Chapter Twelve—Occupational Hazards
DS James Hathaway sat outside, staring blankly at the dark, moonless night as he waited for his reluctant visitor to arrive. James carefully rubbed his aching forehead in an attempt to lessen his severe migraine. Hathaway was used to combating this sort of stress by having a cigarette or two, but lately he'd committed himself to the very difficult task of curing his nicotine addiction.
Ironically, the urge to smoke had recently proven to be one of the easiest impulses to resist. He'd already indulged in the perverse desires of his subconscious mind by snogging his boss. Furthermore, the sergeant strongly doubted that he'd be able to last another day without causing serious bodily harm to Harvey Malcolm.
The sergeant rose to his feet as he saw a car pull into his driveway. A moment later, Innocent stepped out of the car, removed an enormous suitcase from the trunk, and walked over to him.
"Hi, James," the chief superintendent said curtly when she'd finally reached him.
He returned her salutation and then asked her if she wanted help with her suitcase.
"No," she said quickly.
"Are you sure? It looks a bit heavy."
"It's not," she said obstinately, though Hathaway could see that she was struggling to maintain her grip on it.
He took the suitcase out of her hands anyway, and surprisingly, the chief superintendent did not offer any further protestations.
He quickly ushered her into his house. Neither of them wanted to remain on his doorstep any longer than was absolutely necessary—as they both remembered what had happened the last time that had stood there together.
He placed the suitcase down and then collapsed onto the sofa. Innocent sat beside him.
"I'm sorry about this inconvenience, James."
"It's really no trouble," the sergeant responded aloud. To himself, he added "Provided that I stay sane and sober this time."
"Are you sure you don't mind my spending the night on your couch?"
"Would you prefer the couch? I was going to offer you my bed."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, James regretted them. He wished he'd stopped to consider the potential sexual implications of his wording before vocalizing his thoughts. It seemed that he could no longer say anything to Innocent without running the risk of serious misinterpretation .The damned kiss had ruined everything between them!
Now blushing furiously, Hathaway continued. "Ma'am…when I said that…I didn't mean… That is to say…I… I only meant it in the interest in chivalry. The bed is far more comfortable, and I'm perfectly willing to sleep on the couch. Alone. Just as you'd be alone in my…in the bed."
Innocent looked uncomfortable. "James, I… I understood you the first time."
He sighed in relief. "You…you did?"
"Yes, I did."
The sergeant stared down at his hands, mentally cursing himself for making the situation even more awkward than it already was.
"Anyway, I think I'd prefer the sofa. I expect that I'll be staying up pretty late tonight," Hathaway said once he'd rebuilt the courage to look Innocent in the eye again.
"Working on the case?"
Hathaway nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Our paperwork has doubled after the death threat that you received this morning…"
Innocent got up off the couch. "It wasn't a death threat," the chief superintendent said emphatically as she turned her back to him. "It was a printing error."
He walked over to her and reeled her around to face him. "It was a printing error that foretold your funeral, Jean."
The chief superintendent flinched slightly upon hearing her subordinate utter her Christian name. "Don't call me that. It's thoroughly unprofessional."
Hathaway gazed at her in astonishment. "You really still care about proper procedure when your very life as at risk?"
"I always care about proper procedure—and my life is not at risk!" Innocent exclaimed.
Hathaway took another step toward her. "We have to consider that possibility."
The chief super rolled her eyes. "It's a remote possibility."
"And a grave one. I want you to promise that you'll be careful, ma'am—or Lewis and I might get stuck with Harvey Malcolm as our supervisor for the rest of our careers."
"God, that would be torture! If I were in your place, I'd end up killing myself after only a few weeks."
For a minute, Jean Innocent looked so somber and forlorn that the sergeant grew concerned that his chief superintendent might have been serious. James gently tilted Innocent's chin upward so that their eyes met.
"Don't say things like that."
"James, I was joking…" she protested, jerking her chin out of his grasp and taking a few steps away from him.
"Many a true word was said in jest. You're going through a very dark and difficult time right now. After you've gotten over the initial shock, the despair will start to sink in. Eventually, you may start to feel as though ending your life is the only way to end your sorrow. But it's not."
She studied him intently. "You speak as though you know what this feels like."
"I do," he said quietly. James paused before continuing. "Do you…do you remember the Zelinsky case?"
Innocent didn't respond, but Hathaway knew that she remembered. It wasn't the sort of case that one was able to forget very easily.
"I was more-than-a-little depressed after that case. Actually, 'depressed' is a bit of an understatement, now that I think on it. Melancholy dominated my every waking hour, and I was afraid to go to sleep. If I closed my eyes for even a second, I saw the face of that murdered ten-year-old. There were times that I didn't know who I hated more: Zelinsky—for killing the girl—or myself—for being unable to save her."
Innocent took one of the sergeant's hands in one of her own. "James, what Zelinsky did was unforgivable, but it was in no way your fault." She gaze his hand a small squeeze.
"I know that now, but there was no way of convincing me of that then." Hathaway wrenched his hand from Innocent's grasp and turned his back to the chief super. "One day, the misery got so bad that I didn't think that I could handle it any more." The sergeant paused to take a deep breath before continuing his story. "So, after I returned home from work, I went straight to my medicine cabinet and took out a bottle of sleeping pills. Then, I got myself a glass of water, and poured about a dozen pills into my hand." Innocent gasped, and Hathaway continued. "Yes, ma'am, I was seriously about to go through with it."
"What stopped you?"
He turned to look at her again. "You did. Just as I was about to…about to end it all, my mobile started ringing. I answered it and heard your voice on the other end. I can't remember most of what you said—just that you wanted to thank me for all of the hard work and dedication that I'd put in. Anyway, the last thing you said to me on that night was something along the lines of 'I honestly don't know what I would do without you, James.' After we'd both hung up, I returned the sleeping pills to their bottle and dumped the glass of water into the sink. That night, you made it clear that you needed me, and in doing so, you saved my life."
She stared at him incredulously. "James, I don't know what to say..."
"You don't have to say anything, but try to remember that I need you. I need you, just as much—if not more than—you need me."
The sergeant suddenly realized how that must have sounded, and rushed to clarify. "In a strictly platonic way," he added quickly.
They avoided one another's gazes as a long, tense silence ensued. Eventually, Innocent spoke. "It's pretty late; I really should be getting to bed. Good night, James."
"Good night."
The chief superintendent grabbed her suitcase before retreating into Hathaway's bedroom. James walked back over to the couch and reached into the briefcase beside it. He removed the large pile of case files that he had gathered for the investigation. He and Lewis had collected information on every single case that Innocent had worked on in any capacity—as constable, sergeant, inspector, and chief superintendent. The pair had then divided the files between them and resolved to look over as many as possible before the next morning.
Hathaway worked for a few hours with little success. Hathaway decided to give Lewis a call to see if his partner had experienced any more luck.
However, when the sergeant picked up his mobile, he noticed that the battery on his phone was critically low. He needed to charge it before tomorrow, but—if Hathaway was remembering correctly—he'd left the charger on his bedside table. He certainly couldn't go into his room while Innocent was sleeping in his bed.
Or could he?
James looked down at his watch. It was 2:30 a.m. Innocent was surely asleep by this time. All Hathaway had to do was sneak into the room, grab what he needed, and leave. Innocent would never have to know.
The door to his bedroom gave a small creak when Hathaway opened it. James stopped in his tracks, convinced that the sound would wake Innocent. He waited a few seconds, but the chief superintendent did not stir. