Pairing: Adam Dalgliesh x forensic pathologist!fem!OC
TW: mild gore, description of a corpse, not beta-read
Notes: firstly, this is a tumblr post version of my ao3 work "Restraint", I'll see if I'll also be uploading future parts in two formats or no. The following is from the notes of this first chapter:
I'm not a medical professional, so excuse any inaccuracies in how i might write or describe things involving Harper's work. I won't really be focusing on crime solving aspects, since I don't think I can really write that in a way that I'll be satisfied with, so this story will more be a drama/romance/dramedy etc in the murder mystery world of 1970s England that the show takes place in.
15th of March 1976
Dr. Harper Carlyle might've still been new to being a Home Office forensic pathologist (though, she'd officially started 6 months ago), but she found herself quickly able to focus in on the important details on a crime scene even with the quiet chaos of forensics scattered around her taking prints and photographs.
Jotting down the key causes of the victim's expiration in her thoughts, she got to her feet on time for DCI Dalgliesh to arrive in his green Jaguar and cerebral, but focused energy. Her father, with his inescapable influence in the field of medicine, had played a hand in having Dr. Kynaston take her on as a fellow forensic pathologist in the London branch that he was heading. They'd gotten on and he'd believed her confident enough to not need supervision or kid gloves when assisting with cases requiring the unique service of a pathologist.
Through this route she had come to meet the policemen (and women) of the Metropolitan Police Department, mainly DCI Dalgliesh, whom she had heard of as a poet before knowing he was a policeman to boot. Her mother, Cassandra, had a love for good poetry and believed the policeman poet had a way with words. Of course, Harper came to see that DCI Dalgliesh, aside from good manners and a clearly rational mind, was a good detective, going along with her quick observations during both before and after the PM. She was inclined, due to his precise attention to detail to also work harder in giving worthy and useful notes.
"Doctor." The Chief Inspector's smooth, even voice called out to her, striding over to her with DS Miskin accompanying him.
"Chief Inspector. Sergeant." Harper greeted. All three of them turned their gaze to the corpse. "I'd say time of death between the hours of seven and ten last night. Male, 30s, looks to be strangled, with clear indent marks around the neck," gesturing with her hand, pulling down at the collar of the dead man's collar, "no other signs of obvious harm, cuts, bleeding or otherwise. If there is more, it will show in the PM, which I will have done no later than the afternoon."
"Alright, thank you, Doctor Carlyle." He promptly nodded, turned his head and directed DS Miskin to go speak to the person who discovered the body. DCI Dalgliesh lingered as Harper packed up her case, peeled off her rubber gloves and stuffed them into her pocket.
There was a faint look of disgust on her features, her eyes fixed on where the marks of the man's death were hidden by the collar that had flapped back into place by the cool early swampy spring breeze. "I suppose there's no getting used to it."
While she had done quite a few autopsies and had seen death as it was (her husband flickered to mind, he would've been around the age of the man now lying on his back, mouth agape, almost in surprise), more-so in the mortuary, there was still something… distasteful of seeing the remains of a person on their back. Helpless and soulless, now only to be cut open, poked and prodded through to understand his expiration, in the hopes of bringing some clarity and sense to this untimely end. And then sewn back together like Frankenstein's creature, placed in the hands of those who knew and cared for him.
She pulled the white sheet over him. A pair of grey-blue irises tracking her movements in careful analysis. Harper pushed her glasses up her nose and met the discerning gaze of the Chief Inspector, hands behind his back, possibly expecting her to elaborate. However the moment his eyes saw hers, a light shake of his head made it clear he'd changed his mind and they went their separate ways. Her, to the morgue, and with him, to see what DS Miskin had got out from woman who'd found the body.
–
Looking through hospital records, Harper was able to piece together the identity of the man who was laying on her table, now sewn back together after the post mortem. Alexander Smith, 36, 6'11, 192.7 lbs, only previous recorded medical procedures being an appendectomy when he was 16. No physical reason to drop dead, other than the deep, scratchy rope or even belt marks in his neck, now turned a more bluish purple colour than the pinkish tint that had been there earlier. Someone had wanted this man gone.
