The Professionals Circuit Archive - The Watcher	The Watcher

 

by O Yardley

  
 From their table in the corner Murphy had a perfect view of his fellow
agent and he sat, absorbed in watching Bodie watching the entertainment,
apparently unaware that the light spilling from a spot trained on the
catwalk illuminated his face, revealing its darkly aloof disdain.

Murphy raised an eyebrow in surprise: he wasn't keen on strip clubs
himself and knew that Ruth Pettifer was finding the whole thing
excessively distasteful, but at least they were making the effort and
looking as though they were here for pleasure - Bodie quite simply looked
as though *he* were anticipating imminent disaster.

Unattracted by the gyrations of bodies in various stages of undress,
Murphy leant closer to Ruth, determined to make the most of the
opportunity (not often afforded) to enjoy her company while keeping his
main attention on the surrounding crowd as he was here to do, and mildly
annoyed to find whenever he looked at 3.7, that his eyes were fixed upon
the stage rather than the audience.

Murphy chuckled to himself: anyone'd think Bodie had never been to a strip
club before but while he was prepared to believe a lot of things about the
crazy minded ex-soldier, that was not one of them - but if Bodie didn't
get his mind on his work pretty soon he'd be having a private word with
him later on. After all, if Doyle was going to be there baring his all in
the line of duty, the least Bodie could do was pay attention.

But - that was exactly what he was doing, paying attention, Murphy
realised with a jolt of surprise, seeing the sudden, nervous swallow and
the jerky movement of Bodie's hand as he lifted his glass to his mouth.
The poor bastard was eaten up with nerves down there, watching the stage
and waiting for his partner to appear.

Fascinated, Murphy studied him more closely, seeing the sudden glint of
white teeth as they caught on the jutting lower lip, the restless head and
arm movements.

Probably sweating like a racehorse, Murphy decided, feeling a sympathetic
rush of dampness covering his own skin as the lights went out, at last
heralding Doyle's appearance.

Beside him, Murphy heard Ruth Pettifer emit a choked gurgle of laughter as
the full glory of Doyle's costume met their eyes.

Typical of bloody Doyle, that, Murphy decided in amusement and relief of
his heretofore unrecognised fear that his fellow agent would be dressed up
in some outlandishly camp outfit. Perfectly respectable people were
choristers, Murphy had been one himself once, many years ago, in a rig not
unlike this only the cassock had been black, the ruff much smaller.

As Doyle glided down the catwalk, the stage lighting once more revealed
Bodie's face, his eyes intently upon his partner, his normally aloof
expression gone and a look of wistful pain etched in its place.

Murphy's jaw dropped, wondering just what that brief glimpse had told him.
He knew Bodie to be over-protective of Doyle on occasions, he'd overheard
a few slanging matches between Bodie and George Cowley when the younger
man considered Doyle to have been placed in unnecessary danger or given
insufficient back-up, but he'd never considered that to mean more than a
man's natural concern for the partner with whom he necessarily lived and
worked so closely.

Those who worked in pairs always had to come to terms with a kind of
closeness the rest of the world was always faintly uncomfortable around:
it was one of the reasons Murphy preferred always to work solo, but all of
a sudden that look on Bodie's face had spoken of a deeper commitment...
no, perhaps not deeper, but different certainly.

Murphy drew a long breath and poured another glass of the sourly
unpleasant fizz sold as champagne - the place was sueable under the Trades
Descriptions Act, he thought bitterly, gulping it down - it was none of it
any business of his.

He turned his attention again to the room at large and Ruth Pettifer in
particular. If he couldn't get anywhere with the blonde agent after
tonight, he'd give up and lay siege to something easier!

******

It was quite amusing, Murphy decided cynically, to watch Cowley awaiting
Doyle's arrival at HQ on Thursday morning with something very like
trepidation.

Not that the Cow was showing anything to those who did not know him well,
of course, but he'd asked Betty a second time for a file she'd already
given him and he'd twiddled with his glasses rather longer than usual
after being told Doyle and Bodie were on their way up for the debriefing
after the Plaistow debacle. Not that he blamed Cowley for a minute either.
Doyle had an unpredictable temper at times and was likely to be in a
filthy mood after having taken on a job like that at Cowley's behest and
have it prove all for nothing: Murphy could well imagine the state of
chagrin, fury and outraged dignity he would be in under similar
circumstances. But he couldn't have done what Doyle did in the first place
he acknowledged with an inward smile of appreciation over those few,
superb performances he'd been privileged to witness. Sheer animal
perfection, Ruth Pettifer had described him as. Murphy wasn't sure he'd go
that far himself but had a shrewd suspicion Bodie would have agreed with
her wholeheartedly.

