Professionals
​
- 2 -
​
Bodie was woken, abruptly, at five thirty, the next morning, by the rattle of the milk float as it delivered milk along the street. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was, but then his senses cleared and he glanced across at Doyle who was still asleep, obviously so used to the truck’s daily arrival that it didn’t disturb him.
​
Bodie stood up and crossed to the window to peer out through the crack in the middle of the curtains. The first glow of dawn was beginning in the East, and Bodie could just make out the silhouette of the policeman on the corner of the street
​
He let the curtain drop and crept into the kitchen to plug in the kettle. He made a cup of coffee and went back to the armchair to drink it, studying Doyle as he sipped it. He didn’t seem to have moved all night. A dark shadow of stubble covered his jaw, and his unruly curls were even more tangled than usual. The grey pallor or shock had faded from his complexion, but his face still looked pinched.
​
Bodie finished the coffee and went upstairs to wash and freshen up. In the bathroom cabinet he found a pack of disposable razors and helped himself to one. He stripped off his polo necked sweater and washed and shaved before re-dressing and combing his hair. Then, he went back downstairs to see if Doyle had anything in the larder for breakfast. He’d only had a pizza in the last twenty four hours and he was famished.
​
He plugged in the kettle for another cup of coffee and picked up the mug Cowley had used the previous night, intending to wash it. He ran water into the sink and put the two mugs into it. He decided to have some cereal for breakfast, and poured some into a bowl. He delved in a drawer and found a dessert spoon but, as he picked it up, it slipped through his fingers and clattered onto the tiled floor.
​
“Shit!” he muttered, going to the door and peering anxiously around the frame at Doyle, who had woken with a start at the unexpected noise. He half rose from the sofa, automatically reaching for the gun that Bodie had removed from his holster after he’d fallen asleep. Then, recognizing Bodie, he sank back down and raked his hands up through his hair.
​
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Bodie said apologetically.
​
Doyle looked at him, wondering for a moment what he was doing there. Then his senses cleared and the events of the previous day came flooding back to him. He tilted his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes in anguish.
​
Bodie went back into the kitchen and made two mugs of coffee, putting extra sugar in Doyle’s.
​
He went back into the lounge and put his own cup by the side of the armchair before leaning over and touching Doyle’s arm. Doyle opened his eyes.
​
“Here.” Bodie held out the other mug.
​
Doyle eyed it momentarily before reaching out to take it. Bodie went to sit down while Doyle took a sip of the coffee.
​
“How’re you doing?” Bodie ventured. It was a stupid question but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Doyle ploughed his free hand into his hair and closed his eyes, giving a brief shake of his head.
​
“I’m sorry, Ray.” said Bodie, “I wish I hadn’t been the one to have to tell you…” he trailed off, studying his face.
​
“Was it… Mottola’s men?” Doyle’s voice was barely a whisper.
​
Bodie sighed. “I don’t know… Cowley will have more information later.”
​
Doyle lolled his head back against the sofa and, closing his eyes, rolled it slowly from side to side.
​
Bodie reached over and took the cup from his hand as it began to tilt sideways, threatening to spill its contents all over the sofa.
​
Doyle opened his eyes and looked at him.
​
“Why don’t you go to bed for a while?” Bodie suggested.
​
Doyle thought for a moment and then gave a vague nod. He got unsteadily to his feet and headed towards the stairs. When Bodie looked in on him half an hour later, Doyle was lying on top of the bed staring vacantly up at the ceiling.
​
As he approached the bed, Bodie could see tears damp on his cheeks.
​
Doyle rolled onto his side, his back to Bodie, drawing his knees up in a foetal position.
​
“Ray… I…”
​
“Leave me alone.” croaked Doyle.
​
“I don’t think…” Bodie began, but Doyle spoke over him, his voice hoarse with emotion.
​
“Go away, Bodie… please.”
​
Bodie stood there for a moment, before giving a sigh and leaving the room.
​
He went back to the kitchen and poured some milk onto the cereal he’d earlier put out, and carried the bowl back into the lounge. He stopped to switch on the T.V. before sitting down to eat the cereal as he watched an early morning world news programme, but his attention was only half on the T.V. as he brooded on the previous days events.
At nine a.m. the doorbell rang. Bodie opened it, to see Cowley standing there.
​
“Morning, Bodie.” he said, pulling off his tan leather driving gloves.