Tapping her pointer finger against the folder containing of the autopsy report, she keeps eye contact with DCI Dalgliesh as she tells him all this. She'd driven to the Metropolitan Police headquarters on 10 Broadway and was giving him the brief in his office, a comfortable sized mid-century office, that was sparsely decorated, but functional for the man meant to inhabit it.
"So, there wasn't more to find, as I suspected. Was the weapon found on the scene? My guess would be either a smooth rope or a belt, something made of red material since there was a little spec of red thread I handed over to forensics. The latter is more likely, with the marks."
Dalgliesh shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against his desk. "No. Forensics found nothing that could relate to Smith. DS Miskin is looking into his other history, family, so on."
Harper nodded. "Wish I could have more to assist with the investigation. I'll leave this with you?" She gestured with the report.
"Yes, thank you." He patted the wooden top of his desk. "And you've done all you can, Dr. Carlyle."
"Still…" She shrugged her shoulders, placing the folder on the desk and moving to the door. Looking over her shoulder at the doorway, pushing a strand of her dark blonde fringe from her face. "If there is anything missing, you have my card, Inspector. I can go into more detail and elaborate."
Dalgliesh inclined his head forward, accepting her offer of further assistance. "I do, though I doubt anything is missing." There was the barest hint of praise (?) in his words, as if in the brief time they'd collaborated he was already sure of her ability and skill.
"Good day, and good luck, Inspector." Harper said and turned the door handle and left.
----
Written by a human in Ellipsus.
do not copy, reupload, translate or feed to artificial intelligence.
Nearly a year after the events in Devices and Desires, Kate Miskin and Adam Dalgliesh consider what they were to each other and what they could now be ... if only they are brave enough. (Spoilers: S3E5&6)
Word count: 11, 240
Rating: G
Themes: found family, happy endings
Read on AO3.
Excerpt:
Detective Inspector Kate Miskin could murder a cup of tea. She’d been up before dawn cajoling her three-month-old back to sleep and had barely got him settled again before her sergeant had knocked on the front door.
As they drove up the M20 into London, an eager, restless energy was palpable between them. It wasn’t very often they had a murder case on their patch in Kent and this one was high-profile enough to turn some influential heads— whether in admiration or disappointment depended on their result.
They arrived in the city at peak rush hour, fighting their way to the centre. After interviewing the victim’s colleague at the British Museum, they had time to kill before attending the funeral and Kate trained her eye on the passing buildings until she spotted a cafe. The damp spring air hurried them inside, with orders for mugs of tea and a bacon sandwich.
“First impressions?” she asked.
“Cagey. There’s something he’s holding back.” Her sergeant tapped the counter thoughtfully. “Or maybe he’s not that comfortable talking to people. Can you imagine looking at bits of clay pots every day? Alone with all those brushes, microscopes, books.”
It was a fair assessment, thought Kate, although she disagreed about the solitude. She had always liked books and study, had aspired to some kind of higher learning, but it hadn’t been something she or her grandmother could afford. It was her English teacher who’d suggested she might suit one of the helping professions: teaching, nursing, social work, or the police. Kate had chosen the latter, as it didn’t require additional, costly, education.
“What did he mean by ‘academic integrity’?”
“Cheating, probably,” she said. “Plagiarism. We should get the papers sent over and have an expert confirm it.” It would be time-consuming, and put a dent in their budget. But if true, a strong motive and an early lead.
The waitress set down their orders and Kate reached for her tea, feeling strength return as her hands wrapped around the heated cup, the last of the morning’s weariness dissipating with her first sip.
“Looks like you needed that,” her sergeant said over a mouthful of bacon sandwich. “Little lad still keeping you up?”
She chuckled, nodding. “He’s an early bird, like his dad.”
“That sounds like our John, when he was that age. Waking the missus at all hours.”
Kate knew what would come next. Since she’d returned from leave, her usually gruff sergeant had become a self-appointed expert on childrearing despite the fact that, by all accounts, it was his wife who’d done the lion’s share. But he was a kind-hearted man and so Kate allowed the occasional unsolicited parenting advice, listening, as she did now, with polite yet divided attention.
