,” Fowler said in perhaps the understatement of the year. “We do need to speak, all of us.”

Fighting for control of my lightened head, I produced the swipe key to the room and soon we were seated around the conference table.

“Where is your wife?” Fowler asked.

“Damned if I know,” I said, in a sudden fit of pique. “She had to look at her pictures today so she’s probably with the photographers. I don’t know where she is.”

“Could you call her?” Fulton asked. “It’s important we have this conversation with the two of you together.”

“I could, but I don’t want her to see me like this,” I said.

“That’s not her fault,” Fowler said with a tinge of self-rightousness I could do nothing about. “You did the drinking.”

“I can’t argue that,” I finally said, reaching into my shirt pocket for my mobile phone. I dialed Patty’s phone number and wondered if she would answer.

“Hi,” I said by way of greeting. “Inspector Fowler and Commander Fulton are here from England and they are in our room. They say we need to talk.”

At that, the two officers looked at each other, knowing full well I was not in command of my faculties. I had interposed their ranks.

I hung up. “I’m sure she’ll be here as soon as she can,” I said. “Can I offer you a drink?”

“No, thanks,” Fowler said. “And you should probably ease up too, even though you’re in your room. Drinking alone is not healthy.”

“I’d love to drink with someone,” I sighed. The two officers looked at each other.

I sighed again, and leaned back in my chair. A few minutes passed with no one saying a word.

Finally, I spoke. “Ridgway never suspected a thing,” I said aloud, swirling the cubes around in my empty glass. The e-mail’s curse had returned.

I repeated the sentence, a little louder. At least, I think I did.

The two officers looked at each other. Then Fulton leaned in towards me.

“Mr. Ridgway, try to concentrate,” she said. “I know you are upset. But do you believe that the e-mail you opened contained a note that was actually from Steven Hardcastle to Peter McGuire?”

I took a deep breath before responding. Patty had just entered the room and had heard the question.

# # #

[Panpardus]

That could have been such a more interesting plot if had just of been Fulton who went to Monaco, and when Patty came in she was just in a bikini, but oh well

[Twizted_seed]

Choose your next words carefully Rob. They may be your last as king...

And a little later on Rob kicks Fowler in the chest down a hole screaming "THIS IS FOOTBAALLLLLLLLL!"

[gavrenwick]

That could have been such a more interesting plot if had just of been Fulton who went to Monaco, and when Patty came in she was just in a bikini, but oh well

And I thought it was... very disappointed.

Constant quality tenthree. I do oh so hate you sometimes.

[tenthreeleader]

Things are picking up ... Fulton in a bikini, Rob's last words as king ... unfortunately, drink makes Rob honest.

___

She stood in the doorway.

“Yes, I do believe that,” I said. Patty’s face fell.

“Mrs. Ridgway, please sit down,” Fowler said.

Patty entered the room, closing the door softly behind her.

She saw Fulton for the first time. They locked eyes.

“Mrs. Ridgway,” Fulton said formally, as both officers rose to greet her. Patty sat next to me and could not take her eyes off the inspector.

“Inspector Fulton,” Patty replied, as courtesy demanded. She nodded, but did not offer her hand.

“You looked like you wanted to elaborate,” Fowler said to me, changing the subject and allowing me to continue at the same time.

“We’ve already talked it through,” I said. “Patty swears up and down that nothing happened but I would not put it past that skunk Hardcastle to think he could get away with it. I do think he wants Patty, and I do think he believes McGuire does too. It wouldn’t be a great leap of logic to come to that conclusion.”

“Which brings me to the reason we are here,” Fowler said. “Mr. Hardcastle is not yet a person of interest in the beating of Mr. McGuire, though that status may come to him shortly. As of this time, he is still free to come and go as he pleases. We have learned that he has purchased a plane ticket from London to Bordeaux and flies out tomorrow.”

I looked at Patty, and she at me.

“We have reason to believe there may be trouble next week,” Fulton said. “What Mr. Hardcastle’s role is in this whole situation, no one can say.”

I sank into even more abject misery.

“Of course, I am flying out tomorrow,” I said.

“You have private security here,” Fowler said. “We have alerted them but the reason we have come here is to ask you both about your recollections of The Supporters.”

