The phone ringing did not wake Lina. What did was Benji tapping her forehead, a sleep filled, "Bitch boy is calling," Coming in a grumbled breath when he took the arm from around Lina, a hand lazily stroking her back when the covers fell away. Bedroom chilly due to the open window, Lina begrudgingly left the embrace of Benji's body, bleary-eyed and squinting against the phone screen when it started ringing again. Tommy wrote across the screen; Lina's hazy sleep-filled mind woke with a start.

"Morning," Lina tried to convey that she was not panicking over the nature of the call, and it wasn't helped when Benji rolled to his side, stroking up her bare thigh. That morning Lina was not in the mood for Benji's distraction tactics, and she climbed off the bed, throwing on one of Benji's jumpers.

Thomas, more than aware of the usual routine, waited to speak until Lina said: "Go ahead,"

A yawn filtered through the speaker, distorting Thomas's voice slightly, but Lina heard him.

"That was shorter than usual. The braggart losing stamina in his old age?"

"I would consider divorce if that were the case," She quipped back, breath briefly knocked out when Benji catapulted a pillow at her back, "I doubt that's why you called though?" Glancing back at the bed, Lina flashed Benji a smile when he flicked up a middle finger, sitting up against the headboard.

"It wasn't no. I couldn't care less about your nympho habits." Thomas answered bluntly, "The pathologist has conducted the autopsy, and asked us to go down," A shuffling of paper filled the line for a second, "He was on it pronto when he found out who we nicked," Added with open discontent.

Lina listened closely, heart palpating when Thomas did not mention bringing Benji back in for an interview; the staggering beat slowed altogether with the poor effort to be ambiguous about the pathologist. Whitechapel only used two, after all.

"Abbot?" Lina confirmed and again glanced over the bed when Benji sat forward on the bed, arms laying over his knees; a cock of the head sending the mess of pillow-tousled curls flopping across his eyes.

Thomas blustered another deep sigh, "Who else would it be?" Something was slapped on wood, and Lina got the distinct impression that Thomas was not happy with the fact Benji was, by evidence, deemed innocent enough not to be charged. "Anyway, he wants us there in an hour,"

Taking the phone away to check the time, Lina winced at the hour, though it better explained why the room was still dark, "I'll pick you up?" She usually did the driving as the DI. So, it was a shock when Thomas hummed back, "I'll collect you." Before hanging up.

Surprised by the abrupt hanging up, Lina stared at the blacked-out screen for a second, then tossed it onto the chest of drawers.

"What is it?" Benji asked, no longer in bed but pulling on a pair of boxers before combing back his hair, a wary but curious eye on Lina when she came to his side of the bed. He tugged at the jumper Lina stole, his skin prickling against the cold.

Stretching up both arms, Benji slid his hands beneath the jumper, tracing the curves of Lina's body while bringing the jumper up; he paused when her breasts came free of the thick fabric, squeezing them and then pulling the jumper over her head.

Bare-skinned again, Benji didn't leave Lina in the chill of the bedroom for long; her dressing gown held up, Lina turned around, sliding each arm inside the mint green silk with black lace trim; she pushed Benji's head away when he came down to nuzzle her neck, "Abbot has done the autopsy," Was the perfect mood killer, and Benji's arousal that pressed against the base of Lina's back whimpered away, "I have to go down the morgue," She stepped out of Benji's arms, heading for the bathroom.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Lina glimpsed the greyed sky through the sashed windows; catching Benji's worrisome expression in the glass's reflection, she returned an assuring smile that all would be alright. That Benji didn't need to worry.

"Easy for you to say," Benji padded behind Lina when she continued to the bathroom, "You've never been treated like a suspect for trying to help." He was bitter, and Lina couldn't blame him. Keeping from mentioning that it was bound to be assumed with how he was found at the crime scene, Lina focused instead on the narrow corridor from the bedroom, past the rickety staircase, to the Victorian-styled bathroom. Ugly, yet somehow not, black and white tiled floor included.

Living in a converted workhouse on Flower and Dean Street was often cold. The walls, bare of paint or wallpaper but made of brick, gave the house the impression it never left the days of being a workhouse. However, the rustic, antique charm drew Lina to it. The thoroughfare they lived held quite a checkered history. Once considered the most dangerous street in London and having ties with Whitechapel's infamous – illusive – serial killer, Jack the Ripper, Lina snapped it up when it went on the market, and Benji was still overseas.

Twisting the copper taps, Lina cupped the water, splashing it over her face to wake herself up, listening to the groan of the stairs as Benji parted with her for the kitchen, the sweet melody of the kettle boiling bringing a smile to her lips.