​
“Morning, sir.” Bodie stepped aside to allow him in, noticing, as he did so, that a different policeman had now taken over the watch at the street corner.
​
He closed and bolted the door and turned to face Cowley, who said, “I’ll get someone to come over and fix that.” nodding towards the damaged door.
​
Bodie nodded. “I was going to sort it later.”
​
“How’s Doyle?” Cowley asked, unbuttoning his camel hair overcoat. His dark eyes swept briefly over Bodie’s face, giving nothing away but seeing all. Despite Bodie’s businesslike manner, Cowley could tell he was stressed out by what had happened.
​
Bodie sighed. “Wiped out.”
​
Cowley nodded, for once not picking him up over his use of slang. From what he’d seen the previous night, ‘wiped out’ was an apt description.
​
“He slept through until about six a.m. but he’s still pretty shocked, so I suggested he go to bed for a while.” Bodie continued, “Would you like some coffee?” he enquired.
​
“Yes, thank you.” Cowley took off his overcoat and sat down on the sofa while Bodie made the coffee.
​
“Thank you.” he said, taking the mug Bodie offered him, studying him as he crossed to sit in the armchair, “And how are you?”
​
Bodie gave him a brief, startled look. “I’m fine, sir.”
​
Cowley’s one eyebrow lifted, fractionally, but he made no comment.
​
“You don’t mind staying here for a day or two? I can get one of the other men to relieve you, but I think Doyle would prefer for you to be here.”
​
“I don’t know about that. He told me to go away and leave him alone earlier.”
​
“Not an unexpected reaction. Doyle’s always been the type to hide away and brood when he’s upset about something.” observed Cowley.
​
Bodie gave him a quizzical look, surprised at how well Cowley knew all the nuances of his men’s characters.
​
“Which is why I haven’t told any of the men about how this has affected him.” Cowley continued, “It would only embarrass him.”
​
Bodie nodded. “Any news on who’s responsible?”
​
Cowley nodded. “We had the neighbour check out the mug shots of all he guys that we know are working for Mottola. She made a positive I.D.”
​
“On who?”
​
“Gianni DiCaprio. But that information is strictly between you and I for the moment. Understood?”
​
Bodie nodded. “Yes, sir.”
​
We’ve contacted Miss McKenna’s parents.” Cowley continued.
​
“How’d they take it?”
​
“As you’d expect.” said Cowley. He drained his cup and put it down on the coffee table, “I’d like to see Doyle before I leave.”
​
“I don’t think he’s in the mood for visitors right now.” Bodie began, but, at Cowley’s hard stare, got to his feet, “This way.” he said, leading the way upstairs and indicating Doyle’s bedroom.
​
Cowley nodded his thanks, effectively dismissing him, and entered the room.
​
With a sigh, Bodie went back downstairs.
​
​
In the bedroom, Doyle was still lying on his side, one arm thrown around a pillow, into which his face was buried.
​
Cowley crossed to the bed and looked down at him with an expression of concern and compassion that would have shocked the men at HQ.
​
“Doyle.” He said quietly.
​
When Doyle made no response, Cowley touched his shoulder and said in a firmer voice, “Doyle.”
​
Doyle responded to the authority in his chief’s voice and, wiping his face on his sleeve, sat up, drawing his knees up and resting his elbows on them, his hands hanging limply down in between them. But he kept his head bowed and refused to look at Cowley as he said, gruffly, “Sir?”
​
“I’m sorry about what happened to Miss McKenna," Cowley said quietly. He saw Doyle’s shoulders jump as he choked down a sob, “and however much… leave... you need… is no problem.”
​
“Sir.” Doyle muttered, his head still bowed.
​
Cowley sighed. “I know what you’re going through, Ray.”
​
“No, you don’t.” Doyle cut in, his voice breaking.
​
“Yes,” Cowley continued, “I know this isn’t the first time you’ve… lost someone… because of your work… and I know you’re angry and bitter.”
​
Doyle said nothing.
​
“No-one at HQ will hear about this from me, or Bodie, and whatever you choose to tell them is entirely up to you, and will have my full support.”
“How about if I tell them they should quit, before they lose everything in life that they hold dear.” snapped Doyle, his tone bordering on hysteria.
​
Cowley sighed. “They know the score. So do you. Otherwise you’d have quit after Andy Payne was killed.”
​
Doyle said nothing.
