than themselves. Where would Earth be without Torchwood and the people that risked — and lost — their lives to keep the planet safe? He hated himself for the moment of bitterness, but sometimes it was just too damned hard. If only they understood just how much was really going on.
'It's the twenty-first century,' he muttered. 'And that's when everything changes.'
'What was that?' Cutler looked sideways.
'Nothing. Nothing relevant.' Jack sighed and stretched out his back. 'Nothing that can't wait. At least for a while.' He turned away from his reflection and looked into the tired face of the DI. 'I'm sorry we haven't gotten this taken care of quicker. It can't be easy for you.'
Cutler shrugged. 'I've seen that creature at work. Your team's doing its best. So no apology needed.' He drained his glass and signalled for a refill before catching the flash of concern that must have showed on Jack's face.
'Don't worry.' He grinned, but the expression was carved into his face, lacking the spontaneous warmth of someone undamaged. 'I'll take it slowly with this one. But at least allow the condemned man to see in the death of his career with a decent hangover.'
'Is it that bad?'
'It's not good. And neither is my track record if you believe what you read on paper, which of course my bosses don't, but it's the paper record that the rest of the world have access to. Hence the big worry back at HQ is what the press will make of it when they eventually start digging around on me.' His laugh was bitter. 'Better to ship me off to somewhere even more in the sticks than Wales.' He looked over at Jack. 'No offence.'
'None taken.'
'Although I'm not entirely sure what's left. The bloody Orkney Islands? Don't really see it for me.'
'You think they're going to fire you?' Jack watched him thoughtfully.
'Maybe. Hang me out to dry, definitely. They can't afford to take the flack.' He raised an eyebrow. 'This is a high-profile serial killer case. And I'm a DI with a big black mark on his record where killers are concerned.'
'I read your file.'
'So, you've read those papers then.' In the haze of blue neon light, Cutler's face had the smooth sheen of marble. Jack presumed his own looked the same. Perhaps it was apt for both of them. Men made of stone. He was unable to die, and Cutler had hardened himself against the world to the point where he seemed untouchable. Maybe that was the only way he'd kept his head.
'No.' Jack leaned in. 'I read your Torchwood file.' He paused. 'You did a very noble thing.'
'Oh yeah. And look how it paid off. My wife left me and my career's all but dead.' Cutler stared into his drink. 'Looking back, noble might not have been the best move.'
Turning on his chair, Jack studied the other man. 'So why did you do it?'
'What exactly does the file say I did?' Cutler's eyes were cool mirrors of defensiveness. 'I'm not a great believer in what can be read on paper.'
'It's pretty frank. It says you told the court that you falsified evidence which stopped Mark Palmer going to prison for the sexual abuse and rape of three young boys.' He let a mouthful of water fizz against his tongue before swallowing. 'I checked out the newspapers too. Seems like he was definitely going down until you admitted that. He was looking at life with no chance of parole. Not that he would have lasted too long without a knife in the back in the rec yard.'
'That was my problem.'
'How do you mean?' Jack had read the file. He could figure out pretty much what had been going on in the policeman's head, but he wanted to hear it from him. He wanted to hear it from the Cutler that existed now, the man that had survived the aftermath of that decision. Making a choice was easy. It was the consequences that changed you.
'I couldn't let an innocent man go to prison.'
'Torchwood One was going to.' Jack felt no pride in that statement. 'And from what I read from the trial reports, Mark Palmer wouldn't have fought it too hard.'
'Palmer's head was too messed up to know what was going on.' The small muscle in the side of Cutler's head twitched at his temple, the only indication that under the calm voice, his emotions were raging. 'By the time he got to court he was half-convinced he
killed those boys. Even if he didn't remember any of the murders.'
Jack teased at the damp paper label on his water, peeling it slowly away, ignoring its reluctance to come free. 'You know, some people would argue that he wasn't really that innocent. That entity that invaded him simply acted out his desires. The things that were already longings in his head.'
Cutler shifted on the stool. 'God, I hate this smoking ban. How are you supposed to drink and relax without a bloody cigarette?'
Picking at the edge of the silver square, Jack pulled free a strip of the shiny surface declaring the water's brand, leaving a trace of white undercoat behind on the bottle.
'But what do you make of that theory?' He wasn't letting go. He needed to understand this man that Torchwood One had seen fit to leave without dealing with him in some way, relatively pleasant or otherwise. He needed to peel away the surface and see if he was indeed the same man that had existed then. Because the same decision was coming his way when all this was eventually over. And he wanted to make the right one if he was going to live with the consequences.
Cutler sighed. 'I think it's a pile of shit.' He sipped his drink. 'If you'll excuse the technical police term.'
'I speak Police.' Jack smiled. 'How come, though?'
'How come you're so interested?'
Jack didn't shift his gaze from the policeman's own but flashed him a brief dazzling grin. 'I'd just like to know a little bit about a man I'm heading to the scaffold with. And the records made me curious. You'd be the same.'
Where Jack's smile was all boyish excitement, Cutler grinned like a hungry wolf. 'Don't think I haven't done a little research on you.'
'What did you find?'
'A lot of password-protected, access-denied files in the system and some crazy stories on the net. Enough to let me know I don't really want to know what's going on with you.'
'Fair enough.' Jack pulled the final strand of the label free and tossed it on the bar to be swept away by the bartender. It was a quiet night, and Jack thought the young man looked bored out of his mind. It would be great if he could just have the occasional moment like that. He lived in a world within the world, just like Gwen and Ianto. Cutler, however, was in purgatory, stuck somewhere in between.
A lot of ordinary people got glimpses of the strangeness that the Rift created, but very few were forced to evaluate their own morality because of it. Jack had respected Cutler before he'd read the file. He was intrigued by the man now. It was a refreshing feeling.
'So, tell me about Mark Palmer.'
'I hounded him, you know.' Cutler stared thoughtfully at his own reflection in the mirror, and Jack wondered if he was looking for that ghost of the self he had lost a long time ago. 'After the first death, when the trail was leading back to him. Loner. Used to hang around the play area. Ideal suspect.' He frowned.
'I could smell it on him; his guilt. Those three boys died within four days and he couldn't remember where he was for any of the times the boys went missing. Before the bodies were found, I camped outside his house. I rang him day and night to stop him sleeping.' He paused and swallowed. 'I was a complete bastard. I watched him pacing up and down in his living room, his hands in his hair, and I'd call and call and call, and if he answered I'd tell him what I was going to do to him when we had him. All from a pay-as-you-go mobile in a dummied-up name, of course. No trace. No police harassment blame. Poor sod was already going half mad and I was sending him the rest of the way. And then, after a few days, it was me that thought I was losing my marbles.'
'What happened?'
'It was about midnight. Palmer came out of his house and was on his front lawn. He was really agitated. Talking to himself, twitching. I thought he was cracking. I thought I had him. And then suddenly he stood totally still. His back straightened and all that anxiety went out of him. I could see it from the car. He changed. And when he turned round and strode to his car I honest to God thought someone had slipped me something or maybe the