Away from Benji and able to drop the façade that she believed everything was fine, Lina caught the pensive misery in her reflection as she brushed her teeth. Believing Benji was innocent did not mean he would be charged if there was even a morsel of evidence against him. As an ex-captain of the Grenadier guards, Benji held the expertise and capacity to kill.

Shaking away the thoughts that came with reminding herself of Benji's profession, Lina rinsed her mouth and hastily freshened up before returning to the bedroom to dress.

August that year was an extremely wet one. So Lina pulled on a pair of skinny black jeans and a black polo before zipping into calf-high boots. The continuous rain left the summer more like an early winter, and the misery of the British weather showed no promise of letting up.

Raking her hair back into a high ponytail, Lina pocketed her phone and took the stairs in a half run, meeting Benji at the kitchen archway with a smile when he passed over a freshly made coffee.

Since retiring, Benji remained home, becoming a house husband and occasionally taking odd jobs with friends. Enjoying the freedom, it seemed the idleness which had become a welcomed companion was now his greatest enemy. He fidgeted when Lina made the final preparations that hinted she would be leaving and soon.

"I will be late," Mentioning gingerly that she would likely not be home until the early hours, murder investigations often requiring long hours; Lina knew that Benji loathed when she was kept away due to a case, "Go see James?" Suggested a second before two short and sharp taps of a car horn threatened to wake the street.

Eyes rolling, Benji took the coffee mug from Lina, "Sure," He mumbled, coming down when Lina bobbed on her feet, waiting for a kiss. Lina lingered in it until another tap of the car horn.

Groaning, Lina inched away from the kiss, mumbling that she had to go when Benji caught her by the waist and drew her in for another. "He can wait." Benji told Lina, putting the coffee mug down on the sideboard as he followed her to the door with pecking kisses.

"The neighbour's wont," Lina clucked her tongue, grinning when Benji relented, reaching over her head to open the door, "Love you," Lina whispered, kissing Benji's cheek as he rested on the door, just able to refrain from sneering when Thomas leaned out the window of his BMW.

"Put the pensioner down," Goaded dully; Thomas turned a sarcastic smile on Benji when he finally let her go.

Lina was intentional when she smacked Thomas with her handbag, and she made no apology when he shot back in the seat, rubbing his nose and grumbling, "You carry bricks in that?" When she slid into the passenger seat.

Leaning across, giving Benji a wave before he closed the door, Lina returned to her side with a shake of the head, "Must you antagonise him?" While belting up, taking notice of the Starbucks in the centre cup holder.

Thomas picked it out, handing it to Lina as he pulled away from the pavement, heading towards Brick Lane, "I do nothing of the sort," He contested, "I am merely honest," He crossed over to Lina to open the glove compartment, revealing a much fuller file than the four pages they had that morning.

"We have an ID?" Lina checked, nestling the cinnamon latte between her knees while taking out the file.

Thomas hummed before speaking, "A Mrs Martha Tabram,"

Flicking through the pages, sipping the latte, Lina got the inkling she heard the name before. It was familiar, but try as she might, Lina couldn't pinpoint a reason why. "Who ID'd her?"

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"Husband."

"Alibi?"

"Solid," Thomas sighed, "He was in A and E getting a nail taken out his hand."

Lina grimaced, "How that happen?"

"He works with Jacobs and Co," He flicked on the indicator, taking them out of Spitalfields, "They were doing an overnight renovation at Harrods, and he got shot by a hazardous apprentice with a nail gun,"

Sucking in a breath, Lina mentally crossed Martha's husband off the suspect list, "She was on the game," Miserably noting the woman's prior convictions, how it mentioned Martha's reliance on alcohol and that she frequently found herself homeless, she knew it opened the field to a whole number of perpetrators and motifs.

"A sad reality for many, but easy money," Thomas came across as sympathetic, but it didn't hang around when he said, "The CCTV over George Yard, and subsequently George Yard buildings are dud, so we're not going to catch our guy red handed,"

Often, in such cases, the CCTV either didn't work or was so granulated that it was useless, which left Lina wondering why they bothered installing it. "Can we track her movements prior?" If they could find her on the surrounding streets, it would grant them at least the start of a timeline. Perhaps even a potential witness or suspect.

Stopped at the traffic lights, specks of rain appeared on the window, promising another day of rain.

"I have Laura and Ollie going over CCTV, and the flat footers going door to door," Thomas side-eyed Lina, "Media of course have got hold of the story and are running wild," Tapping his phone attached to the dash, it lit up, showing numerous notifications from the local media outlets, and social media.