In fact, after last week, Murphy was definitely beginning to wonder a few
things about Bodie!

The clatter of Cowley's falling pen interrupted Murphy's abstraction and
he picked it up politely, placing it beside the manila folder on the desk
top, glancing down at the sandy-ringed bald spot with something akin to
affection. Poor old bugger had a guilt complex you could smell a mile off
and it would be interesting to see how he coped with Doyle's inevitable
outburst when it occurred.

Most times he silenced the volatile younger man with a freezing contempt
that would have had a less resilient character reduced to shreds in
seconds. Doyle simply shrugged it off, usually exchanging an irrepressible
grin with his partner, often careless of whether Cowley saw it or not.

Those two both got away with blue murder, but Murphy conceded to himself
that they sometimes deserved to - they were the best that CI5 had and the
most attuned to what Cowley wanted for the department. They might not
always understand the Old Man's motives, just as he did not always
comprehend theirs, but they worked well together, superbly on occasions.

It would be a pity if this episode spoiled that rapport.

Trouble was, Murphy could sympathise with both men, with the sort of wild,
uncontrolled rage Doyle would almost certainly let rip and with Cowley's
need to excuse his own false assumptions without encouraging Doyle to
behave unreprimanded, in a way that threatened discipline.

Altogether it seemed something of an impasse and, evilly, Murphy leaned
his shoulders against the wall behind his chair and settled back to enjoy
a scene in which he was only peripherally involved.

The door opened with the sort of crash that only Bodie and Doyle could
give it and the two agents strolled in, sleek as cats, the same look of
sleepy disinterest masking a hunter's eye, boiled down aggression hidden
behind a false impression of friendly bonhomie.

No.

With a shock, Murphy realised he was seeing what he expected to see and
not what was really there. The two of them were relaxed, content, sleekly
well-fed. He straightened up, staring in fascination as the two of them
sunk into chairs, side by side, eyeing their chief with an air of almost
affectionate amusement.

Cowley allowed a few seconds to elapse, deliberately, almost egging the
pair of them to get their outburst over, Murphy thought.

But, looking at them, he didn't think the Cow was going to get the row
everyone was anticipating. Murphy had almost settled down, surprised and
mildly disappointed not to witness the expected drama, when it occurred to
him it would be just like the evil-minded couple to bide their time, lull
George Cowley into a false sense o~ security and then erupt simultaneously
like a pair of rocketing pheasants.

It didn't do to get too complacent around Doyle and Bodie!

Eventually, Cowley dragged his gaze away from his two top operatives and
topped the folder on his desk.

"We have wound up this affair," be said baldly, without preliminaries. "A
chance remark in a homosexual Club led us to the house in Plaistow ..."

Murphy gave the plummy voice only half his concentration. He knew the
details already and was more interested in what it was that had made Doyle
and Bodie look as though someone had handed them each a sizeable portion
of the Crown Jewels - the pair of them were positively glowing.

Murphy gazed about him surreptitiously, studying other faces to try and
see if anyone else had noted the oddity of this, but no one else -- not
even Cowley -- seemed aware of anything out of the ordinary in the two
agents' behaviour and Murphy began to wonder if he was suddenly developing
an over-fertile imagination. He shrugged, putting the matter aside, and
gave his full attention to the debriefing.

Much later, in the pub not far away where CI5 agents were wont to assemble
after a job well done and where even Cowley was known to foregather for a
glass of malt in celebration, Murphy had forgotten all about his earlier
puzzlement and was happily draining his second helping of Cowley-provided
whisky alone in his corner when something caught his eye and he blinked.

Doyle and Bodie were standing side by side and very close together --
nothing unusual in that, the pub was very crowded at this hour - but quite
casually (and hidden from everyone in the room save Murphy in his private
little corner) behind their backs they were holding hands.

Stunned, Murphy's eyes slid upwards, encountered Bodie's.

For a moment neither man moved but then Bodie muttered something to Doyle
and his partner swung round to stare over his shoulder, his gaze
questioning, holding the beginnings of belligerence.

Murphy shook his head and smiled, raising his glass to them both.

He could put two and two together with the best of them.

It may be a surprise but having seen the look on Bodie's face while he
watched Doyle act, it was not so very unexpected after all.

After a moment both his smile and his silent toast were reciprocated and
they turned their attention back to the group around them.

Murphy grinned inwardly, draining his glass.

How long would it take Cowley to see what had happened? At a guess, not
long, but Murphy experienced an understandable sense of smug triumph that
for once he was better informed than the head of CI5.

It may not be for long, but it was undeniably a very pleasant feeling!

-- THE END --

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