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Title: Broadchuch: Sins Of The Father

Date of commencement: September 22 2013

Date of completion: December 24 2014

Series: Broadchurch, a sequel to the original, and following on from Life Without Joe

Rating: M

Authors: tkel_paris and tardis_mole

Summary: Two years after Danny's death, life is slowly getting back to normal in Broadchurch. But Hardy's happy life is about to be turned upside down by a spectre from the past he had hoped had been laid to rest. Someone from his past wants to talk to him, someone wants revenge, someone wants to see him ruined. But it's not one 'someone'. But first, he must face the girl in his garden.

Disclaimer: We own nothing, but this is based on Broachurch by Chris Chibnal, with added clues from the novel by Erin Kelly. We gain no financial benefit nor gratuities, only the enjoyment from writing and working together on this epic journey, shared for the enjoyment of others.

Dedication: Chris Chibnal, long time friend. bas_math_girl, for her beta. And each other for hopefully not ruining each other's lives for too long during the writing part.

Warning: If you have not watched Broadchurch in its entirety, do not read this. We mean it. You will be spoiled. Stop and go back. Now. Ideally you have seen the entire show, not just what was aired on BBC America if you live on that side of the pond, but this is understandable in either case. Also, if you have not read tardis_mole's Life Without Joe, that's okay. It's possible to read this without reading that, if you're not on Moley's approved list. You'll probably find this makes a little more sense if you have read it, but you should be fine without it. Take the time to read Erin Kelly’s novelization, if you can, as it provided certain details that helped with writing this. Though you won’t need to rely on it.

Authors' Notes: tardis: Count the adverts. It all started with me writing Life Without Joe (blowing my own trumpet). The title does not say why Joe was not there, whether he had died or walked out. It was just that he was no long there. No clue, no hint, no spoiler, no Joe. And just in case anyone else caught on before I did – episode four – that it was Joe I had to watch from a play back site because I was first burying my mum and then moving, so I actually missed episodes 2-7 until just days before the finale. My deepest thanks to bas_math_girl who saved me from being “spoilered”. And, sorry, tkel, but it was not the BBC. It was ITV that made and broadcast the original. The BBC can only wish.

I got this idea after watching the original for the however-many time it was. I’d gone out to HMV to find a copy of The Politician’s Wife and on the off-chance asked them if they had a copy of Broadchruch. As it happened the delivery had just arrived. I had the first copy out of the box at HMV Cardiff. There. Selfless advertising. And the Beeb still loses out. So I sat and watched it and thought I wonder what happens next? I’ve lived in hotels. I’ve been in a similar situation as Tom (and Ellie, actually, but that’s neither here nor there), and I know there had to be more. Life would not have been cosy for Ellie.

So I wrote it.

LWJ was the result. And my readers liked it. Tkel refused to read it. And I fully understand and support her reasons.

However, within days of finishing and posting it I got another idea. I sat on it for months while tkel waited for the DVD, and by that time the plot bunny had stewed itself into a balrog (another plug, this one’s LOTR). Tkel was busy. I was in Preston for the long awaited arrival of my first ‘born in Britain’; grandchild. I have been busy looking after him and my daughter and fighting for justice for my son-in-law that the Balrog sat forgotten in a dark room on my data pen for a year. Date of starting: September 22 2013. I had a brief outline and a few notes. I basically picked at it for a year until both tkel and I were ready to put in the time and effort.

November 1 2014. One month turned into three weeks, and over 285400 words later we had a first draft. Chris Chibnall may own the copyrights and I bet his sequel is brilliant, LOOK AWAY NOW IF YOU DON’T WANT TO BE SPOILERED!! but he doesn’t have a murder. Read it and weep, Chris, my friend. Mine does. *Taggart voice* There’s been a murder!

This has been a phenomenal achievement for both of us. Neither of us has done anything like this before. Working with a co-writer is not recommended for everyone. It takes a lot of patience, stamina – I had to sprint to keep up – and a strong willingness to share. I hate sharing. :D

This is going to hurt. Have tissues at the ready. I don’t pull punches. Those who know my work know I have plot twists and unexpected clues, and if you miss them you’ll be left behind. Make notes. You’ll need them.

