New Tricks: Old Tricks Chapter 3

[cat_13145]

Title: Old Tricks
Author: Cat_13145
Rating: PG13? (if that's a T on fanfiction.net, simply for safety)
Fandom: New Tricks
Pairing/Character: all the New Tricks Team and DI Greg Johnson of Special Branch, plus Numerous
Summary: A Huntely and Palmer Biscuit Tin provides the clue to an forgotten Mystery of 1941.
Beta: julesoh,  who is also resonsible for my wonderful icon. Many thanks, despite the fact I can not presaude this to link to your journal. Sorry.
N.B I am aware that New Tricks doesn't normally have flash backs, but they seemed the best way to tell this story, so I am using them
Prologue http://community.livejournal.com/britishdrama/30708.html#cutid1  
 
Chapter 1 http://community.livejournal.com/britishdrama/30981.html#cutid1

Chapter 2 http://cat-13145.livejournal.com/785.html

Chapter 3
“I apologise for the décor.” Cat said, glancing around the restaurant. “I’d have been perfectly happy to conduct this meeting in my office, but command refused.” She turned her attention to her guests. “Now what would you like?”
“The truth,” Jack suggested. He pushed a file across the table. “We got this from Dr. Helmuth.”
She opened the file, and sighed.
“I was a kid from the wrong side of the tracks, as our American Allies say,” she admitted. “My mother was a prostitute and a drunkard. I don’t have a clue who my father is. I’m not making excuses,” she said, holding a hand up. “Just explaining how it was. I had six brothers and sisters. I turned to the only methods I knew to try and make money, and put a little bread on the table.” She lifted her head to face them. “I’m not proud of who I was back then, but I’ll never be ashamed of my motives.”
“And the assault on PC Advent and Aitkins on the twenty first of November 1935 and on PC Sharpe on sixth of June of the same year-”
“And PC Clayden in ’36, Sleep and Mart in 37, Warren, Wothers and Terminal in ’38 and De Paula in ‘39,” Cat interrupted Sandra. “I grew up in a brothel. Some of the clients,” she shifted uncomfortably, “had problems understanding that we weren’t for sale. So you learnt if someone placed a hand on you when you were sleeping, to strike first, ask questions later.” She pushed her fringe out of her face as she added, “anyway, only De Paula counts legally. I was under the age of ten at the time of all the others.” There was a defensive note in her voice, as she sipped her drink. “Must admit, I’m impressed. I didn’t think you’d get this far this fast.”
“Then are you going to tell us the truth?” Sandra asked. “About why you’re sure that these were murders?”
Cat smiled.
“The file said you were smart,” she said. “To be perfectly honest my main reason is simple. Gut instinct tells me something wasn’t right, but back then I didn’t trust my gut as much.” She licked her lips. “If you want a reason that makes some form of sense, then I’d have to say Toby Jugg.”
She paused and regarded her drink, as though the answers were contained within there.
“I’d met Toby Jugg a couple of times before we came to Dartwell. He was a pilot, but not a fighter. A bomber. One of those risking their necks to go over the channel and try to blow Hitler back to Munich. He was pretty good at it actually.” She seemed surprised at herself for acknowledging this, but she shook herself and resumed her business-like attitude. “As I said, I’d met Toby a couple of times before hand. He was…the stereotype of an RAF pilot, practically. Young, good looking, with a devil may care attitude that earned him nicknames like the Viking and the Bomber Baron.” She smiled slightly at the memory, but it faded almost as quickly as it had arrived. “But when we came to Dartwell he’d changed.”
“The war?” Jack suggested gently. Cat shook her head.
“At first, that’s what I thought. His plane had been shot over Norway. They nearly managed to make it back, crashed in some farmer’s field out Hastings way. Toby was the only survivor, and he was left with horrific injuries to his back. The doctors said he’d never walk again.” She realised she was wandering and got back on track. “But as I stayed there, got more acquainted with the place, I realised it was more than that. Ironically it was Infield who provided the solution.”

