Hathaway was frustrated at Robbie's anger, but it did give him some leads. He cross-referenced every name that appeared on the file. He printed pictures and searched up death records. The interviews and witnesses along with the names of all officers mentioned left him a thick file by late afternoon. He began to make notes on the fate of all the players. He hadn't expected Lewis to hold him to the pint that evening, but he couldn't say he wasn't disappointed. It was long dark outside by the time he got home, but he made a makeshift suspect board on his sitting room wall and began the labor of seeing patterns.

Lewis didn't come by with beer and take-away or seem to be concerned that James was going on three days with no sleep to speak of, so he used the time to work.

It was nearly three am by the time he felt his visitor behind him. "Nice start. I admit I am rather impressed. Didn't know you were this sharp. I wasn't sure you'd taken me seriously."

"Not you that cinched it, Sir. His reaction. I have only seen him afraid on rare occasion. That usually involves me and bullets, syringes or fire…or discussing deep feelings. This is an angry fear and if you are here, it must be bloody dire. If you aren't, then my madness may as well strike sooner as later." Hathaway said with a smirk as he pinned a photo of Dr. Ester Martin on the wall.

"You can call me Morse," his companion said lifting a photo and adding it to Hathaway's timeline.

James nodded and handed him a stack of photos as if to ask him to please continue. "You can call me Lewis-cub or James."

Morse chuckled, "You found all this in one day?"

"Tell me about the curse."

Morse wondered around and looked at Hathaway's flat as he sorted pictures and made small notes explaining who was who. He took frequent breaks and occasionally adjusted fact elements as he spoke, "It was Canon Appleton who put me back on the trail. He was a good man and a truly peaceful soul. I liked him. They found him on his knees, as if in prayer. People had come and gone for hours, thinking not to disturb his worship. They finally tried to rouse him when it was time for his orchestra to practice. Arms all marked up with funny sigils and old ones that hadn't washed off. Didn't look like a heart attack but that was what they ruled. He was afraid of something. Said in his journal, 'The devil loves the bells of Oxford and is ringing them himself.'"

James blanched at the nebulous web of memory those words stirred. "Very odd. I was under the impression that he didn't take it all as more than the imagination of the disturbed," Hathaway agreed.

Morse nods and lifts a picture of James and Robbie glancing at James as if something clicked, "So was I, until the good Canon died. Three days later Willowbank topped himself, and there was no question of that, but he had the same symbols all over his own arms."

Hathaway frowned, "That isn't mentioned in the report."

"What does he call you? Oh yes, Clever-Clogs. Well spotted."

James shrugged at the praise and automatically said, "I stumble, but sometimes I do it in the right direction."

Morse crinkled his brow in an amused way, "Where did you hear that?"

James squinted and blinked his tired eyes. "Robert said it."

"Did he?" Morse asked rhetorically as if it pleased him.

"And you think whatever caused all of this, is now after Robbie?"

Morse only raised his eyebrows as his acknowledgement, then tilted his head and hooded his eyes to ask, "How long have you known that you are in love with him?"

Hathaway paused, cleared his throat but doesn't concede the statement.

Morse smiled and added with pity, "Bet he hasn't got a clue. Lewis always was a bit thick at times."

"No, he isn't. I hide it well and he's not…It would simply never occur to him," Hathaway stated quietly filled with defeat but with no anger.

"God, what hell you put yourself though. I was like that. Always pining for what I could never have. He's a good man, Lewis, always was. Can't believe how old he got," Morse said randomly.

James looked at him and said with irritation, "You put some of those lines there, you know. Heart attack? For God's sake, they had surgery that would have fixed you up for years. You had been in hospital recently. It wasn't a surprise. You should have been there, you know. He was alone when he lost her. His wife. Would have been better if he'd had you to …help."

Morse nodded as if he agreed and then shook his head. "You're a blunt sod. Aren't you?"

"It's been regularly mentioned in my reviews. Did you have them on your arms, Sir? The protective spells?"

Morse shook his head and simply said, "No."

Hathaway shrugged and took a deep breath, holding it and furrowing his brow as he looked at a photo, "Who was Heironymous St John?"

"He pronounced it Sin-Jin. Bookstore owner. Occult bookstore. Still in business. Looks like he's a hundred and thirty. Crusty, snarly bastard and knows the truth. He's a key to this. If I could have gotten my hands on his mailing list, we'd know who was who. He's not important but he's the one that would get us our connections. Wiley old tosser. Never could crack him," Morse said with regret.

"Can't you just pop in now? You have no trouble with the nick or my bedroom." Hathaway slouched and cocked his head with a bit of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Morse laughed and smiled as he explained, "Can't get in. Some of that scribbly old rubbish actually works. Whole place is a trap for things like me. There are a fair few stuck in that place too, from the sound of screams. I shudder to imaging what he's undertaking with them."

"Supernatural collaborator thwarted by mumbo-jumbo. Pity," James commented.

