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Title: Broadchurch: 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 Broadchurch 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 Seven, Part One: Countdown

Ellie watched her husband's anguished look worsen as he remained still for the longest time. She did not know what to do. She was having flashbacks to when he was carted off for surgery and when he had an attack and collapsed with Fred in his arms.

She knew the kind of hurt he was feeling. It was too much to handle as a lover. She could not, however, imagine how far it went when it was your own child's life at stake.

The phone on her desk rang. She picked it up. “Miller.” She listened a moment, and straightened. “Let me go to another spot.” She lowered the phone a second. “Alec, I'll be a moment. This might be important.”

He did not react, so she sighed and let him be.

She put the call on hold and turned to Pete. “Get the DI back to the hospital, please. He’ll probably feel better there than here.” She saw Pete’s nod and went to Hardy’s office. She picked up the phone there and pressed hold again. “OK, what have you got for me?” she asked.

She took out a pad and pen and began scribbling feverishly for at least a minute. She made agreeable noises here and there, taking down details as she listened.

“Does my Super know about this...? So you came to me first...? I feel honoured, though I think that might be the wrong response... I’ll pass it on... Time...? And you can absolutely guarantee that every known suspect will be arrested at the same time...? What about Ghosh...? Every station...? Good. I don’t want him turning up at the wrong moment, or phoning a mate. None of us will get the prize... She’s tucked up nicely, ready for when you get here... She’s in hospital, in theatre. We’re still waiting for news... Will do. We’ll see you in a few hours... Thank you and good luck... Bye.”


Emma Shrove carried the plate of food carefully down the stairs to the cells and smiled at the Duty Officer at the desk. “Dinner for 6,” she said.

The Duty officer looked at him list. “We don’t have a prisoner in 6,” he said.

“She’s not a prisoner. She’s in protective custody,” Emma explained patiently. “Did no one tell you?”

The Duty Officer blanched. “Just got on duty, might not have reached that memo yet,” he mumbled. “How’s it going upstairs?”

“Fine, I think. They’re getting ready to synchronise with Sandbrook. But with DI Hardy’s daughter in hospital. She’d had to have emergency surgery. And, they’ve only got an hour or so before the raid.” She waited for the Duty Officer to unlock the gate and followed him towards the cell doors. “I think everyone’s getting a bit stir-crazy to be honest. Like it’s the lull before the storm and everyone just wants to get the storm over with. Poor DI’s a mess though.”

Inside the cell, Hailey heard every word. Daisy was in hospital? Daisy was having surgery? Suddenly she was fired up. She had been too late after all. Goddy had got to her friend. The second she heard the bolt slide back she thrust both hands against the door, smacking it against the Duty Officer’s head, and barged right into the woman PC standing there.

She ran, straight for the fire escape at the far end, and was out almost before Emma hit the floor, unconscious. In the darkness she ran as fast as she could. Broadchurch was small, so finding the cottage hospital should have been easy. She took out her phone and did a search. It flipped up an address and a map and she was off.


Ellie returned to the CID room, filled as it was with officers psyching themselves up for the event to come. Some were silently ticking off the minutes, itching to get the order to go, while others held quiet conversations with their fellows in an attempt to stave off the usual nerves.

She knew what was coming, but still couldn’t quite believe she was the officer-in-charge. She had pinched herself more than once. SOCO was downstairs. They had no interest in the raid yet. They would follow on behind as a second wave to the hotel. But first, they had to wait for Bruce and Tess to leave for the hospital. Timing was critical.

Ellie huffed a breath and wiped a hand over her mouth. She glanced at the Chief Super. “Sandbrook is ready, sir. They say one hour,” she announced. “And Godavari has been apprehended at Weymouth railway station by Transport Police.” She glanced at the windows. “Dawn. Good time for a raid, boys,” she said.

The Chief Super gave her a supportive nod. She had been right to give the case to Ellie. And she had shone.

The phone on Anna’s desk suddenly rang and she reached over to pick it up.

“Broome...? A what...?”