1942

“Admiring your boyfriend?”
Infield has startled her, but there’s no way on earth she’s going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.
“You jealous Infield?” she asked, bored. Every muscle in her body aches, and she has no energy left to deal with the lieutenant.
“You might want to be careful.” Peter Infield was not to be distracted. He slides his body into the armchair next to her and follows her eyes to where a handsome young man sat in a wheelchair. A book was open on his lap; through he was not reading it. “Given what happened to his last one.”
Alright. Now he’s got her interest, but even now she’s too good an agent to let him know.
“Not more unsubstantiated gossip and paranoid rumours,” she murmurs, leaning back and half closing her eyes. “Honestly Infield, I don’t have the time for that.”
“These aren't rumours.” He’s angry now. He likes controlling people, likes predicting their reactions. She hasn't reacted like he expected and it gives her a momentary thrill. “Ask Helmuth if you don’t believe me.”
“What, that the Bomber Baron had a girlfriend? That I believe.” There is a fire in the grate, despite it being August. Its warmth is reassuring, and she snuggles down in the chair, trying to find a position where her body doesn't hurt.
“Really?” There’s a smile playing across Infield’s face. “Did you know that she was also his Aunt?”
It takes nearly all the energy she processes not to respond to that. She thinks she’s conquered it, but Infield smiles like a hunter who’s caught his prey.
“Aunt by marriage, but still.” He smiles like a wolf. “She raised him as a child, did you know that?”
“If Helmuth told you that,” she says, relaxing her tense muscles slightly, “then he’s been reading too much Freud. And anyway,” she asks, before Infield had a chance to recover, “if this famous girlfriend exists, why have I never seen her? Jugg doesn’t get anymore visitors than the rest of you.”
I.e. none, her brain inwardly supplies. There were few who’d visit anyone, no matter how beloved, while they were here.
Infield is smiling still.
“She used to,” He hisses softly. “But someone killed her.”
This time she cannot contain her shock. Infield's grin broadens.
“Yes. Someone must have been mighty sore at her.” He continues in a sing song manner. “Given they stabbed her fourteen times.” He smiles. “The police think her boyfriend did it. But they’re wrong.”
“And what,” a voice comes at her elbow, and she looks up to see Bucky gazing down at her and Infield. “Would you know about it, Infield?”
She could kick the American fool. There is no way Peter will ever tell them the full story now.
Lieutenant Peter Infield gets to his feet, a self satisfied smile playing across his face.
“Those that can’t rest easy walk at night, little one,” He says, grinning like a lunatic. “And what they see, they keep.”
He walks away with a smile.
“Crazy bastard,” Mutters Bucky.
2008
“I checked the records, later. Julia Jugg, nee Cosenetti was found in the woods back in April of that year. It was debatable whether it was murder or an abortion that had gone horrendously wrong. The police did suspect Toby, but...” She shuffled her feet. “That may have been because he was at Dartwell.”
***
Nurse Isabelle “Chummy” Fitzsimons, despite being in her 80’s, was working. These days, admittedly, it was as a consular at a drug rehabilitation centre. She arranged to meet them in her lunchtime.
“Not surprised,” she said, when Gerry had explained to her why they were here. “Never believed Infield killed himself. He wasn’t the type.”
“Dr Helmuth seemed to think it was,” Brian began, but Chummy interrupted him, shaking her head. “Helmuth said he believed that because in his first few weeks at Dartwell Infield said he’d rather be dead.” She shook her head. “Those that threaten suicide are rarely the ones you need to watch. It’s the quiet ones. If it had been Peter Infield who found Toby Jugg’s body, I could have believed it. But the other way around it just doesn’t work.”
“So you had reason to believe Jugg was suicidal?” Brian asked. Chummy sighed. “Yes.

1942

They’ve both being missing for hours. She’s searched all over the house, but come up blank. The chapel is the only place left.
It isn’t a proper chapel, just a Victorian replica, with a balcony leading off it. The chapel is empty, but she can see shadows reflected against the wall.
She walks through the chapel, by some miracle managing not to make a sound. It’s irritating, as it’s probably the only time she’ll ever manage it. As she gets closer to the door, she can hear voices.
“High up isn’t it?” Cat’s voice, soft, but about as far from child like as you can get. “Fry should really get that ledge fixed. Could be deadly.”
She places a hand on the door, glad Fry has had it oiled regularly.
Cat’s sitting on the stone rail that runs around the edge of the balcony. Toby’s wheelchair is positioned where the rail has gone.
“Could break your neck if you fell from here.” Cat continues, conversationally. “Through not very likely. We’re not high up enough. More probable that you’d break your arm or a leg.” She glances at him. “Not quite the relief you were hoping for huh?”
Toby makes no movement, but if possible he seems more slumped in his chair. Cat’s fingers move over the hem of a well worn jumper.
“Infield told me about your girlfriend,” she says, quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He turns to face her. “She was pregnant. Did Infield tell you that?”
Cat shakes her head.
“Only one problem. Baby wasn’t mine.” He turns to face her. “Unless it was a miraculous conception.”
“So you two weren’t...”
Toby snorts. “We were never intimate, no.”
Cat nods. “Do you know who she was...?”
“I’ve don’t know who the father was,” Toby replies firmly. “But I had my suspicions.”
He shakes himself slightly.
“Come on. It’s cold out here,” Cat says softly. Toby turns toward Cat.
“Not half as cold as it is in there,” he replies.
2008
“Did Toby ever tell you who he suspected?” Gerry asked. Chummy shook her head.
“I never heard him mention it. This was 1942, even now would any man admit that he suspected his girlfriend of being unfaithful?” She shook her head. “But I did see Toby talking to Macdonald. The night before he died. Macdonald may have been drunk half the time, but he knew what was what.”
“And do you have any suspicions?” Gerry asked.
Chummy flashed a surprising beautiful smile. “Oh really, detective. You can’t ask me to tell tales outside of school.”

“So Toby Jugg had reason to believe that someone at Dartwell was indirectly responsible for the death of his aunt?” Sandra asked, walking over to the white board.
“Maybe even directly responsible,” Jack observed. “Abortions were still illegal in 1942, but there were ways of getting around it.”
“Especially if you were a doctor,” Brian added.
“Yeah, but risky through,” Sandra added. “I mean all he had to do was claim the baby as Jugg’s. He was hardly likely to say otherwise.”
“Except,” a voice said from the door, “that the last time I had seen Julia was in June of 1941.” They turned to see an elderly man supporting himself on crutches. “Nearly 10 months before.”
Carefully the man extended a hand. “Albert Tobias Jugg,” he said, calmly. “I understand that you’re looking for me.”
TBC