It was getting pretty complicated. Fulton elaborated, as Patty and I looked at each other with genuine surprise.

“We have reason to believe that the listening devices placed under your desk were feeding information to Italy, not to England,” she said.

“Why on earth…” I began. I was now starting to curse my decision to drink. I couldn’t think straight.

“We don’t know that yet,” Fowler said. “And it does seem counter-intuitive that your office would be the place they would choose to bug.”

“They don’t care about my team, I’m sure,” I said.

“Perhaps they do,” Fowler said. “I said it seemed counter-intuitive, but we think there may be a reason for it.”

At Patty’s invitation to continue, the Scotland Yard man told us the story.

“We have made enquiries as to the state of betting on Reading Football Club matches in Italy since you took charge of the club. We have traced large bets being placed on certain matches since you took over.”

“Which ones?” I asked.

“The Liverpool match at the end of last season, for one,” Fowler began. “Also, large bets were placed on the Paris St. Germain match in the Champions League and also on your league match against Manchester United at the start of this season.”

“You don’t suspect me?” I asked, incredulously.

“No,” Fulton said smoothly. “We don’t suspect you. We have made the necessary enquiries on that account – purely precautionary, we assure you – but the Serious Fraud Office is involved due to the betting patterns we discovered from Italy.”

“Why would a group like that want to bet from there?”

“Besides a lack of sophistication? It’s one way to bankroll operations,” Fowler explained. “Of course, there are others, but this one might have seemed less obvious to the authorities.”

So, it was going international. And it was the Italians. At least, so Fowler suspected.

Why was Hardcastle flying to France? What connection did he have? Those questions interested me more, for some odd reason.

“What is to be done about Hardcastle?” I asked.

“Your security will have to deal with him,” Fowler said. “We can’t, as he has committed no crime we can yet prove.”

I looked at Patty and she at me.

“I did warn you,” I reminded her. I lapsed into a sullen silence.

“We are going to liaise with the authorities here and in the Bordeaux area,” Fulton said. “Then we will fly home tomorrow. This case is starting to grow beyond both our capacity and our jurisdiction on the larger level, but we will continue to handle the McGuire case until events show it might be related to the larger story. We do not know if that will ever happen.”

“You may solve it first,” Patty said optimistically.

“We may,” Fulton said. “But it’s not likely. Evidence is showing that this is an immensely complicated case and there are many potential avenues it could travel before all is said and done.”

“Unsolveable?” I asked.

Fowler frowned.

“I don’t believe in that word,” he said immediately. “For the sake of your sanity, Mr. Ridgway, I suggest you don’t believe in it either. And while you’re at it, I further suggest that you start drinking some water. You won’t like flying with a hangover, believe me.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

They left the room, leaving me with my wife.

“Drinking, Rob,” she sighed. “It doesn’t solve anything and you knew I’d be back as soon as I could anyway!”

“No, I didn’t,” I countered. “You just didn’t seem interested.”

She looked at me, though this time with a different expression.

“Rob, you’re going to kill yourself if you aren’t careful,” she warned.

I waved her off. That was a mistake.

“Do you not think I’d care about that? Or that your child wouldn’t care about that?”

I looked at her, thickly, through alcohol-encrusted eyes. It was as though someone had put a piece of Saran Wrap between the two of us. I couldn’t focus on her face.

The sad fact was that right at that moment, I couldn’t answer her question the way she wanted. I couldn’t speak for the baby, obviously, but the way I was feeling at that moment, I had my doubts about Patty.

The wolf of depression was grabbing me in its jaws and shaking hard. Things were catching up to me at an alarming rate of speed.

It was not a good feeling, and alcohol, itself a depressant, wasn’t helping matters either.

I simply did not answer her question.

“Rob,” she said, “what do we do about this?”

“Well, you could have listened to me,” I said. “I was begging for time with you today.”

“And now you have it, but you’re too drunk to use it,” she said. “I would have hoped for a better reaction from you.”

“So would I, Patty,” I said. “So would I.”

My chin sank onto my chest. I was miserable. She didn’t seem to want to accept any responsibility and that only made it worse.