"Horror as woman found butchered by knife in George Yard. Police clueless. What is this, eighteen hundreds?" Lina found the headline of The Sawyern the true horror, and not even in a comical fashion. "I could write a more catching header," Coming away from the screen when it timed out, Lina resumed reading the file.

Knowing Constable Laura Welsh and Sergeant Ollie Pike were covering CCTV footage, Lina knew that Thomas would have asked them to check Benji's alibi. He walked the way he said he did at the rough time he gave. Especially when he said nothing about sending anyone around to confirm Benji was at Florence's, as he stated during the interview.

"The prints on the knife?" Lina asked, taking out the photo of the mentioned blade. It wasn't just any kind of knife, though.

With great intrigue and interest, Thomas glimpsed the picture in Lina's hand and told her what he knew. "Bayonet. Boer war," there was a fascinating way he spoke about it, "Lee-Metford pattern, eighteen eighty-eight, Mk one." A hand floated over, tapping the area above the hilt on the photo, "On the ricasso, they would stamp the reigning monarch. Queen Vic, see?" He removed the finger, revealing the flat-topped crown and the VR etched into the metal. It was faded but present.

Unique weapon choice as it was, Lina didn't know enough about bayonets to tell if it was a rare collectors' piece. Thomas, however, seemed to be in his element as he went on to speak at length about the particular one in evidence.

"This one is rare, as it's a type one," The car started to slow when it pulled into the car park of the pathologist's office, "It has three rivets on the handle, whereas the type two only has two," The car stopped in a bay closest to the front of the looking gothic building.

Lina closed the file, tucking it back in the glove box and finishing the cinnamon latte, "Can we trace its ownership?" She asked while stepping out of the car, spotting Abbot's silver Porsche a space over; Lina wondered how frosty a reception they were about to receive.

Thomas stretched before shaking his head, "Not sure yet, I have sent a copy off to the British war time museum to see if one of their boffs will cough up something useable,"

Though not by much, they held more information than when they came across Martha Tabram's body. "Well, until then, let's find out what Abbot can tell us about our stiff," She stepped onto the cobbled path that stretched the surround of the building, which was once a hospital. Though how it was considered one for being so small, Lina didn't know. "Try not to be so facetious this time. You know it pisses him off," A slight shake of the head added; Lina groaned when Thomas mimicked holding a phone and said, "You stab 'em, we slab 'em,"

Using dark humour was only acceptable in the right company, and though Abbot possessed a wickedly dark spirit, he didn't take well to Thomas's. Lina believed that more to do with Abbot's dislike of him than anything else. She caught Abbot smiling once or twice when Thomas made an off-the-cuff remark.

Passing through the heavy – and strangely ornate – black door into the Victorian-looking parlour rather than a reception, Lina stopped short of finding Abbot in dark green scrubs behind the desk."Short-staffed?" Lina queried, nose wrinkling at the scent of cleaning chemicals and death.

Abbot was busy on the computer, "No," He spoke in an idle tone, "I was waiting for you two," He didn't even look at Thomas when he came out from the reception desk, "This way," He led them down the hall, past the chapel of rest with its crushed velvet red curtains, trimmed in gold thread, her body jolted when a shiver rippled down her spine.

"Thirty-nine stab wounds in total. It was a frenzied and sustained attack," Abbot started giving his report before they reached the morgue, "The killing blow was a single perforation of the heart. It glanced off her rib, cutting into the left ventricle," A slight backwards glance, Abbot's mouth pinched on one side when Thomas asked for a simplified version. "Cardiac arrest." Abbot said while rounding the corner.

Shooting Thomas a rueful smile, Lina faced forward as Abbot punched in a number to a coded door, "Any defensive injury?" She searched about her pockets when her phone buzzed, glancing at the screen to find another text. Nothing important; it was ignored.

With the rapid beeps of the coder before the mechanical clunk of the lock released, Abbot turned, "None." He shook his head, showing he was not so perplexed by that detail as Lina, "She was heavily intoxicated, I don't think she even knew what was going on." He held the door open for Lina but let go when she passed through, leaving Thomas to catch the door before it closed and locked again, "There are no signs of sexual assault either, or intercourse taking place, so I think that can be ruled out as a motive." He continued.

"A random attack, then?" Though rhetorical, Thomas asked, "Anything on the type of weapon used?" He followed up.