It wasn’t that she was ungrateful. But she was keenly aware that her sergeant would never consider broaching the topic with a male DI, just as he would never understand the balancing act she now performed. Kate had made a promise that having a family wouldn’t derail her career. As much as Ryan had brought new meaning to her life, policing gave her purpose. And so at home she was a present, loving mum, while at work she intentionally abandoned all thoughts of nappies and strained peas to focus on being a fair, competent cop.
“Thanks, Nige,” she said when he’d finished his interlude. “Damian and I are actually taking turns caring for Ryan when he wakes.” She watched her sergeant’s eyebrows knit together at this modern arrangement. “That way neither of us is too sleep deprived for long. Yesterday was my turn. It’s making me a bit more tired than usual but nothing a good cuppa can’t fix.”
She gave him an encouraging smile then pulled her notebook towards her and opened to the list she’d made earlier that morning.
“At the funeral today, I’d like us to split up since we need to keep tabs on quite a few people. If the daughter-in-law shows, talk to her. I’d like to arrange for her to come to the station and answer some questions. We need to know whether she was in the country the night of the murder and if she knew about the second will.”
They passed the next quarter of an hour planning their strategy and trying new theories before it was time for their next appointment.
While Nigel went to the loo, she was able to settle the bill without his protest and stood waiting by the door looking absently out the window. Across the street, an elderly couple ascended the steps of an elegant Victorian mansion block. Their departing taxi waited for a cyclist to pass, then pulled into traffic before another vehicle took its place at the kerb—a Jaguar, in racing green.
Kate straightened, her attention caught. She’d recognize that car anywhere, and the man now emerging from it: Commander Adam Dalgliesh. His tall frame was wrapped in an overcoat, his features set in their usual expression of solemnity. With unhurried confidence, he walked around to the passenger’s side and leant against the bonnet, glancing once down the sidewalk then up at the building’s facade.
Something more than fondness swept over her as memories stirred. Back when she was a sergeant and an after-hours callout still felt like an adventure, she’d step outside her apartment to find the Jaguar idling, a seat waiting just for her, and Dalgliesh ready to whisk them away to another mystery they’d solve together. It seemed a lifetime ago.
With a start, she realized it had almost been a full year since their last meeting, at Larkshill. She’d been unsettled by the change in him: although warm and gracious, his countenance was decidedly careworn, his conversation more reserved. The long shadow of grief remained, but in her absence it seemed he had become only more entrenched in it, as though there was no other way to be.
He’d asked for news of the baby, and she’d promised to write. Intended to. But her leave had been short and on her return to the force she’d been thrown right back into the thick of it. There hadn’t been time. And deep down, she wasn’t sure whether he would want to know her son—that very word carried so much history for him.
The front door to the block of flats opened and a woman descended the stairs. Slight, dark blonde, she carried a bouquet of white lilies that fairly glowed against a long black coat. At her appearance, Dalgliesh took a step away from the car and she met him with a half-embrace, cradling the flowers in her other arm, and he returned the gesture. Kate watched with interest at the affection in it, the familiarity. He spoke a few words, then opened the door to the Jaguar and held the bouquet as the woman settled into the passenger’s seat. There was an ease to his movements. Practiced, as though they’d done this before. As though …
“Ready, boss?”
Kate turned at the sound of Nigel’s voice. “Yes.” She checked her watch. “We’ll be just in time.”
“Should I drive?”
She shook her head with a smile. “You’re navigator.”
As they left the cafe, she glanced back across the street but the car and its occupants had moved on, leaving her with more than the case to ponder on the journey.
Read more on AO3.
This story is made without the use of Al. I do not consent to having my story put into any ai generative software, to be translated or posted without my express permission. I do not claim to own the source material this story is based upon.
Chapter Summary- Theo does some thinking. Adam visits the crime scene.
Masterlist
Author’s Note: I apologize for woefully inaccurate depictions of early 1980’s crime scene investigations and smoking.