“I came here to spend time with you,” I finally said. “I came here so I could forget about Hardcastle and all the crap that goes with him wherever he goes. Now, when I am ready to leave, I can’t spend time with you and he’s coming here. Why is that, Patty? Can you tell me why he’s coming here right at the time I’m leaving? Is there a coincidence there I should know about?”

“No, Rob, I can’t tell you that,” she said. “That’s because I don’t know. And no, there is nothing for me to tell you about him. Nothing ever happened and nothing ever will. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that before you believe me!”

“Look, all I have to go on is that e-mail,” I said. “I can’t get that out of my mind. He said I would never suspect a thing, Patty. Now, whether that means you had anything with him, I can’t say. Only you can say and you have told me you didn’t.”

“So I believe that. But I don’t believe him. Now I have to think he’s coming here for the purpose of finding you, when he knows I’m going to be in England. Don’t think for a moment that he doesn’t know what my plans are. So the question is, what are you going to do about it?”

She looked at me, and for once my blue eyes did not back down from her green eyes. I wanted an answer and I wasn’t going to be put off.

“I’m going to tell the security to make sure he doesn’t approach me,” she said.

“And your phone? And your e-mail? Both of which he knows?”

“Rob, this is ridiculous.”

“Is it? From the woman who searched my personal e-mail to look for notes to and from Inspector Fulton? Is it really that ridiculous?”

“I can block his domain, I guess, and block his number.”

“Good idea.”

“And perhaps I could have Freddie communicate with him to tell him to stay away.”

“Better idea.”

Just then, a buzz came from Patty’s purse. She hadn’t brought it with her to her working day, and it was lying on the counter by the bar.

I got up to hand it to her. Her Blackberry was buzzing.

Naturally, I dropped the purse, and its contents spilled all over the floor.

“Oh, Rob,” she sighed, moving to my side to pick things up.

I picked up the blackberry. She had an e-mail.

It came from "Hardman". The subject line was “Hi, Princess!”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

I handed her the phone.

“Here you go, Princess,” I said. “You might want to check your e-mail from Hardman.”

Patty’s face lost its color and she sat heavily onto the floor.

“Rob, it’s not what you think,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, the sarcasm dripping from my words. “It’s not what I think. But maybe you should tell me what I ought to think. Would that work for you?”

“I don’t know what to say,” she said.

“How about you open it and we read it together?” I asked.

My heart was thundering in my chest and I wanted nothing more than to run to the bathroom and get rid of the scotch I had been drinking all afternoon.

It was a nauseating feeling.

“Okay,” she said, her voice quivering. “I have nothing to hide.”

She opened the e-mail and handed her Blackberry to me. I read the message aloud while she buried her face in her hands:

Patty:

Want to to let you know that I’m on my way to Bordeaux. I know you’re shooting and I know you’ve got things to do but I didn’t like the way things ended with us and I’m hoping we can talk that through.

To be honest, I don’t like the thought of you being protected by someone other than me while you’re frightened to be away from home. I hope you don’t mind that.

Meet me for dinner while I’m there? I want to make this right. Please let me try to get this fixed. It’s important to me and I know it’s important to you too.

You have been on my mind. I hope your shoot is going well.

Princess, and her friendship, are important to me.

Yours,

Steven

“Yours, Steven,” I repeated, handing her back the Blackberry. “Go ahead and respond. I’ll be curious to read what you write.”

[copperhorse21]

Me too! Really nice job with this story arc, tenthree...well done.

[tenthreeleader]

Why, thank you, my friend

___

My anger was masked, to a point, by the alcohol in my system.

My quiet response was an indication to Patty that I was very, very angry. Alcohol quiets me down and my measured response was an indication that she was on very dangerous ground.

“You want me to respond?” she asked. “I thought you wanted me to block him.”

“He’s coming to look for you, Princess,” I said, twisting the knife slowly. “You want to see him? Go ahead and tell him. I’m sure you’ll make his day.”

Her eyes flashed with indignation. “I do not want to see him, Rob!” she insisted.

“Then say so. Once and for all. By the way, I’m now staying overnight and going back Sunday. I want to be here when this jerk arrives.”

She started texting a reply, thinking hard as she wrote.

Steven:

Come again? You know I can’t and won’t meet you for dinner. The idea that I would do such a thing is presumptuous and presumes a familiarity I have never granted you.

