No Getting Beyond Good and Evil

There were so many Morse parallels that Beyond Good and Evil didn't develop for one reason or another that I could hardly resist having a go at it. Having not written for ages now I'm missing a good deal of parallels myself, and I can't promise that I won't turn right around and rectify that, but as it is, I figure it's better to get something written then getting tangled up in a project that may never come to completion. This story's background is pulled mainly from Inspector Morse Masonic Mysteries (an episode with some amazing Lewis bits and that wonderful, plaintive, "Where's Lewis? I want Lewis?" line that sums up Morse's dependence on Lewis like no other. Well worth the rewatch) and, like the proverbial bad penny, Service of All the Dead. Though I usually prefer to stay with canon if at all possible this one tends to jump in and out of actual scenes from the show right to and from my revisions and at some point leaves the episode entirely to become a quite different story.

The Wind Up

Be seeing you, Lawrie

Four simple words. Enough to strike fear in Lewis' heart for all they sounded innocent enough.

"When he sent that text, I thought of you!" he told Laura, but she wasn't hearing what he was saying. Not that he could blame her. The one didn't seem to follow the other. But for Lewis who'd been forced to watch a not-unsimilar situation unfold when Hugo DeVries had set his sights on destroying Morse for daring to put him away, the one led to the other easily enough. DeVries had come close to destroying Morse's life, professionally and privately, and he hadn't targeted Morse only. The chief inspector's lady friend had been the first to go…so yeah, seeing those few words from a psychopath Lewis himself had put away had been enough to bring him round to Laura double quick.

She couldn't know that; DeVries had been dead a good long while before she'd arrived in Oxford. She was touched Lewis had thought of her, but she didn't understand his agitation. Didn't understand it and didn't appreciate it pacing and prowling about the mortuary making it difficult if not impossible to do her job. But, he'd opened that airing cupboard and Morse's old mentor, former Chief Inspector McNutt, had stared back at him with lifeless eyes. A man Morse hadn't seen in years—presumably at any rate—dead because when madmen became fixated with a specific police officer no one around that officer was safe. Even those not particularly close.

Lewis' kids were far afield. He could hope at least that would keep them safe, but Laura. Not just a lady friend like Morse's opera-singing girlfriend, Beryl Newsome; much, much closer than that. Much, much more a likely target if his madman struck…but for all his trying he couldn't convey his rising alarm to her.

She was touched he was concerned about her…touched! She could be touched when he brought her flowers or picked her up some rare and obscure pathology treatise he'd happened upon scrounging in the book stalls—not when he was terrified half out of his mind on her behalf!

But, no. She was touched. She wouldn't be getting out of harm's way…not Laura. Why couldn't she be like Va—like Val. Was he really thinking that? Did he really want her to be? Val might have tried to reason with him, calm him down and make sure he was really thinking clearly, but then she'd have been on her way. There would have been no question she'd do what he thought best in the end. But Laura…quite the opposite, before he'd even gotten the idea out that she needed to be careful, needed perhaps to leave town, she'd adamantly refused and there was no question she'd change her mind. The more he begged, pleaded, or demanded the harder she'd dig in her heels and there was nothing he could do about it.

Maybe if they'd been together for years instead of months, if he'd convinced her to marry him, if…well, it didn't matter. What mattered was keeping her safe and out of a psychopath's sights. And he wasn't making a good job of it. Not at all.

Nor was he thinking straight for she was the one who finally pointed out the obvious. She wasn't the one his madman was fixated on and very unlikely to be for as far as was known Lawrie had never targeted anyone besides policemen.

"It's you who needs to be careful, Robbie…you're the one he'll come after—if he comes after anyone. Which would be extraordinarily foolish, and Lawrie doesn't seem like a fool. Should he get out and come after you, he'll be back in before he can turn around. No, Robbie, he's just winding you up and you're letting him!"

He frowned after her as she stormed once more back to work. He had a burning need to do something. To be an active and important part of the investigation and to get her out of danger. But Innocent—and Hathaway setting his sergeant on the old case files like a hound to sniff out discrepancies and past mistakes as well—had nixed him being anything more than an armchair consultant on the investigation. Not that he could fault either of them—needed doing no doubt but…that didn't make it set any easier. And Laura was having none of it.

But, for all the soundness of her argument, it hadn't quieted the alarm bells reverberating through his soul. He couldn't chance her, couldn't lose her, and it seemed there was nothing he could do about it.

So, nothing for it but to take a close look at the concerns Laura had raised, evaluate the dangers, and see if any of it could be twisted to use against Lawrie. (Or maybe, help him get Laura away…maybe if he convinced her to go with him. Even in his agitation, he snorted at that thought. He'd have no better luck with that than the other.)

So, Lawrie… Hathaway was out getting his hands dirty as Lewis wished he was. Which left Innocent.

"I don't know, Robbie," she said. "Laura's right. We probably should be viewing that text as a threat. One directed at you…perhaps, if it comes to it, you should leave town, consult over the phone—"

"I'd hate to be seen as running," he said, shaking his head not in a firm refusal but in dismay at the thought.

"More than you'd hate to be seen dead? With a hammer through the back of your skull?" she asked.

He gave her a small grimace of a grin. "Well, there's that…but, I'm a Brit. We don't run; we withstand. Just ask Hitler."