Chapter 4
Theodora didn't know how to read Dalgliesh. Normally, she could read people rather easily, but him…. he was difficult to fathom. Throughout their whole conversation, he asked questions and looked at her with eyes that seemed to see everything, picking things apart like children do with peas and mashed potatoes. And yet… there was something about him. His blue eyes, seemed at first glance to be icy but underneath were deep like an ocean. They drew her in. They made her trust him. Normally she kept things all locked up, but his badge seemed real, and he looked genuine. Perhaps it was foolish to trust a stranger, but Theo felt perhaps she could trust in Dalgliesh. Even if he did look like a Byronic hero. She hoped he did not have the habits of one. That would be most unfortunate since she invited him into her house.
When he spoke, she watched the way his mouth moved, as precise with his words as he was in his movements. He had nice teeth, she thought. An odd thing to notice, but she couldn't help but notice aspects of him when he was asking her to bare open the gaping wound of her Uncle's past, without revealing a speck of who he was.
The past was a gaping wound, Theo was evidence of that. Theo was a scar, even if her uncle wouldn't phrase it like that, even if he loved her like his own daughter. The mark left by the deaths of her father and grandparents had taken up massive real estate her entire life. As a child, she wondered if it would've been better if she died, just so Uncle Morris would not have the pain of seeing his brother in her face. She'd only survived the bombing because she'd accidentally fallen asleep while playing hide and seek in a closet. Would it have been better if she’d been awake, sitting in the glass paned dining room that decimated her family? Would Uncle Morris be alive now if she'd died?
So many things flew through her head. But now she had a different mission. The books. If she was right, the Lamb would hide a message for her to decipher. But every code needs a key. Would it be in the book? Or elsewhere.
'Picture… birdhouse. Perhaps a picture of a birdhouse? Or maybe something different,' she pondered.
Commander Dalgliesh, Adam, had left her to go back to the crime scene, promising to meet her at her home with some of the other visiting investigators. A nurse had come in after he'd left to give her directions on her healing process for the next few weeks. With her arm healing from dislocation, Theo would have to have her arm in a sling for a few days before she could attempt any exercise with it. As for her ribs and her foot, she'd have to take it easy. The foot would heal faster, but it all took time. Rest. Peace. Things that Theo did not care for at this moment. She was angry. The world had taken her last family member and she would not easily forget. Peace could wait. Anger could not. Anger was impatient.
The nurse made arrangements for a day nurse to come in to assist Theo with dressing and bathing. She felt embarrassed needing the help, but it would be necessary. The nurse assisted her in putting on a set of clothing brought by one of her friends. It pained Theo's shoulder and made her chest wheeze to simply put on a sweater and pants even with help. Adjustments would have to be made. Theo considered her closet at home, perhaps she'd wear tank tops and skirts under one of her robes or duster coats for the first few days. It didn't leave much for style, but she'd manage.
'Dalgliesh seems to be stylish,' she thought, 'with his tailored suit and slicked hair. Professional, neat, clean lines; he's the picture of a detective from a story. All he needs is a magnifying glass or a hat.'
She tried picturing Adam Dalgliesh with his stern face wearing a deerstalker like Nigel Rathbone's Sherlock Holmes. The idea almost made her laugh. Almost. Her uncle would've loved that thought. How had he known who Dalgliesh was? He did not seem to have known her uncle in any way other than the particulars told to him after the events of the night before. But perhaps that was just Dalgliesh's way, locking his secrets behind his Byronic features, only revealing them when strictly necessary. Perhaps that was why he was such a highly ranked member of Scotland Yard. A commander… that was pretty high in the rankings amongst policemen. And yet, he had come to investigate a murder simply because the victim had requested it in his final words. Beneath that steely exterior, there must be some sort of softness, a kindness that made him accept the assignment without question. Maybe that was just wishful thinking in her part.
Had it really been less than a day since she'd lost her uncle and her childhood home? Her hair still smelled of smoke and ash, something she'd noticed while dressing. Theo chewed her lip. Her uncle's death had not hit her yet, even if she'd held her uncle's rapidly cooling body in her arms. As the nurse wheeled her out to the police car that would escort her to her home, she wondered where her uncle's body was right now. Was he being autopsied? Was he cold in a morgue, waiting for the police to let Theo bury him? She'd try to ask Dalgliesh when she saw him later.
