A Fall From the Tower

For all the sergeant was ever to know, his comment might have sent Morse barreling out of the pub the night before without so much as a swallow of beer. (It hadn't though. That was up to Miss Rawlinson and the man with whom she was drinking and laughing. And if only Morse hadn't felt an irrational but overriding hurt in seeing her with another man when he would have happily been the one buying her rounds, they might have taken the opportunity to push forward the investigation in saying 'hello' and seeing what they could stir up…and in so doing met their murder victim, alive and well, before he'd gone off to produce a few more victims of his own.)

What Lewis would always know for certain was that the questions they proposed to the Reverend Pawlen that next morning had led the man to climb the steps to the top of the church and throw himself off its roof. The very mention that they wanted to question him about his brother was all it took. If only they'd realized how terribly the idea had affected the man; if only Morse hadn't been a gentleman and agreed to give the vicar time to change out of his robes before taking him down to the station…if only wishes were horses.

Lewis couldn't blame Morse. It wasn't like they had suspected the vicar was suicidal or that he'd do a runner. Still…Lewis had tried to keep his eye on the man, just in case. That was how it was supposed to be done after all. He'd been concerned when he realized he'd lost sight of Pawlen, but he hadn't thought—not that. Most definitely not that. He'd not expected to look up and see a body plummeting down towards where the chief inspector and Miss Rawlinson stood chitchatting. Never that. His football days had come in handy then; he'd taken both Morse and Miss Rawlinson out of danger with a flying tackle. Pawlen, his body sprawled grotesquely like a parody of the crucified Christ, had landed squarely on Miss Rawlinson's bike. Lewis shuddered to think what would have happened if he'd gone running off to look for the vicar like he'd been tempted to do.

There was no need for heroics. The man was dead and there was nothing to be done for him. Morse held the weeping Miss Rawlinson and gave her what comfort he could while Lewis called it in and secured the scene. It was far too little, far too late. Lewis was sick at heart and just wanted to go home, crawl into his wife's arms, and hold her for all he was worth.

They dealt with Death on an all too-frequent basis, but even when the body was still warm when they arrived, they didn't usually brush against him when he passed. And he didn't usually point a bony finger their way accusing them for his day's work. Lewis felt much too shaken by the encounter as well as that pointing finger to feel capable of working.

Morse must have felt the same. At some point, he tapped Lewis on the shoulder and said, "I'm taking Miss Rawlinson home. Then I'm going home myself. We'll need to find out about the Pawlen brothers… check that school Pawlen went to as a boy…" he fumbled around for a name, but it wasn't surprising he couldn't come up with it in the circumstances, "…it's in my notes."

Lewis watched Morse quietly usher Miss Rawlinson to his car and wondered if the chief inspector was up to driving. He hated to think of the inspector going home to his empty flat after such a morning, but Lewis was hardly in a position to stop him. Before he could dig up what he could on the vicar and his brother there was still the scene processing to complete, pages and pages of paperwork to be filled out, and the chief superintendent would want briefed. He'd have to trust the chief inspector to look after himself.

It wasn't an easy day, but the sergeant slugged through. He worked hard to always make sure his work was satisfactory and was just a bit surprised and… hurt? miffed? disappointed maybe…when Morse expressed shock at finding him at his door later that afternoon.

"What are you doing here?" Morse demanded as though he'd thought Lewis would be sloughing off and hadn't expected to hear from him at all that day.

"I thought you wanted to know about the school," he said.

Morse, somber and looking worse for his time off than not, shook his head sadly and said, "Lewis. It could have waited, you know. Until tomorrow. "

"I'm sorry, Sir," Lewis began, "I just thought—"

"Yes, you did, and I didn't. Well, you might as well tell me now that you're here, and then…it's off you go. Home."

Not quite sure what exactly he'd done to upset the chief inspector, Lewis gave Morse a brief report and went home.