To be honest, it is true that I placed a great deal of trust in you and always felt safe under your company’s protection. However, my husband made the decision he made and we must abide by it.

My answer is this: I will give instructions to my present security not to allow you near me without escort. Rob insists on it and his word is the law.

Agency shoots are hard enough.

After your note, I should inform you that the police, and Rob, will be here for your arrival tomorrow. While you know I enjoy your company as a friend, I must shoot down any notion you might have about being anything more than that. I am a married woman and I insist that you respect that.

Rob was under great distress, and understandably so, after reading the title of your e-mail, even though it was your personal nickname for me.

Leaves a bad taste in his mouth and I don’t blame him. Such a nickname, if it ever was appropriate in the past, is no longer so and I must insist that you stop it. All this said, you remain my friend and I hope you are well.

Best wishes,

Patty

She hit the ‘send’ button. It was the least she could do, but the damage had been done.

# # #

In a hotel room in Bordeaux, Hardcastle checked his e-mail that evening. He saw Patty’s reply.

He opened the mail, and read the contents.

He shut off his phone and went to sleep.

# # #

[gavrenwick]

Why, thank you, my friend

___

My anger was masked, to a point, by the alcohol in my system.

My quiet response was an indication to Patty that I was very, very angry. Alcohol quiets me down and my measured response was an indication that she was on very dangerous ground.

“You want me to respond?” she asked. “I thought you wanted me to block him.”

“He’s coming to look for you, Princess,” I said, twisting the knife slowly. “You want to see him? Go ahead and tell him. I’m sure you’ll make his day.”

Her eyes flashed with indignation. “I do not want to see him, Rob!” she insisted.

“Then say so. Once and for all. By the way, I’m now staying overnight and going back Sunday. I want to be here when this jerk arrives.”

She started texting a reply, thinking hard as she wrote.

She hit the ‘send’ button. It was the least she could do, but the damage had been done.

# # #

In a hotel room in Bordeaux, Hardcastle checked his e-mail that evening. He saw Patty’s reply.

He opened the mail, and read the contents.

He shut off his phone and went to sleep.

# # #

I know this won't end well. Men don't take kindly to such rejection.

[tenthreeleader]

Thanks, Gav ... we will see how well you foreshadow me

Just a note to all ... this thread passed 50,000 views yesterday and I want to thank everyone who has read and posted so loyally to Rat Pack over the last twenty-two months. You do make it fun for me to write this ongoing story and I appreciate your readership!

____

Saturday, October 10

Fowler is not a happy man.

My revelation that I was going to stay over for Hardcastle’s arrival threw a spanner into his plans, as they might say on this side of the Atlantic.

They wanted to keep me from killing Hardcastle on the off chance we would have met. It was amazing how quickly I sobered up once the e-mail exchange between my wife and ‘Hardman’ had taken place.

Not surprisingly, Patty was on tenterhooks all evening. She even offered to get a different room to sleep in and for a moment I seriously considered taking her up on the offer.

I sat in a lounger, looking out over the sea, while the sun set. My face was the same color red as the sky.

Anger is a really good tool to get me focused. I don’t blow my stack often but when I do it tends to be the stuff of legend.

Had I felt angry enough to do sleep apart from her last night, I would have found a different room myself. My anger was directed at Hardcastle.

She had sent him the reply e-mail and her purse had stayed quiet.

That was a good thing. She had stayed in the room with me, giving me the time she thought I wanted. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

In the end, though, she had gone to bed and actually invited me to cuddle her when I climbed in alongside.

I won’t say that felt odd, but I would say that she was more clingy than usual as we lay together in the king-sized bed.

“Rob, I’m sorry,” she pleaded. “Honestly. I can’t control what he writes to me.”

“You did what you could,” I sighed. “I am very angry with the thought that he can be so familiar with you, though.”

“I didn’t encourage it,” she insisted. “He started calling me Princess one day and I asked him to stop it, but he liked to tease me with it because of all the looks we’d get when we were out on my appearances.”

“Well, it’s a good thing he can tease you,” I said.

“Rob, please. I’m as heartsick about this as you are.”