That reminded her of the other arrangements she would have to make. So many arrangements, with little time. First, she'd call a temp agency and ask for them to send a reliable housekeeper and cook. Though that would be a feat in itself. Housekeepers were harder and harder to come by these days. But she'd explain the situation and hope for the best. Secondly, she'd assign keys to Dalgliesh and any other people who would be staying in her home. And lastly, she'd try to find the old notebooks and some of the books in her library she'd used to write codes with her uncle.
~
Adam
Daniel Tarrant met Adam at the crime scene when he returned from his visit with Theodora Leyne. He gave Dalgliesh a smile and a greeting near the crime scene tape. Dalgliesh returned the greeting before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his packet of cigarettes. He offered one to Tarrant, who gratefully took one. Adam lit his own cigarette, breathing in and exhaling through his nose. Tarrant did the same, humming his thanks.
"Did the crime scene investigators find anything while I was away?" Asked Dalgliesh, wondering if the Priest Hole was found. He was itching to see if Theodora was telling the truth. Perhaps it was the little boy in him telling him to explore, investigate the hidden passage, but that little boy would have to wait.
"Not just yet. But they've put a scaffold up to allow us to go upstairs."
"The victim's niece says there was a second staircase, a hidden one."
Tarrant dropped his cigarette onto the ground and squished it into the asphalt, "That's news to me, Commander. Do you know where it is?"
"I have an idea based on her description, but I would like to go upstairs on the scaffold first," stated Dalgliesh, puffing out a cloud of smoke before finishing off his cigarette.
The fire must've burnt hot, based on the damage to the house, but there was still plenty of evidence to sift through. Wool carpet in the hallway had been ripped up by forensics, taken to the lab for analysis, along with other evidence. The stairs were somewhat intact, but it was better to be safe than sorry, so Dalgliesh climbed the scaffolding. As he was walking up, Dalgliesh noticed the wallpaper. Though it was burned heavily, some picture frames still managed to sit on the wall, which normally wouldn't have drawn his notice… but the wallpaper. The wallpaper had faded in some areas, showing that at one point, the paintings on the wall had been moved around. None of the pictures that remained looked like they matched up to the faded areas on the wallpaper. Dalgliesh was reminded of ghost photos from the Victorian era: images of people with ghostly figures superimposed on top of them. The pictures were all wrong. The frames did not match with the faded image of the frames on the wallpaper.
Adam thought of his conversation with Theodora, how she'd quoted her uncle as mentioning a picture in his final words. Was he alluding to this? Or was it a specific picture? Perhaps Morris Leyne did some redecorating in the home in the days before his death. But he was an older man, changing up a gallery wall would take time, and would involve some danger. Did he have help?
Dalgliesh turned towards Tarrant, who'd followed him up on the scaffolding, "I want the remaining pictures on the wall taken into evidence."
Tarrant gave Dalgliesh a confused look. "The pictures?"
"…Yes. The ones that survived the fire."
"Do you think they're important?"
"Maybe. We will ask Miss Leyne about them tonight."
"Tonight sir?"
"Yes. She has kindly offered us free lodging in her Bed and Breakfast."
Tarrant looked at Dalgliesh with suspicion, "Is this our way of keeping our eyes on a suspect?"
"A little. Her alibi checks out so far but until she is completely cleared, it may be beneficial for us to keep an eye on her," explained Dalgliesh, not mentioning the code. His words were true, he did have his suspicions about Theodora, even with her alibi. Dalgliesh found himself unsettled, restless after their conversation. Her open nature, her words about her past, her startling beauty…all of it culminated in a sense that Dalgliesh couldn't quite name. She was an attractive woman to be sure, but… why would she trust him so quickly. Especially with her openness about her uncle's war experience. That was sensitive information. Even nearly forty years after the war, England still felt its effects, secrets were still in high demand. Why was Adam's badge enough for her to believe him? He could've been anyone. He would have to ensure she didn't talk to anyone about the case except for him and his officers.
Would she divulge information so easily if she was raised by a man such as Morris Leyne? Was she lying? And if she was telling the truth, what did that mean.
"I would also like Morris Leyne's war records pulled, look for known associates during the war and their current locations. See what other information you can pull on him, his family and his niece."
"Yes, Commander."
"And Tarrant—"
"Yes sir?"
"Not a word of any of this to anyone until we have some answers."