This is based on Chris Chibnall’s Broadchurch, and a few details from the novelisation by Erin Kelly (another shameless advert), with the addition of some aspects of LWJ. If you haven’t seen Broadchurch, why are you reading this first? Go away and do so, otherwise this will make no sense whatsoever. If you haven’t read the novel, don’t worry. I have, and you can take or leave it. It has some minor flaws and mistakes, but it is a good read. You’ll find my review on Goodreads (another shameless advert) website.

Tkel and I half thought about including our own map, since the blatant error in Erin’s was the mistake you’d expect from a small child. Beth’s and Ellie’s houses are across a field and they can see each other’s kitchens; it was mentioned in the original and in the book. So I’m scratching my head trying to work out why Erin’s map put them practically back to back, separated by a row of houses.

But, anyway, advertisements aside (Did you count them? There are seven.), I hope you like Sins Of The Father. We’ve kept it in the same style as the original eight episode format, but each one will have a different number of chapters. Hopefully, they will all be posted by the time ITV airs the sequel. Though try not to compare. Enjoy.

Authors' Notes: tkel: Being an American with not a lot of time on her hands to learn the tricks for getting things early from the other side of the pond, I had to wait to see Broadchurch. So I had months of reading about how good it was and how amazing David Tennant's performance was. It was more than a bit frustrating, but I give the people on my friends list credit for not spoiling anything other than Hardy's having a medical condition and one other detail. During the wait I noticed my friend Moley post a Broadchurch fanfic. Well, I did not read it. I even made a point of trying to forget I even saw one was posted. Finally the series came to BBC America, although I did not know that about two hours worth of material was cut to make room for the commercials. I was pissed off when I heard that, and promptly decided that where productions with Tennant were concerned, I would buy Region 2 only. (I had learned that computers can be manipulated to act like an all regions playing DVD player, although as of when I wrote the original note I had not yet figured it out. Trust me, I will learn soon enough.)

I was in awe from the first episode. A great cast, a heartbreaking case, and I was trying to figure out who did it almost immediately. Some I figured were unlikely, or would not be the killer without more plot twists. By the end of Episode Seven, I had a sinking suspicion who the killer was. It did not help that my memory chose then to recall what it thought was the title of Moley's fic. But I waited until the final moments had aired, and was in a bit of emotional turmoil. (Which I think we were supposed to be.) At that point, I got on Live Journal and read all five posts of Moley's fic, pausing only to comment. I needed more time to digest it fully, but I had reread it about four times by the next evening.

The thing is, my muse is the type to get ideas at the drop of a hat sometimes. Sometimes no hat, as Moley has reminded me. (giggles) Often when I am trying to work on other things. Bonzina (what I call my Muse) instantly thought about what might happen afterward, thinking about the unresolved things still there from the original story. She had thought of a plot bunny that had me intrigued. So I emailed Moley with the idea, having no idea that it would prove to be the platform for an idea that had been languishing since Life Without Joe was finished, and we bounced it back and forth – like you do when you beta read each other's work. I don't think we'd emailed about it for more than a day before it transformed into a plot balrog. (For those of you who aren't Tolkien fans, that's a giant creature of shadow and flame, “a demon from the ancient world” to quote Gandalf from the movie version of “Fellowship”. Practically impossible to get rid of, as the movie showed.) Basically, it wasn't going to leave either of us alone by then, so we agreed to work on it together as soon as we could both make the time for it. Meanwhile we bounced more ideas back and forth until we had our first outline ready.

Well, although we did a lot of preplanning, we didn't get to writing until I mentioned I was thinking about what to do for NaNoWriMo 2014. Moley noted about Broadchurch 2 being filmed, and we agreed that we should get our balrog finished and fully posted before the first episode airs on ITV. And I was also working on another mystery story at the same time. Only thing is, on that story I had trouble with the outline, and stalled on it in a big way learning why my writer friends gave me the advice they did the hard way as my muse was insistent on trying something different. So I got way ahead of my parts of the story, but I used it to figure out enough so I could resume writing the other story. Even though it may never see the light of day, depending on what I think of it in the end.