I shrugged, thankfully in the dark, and we went to sleep.

# # #

It was fun just hanging around today waiting to see what would happen.

I confess that the thought of meeting Hardcastle face to face with a policeman nearby was satisfying to me.

That didn’t give me carte-blanche, of course, but it did allow me the ability to relax a little bit.

It was all I could do not to go to the hotel lobby and just sit there with a newspaper and wait. All day. I’d rather have carried a baseball bat, but I guess you can’t have everything.

Unfortunately, nothing happened. He never set foot in the hotel, and as a result the day was rather an anticlimax.

I did have some quiet time with Patty, though, and before long I was headed back to Bordeaux to fly out for London and home.

I looked at Patty as we said goodbye at the airport. This time she seemed more interested in meeting my need.

“Only a week, Rob,” she said, as she kissed me goodbye. “I’ll be home a week from tonight.”

“I can’t wait,” I said. “I’d just like to shut up the house for a week and not do anything we don’t want to do.”

“Suits me just fine,” she said. With that, I headed for the jetway.

# # #

[WelshWolf]

... you are thanking us. Hold on. That is wrong. If anything we should be dedicating an asteroid or something to you for all that you have done. Truly, this is a masterpiece and I have enjoyed reading it so much that, even though I know it will, I hope it NEVER ends.

As for the present story arc, you have pulled it off sublimely and to be honest I am enjoying the personal side of the story more than that football at the moment.

Have you ever had a book published? Cause if you havent, I'd think about looking into it.

Bravo, and thanks for sharing

[dechardonay]

Hardcastle's totally going to be investigating the Supporters and he's going to save Patty and he has no designs on Patty because THOR IS GAY!!!

[nette000]

That would be a nice twist. I wonder how RR would react if that were the case and Mr. Hardcastle had a crush on him. However, we'll just have to wait and see what devious twists TTL has (again) in store.

[tenthreeleader]

WW, thanks so much for your kind words. An asteroid named Ridgway would have to collide with an asteroid named Richmond and they'd probably destroy each other. To answer your question, I did approach a publisher with a line-edited version of Calcio and there was interest. So that is a project I'm still working on (and it's one reason why I am only working one story on this board at the present time).

As for Nette and dechardonay, all I can say is this: I've got awards from this group and you are more creative than I am

____

By pure chance, I shared a row on the plane with Fulton and Fowler. I had the aisle and Fulton had the window.

So if anyone said anything, we had a Scotland Yard chaperone sitting right between us.

The conversation we had was actually quite interesting. There was nothing to fear for me by talking with them personally, and even though they couldn’t divulge any particulars or details about the investigation, they were able to talk with me about their jobs in general as the plane reached cruising altitude.

“You probably haven’t spent this much time around football clubs,” I said.

“Frankly, no,” Fowler said. “I’m not much of a fan, I’m afraid, though Inspector Fulton here does follow your club.”

“Purely a sporting interest, of course,” she said, with just the hint of a smile on her face.

“Naturally.” I returned the hint of her smile and leaned back in my seat.

“It’s an interesting case, though,” Fowler said, in as close to a disclosure as he was willing to make. “A challenge, but we do think we’re getting a leg up on all this.”

“Happy to hear it,” I replied. “I wouldn’t mind getting everything back to normal soon.”

The seat belt light then turned off.

“Naturally,” Fowler said, literally equal to my words. “If you would excuse me for a moment, I need to use the facilities and I’ve been waiting for my chance.”

The commander squeezed around me and headed to the rear of the plane.

“Mr. Ridgway, you said there was an e-mail exchange between Mr. Hardcastle and your wife in addition to what we told you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I nodded.

“You wouldn’t happen to have those e-mails, would you?”

“I would,” I said. “I had Patty blind copy me on her response to Hardcastle. I saved them as text.”

“Would you mind?”

She extended her hand. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I opened the file and handed my blackberry to her.

She perused the notes, evidently searching for a specific piece of information, and suddenly her eyebrows shot up.

“Mr. Ridgway, did these e-mails seem odd to you at all?” she asked.

“Other than that they existed in the first place, no,” I said.

“Perhaps this is coincidence…” she began, and then flipped to the other note.

“Mr. Ridgway…”

I looked over at the inspector. Her face wore a sad expression.