​
After a long moment’s silence, during which Cowley studied Doyle anxiously, he put a hand on Doyle’s shoulder and said quietly. “If you want to talk things through… when you’re feeling calmer… my door is always open.
​
Doyle gave a vague nod, too choked to speak.
​
Presently, Cowley said. “Do you want me to find out when the funeral will be?”
​
Doyle nodded again, with a choked, “Please.”
​
“Very well.” Cowley removed his hand from Doyle’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about returning to duty until at least after then.” he told him, “I’ve asked Bodie to stay with you for a day or two, until you get yourself together.”
​
“There’s… no… need.” Doyle ground out, “I’ll be… alright. It’s all… just been a… bit of a shock…”
​
“I know.” said Cowley, “But, Bodie stays, on my orders.”
​
Doyle didn’t reply.
​
“You take care now.” said Cowley, as he headed for the door.
​
Doyle said nothing, seeming unaware of Cowley’s departure as he sat, hunched, on the bed.
​
Cowley left the room and went back downstairs.
​
Bodie stood up as he entered the room, only vaguely surprised at the look of Fatherly concern he caught on Cowley’s face before he quickly rearranged his features into their usual business-like expression.
​
“I’ve told him not to come back to work until at least after the funeral.” Cowley told him, “I’ll let you know when that is. In the meantime, I want you to stay with him. He says he’s alright, but he’s in a very fragile emotional state at the moment and I don’t think he should be left on his own.”
​
“Sir.” said Bodie.
​
“If you want to go home and get a few clothes, I’ll stay a while.”
“Yes, thank you.” said Bodie.
​
As Bodie left the house, Cowley seated himself on the sofa and began making phone calls. When he returned, and hour and a half later, a man was busy repairing Doyle’s front door.
​
“I’m sorry to burden you with this, Bodie.” Cowley told him, as he got up to leave, “I know you’d rather be out in the action, but the fewer people who see Doyle in this state, the better he’d like it, I think.”
​
“Yes, sir. It’s no problem.” said Bodie, although the thought of being stuck here for the next few days didn’t appeal to him much. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about what Doyle was going through, or want to help, he just didn’t know how.
​
“I told Doyle that my door is always open if he feels the need to talk things through.” Cowley told him, “That applies to you too.” he added, with a pointed look at Bodie that brought a flush to his cheeks. Bodie liked to remain mysterious and aloof. His chequered past he kept a closely guarded secret and he hid his emotions on all except the very rarest of occasions, and he was mortified that Cowley could easily see how much this situation was getting to him.
​
Doyle spent the remainder of that day shut away in his room. Bodie left him alone until the early evening, when he took some food up to him on a tray.
​
As he entered the room, Doyle was lying on the bed gazing at the wall.
​
“How’re you doing?” Bodie asked, as he set down the tray.
​
Doyle lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
​
“I brought you something to eat.
​
“I’m not hungry.” muttered Doyle.
​
I know, but you haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. You’ve got to have something to keep your strength up.”
​
Doyle gave a brief shake of his head, his expression saying ‘What for?’
​
“Come on, Ray, please. I’ll get hell from Cowley if I let you get sick. You wouldn’t want to put me through that, would you?” pleaded Bodie, putting on his best soulful look.
​
As distressed as he was, the humour in Bodie’s tone wasn’t lost on Doyle, and, after a moment, he picked up one of the sandwiches that Bodie had prepared for him and took a small bite. Bodie gave an audible sigh of relief.
​
​
Cowley phoned, the next morning, to say that the funeral had been arranged for that Thursday and that he’d notified Julia’s parents that Doyle planned to attend.
​
“Someone should go with him.” said Cowley, “Will you go? I will if you don’t want to.”
​
Bodie sighed. He hated funerals, but felt obligated.
​
“No, it’s alright, I’ll go.” he replied.
​
​
​
Doyle was quiet and withdrawn all week, but was particularly tense on the morning of the funeral.
​
He came down dressed in a dark grey suit, white shirt and black tie. He’d shaved, for the first time that week, and his freshly washed hair was as neatly combed as Doyle’s unruly curls ever got.
​
Bodie had been home to fetch his own charcoal coloured suit and, at 11.15am, they set off in Bodie’s car for the church, which on the opposite bank of the Thames.
​
Doyle had met Julia’s parents only three weeks before, and, when they arrived at the church, they came over to speak to him.
​
“I’m so sorry.” Doyle said to them, his voice hoarse with emotion. He’d been afraid that they would blame him for her death but her Mother put her arms round him and kissed his cheek.
