Into the Silence

least this time there was a twinkle of genuine humour in his eyes, and for a brief moment Gwen saw almost behind the dark shadows in them to the person he might once have been.

He frowned. 'Anyway. Where's Mulder?'

Gwen smiled. 'Captain Jack Harkness is spending the morning doing what he does worst. He's strapped to his desk, fielding calls he doesn't want to take.'

'Him too? Maybe we've got more in common than I gave him credit for. So, what's he sent you to tell me?' He raised an eyebrow. 'Does he want to make sure the puppet doesn't try pulling his own strings?'

The bitter edge stung through the last sentence, and Gwen felt her own hackles rising a little. 'I don't know what happened with you and Torchwood One, that's not my business, but you really don't know Jack Harkness if you think that's how he sees or treats people.' She paused. 'He wants to set some kind of trap for the alien and he wants you in on it.' The first drops of rain fell heavily from the over-burdened sky. 'He thinks Torchwood owes you.'

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Cutler shrugged. 'Mulder may be right on that one.'

The fire door opened and the constable who had been keeping an eye on the journalists at the main entrance to the station peered round the door.

'Sorry to disturb you, sir.' He looked warily over at Gwen before continuing. 'There's a bloke at the front desk. Says he wants to see you.'

Cutler snorted. 'Tell him to join the queue.'

'I did tell him you were in a meeting, but he's refusing to leave. I think he's a bit hysterical. Says he's that poof's boyfriend. Says you spoke to him this morning.'

'That poof 's name was Ben Pritchard,' Cutler growled, making the young constable visibly flinch and pull back slightly behind the safety of the heavy door. 'And as we're as yet unable to tell his boyfriend who was responsible for ripping his loved one apart in a park, I suggest you start showing a little more respect.'

The constable's face was beetroot. 'Sorry, sir. Didn't mean anything by it.'

'And that,' Cutler dropped the half-smoked cigarette and left it to die on the damp ground before letting his eyes slash through the man as they passed him, 'makes it worse.'

Drew Powell was sitting dejectedly on the hard bench that lined one bleak wall of the reception area, his face blotchy from tears, his fingers worrying at a cotton handkerchief. Gwen looked at the chubby man. His short hair was fluffy and unkempt where she thought it would normally be carefully styled with wax or gel and his eyes were exhausted.

'I told you to pack up and go home, Mr Powell.' Cutler's voice was weary, but kind, as if he felt some of the other man's grief personally. 'We'll let you know when we can release the body. Go back to your family and friends. This place can't be any good for you.'

Drew Powell stood up and paced. 'I can't go home. Not now.' He paused and looked from Cutler to Gwen and back again. 'I saw the news. Couldn't help it. Maria Bruno's dead too. You didn't tell me.' He held the handkerchief up to his nose, pressing it against his face, sucking the smell in rather than using it to clean himself. It wasn't his, Gwen realised. It was Ben's. Powell was using it like a comfort blanket.

'Do you think whoever killed her killed my Ben too? They said… they said she was mutilated. Just like Ben.' His voice dropped to barely a whisper, his energy draining.

Cutler glanced at Gwen and shrugged slightly. 'I can't discuss the details of the case with you. Not at this stage. It could jeopardise the ongoing investigation. I'm sorry.' His apology sounded hollow.

Drew turned his desperate stare on Gwen. 'You can't tell me anything?'

'Detective Inspector Cutler's right,' she told him. 'I know this is terrible, but the best thing for you is to go home and grieve. We'll do everything we can.'

The chubby man lifted his chin and took a deep, snotty breath through his nose. He pursed his lips. 'I am not going to be going home. I shall sing in that competition.' His lips wobbled a little as tears threatened, but he swallowed them back. 'Pritchard and Powell came second last year, and we would have won this year. I'm not letting Ben down now. I'll sing on my bloody own if I have to!'

Drew turned on one heel in a dramatic pre-exit stage left moment worthy of any theatre in the world, but it only seemed pathetically fragile in this situation. He was about to flounce out of the station and into the glare of the hungry media, when Gwen felt the tingle of an idea run through her. Reaching forward, she touched his arm. He turned.

'What?'

Although they were the only people in the front of the station apart from the desk sergeant, she stepped in closer. Beside her, Cutler did the same.

'What are you doing, Scully?'

She didn't look at him, focusing on Drew. 'What if we could find you another singing partner?'

He stared, his pale eyes searching into hers. 'I don't want to sing with anyone else.'

'But what if you could sing with someone and maybe have a chance of helping catch whoever did this to Ben?'

'Scully-'

She glared at Cutler cutting him dead. 'The name's Gwen Cooper. And back off.'

Drew's eyes widened. 'I'll do it,' he whispered.

'It's too dangerous,' Cutler snapped. He looked at the small, chubby man, whose eyes at last held something other than sheer desolation. 'I'm sorry. It's too risky.'

'But it's my risk, isn't it?' Drew stood up close to Cutler and pulled himself as tall as he could manage. 'And Ben wouldn't hesitate… wouldn't have hesitated… to do it for me.'

Gwen was pleased to hear that the smaller man had his own reserve of steel to coat his words with.

She pressed speed dial on her mobile. 'Ianto. Tell Jack I think I've got a plan.' She paused. 'And it involves you.'

SIXTEEN

Be careful what you wish for… The old saying ran through Ianto's head as he walked up the stone-flagged stairs to the tiny Gothic chapel of St Jude's. Its dark walls were aged and weather- beaten and, surrounded as it was by the comparatively vast and bright office buildings that had grown up in the nearby streets since the 1970s, it was almost forgotten and invisible, just a dark shadow of history clinging to existence against the inevitability of change.

Pulling open the heavy door, he stepped into the vestry, immediately shivering in the warmth. The bricks and mortar may have been ancient, but the inside was relatively modern and well maintained. There were no draughts or bad lighting and the pews were light wood, covered in soft, fresh, red bench cushions.

Walking up the aisle, the words echoed again in his head.

Be careful what you wish for. It may come true.

He was definitely learning the meaning of that. Yes, he'd been stuck in the Hub a bit too much recently, but this plan of Gwen's wasn't exactly what he'd meant by wanting to get out more. Chasing down Weevils, yes. Tracking alien technology on the move, yes. Being stuck with Drew Powell all bloody day, no. That had definitely not been what he'd wanted. It wasn't as if it gave them any more than an outside chance of catching the damned thing.

He took a sip from his strong takeaway coffee and then tore open the wrapper of a chocolate bar with his teeth. He was going to need the energy. Mentally and emotionally at any rate. The chocolate and caramel tasted good, and the next sip of coffee melted the remains in his mouth, making sure none escaped the trip into his blood stream. The coffee was over-brewed, but at least the taste of chocolate overpowered it slightly. He needed it, however bad it tasted. There couldn't be enough sugar and caffeine to help him cope with Drew Powell. The man strained even Ianto Jones's natural calm reserve. As far as Ianto was concerned, Ben Pritchard must have been a saint.