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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 on 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 had 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 Three. Chapter One: Everything Comes In Threes.

He watched in silent horror as a familiar face arrived at the bed and breakfast. He thought he’d got rid of her. But there she was, alive. What the hell was he supposed to do now? His position was getting more tenuous by the hour. He had to get rid of her. There was no other solution. He was too close to getting away with it. But he had to be careful. Too many potential witnesses.

Mr. and Mrs. Dusk, welcome to Broachurch B&B,” she owner said across the reception desk. “I’m sure your room will be comfortable until the hotel is open again. But if there are any problems, do not hesitate to talk to myself or my husband.”

Quaint little place. Olde Worlde charm. He liked it. Out of the way. But a little too out of the way to get things done and slip away unnoticed.

Thanks, Mr. Dusk replied. “What happened down there?”

I couldn’t say,” the owner replied. “A burst pipe, I believe.”

He smirked. She was good. Obviously no one had mentioned his handiwork. That was good to know.

Louise, why don’t you go off and explore? You should be meeting Daisy soon,” Mrs. Dusk spoke. “Your dad and I will unpack and meet you at the beach in about an

Ok, thanks, Mum,” the girl replied.

He watched her go from his niche on the stairs. He glanced at his watch. 6pm. He was meant to be going for a jog before dinner – good for the heart. And this small town gave an excellent opportunity to do just that. He stepped out of his observation place near the stairs and waved to the woman behind the desk, not that she noticed, she was busy with the Dusks. He jogged out the door into the evening sun.

Seconds later he had secreted the girl in the rhodedrendrons. As quiet as a mouse as he reminded her why she should not have come to Broadchurch. His hand on her throat made sure she didn’t scream. She didn’t even panic, though she breathed heavily; perhaps she was enjoying this as much as he was. She seemed not to realise that these was her last minutes. Like it was a nightmare she would wake up from.

But she wouldn’t.

He was a little more careful this time. Last time had been somewhat messy. And by the time he was finished, she had already slipped from life. He carefully covered her body with leaves and made his way up to the footpath that wound its way up through the woods behind the B&B and down to Finch Lane. He brushed himself off carefully and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.

Then he began to jog. He took an extra half an hour this time. Not that anyone seemed to notice. He took a quick shower and made it back in time for dinner.


You are bloody kidding me!” Ellie practically screamed.

She was fully aware that people had turned in her direction. If she had been in their shoes and heard her response, she would have done the same. She felt bursting into tears, but she didn’t dare. She was barely in through the door and they slapped her in the face. Metaphorically, that is.

You are bloody kidding me,” she forced out, a little more quietly.

SOCO stood before her, feeling for her. He really, really did feel for her.

She had barely got in through the front door and he was adding another layer to her caseload. “It just got worse, one hundred times worse. Did I do something to you in a passed life? No. Don’t answer that. Where’s the family? Does anyone know?”

Uniforms are down there now. I just got back from the scene. Been there all night.”

Oh god, what’s this town come to?” Ellie voiced. She rubbed both hands down her face and turned a little on her ankles to see her husband walk through the door. She could tell by the slow steps he took and the look on his face that he had just heard the news. Decisions. And it had to be now. There was one girl left, one target. And if they screwed this up she would be next and they would never know who or why. The next phase was on her shoulders. “Greg. Get me transport police. I want the station watched for anyone suspicious. Oh god, he’s probably left the town by now, but I can’t sit here and do nothing. Stewart, get me Traffic. Can we authorise road checks? If we can, get them done. I want every car in and out of town checked.”

Suddenly there was an expanse of dark blue at the other end of the room. Sandra and Elaine were standing there looking grave.

I presume everyone has heard?” Elaine asked.

That I’ve been proved right?” Hardy replied, his voice hard. “PC Daniel’s told me.”

Elaine nodded. “Hardy, you’re off both cases.”

Oh for crying out loud-“

Go home,” Elaine told him. Spend time with your family. Take that day off you asked for. As of now.”

Hardy fell silent.

Miller, take up both cases, merge them and find out where the hell we went wrong.”

Yes, sir,” Ellie replied reflexively. She could tell her now where they had gone wrong. “Sir,” she began again. “Permission to speak freely?”

Elaine almost blinked in surprise. Beside her, Sandra did. This was unprecedented. “Granted.”

Ellie went for it. “The first mistake was treating the murders like two cases, Sir. The second mistake was taking Hardy off in the first place. And the third was blatantly obvious, to be honest. They’re not random murders. They’re linked to something bigger. We need to place the remaining girls into protective custody. Finding the missing girl has the utmost priority, and the other... She knows something. Why else are these girls being targeted?”

Ellie?” Hardy spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Ellie ignored him. “I think that it’s possible the second girl was a case of mistaken identity. Luiz Gotleib looks like Louise Dusk. Unless you look at their pictures for a very long time or knew them very well you wouldn’t notice any difference between them. And now the killer has proven that by getting his intended victim. If we had gone to her first and warned her family, she might still be alive.”

Is that all?” Elaine asked patiently.

Yes, Sir.”

Do your job, Miller,” Elaine replied calmly.

Sir, if you would-”

You don’t solve cases on supposition, Miller,” Elaine cut in. “Get me proof.”

Ellie unlocked her drawer and took out the thick folder and plopped it on the desk. She opened it, took out a photo of the four girls and picture of Luiz Gotlieb. She crossed the room and held out the two photos for the Chief Super and the Super to see. “There is the proof. Four girls and one case of mistaken identity. Those four girls saw something. They know something. And there’s one left that we can get to. If we don’t act now, she’ll be gone and murderer walks away.”

Elaine looked at the photo and then at her. “And the link?”

Something in Sandbrook,” Ellie replied. “I don’t know what it is yet. But I’d stake my life on it. The last place they were seen alive, together, is Sandbrook. Permission to work on it. Any lead, any avenue I can find and I’ll get you that link.”

You have it. But the girls stay free. If one of them is in here, the killer will know we’re on to them.”

Sir, you can’t use children as bait!” Hardy erupted.

You’re dismissed, Hardy,” Elaine replied sharply. “And not a word of this leaves this room.”

Hardy trembled, seethed and swallowed. He nodded. He turned and left the room.

Elaine looked at Ellie. “We need evidence, Miller, not wild goose chases.”

Brian,” was all Ellie said. “He said the photo was planted on Sarah’s body. But there’s more to it than that. There weren’t any of Sarah’s prints on it. There were no prints at all. And Brian wants to tell you personally about the contents of Louise Dusk’s pockets.

The rest of the part...

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