Of course, I was very busy. Moved to a new city, started a new job that now means I have a profession, and have to focus on settling in. But I had managed enough that I could do NaNo once again. Although I'm still stalled on that one other story, I know one of the things I need to do with it. I also wrote a few other things, including a Christmas present for another friend - on a dare from said friend. So my grand NaNoWriMo total for 2014? 124,977. Yes. That's correct. And yet someone else managed just over 150,000. You'd better believe I intend to beat that next year.


So that's my side of the story. There will be another Broadchurch collaboration, based off an idea I had from working on this story. Stay tuned about that one. Or maybe... more than one, given that Moley and I seem to be off in slightly different directions for that one. (grins) This was a fun project, and I hope that Moley and I find additional ones to work on together. Not counting the beta reading we already do, or the times when I was utterly stuck on a story and needed more than prodding but wholesale suggestions to get it moving again. (bigger grin)

/=/=/=/=/=/=/=/

Summertime. Outdoors. Four girls played together in a garden, giggling as small children do. No cares of the world touched them, or if they did they pretended they did not exist.

There was an undercurrent of sadness. They all knew they would part ways, but no one knew just when they would see each other again. But it was the birthday of one of them, and so they could forget about most troubles for the time being.

/=/=/=/

Another summer. The air was pleasant, but there was a hint of tension. Mostly in the adults watching.

Three slightly older girls sat on a beech making a sandcastle. They shaped it in honour of the fourth who did not come, looking up at each sometimes in wonder of why they had not heard from their friend.

/=/=/=/

Two young teenage girls walking together in a busy street, shopping. They tried to laugh, but the aura around them was oppressive. Especially on the taller one. A great weight was hanging on her shoulders, but the haunted look had purchase in the shorter one.

/=/=/=/=/

Darkness surrounded the area. The moon's light barely shone through the clouds.

A girl stepped into the light of an open window. She kept low, trying to be invisible. She glanced up at the moon, her face that of the shorter of the teenagers. But her formerly honey-blonde hair had been dyed black. Her face was pale even for the light out, and her whole being spoke of knowing a terror unspeakable.

She looked and listened, closing the window before she repeated the listening. Then she fled into the shadows, as quietly as she could.

/=/=/=/

Under the same moonlight and yet slightly different clouds angled overhead a sixteen year-old girl stood alone, partly in shadow, leaning against a brick-built bus shelter with the sound of the ocean not far away. It was the taller of the girls. Her long hair fell in waves about her shoulders and at her throat hung a locket that rested against her t-shirt. It was old, as old as she felt. She bore herself as one with the weight of the world on her shoulders. She closed her eyes and stepped back into the shadows, silhouetted against the light of an opening door behind her.

In the distance the echoing cry of a newborn child broke the silence of the night.

/=/=/=/=/

Episode Two, Part One: Bled Out

Chief Superintendent Elaine Jenkinson breezed into the station and met a strained-faced Sandra.

How’s things?” she asked.

Oh, sir!” Sandra practically panted. “Body was found dumped on the Hardy’s property. How long will you be? Because we could really use your help. Morale is low and I’ve had to take Hardy off the case.”

Can’t leave you in charge for five minutes,” Elaine jested, but she could see immediately that Sandra was not in the best of moods. And her jest failed to make either woman smile even a fraction. So she switched to the all-important question that Sandra's words provoked. “Why is Hardy off the case?”

There was evidence found at the scene that suggests he may have been involved or at the very least knows the killer.”

Elaine's eyes widened. This was not what any commanding officer wanted to hear, but her instincts also twitched in negation. Not that anyone in her position would want to think one of her own capable of committing a crime. But Hardy? That strained the imagination and went against everything in his documented history.

Of course she had not seen Joe Miller as a killer. Only Hardy had put together the evidence. If she had been in less shock she would have been mortified.

And you really believe that?”

Sandra checked to see whether anyone was paying attention to them. Seeing that everyone was too busy with their assigned duties or the information they were pursuing she shook her head. “I know it’s a little drastic, but after the last murder case in the town I didn’t want the kind of backlash against him being repeated. As it is, its out of my hands. Orders from above.”

They shared a silent groan. They had bonded more than once over the interference of top brass. Thank god it did not happen more often or they would each be needing more than pain medicine after dealing with any one occasion.