​
“You mustn’t blame yourself.” she told him, “We’re just glad that she found happiness before…” she broke off, shaking her head, before saying, “All she talked about was you… She was so looking forward to you two getting engaged.”
​
“So was I.” croaked Doyle, fighting back tears, “I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.” he choked.
​
Bodie, who had moved away, out of earshot, to give them some privacy, joined them again with a startled look to Doyle as he overhead his words. He’d had no idea that Doyle’s and Julia’s relationship had developed as far as discussing getting engaged.
​
Doyle stood, stiffly, throughout the ceremony, his face set like a stone carving. When the ceremony was over, they all moved out into the churchyard for the burial.
As they walked along, behind the little flower covered trolley that bore the coffin out to the gravesite, Doyle’s composure began to slip, the stony mask beginning to crumble as he looked at the coffin containing his lovely Julia.
​
They all gathered around the grave and the coffin was lowered into it.
​
Standing at Doyle’s side, Bodie could feel him begin to tremble and, as the coffin was lowered into the grave, his legs began to buckle. Bodie grabbed his arm to steady him.
​
“No.” gasped Doyle, his eyes riveted on the coffin.
​
“Ssh, Ray…” whispered Bodie, holding Doyle’s left arm with his left hand and putting his right arm around his shoulders, but Doyle was oblivious to him.
​
“No…” he groaned, as the coffin disappeared from view. Bodie was practically having to hold him up now, all the strength seeming to have gone from Doyle’s body with the disappearance of Julia’s coffin.
​
Doyle lifted his hands to his face, sobbing into them, as the vicar intoned “ashes, to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of resurrection into eternal life…"
​
One or two of the mourners turned to glare at him, obviously wondering who he was.
​
As the mourners began to move away, Bodie led a weeping Doyle back to the car, helping him into the passenger seat and closing the door. He felt obliged to say something to the McKennas and walked back up the path towards them.
​
“I’m sorry about Doy—Ray’s behaviour… He’s not handling it too well. I hope he didn’t cause any embarrassment.” After all, to their family, he was nobody, not even a blood relative.
​
“Of course not.” croaked Mrs. McKenna, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, “It just proves how much he… cared for her…” she broke off and pressed the handkerchief to her face, overcome.
“Will you come back to the house?” Mr. McKenna asked now.
​
“Thank you, but, if you don’t mind, I don’t think so. Ray’s not in any fit state…” Bodie looked anxiously back towards the car, “He thinks he’s to blame for Julia’s death, and its ripping him to pieces.”
​
​
“He mustn’t blame himself.” said Mr. McKenna, “How could he know what would happen? It wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t there, and even if he had been there’s no saying he could have done anything. Julia knew what kind of work he does. She knew there was always the possibility of… reprisals against people close to him.”
​
Bodie eyed him, surprised to hear that Doyle had told Julia what he did for a living. Giving out that information was a no-no.
​
“Please, tell him we don’t blame him, and he mustn’t either. It’s the people who did it who are to blame.” urged Mr. McKenna.
​
“I will. Thank you.” said Bodie, “Goodbye.”
​
“Goodbye.”
​
Bodie went back to the car. Doyle had stopped sobbing now and was gazing vacantly through the windscreen, tears still damp on his cheeks, his expression anguished.
​
Bodie said nothing, but started the car and swung out of the cemetery.
​
They drove back to Doyle’s house in silence. When they arrived, Doyle made no attempt to get out of the car. Bodie went round to the passenger side and helped him out, steering him inside and depositing him on the sofa. He then poured him a large scotch and pressed the glass into his hands.
​
“Drink.” he ordered.
​
Doyle raised the glass to his lips.
​
“I just spoke to the McKenna’s.” Bodie said now, “They said that you mustn’t blame yourself. They know there was nothing you could have done to prevent what happened.
​
”Yes, there was.” Doyle said quietly, staring blankly ahead, “I could have… should have… never got involved with her in the first place…"
​
“Julia wasn’t a child.” said Bodie, “The McKennas said you told her what you do for a living. She knew the risks."
​
“No, she didn’t.” Doyle cut in, shifting his gaze to his glass, “But I did. I knew only too well… but… I wanted a life… someone to come home to at the end of the day… someone to care for… who cared for me… Is that too much to ask?”
​
“Of course not.” said Bodie, but Doyle wasn’t listening.
