So this little story started out with a specific narrator in mind, but I then decided to make it a little more ambiguous. So you are free to imagine the speaker as Lewis, Hathaway, or even an unnamed original character if you like. The italicized lines are lyrics from Billy Joel's "She's Always a Woman."
Disclaimer: ITV owns Lewis, and Billy Joel owns his beautiful music.
Casual Lies
She can kill with a smile.
I feel a slight fluttering in my stomach as she smiles down at my get-well card. Jean Innocent's smile reminds me a bit of a cloudless day—beautiful, rare, and very fleeting.
"I came here to make sure that you were alright, ma'am."
She brushes off this comment with her non-injured hand. "Of course, I'm alright. It was my own stupid fault. I should have been more careful."
"Don't blame yourself. Those patches of ice can be extremely difficult to see, particularly at night-time."
"Still, I'm fine. I've had to put up with much worse than a sprained wrist before."
"I know," I reply sombrely. "I talked to Dr Hobson this morning. She told me this about… about what she found when she examined your arm."
She shoots a furious glance in my direction.
She can wound with her eyes.
I am not so easily dissuaded. "Jean?" I say, and she appears shocked that I have the boldness to use her Christian name.
"Yes?"
"Hobson swears that she won't tell another soul. She only told me, because she's really concerned for you. We both are."
Her already-pronounced scowl deepens. "There's no need for you to be concerned. I told you; I'm fine."
"You know that you can trust me—don't you? There's no need for you to hide anything."
"I'm not hiding anything!" she insists vehemently.
She can ruin your faith with her casual lies.
"Then, explain the bruises," I say, in the same commanding tone that I usually reserve for uncooperative murder suspects. I doubt it will be very successful on Innocent; she's seen this technique in action far too many times. "Dr Hobson maintains that they are not nearly recent enough to be the result of your fall last night."
"I… I… tripped over my sister's dog when I went to visit her last Tuesday."
I don't know if she honestly expects me to believe this or she merely feels that she must say something. Maybe she thinks I'll see the truth as a sign of her weakness—or maybe she just doesn't want to worry me. She's wrong on both counts. The last word I—or anyone else—would ever use to describe Jean Innocent is "weak," and I'm already worried about her.
And she only reveals what she wants you to see.
"Jean, I want the truth this time. Has… has Mr Innocent been knocking you about?"
"No," she says emphatically, but she can't manage to meet my gaze, a sure sign that she is being dishonest.
"Jean, I need to know. Did your husband hit you?"
"Alright, yes!" she shouts finally. Then she lowers her voice. "Yes, I… I admit it. But before you get the idea that Mr Innocent's some sort of sadistic maniac who beats me every night for the sheer hell of it, you should know that this has only happened one time."
"When?"
"About a week ago. You were still working on the Barry case."
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
She shrugs. "There were more important things going on at the time."
I grow angry at her surprising apathy to her own pain. "More important than your health and safety?"
"There was a serial rapist wandering around the area—not to mention seven murder inquiries going on at once!" she reminds me. Then, she sighs dismally. "No one had the time to care that their chief super's odiously drunk husband threw a couple of punches one evening."
She hides like a child, but she's always a woman to me.
I walk over to her and place a hand on her shoulder. "I would've cared."
She looks up at me curiously. "Yes, I suppose you would have. You always were the chivalrous type."
I suppose I am the chivalrous type, but that isn't the only reason I cared about her well-being.
She can lead you to love.
I hadn't realized just how in love with Jean Innocent I was until this morning—once I had learned about the bruises. Dr Hobson had told me her theory as to how the chief superintendent had obtained these injuries, and I had felt a sudden, mad desire to throw a few punches of my own— a sudden, mad desire to make Mr Innocent pay for what he had done to his wife. Fortunately, I have enough self-control to contain these impulses, but I can't control what I feel in my heart.
She can take you or leave you.
I know that we can never be together. Even if Jean did care for me, the differences in our ranks would still be an insurmountable obstacle between us. But that doesn't even matter—seeing as she doesn't care. Her foolish, desperate attempt to excuse her husband's behaviour makes it very clear that he is the one she loves. I can only hope that he'll someday prove himself worthy of her love.
I doubt I'll ever be able to tell her how I feel about her. She'd probably laugh at me anyway, foolishly believing that my profession of love was some sort of joke.
She can ask for the truth, but she'll never believe.
"It's not just chivalry, Jean. It's common sense. If your husband has already hurt you once, it stands to reason that he'll hurt you again."
"You don't know that."
"And how do you know he won't? We've both seen this situation time and time again. Domestic abuse never happens only once. If it were anyone's circumstances but your own, you'd be calling for his blood too! Your only option is to report him before he does something worse."
"There's no need for me to report him! He's not going to do anything worse!"
She remains firm in her belief, and eventually I give up trying to convince her otherwise. Before I go, however, I remind her that if this were ever to happen again, I'd be willing to talk to her about it.