That’s all we need; top brass getting their elbows in. I’ll talk to them. Where is Hardy now?”

Sandra cringed, knowing she was about to give even worse news. “An attack outside the Traders that might turn into a second murder case. He’s down there now.”

Just as well the case I was jury for was thrown out, then,” Elaine put in. “We were released early. I’ll get changed and then you can bring me up to speed.”

Although that pain medicine bottle would likely be opened again today, she silently mused.

/=/=/=/=/

A kilometre away, Hardy ducked under the police tape and approached the huddle of paramedics and police. He saw the blood first. There was a lot of blood. His heart sank. If the paramedics were here that meant evidence was going to be destroyed.

Just what he needed.

On the other hand, he willed the man doing CPR to win. If he did, that meant this was just attempted murder.

From his vantage point he could tell it was a teenager. Possibly around Daisy's age. As soon as he thought that he felt like he was watching the events like they were in slow motion. It was disturbingly like when his heart was acting up two years ago, but without the pain or panic. Just an overwhelming sense of anguish for a young life cruelly cut short. That kind of pain cut more deeply, leaving an impression that lasted a lifetime in anyone's psyche.

And the day it got easier to deal with would the day he would turn in his ID and walk away from the job. In other words, not bloody likely.

The second paramedic took over as the first slumped in exhaustion. That did not bode well. And the fact that there was so much blood. Hardy doubted there was much left in the patient.

He carefully circled, wondering who it was, and feeling a strange sense of familiarity about her. He saw Becca standing on the steps of her hotel not more than fifty metres away through the broken wire fence before someone called her back inside. And there was already a crowd. He did not like crowds in situations like this. As he stepped around the efforts to save the girl, he could already see she was dead. She had been brutally attacked.

Even from two metres away, to give them room and her dignity, he could see that she had been practically dragged here. One shoe was missing and the other dangled from her foot by the strap. Her leggings lay torn in a nearby bush, and her underwear was by her shoeless foot, torn off her, leaving a red welt across her thigh. Her top clothing, what was left of it, was soaked in places and torn off her, the buttons loose or lost.

But the most startling thing about the girl was her horribly pale complexion. It was obvious from that and the amount of blood on her and on the ground beneath her that she had bled out. She had to have had internal injuries. He didn’t want to imagine her last moments. Even as a policeman, they were necessary to know, but as a father he didn’t want to. He felt a rise of righteous indignation swell in his heart. If this had been his daughter, he’d have searched for the killer and beaten the hell out of him. As a policeman, he’d do the same. In the legal sense, that is. He’d nail him in court and make sure he got a very long time in jail.

He watched the paramedic sit back and record the time of death, watched the arriving doctor agree. This was his cue. SOCO were just arriving as well. The medical team stood aside and let them through. The looks on their faces just said it all. Another dead girl. Two in the space of a few hours.

Broadchurch was turning into a killing field.

But there was a problem. He had already arrested the suspect. Had he got this all wrong? Or was the real killer still out there. The thing was, his mind was already working. Both girls were killed by different wounds. He knew that just by observation. It was two killers. Had to be. Except that they were linked somehow. He recognised this girl. If he could just figure out where he had seen her face before.

His instincts were that this was linked to Miller’s case, but how to prove it? What secrets did this girl have and would he find them in time to stop a third murder? If it was the same murderer he had just twelve hours to find him. If it was a different murderer, and that made him chilled to the bone just thinking about it, then he had just as long to find both of them.

SOCO moved in, while his feet seemed planted to the ground. That face... He was certain he had seen her before.

The workmen who had arrived that afternoon to lock up after a day working on a new amusement arcade had been told to park somewhere else. The crowds of interested locals and holidaymakers were being kept back by uniformed officers. They were dispersing at the same rate as new interested onlookers were arriving.

The more annoying aspect of crime was what followed; the rumours, the guesses, the accusations. And then came the even more annoying red herrings and blind alleys and the dead ends. He loved his job, but he also hated it at times. When things didn’t add up and when things went nowhere and when things went wrong.

Hardy had seen it all, experienced it all. But this had to be the most graphic and horrific murder he had ever had to deal with. And this time, he had witnessed her death. Though in truth she was probably dead before the paramedic arrived. There was no surviving the injuries he was imagining.

