Torchwood Long Time Dead by Unknown

good could come from having a case steamrollered after all.
    'What have you got for me?' he asked.
    'As you can imagine, there's a lot of trace to go through.' It was Abbie Trent on the line and that filled him with some confidence. In her mid-fifties, a hardened drinker - but never a drunk - and a survivor of three failed marriages, Dr Trent had moved down to Wales from Liverpool a couple of years before. She was good - probably one of the best
    - at her job, but her lifestyle and clear disregard for authority had never let that be acknowledged.
    If she was running tests on the crime scene evidence, then Cutler doubted anything would be missed. Trent might be belligerent, but she was thorough.
    'Spanton has sent over what they got from the bodies, so we've been going through that first, along with the clothes. I wish at least one of these people had invested in a clothes brush. They're all covered in fluff and fur and all kinds of stuff.'
    'I know it's going to take a while,' Cutler said.
    His heart sank slightly. If Trent had called just to let him know they were in for a long haul, then he could have done without it. He knew that. 'Just do what you can.'
    'Oh no,' Trent said, surprised. 'We've got something. I wouldn't be bloody calling before eight in the morning if I hadn't. I'd be at home, in bed. Or at least having whatever slop they're serving for breakfast in the canteen here.'
    'What have you got?' Cutler said.
    'Hair. There were hairs from the same person on two of the victims. One was dark and the other was a slightly lighter colour but they're both from the same person.'
    'Did you get a DNA match from it? Have we got anything on the system?'
    'Ah,' said Dr Trent. 'This is where it gets interesting.'
    And she was right. It did.

Chapter Seventeen
    Suzie had been up early and got showered and dressed, making sure to step around the mess in her flat. She'd clean it - him - up later, but there wasn't any hurry. It wasn't as if he was going anywhere. And she had the spare room to sleep in, if the urge to rest took hold.
    Commander Jackson had a meeting at eight
    off-site and she took the chance to dig around his computer. She ran an attack on his password and was in within minutes. It was time to find out exactly what had been going on during her recent trip into the nothingness of death. She didn't bother looking at the files regarding the excavation. She knew what was going in there -
    retrieval of alien artefacts and devices. That much was clear. Where they were all headed, she wasn't sure, and she found that she didn't much care. Not this morning, anyway. She didn't have long, and her primary objective was to satisfy her curiosity about the rest of the Torchwood team. She needed to know if there was anyone out on the streets of Cardiff that was going to recognise her face.

    Within twenty minutes she was absorbed.
    Toshiko and Owen were both dead, within minutes of each other from what she could see. Her mouth twisted into a sour smile. Poor little Toshiko Sato, got to die with the man she wanted, even if she was the only woman he'd never shown any interest in getting into bed. She dug deeper, lost in the files on the 456. How the mighty fell, she mused, as she browsed the documents. So the government had ordered the destruction of Torchwood and the assassination of the team in order to cover up its own deal with the aliens. Torchwood, like anyone else, was expendable. A small twinge of anger surprised her. So Toshiko and Owen and all those who had gone before them had died for nothing.
    She had died for nothing. You gave your soul when you joined Torchwood, and this was how they'd been repaid. Jack had been blown up and buried in a concrete grave, rescued by his ever faithful -
    and soon to be dead himself she noted from his file
    - Ianto and her own replacement, Gwen Cooper.
    It irked her that Gwen was still alive out there somewhere. She would have to be the one that had bloody survived, wouldn't she? Perfect