Time passes, and I almost start to believe that Jean was right after all. Then, she comes into work with a black eye about three weeks later. Her meticulous attempt to conceal her injury with cosmetics proves unsuccessful. Even my partner notices, and he asks her about it. She forces a laugh and explains that she walked into a door. My partner laughs as well and jestingly informs her that they are going to need to do something about her clumsiness. I am not fooled.
Later in the day, I enter her office and demand the truth from her. She admits that the only thing that she "walked into" was her husband's fist. She lets me embrace her for a minute. I do so eagerly, wishing that I could also kiss away the tears leaking from those beautiful eyes. But she'd never let me do that. She may accept my comfort, but she'd never accept my love, especially if she thought I expected her to return it.
And she'll take what you give her as long as it's free.
Eventually, we break apart, and she tells me everything.
As I listen, I wonder how her husband could ever do those things to her. Mr Innocent seems to have completely forgotten that this woman had once stolen his heart—the way she's stolen mine.
Yeah, she steals like a thief, but she's always a woman to me.
Once she finishes talking, I again implore to report him, and once again, she refuses to listen to my reasoning.
"I can take care of myself," she says over and over again. Her obstinacy greatly irritates me, but I can't exactly force her to action. This is not my secret to share with the chief constable. All I can do is wait for Innocent to change her mind.
Oh, she takes care of herself.
She can wait if she wants;
She's ahead of her time.
Oh, and she never gives out
And she never gives in.
She just changes her mind.
Eventually, she swears that she'll report this the next time that it occurs. I'm not entirely sure that I believe her, but I hope that she is—in fact—being honest with me.
And she'll promise you more than the Garden of Eden.
I continue to check in on Jean for the next few days—in order to make sure that she's still okay. One day, my caring proves too much for her. She grows angry, and claims that she is tired of listening to the advice of someone who doesn't understand her.
While I admit that I don't understand her, I confess that I want to and that I need her cooperation in order to so. She then suggests that I stick my "overlarge nose" and my "over-sensitive eyes" where they belong—namely the case on which my partner and I are working. I take that as my cue to leave her office permanently. As I exit, I hear her chuckle to herself and make a comment about finally being able to get some work finished.
And she'll carelessly cut you, and laugh while you're bleedin'.
Innocent and I struggle to be civil to each other for the next few weeks; we are still far too angry to even attempt false cordiality. However, I have taken her advice, devoting my "overlarge nose" and "oversensitive eyes" to my job. Due to my newfound zeal for my profession, my partner and I solve any cases that come our way in half the time it usually takes us, and with fewer procedural missteps.
But she'll bring out the best and the worst you can be.
Blame it all on yourself, 'cause she's always a woman to me.
The next Thursday, I unexpectedly come down with a sore throat and am forced to take the day off. The next day, I return to work slightly hoarse but feeling much better. I hear my colleagues mention Jean's name several times, although the chief superintendent herself is nowhere to be found. Eventually, I ask my partner about it, and he explains.
"Late last night, the station received a call from the chief super's house, a call that reported an incident of domestic abuse. The uniformed officers hurried over there as soon as they could. I was still here—working late—so I went with them. When we arrived, we took Innocent to the hospital—she was pretty badly beaten up, but the doctors think that she'll be all right. Then, we charged and arrested her husband."
I am unsure as to what I am more surprised about: that Jean actually made good on her promise to report the next offense or that it took such an extreme circumstance to force her to make good on that promise.
Oh, she takes care of herself.
She can wait if she wants;
She's ahead of her time.
Oh, and she never gives out
And she never gives in.
She just changes her mind.
After I finish my work for the day, I go over to the hospital to visit her. My partner had not been lying when he'd claimed that the chief superintendent been badly beaten up. It hurts to look at her for even a moment, her lovely face covered with so many bruises. And the doctors report the injuries hidden underneath her hospital gown are even worse.
I place a bouquet of tulips beside her bed, and she glances over at them.
"Thank you," she manages weakly. "And not just for the flowers."
"You're welcome."
"Taking your advice was probably the best thing that I could have done, and looking back, I wonder why it took me so long to see that."
"So I do," I admit. "But I'm glad that you did. I…er…do you want to talk about it?"
"No!" she snaps. "If you'd just ensured that the love of your life receives a prison sentence, do you suppose that you'd want to 'talk about it'?"
She is frequently kind. Then, she's suddenly cruel.
"No, I suppose I would not. But please remember that what he did to you was terribly wrong. He needs to answer for his actions."
She nods slightly. "I know."
She can do as she pleases; she's nobody's fool.
One of the nurses returns to Jean's side and informs me that the patient really should be getting back to her resting. Therefore, I bid the chief superintendent goodbye, taking and squeezing one of her hands before releasing it.
"Get well soon, ma'am. The station isn't the same without you."
She raises an interested eyebrow. "Really, how so?"
"It's a little too… quiet for my taste."
The two of us share a laugh before I finally take my leave of her.
And she can't be convicted. She's earned her degree.
And the most she will do is throw shadows at you.
But she's always a woman to me.
The End