"Of course, Commander," agreed Tarrant before he climbed off of the scaffolding onto the second floor. Dalgliesh followed, tugging on his gloves and treading onto the ash covered landing, which had been reinforced from below. He could see the direction of the fire, following the marked blood trail, and the single set of bloody footprints, leading along the hallway past the stairs, eventually leading to the nursery. The fire and smoke damage was not as bad as expected, but it was clear that the house would not be salvageable. In the nursery, Dalgliesh could see where Morris Leyne had collapsed, his blood pooling on the floor. Just looking at the amount of blood on the carpet, Adam was shocked that Morris Leyne even managed to speak, let alone escape through a window with his niece. He must have had a lot of will power. Adam could not help but admire that. He could see that in Theodora's haste to help her uncle, she had stepped in the pool of blood, leaving behind her own gory trail of breadcrumbs. So far, the evidence did line up with her explanations, but Adam would have to still investigate every part of her story. Each little detail would be important.
He walked to the hall and ran his gloved fingers along the panelling, pressing, searching, hoping that it would reveal its secrets to him. It was only his second pass that he discovered it on the other side of the landing. A small catch that when pressed, allowed for a door to open.
'She was telling the truth,' he admitted to himself as he pulled the door aside. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his torch and shone the light into the darkness. A dusty, ash laden passageway was revealed, dirty but intact. In the dim light, Adam could see the single set of Theodora's footprints going up the stairs. They did not have blood on them. A good sign that would have to be confirmed with forensics.
Adam felt a little pleased with himself for finding and opening the passageway on his own. There was always satisfaction in the small discovereries in a case, especially when those discoveries lined up with information given by witnesses. Adam knew Theodora would not have been able to bike from the pub to her Uncle's home in the span of time between the ignition of the fire and the time she had arrived at the scene. Adam knew her alibi was solid, but he just thought the case was so odd and cryptic. Theodora Leyne was just as odd as well.
Adam struggled to trust openness in a witness at the best of times. In most cases, open witnesses could hide behind their open nature, as being bombarded with information could confuse the inexperienced investigator. Adam was not inexperienced, and while Theodora was open, he did admit that she did try to stay to the point of their conversation. Perhaps being close to her would be useful after all. He would have to be careful, handling her with kid gloves at a distance, but he could try to use her information to his advantage.
Adam spent the rest of the day with the team examining the scene, interviewing witnesses and trying to puzzle together some of the information he'd gathered. He had the beginnings of some theories but he did not want to make assumptions.
It was only when the call about a strange break in at Theodora's home came in that his thoughts began to crystallize into something tangible.
Next Chapter
Author’s Note:
Theo: *compares Dalgliesh to a Byronic hero in her mind*
Also Theo: *thinks of how Lord Byron notoriously kept a pet Bear with him at university*
Theo: God I hope he doesn’t have actual Byronic habits.
Theo: *trusts Adam*
Adam: *narrows eyes* This is suspicious… why does the attractive writer lady trust me. It must mean something criminal!
DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUN! A break in. Whatever could’ve happened? I enjoy writing from the perspective of Adam, I find it really forces me to stretch my acting skills, oddly. I used to do theatre training so I’ve found myself getting in character while I write from Adam’s perspective. (Or any other character for that matter, but especially Adam and Lyonel Baratheon)
Also as a person who does not smoke or vape, I had to ask people I know about how to write a smoking scene. 😂
Dalgliesh and Tarrant's dynamic in the opening story of Series 3 is interesting. I might just have my shipping goggles on, but a lot of potential there. I'll have to write it myself though (which I'm not sure I'm up to tbh) because I doubt anyone else will.
I have published my latest, my take on AD being asexual, and both Kate and Daniel being in love with the man. This is very hurt/comfort, and very whump on poor Adam. PD James doesn't hold back with what she does to her hero, considering he's been hospitalised in the books more than once. He's been shot, suffered mononucleosis and thought he was dying from leukaemia, been concussed and had stitches for a head injury (with no anaesthetic), caught SARS and been bereaved three times (his wife, his aunt and a friend). So the poor man needs a break, but this is giving him another aspect of his nature which I hope I have gotten right.