Elaine moved between the troops to Ellie’s side. “How’s Baby Enoch doing?” she asked. She made it sound conversational but there was that burning need to know. Mothers shared it, and even some fathers, she was sure. But for her the need was more personal.

“He’s doing well, last I heard,” Ellie replied. “Hardy was still working on trying to trace the mother. So far, no Asian women have owned up. He said they’re either telling the truth or they’re hiding it really well. I’m sure he’ll keep you posted.”

Elaine nodded, but said nothing more.

The door opened at that moment and Emma Shrove stepped in, holding an ice-pack from a first aid kit to her clearly blooded head.

“Sir?” she called out to Ellie. “Sorry to barge in, but Hailey got out.”

Ellie sank into a horrified panic. “How?”

“I was taking her a cooked breakfast. Tully opened the door and she burst out of the cell. Knocked Tully and me out. She escaped through the fire exit. If it hadn’t been for Robins, I think I’d still be down there.”

“Oh god. She must have found out about Daisy,” Ellie realised.

“I think that might have been my fault. Tully asked me how it was going. She must have overheard us talking.”

Ellie felt like rebuking her, but there was no time. “Anna, we better get to the hospital. I have a feeling that’s where she’s heading.”

“Something else has come up,” Anna replied. “A bad tipping point has been crossed. Member of the public just phoned in saying there’s a large mob of people heading up Flood Bank Road towards the hospital. They heard them shouting out for anyone to join them who want DI Hardy out. And Karen White is leading them.”

“Oh shit!” Ellie muttered.

The entire team looked at her. They needed her to co-ordinate the raid. She was their officer-in-charge. But all of them gave her one silent message. Her family came first. That included the truth. Hardy’s innocence was not in question, but the public didn’t know that.

“Miller, get down there,” Elaine ordered kindly. “I’ll take your place until the allotted time.”

Ellie nodded. “Anna, you drive. You’re faster than I am. We've got to get there right now.”


“Because it's time the town found out what's really been happening. I know this has gone on too long but I can finally prove my husband has been gaslit, and it’s time I had a word with Karen White.”


Hardy got out of the car and closed the door behind him. The hospital, a small, late Victorian railway station with a respectful extension to the north side, was lit up behind him. It had a minor injuries A&E, with one trauma cubicle. Most serious cases were taken straight to Bridport. It had four wards beyond the out-patients department; women’s, men’s, children’s and the maternity unit. Surgical was often in with medical, but it served the town well. The operating theatres were in the basement of the extension, with the pathology labs and post-mortem suites around the back.

Pete had parked at the front in the small ten-space car park. But he wasn’t looking at the hospital either. Coming along the road towards the hospital as the dawn sky began to lighten enough to hail in the dawn, he could see a large crowd of people. People were calling out to residences as they passed by.

The wind brought they voices to his keen ears.

“What’s going on?” Hardy asked, watching the torches bob too and fro, some already being switched off.

“It’s a mob, sir. And I don’t think they’re here to do a dance. Better get you inside.” Pete gently nudged him towards the hospital entrance. “Sir. Please? I believe they intend you some harm,” he added.

Hardy had never heard Pete use such a serious and commanding voice before. He did as he was told, hurrying towards the entrance. The doors whooshed aside and shut again behind them. He went straight to the woman at reception.

“Morning. Has their been any news about my daughter, Daisy Hardy?”

The woman said good morning and checked her screen. “No news yet, she’s still in theatre,” she replied.

“And my son, Ben Hardy?”

She checked again. “He’s had a quiet night,” she informed him.

“Thanks,” he said. “Is anyone with him?”

“No one’s been with him since yesterday evening when your ex and her man-friend were asked to leave,” she said.

“Really?” Hardy suddenly felt a scion of amusement, but hid it. “Why was that?”

“Her mobile phone went off during the night and disturbed the ward, and they were asked to leave.”

“Oh.” He thought about it and recalled the aborted phone call. “Oh. Can I go up-?”

“DI Hardy?” called out a familiar voice.

Hardy turned to find Connelly hurrying in through the doors. “Oh great. This is not a good time.”


To be continued...

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