“At first I thought it was just coincidence, but upon reading both messages, I must conclude otherwise,” she said. “Steven Hardcastle will become a person of interest in the McGuire beating as soon as we land.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

She handed me back my blackberry. “I can’t tell you why, but it’s possible you might figure it out for yourself,” she said. “All I can say to you is that I am sorry.”

# # #

[Balthazars]

.... *blinks*

Is Patty behind McGuire's beating, because she hired Hardcastle to do it?

(and if that's true, I totally don't mean to blow your plot reveal!!)

Also, RR and Hardcastle will never work. Because we all know RR is hot for Emiliani!

[stoehrst]

Oh boy, the baby isn't his.

[Balthazars]

Oh boy, the baby isn't his.

I admit this was the second idea that came into my head. I only doubted because I thought that Hardcastle only came into the story after she was confirmed pregnant a second time, but I can't recall that properly so maybe....

Damnit, 10-3.

[chesterfan2]

Remains one of the best stories on here. Good work fella. Carry On.

[tenthreeleader]

Thanks for the comments, fellows. As they say, the plot thickens...it does not hurt to have a scorecard to follow plot turns from time to time.

___

I stared at my Blackberry and wondered what Fulton could possibly have seen.

She’s a DCI. She makes a habit of seeing things other people do not.

For a time, I looked at both notes as the plane flew on. They seemed pretty straightforward to me. She had made the hint, and I had to figure out what she meant.

It was torture. But it was necessary.

The notes still seemed straightforward as I read. That is, until I re-read Patty’s reply.

Her prose seemed awkward. Then, it hit me.

My face white, I read Hardcastle’s note again, and then Patty’s reply once more.

I buried my face in my hands and began to cry.

Fulton looked over at me, an expression of pity on her face.

“Mr. Ridgway, I’m sorry to have been the one to tell you,” she said. “Perhaps there’s a place where you can be alone.”

“On a plane?” I asked. “The only place is the men’s room and I can’t tie that up.”

I leaned back in my chair, sliding my Blackberry back into my pocket. I rested my hands on the armrests and stared blankly at the ceiling of the plane. Right then I didn’t care if it crashed.

Tears rolled down my cheeks.

Fulton looked toward the back of the plane, and then reached for my hand.

“At least you know,” she said, offering a piece of surprisingly personal advice. Our hands touched, and I looked at her like I was drowning.

I tried to focus on her face through my tears, as she held my hand firmly.

I opened my fingers and the Inspector interlaced her fingers tightly with mine.

“It’ll be all right,” she said. “But after this moment, I need to take myself off this case. You need someone to talk to and right now I’m that person. But I can’t be an officer on this case any longer. I know you understand.”

Fowler returned and saw Fulton comforting me.

“Alba, what’s happening here?” he asked.

“Mr. Ridgway has received very bad news,” she said. “I don’t know if I can serve on this case any longer as a result.”

“What did you find?” Fowler asked.

I handed him my Blackberry.

“Read the first word in each paragraph of both messages, including the greetings, starting with Mr. Hardcastle’s,” Fulton said. “Ignore the closes.”

He did.

# # #

[viperk1]

Holy.... I've just done the same thing that Fowler has, and I am disgusted by Patty.

Rob needs to ditch her - fast Scheming *****.

I had thought your characters had made grammar errors in the last sentences of each text - but now I see why. Clever play, 10-3 - you shrewd devil you

[Gricehead]

flipping excellent

Almost killed me waiting for that particular cliff hanger.

[WLKRAS]

Bloody hell

[Dalbeider]

Bloody hell

My thoughts exactly. I tried to look for something similar after yesterday's post, but never thought about this exact method.

...and still my mind keeps thinking "this is too evident, there's something else we haven't seen yet". There's another twist coming, I'm sure of that.

[Twizted_seed]

Wait. Hardcastle is an ex-SAS yeah? And those Italian twits have just been released from jail right? Could SHE be lining up an operation with Hardcastle?

[mametz1536]

more twists than a Curly Wurly - excellent.

[stoehrst]

My vote: Kill him slowly, while she watches, then kill her.

Modern science MAY be able to save the baby, should it be Rob's.