Sergeant Jarvis?” he called to the three uniforms standing by the barricade blocking access from the road.

Yes, sir?” one of the three replied.

Make sure you get detailed statements from the construction workers,” he reminded him. “I need to know who was here, when, why and everything else. Alibis. I need them all verified.”

Yes, sir.”

And once the victim has been removed post someone at the gate, no one in no one out.”

Yes, sir.”

The one difference from the last time was that it seemed like his orders were followed more readily. It seemed like the station had figured out how he worked and was fighting to do better than before. It was a small comfort that he would not think much further about. Although it might help them avoid many of the problems of before.

Now if they could avoid any of these onlookers getting word out to the outside world.

SOCO Brian Young approached him, looking grim. He had come straight from examining the footprints from the first murder, and looked shaken from the sight he had walked right into. This was more than enough to drag anyone down, no matter where they were from. “Sir. She didn’t scream.”

Who could have done that without her screaming?” Hardy asked.

Whoever it was stuffed a sock down her throat.” He held up the evidence bag. The sock was covered in saliva and vomit. “Bloke who found her took it out of her mouth, but she didn’t speak. Just died on him. Poor bloke.”

Who told you that?”

The paramedic. They’re both pretty shaken up, as well. Not our day, is it?”

He lowered his voice for the last part, even though he was certain that no one could overhear. No sense in taking chances that word of what had happened earlier got out without their control.

Hardy shook his head. He wished he could get rid of the sight of her mutilated body from his mind, but it was her face that really threw him for a loop. “It’ll get worse if we can’t find who did this. And please don’t tell me they were sisters. Coz I’m in a bad enough mood as it is.”

Brian fought back a shudder. That would make an already terrible situation far worse. As though two murders were not by themselves awful enough. His instincts said the two were not related by blood, but sometimes siblings did not look much alike. Getting the IDs would tell them for certain. So he focused on the information he had for the DI. “Good news. She scratched her attacker. I have evidence bags over her hands. There’s skin under her nails.”

Ah, there’s a girl,” he crooned softly. “She had some presence of mind.”

Fought like hell too. If we're lucky the killer has some other injuries and will be spotted for them.”

It might be too much to hope that she had managed to give him a rather delicate injury, but hope sometimes would come out in the most needed times and pull through for them.

Although Hardy would not be the only person who would find some measure of satisfaction if that happened.

Get the bastard, Brian,” he told him. “Get me a name and I’ll overlook you flirting with my wife.”

Brian gave a bit of a smile. “Twenty-four hours, tops.”

We might not have twenty-four hours.”

You’re sure it’s murder?”

Positive,” Hardy replied instantly.

It could have been a sex game gone wrong,” SOCO suggested.

Speculation was not usually how Brian thought during this stage, but he was curious about where Hardy planned to start. Sometimes suggesting something different, however, helped.

I don’t believe that,” Hardy replied. “She fought too hard. “No. This is murder. Clear as glass. But we’ll wait for the pathologist to confirm it.” He nodded towards the bag in Brian’s hand. “What that white froth?”

Smells like mint toothpaste,” SOCO replied. “Which means she was brushing her teeth when the attack began. There’s more around her mouth. I’ll know more once we get everything checked. Oh and you’ll need this.”

Hardy took the second evidence bag Brian was holding out to him. It has a torn piece of fabric in it.

Found it in her hand. It looks like a piece of a curtain.

Thanks. Looks like we may have breadcrumbs,” Hardy said. “Match this to a window, find the killer.” He gazed at it intently and lifted his eyes to SOCO and then to the hotel across the car park.

Brian knew the look of someone who thought they were on to something. He was almost certain he had had the same look earlier when he had found the footprints. “Shall we process it straight away or do you need it for comparisons?”

Hardy's eyes narrowed as he looked back at the bag's contents. “I think I recognize this pattern.”

You do?”

Yeah, it looks a lot like one I had to live with during the entire Latimer case.”

Brian barely kept his reaction to a set of raised eyebrows, but Hardy walked away. Soon it was obvious where he was going, and Brian flinched slightly. He had a feeling they would be around a bit longer than usual.

ĐĐ

To be continued...

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