"I didn't know he would need me, you know. I died long before his…Mrs. Lewis. Very clever of you to catch it though. There just wasn't anything for me to fight for. I let it all pass me by and in my desperation, I grasp for the wrong thing, every time. My best friend was the next pint and the bottom of a bottle," Morse admitted, eyes cast down.

James studied the haunted man for a moment in silence, chewing the inside of his cheek, with a sigh he returned his attention to his wall and changed the subject. "It is still a business, isn't it? I could get in?"

"Well, sure, but it wouldn't do you much good. Not like he would hand that infernal list over to a copper out of the kindness of his heart. Never bothered him when we did demand them. He only gave the appearance of compliance. Gave up some of his washed up trouble makers. Not the big boys. Sin-Jin does as he pleases, always has," Morse explains with incredulity.

"Was your death…part of this? Lewis believes it is, you know."

Morse looked toward the ceiling as if considering his answer, "I will tell you about it when it's time."

Hathaway studied the photo and a smile slowly crawled up his face. "I may be in need of some books to better understand this case, Sir. I bet he'd love a fallen priest in his virtual Rolodex?"

"I recruited you to dissuade Lewis from further pursuit of this, not to become involved yourself if he were not directly under threat. Don't poke the monster with a stick, James"

James shrugged. "You never got to the bottom of it."

"I don't believe there is a bottom to it."

James slouches further, his back bending forward into the posture of the elderly and his lips tighten. He examines the pictures and scraps in his hands before replying. "Even if I could, just because I talk him into dropping the matter, that doesn't make him safe. You have implied that this group has methodically brought some sort of harm, albeit paranormal in design, to everyone who worked this case. The others didn't continue to investigate and they were still allegedly targeted. There is only one path to rid the threat of these people from his life. They have been left to fester."

"What good do you think it will do him, if it gets you killed? I want you to spot them and steer him away. Know all this backward and forward, then use that knowledge to keep him safe. I won't allow this."

"You can hardly stop me, Morse."

"Of course I can. I will find someone else. Laura could probably talk some reason into him. She's always been a sensible girl." Morse said with conviction that it would hit home.

James grimaced at the statement but in seconds he had his face under control. "It won't stop me if I believe it to be the proper course of action."

Morse throws his hands up and spins around in frustration before shouting, "Don't be stupid. If it were the proper course of action I would be encouraging you to proceed."

"You are helping me put this together. Are you not?"

"I am helping you become familiar with all of this so you have the knowledge to protect him. That's all. You don't have to seek this out or get in the middle of it. I don't want you to. Talk him out of it. Protect him if he won't leave it be. Don't egg him on, lad," Morse reasoned.

James said with cool surety, "If there is someone or something out there responsible for all of these deaths, I have a duty to—"

"Don't think for one second that getting involved with these nutters is going to come out well. It won't. Look around you, man. Look at those faces. Evil doesn't show that it is evil. I will stop you if I must. Don't force me."

James sighed and fished in his pocket for a cigarette. His voice is a resigned calm,"I did read theology to be a priest. I have a passing knowledge of the rights of exorcism, Sir. How will you stop me? You knew what you were getting when you contacted me. You said someone who would die for him. It's why you are here." He lit his cigarette and pulled the smoke into his lungs deeply and held it.

Morse eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms and leaned forward slightly, hostile and full of menace. "Don't threaten me, Detective Inspector Hathaway. Exorcism indeed. If I had known what a stubborn little knob you were going to be, I would have kept my own council."

Hathaway smirked and then chuckled, "Thank you, Sir. For the legacy."

Morse furrowed his brow and his laser blue eyes focused on James with surprise, "Come again?"

Hathaway blew smoke skyward and said, "You must have passed it on. I have heard you were the most stubborn bastard to ever grace the nick and only Lewis could give you a run for your money. That is, until I showed up."

"Oh for Christ's sake," Morse said and he was gone.

James stared where the apparition had been. "Ah. Must be about time for me to wake up then," He mumbled into the empty room. He sat down on his couch and began writing in a small notebook.

I, James Hathaway, do solemnly provide this confession of the acts that have led to my demise. I have been contacted by a wraith of Chief Inspector Endeavor Morse, and it is my belief that he is real. I have three explanations for this possibility. The first is a probable medically based condition, be it tumor or the onset of some mental break with reality. My second possibility is that Ghosts exist. The final possibility in this equation is simply an intuitive hunch. I believe he has been sent to collect me and guide me. Some would perhaps deem him to be my Reaper. It is my intention to document these interactions to the best of my…

To me, if I began seeing a ghost on a regular basis, I would be concerned. James is struggling to reconcile what he sees with his logic. When people are close to death, for whatever reason, they often hold lengthy conversations with people who are not there, or at least can't be seen by their carers. I am offering no judgement one way or the other, but I do know it is a disconcerting experience and have used it. No, he doesn't want to die, but after seeing the fate of these many people and having no realistic answer, he simply wants there to be some record, just in case he can't explain later, should either Morse be real or his possible illness progresses. Thank you all for your input and no, there won't be any ghost Val, but there is an explanation later.