Abbot held up a finger, bringing them to the metal gurney where Martha Tabram lay beneath a white sheet. Her face is swollen and vacant of any colour. Life was genuinely extinct in Martha.

"Yes. Two weapons were used. The bayonet," He picked up a sealed plastic bag, displaying the bayonet that was in the photo, "And a much shorter one. A small kitchen knife, or pocketknife," He listed his opinions, though, of course, could not confirm, "Which I think would suggest two perpetrators."

The use of two weapons was not peculiar, but neither common. The increase in suspects doubling in moments, Lina stroked her brow, "So, no DNA?" She was optimistic that Abbot would have something for them to work with.

Abbot met Lina's staring with a shake of the head, "Sadly no, but," He again held up a finger, moving to the table he took the bayonet from, "She did have two hundred pounds in new notes on her," Again another unmistakable evidence bag was produced, "Which should mean…,"

Accepting the bag, Lina didn't have it for long before Thomas snatched it, "We can trace the sequence numbers and find out where it was withdrawn," He concluded, showing promise that they were not at a dead end yet."It also rules robbery out," Lina presented another less conceivable angle.

Folding his arms, Abbot angled his chin with no shyness that it was arrogant, "Which I hope concludes that my brother is not the individual you seek." Speaking sharp and concise, his ire was turned on Thomas, a single eyebrow curved in a challenge.Wondering when Benji's arrest would come up, Lina spoke over Thomas to keep him from putting his foot in his mouth with Abbot.

"He was found at the scene, covered in blood, the murder weapon under his knee," Lina gave the details, "If we let him go, it would have been seen as gross misconduct, and favour shown. Let alone evidence tampering, etc being thrown in the mix,"

Truthfully, there was no way around it. Not without ending up on suspension and without a job. "We had to go through the process to eliminate him as a suspect."

The fact it took under an hour was fortunate; he was home less than two hours after the arrest.

Regarded collectedly, Abbot seemed to take onboard all the elements of Lina's argument, and he expressed that he knew Lina could not grant leniency but that what he held issue with was Thomas and how he acted.

"Ah. We should get going," Thomas tugged on Lina's elbow, trying to take her from the room, and Abbot, "Send over the copy of your report, won't you Haines," He laughed, but it was nervous if not a little awkward.

Abbot showed no concern, but he did ask, "Shall I include your effort to contaminate the prints on the bayonet with Benji's, in my report?"

Shock latching onto every inch of Lina's body, Thomas let go of her arm, spinning on his heel, "Now wait a damn minute!" He brandished a finger at Abbot, "I asked if his kneeling could have wiped his prints on the knife. I am not a bent coppa!” His tenor was strong, but he didn't shout,

"Neither are you a saint, Beckett," Abbot slewed back, his smile capricious.

Dubious whether Thomas was capable of trying to plant evidence, Lina raised both hands when it seemed as though the two men were going to carry on, "The repressed sexual tension between you two is frustrating even myself, so unless you're about to give the other a reach around, contain yourselves for a more appropriate time," there was a murdered woman between them after all.

The accusation of sexual tension did as wanted, and other than them both assessing their actions, they were quiet.

"Send over the report," Lina requested, "And you, can take us to the bank," She tugged on the bag of money, "We can make a start there," Wishing that her work and personal life did not intertwine in the way it did, Lina gave Thomas a push when his mouth opened, "Save it." She told him, "We have a murder investigation to get moving," Flicking her fingers to get Thomas moving, Lina paused to give a mouthed apology to Abbot.

It was deflected with a wave of the hand. Abbot picked up a file, his preliminary report before the official autopsy was produced, "Here," He gave it to Lina with vague interest, "Tell Benji to give me a call. I know his phone is in evidence," He sighed before waving Lina off.

With no further need to hang back, Lina tucked the report under an arm and, pulling out her phone, finally opened the messages. They were reminders for Lina's upcoming doctor's appointment at the end of the week.

"I did—" "Doesn't matter." Lina interjected Thomas's efforts to set his side of the record straight, "Even if you did it only confirms what I knew anyway," She pocketed her phone again, smiling thinly when Thomas cowed, a hand rubbing the back of his head, the short back and sides military cut getting a little long, the black hair held speckles of white, "And for that little stunt, you're buying lunch for the week." She told him, smiling at the receptionist who sat up when they passed by.

Thomas huffed, "Fine." He agreed, taking out his car keys, "But you call me sir." He reminded me, "I am your superior, remember?" Staring at Lina across the roof of the car, he deadpanned when Lina responded, "Yes," And as she climbed in the passenger seat, she flirted, "Sir," when he, too, got in the car.