​
“I’m sick of coming back to an empty house… I’m sick of having to put my life on hold for this job… I’m sick of all the secrecy… the underhandedness… the lack of privacy… the threats, and the violence… sick of busting our asses to clean the never ending stream of… of filth from the streets… for it all to be back again in a few months time…” he gave a tremulous sigh, “I’m sick of it all…”
​
Bodie stared at him, shocked by the bitterness in his voice.
Doyle drained the last of the scotch and stood up, wiping the tears off his face with the back of his hand.
​
“I’m tired. I’m going to lie down.” he said gruffly, depositing the glass on the coffee table as he walked past. He left the room, unfastening his tie as he went, while Bodie sat, staring after him.
​
Worried, he went up to check on him half an hour later to find him lying face down on the bed, asleep. His shoes were tossed into the corner of the room, his tie dropped on the floor by the bed, his jacket thrown haphazardly on top of a chest of drawers.
​
Bodie crept out again and went back downstairs where he poured himself a large scotch.
​
At three thirty, the doorbell rang. Bodie answered it, knowing it would be Cowley
​
“Hello, sir.” he said solemnly, standing aside to let him in.
​
Cowley had picked up the phone intending to call Bodie, to see how the funeral had gone, but had then hung up again, some sixth sense telling him that he should visit in person.
“Bodie.” Cowley acknowledged as he entered, his sharp eyes spotting the part filled scotch glass on the hearth by the side of the armchair. Bodie rarely drank spirits during the day. It looked like his sixth sense had been accurate. Bodie was stressed out by all of this, as Cowley had predicted he would be, and a stressed out Bodie was not a good thing.
​
“How did it go?” he asked now.
​
“It went.” Bodie said flatly, refusing to meet Cowley’s eyes.
​
“Bodie.” Cowley said reproachfully, moving to sit down on the sofa.
​
Bodie gave a deep sigh. “Sorry. It’s not been the best of days.”
“I wouldn’t mind a glass of that malt you’re drinking.” said Cowley, nodding towards the glass on the hearth.
​
Bodie flushed, embarrassed to be caught drinking when he was effectively on duty. Even if it was only playing nursemaid, he’d been given his orders by Cowley and it was very unprofessional.
​
He poured Cowley a drink and handed it to him.
​
“Join me?” Cowley enquired, making the question sound like an order.
​
Bodie topped up his glass and sat down in the armchair, eyeing the amber liquid as he swirled it around in the glass.
​
“What happened?” asked Cowley, taking a sip of the drink.
​
Bodie sighed. “It was awful.” he said, with unusual honesty.
​
He related the day’s events and recounted what Doyle had said about being sick of everything.
​
“I don’t know if he’s in a fit state to return to duty…” he trailed off, but the unspoken ‘and I can’t handle this any longer’ in his tone wasn’t lost on Cowley, even though he knew Bodie would never dare voice the thought out loud.
​
“His reaction is understandable under the circumstances, but, in time, he’ll get over it.”
​
Bodie wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t say so.
​
“Well, if he’s not ready to return to duty by Monday, we’ll have to sort something out. I need you back on the streets as soon as possible.” said Cowley.
​
Bodie breathed an inward sigh of relief.
​
However, the next day Doyle surprised him by getting up early and dressing in his work clothes.
​
“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Bodie, “Cowley’s not expecting to see you until at least next week.”
​
“I’m sure.” said Doyle, with a coldness in his voice that Bodie had never heard before.
​
They drove in to headquarters, where Cowley questioned Doyle about his readiness to return to duty.
​
“I’ve nothing else to do.” said Doyle, refusing to meet Cowley’s eyes.
​
“That’s not the point and you know it.” said Cowley. He studied Doyle for several moments before saying, “Alright. We’ll see how it goes. Go and familiarise yourself with the mugshot board.”
​
“Yes, sir.” Doyle turned to leave.
“Not you, Bodie.” said Cowley, as Bodie made to follow him.
​
With a glance at Bodie, Doyle left the room. Cowley took off his glasses and threw them on top of the pile of papers on his desk, leaning back in his chair and eyeing Bodie.
​
“He’s bitter,” he said, with a shake of his head, “very bitter, and that could lead him to do something very stupid that could get him, or someone else, killed. Watch him, very closely, Bodie, and if you think he’s becoming a danger I want to know about it right away. Understood?”
​
“Yes, sir.”
​
* * *
​
​