"Yes, well, it's not Hitler I'm worried about. This new murder…"

"I can't argue it's the same weapon so not just a copycat, but I'll argue till I'm blue in me face that it's not the same man…the original Hammer Killer is locked up at the moment. This new one—" he sighed, "an accomplice…someone we—I failed—to suss out?"

"Not someone likely to come after you then; you're Lawrie's obsession. But still, this is all moot surely. Lawrie isn't that likely to win this appeal…well, not by you at any rate. Your work was sound; that lab though…" she shook her head and frowned his way. "Robbie, if he is released—"

"I won't be answering any 999 calls, that's for certain," he agreed without saying he'd beat a hasty retreat out of harm's way. And he left without saying where he was going, for he knew quite well that she'd not have allowed his visit to Lawrie. And maybe he should have let her stop him, saved himself from Hathaway's ire, and avoided quite possibly messing up the appeal hearing coming up as well as the present investigation. Letting Lawrie play him for a fool and get under his skin like that. And for what? What had he expected to gain by that visit? He could hardly say. Whatever it was, he certainly hadn't gotten it. What he did get…

"How's Laura, by the way? I'm really looking forward to meeting her." No, no, no. Lewis hadn't needed that. Not one bit. Hathaway was right, he so shouldn't have come. And he couldn't even use that to help him convince Laura the danger was real…if he told her he'd visited the prison—well, he couldn't even put a word to how irate she'd be at that. Dinner in the canoe would be a walk in the park in comparison.

As difficult as it was to believe, Lawrie did win his appeal. His gloating face was all over the telly and he was doubtlessly drinking the bubbly in celebration before the sad group at the pub broke up after paying their last respects to Constable Mark Travis.

So, whoever struck that inexpert blow to Maddox's head, it hadn't been Lawrie as he'd been triumphantly standing before the appeals court at the time. No way had he made the call that sent Maddox running off to danger.

Treat everything as suspicious they'd all been told but Maddox had went off with no thought but to the well-being of her husband, and Innocent and Lewis had let her go with no more thought than wishing they could escape their sad duties there at the pub as easily.

Lewis was left with the sickening reminder that it hadn't only been Laura he should have been worried about. Thank God his children were safely far out of reach. And now, Maddox…barely, and hardly by the skin of her teeth on this side of the living, but at least out of harm's way deep in the bowels of the hospital.

But Hathaway…ah, Hathaway, man. No stopping you, is there? You wouldn't run if you saw it coming…and I wouldn't ask you to, canny lad. But…watch your back, Hathaway, watch your back.

Laura turned from the window where they'd both been staring pensively in at Maddox lying there under the sedatives and machines with that poor husband of hers sitting beside her.

Looking up at him, she said, "Maybe you should go, Robbie." Back to that then. There was a case on, Hathaway a man short, and Lewis wanted to think he might be of some use putting this new madman out of action, but…

"Is that what you want? Do really want me to, because…" well, more now with Lawrie out than ever, Lewis still wished she would listen to him and leave; it wouldn't be right to ask of her what he wasn't willing to give in return.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I don't know…I don't want—" she looked at him then, the fear and indecision so clear in her face that he felt like he could reach out and touch it. He remembered the angry brittleness in her voice when she'd thrown that 'wanting to run around in a bulletproof vest' comment at him, and he remembered Val's nightmares down through the years…it wasn't easy, loving a copper. Not even for his indomitable Laura Hobson. She went on, "What are the odds? This wasn't Lawrie. She's a cop. A target. Doesn't follow, does it, that the killer went after her to get after you? No. Of course not. Lawrie may be out, but he's as good as locked up again with the press camped out at his door. This killer…you'll all be that much more vigilant now at any rate. None of you will prove to be an easy target. But…just do me a favour, all right? Talk to Dr. Rook. If she thinks Lawrie would throw away his freedom to come after you, if she thinks all his posturing is more than just that, then you go, yeah? Don't wait to talk it over with me or Innocent, just go. Call us when you're out of town. But if she thinks it's all just bluster, then, ignore me, ok?" She smiled at him weakly, but he solemnly nodded his head and kissed her forehead before he returned her smile.

"Sounds fair enough," he said. "I'll see if I can catch her then, shall I?" After one last look through that window at Maddox, he walked off already pulling out his phone to call the psychiatrist.

"Totally, against his MO," the doctor said after hearing Lewis out and giving it a think. "He certainly enjoys toying with people—and I imagine, you—the man who put him away—in particular. But, killing those trying to help others, that's the perfect murder for him. The thing that gives him release and satisfaction…targeting you as an actual victim wouldn't do. You're the bad guy to Lawrie, he only kills good guys. To change that…he'd have to be deteriorating badly and right now he's far from that. Reveling in his triumph I'm sure. And as to your accomplice…if Lawrie's pulling the strings there, he'll put a quick and decisive stop to any further deviation from his plans. An accomplice would definitely be beta…Lawrie will call the shots."

Lewis nodded his appreciation for the doctor's help and left only somewhat relieved. He'd been toyed with before; nothing he couldn't withstand assuming the doctor was right…so that should quiet Laura's fears about him—keep him from having to pack his bag, turn tail, and run. But. Well, Morse's madman hadn't stuck to his MO, had he? Went from a very successful con man to murder easily enough, DeVries had. No, it could be hoped the doctor was right, but Lewis wasn't banking on it.

And he was smart to not, for in the end the doctor was as wrong as everybody else.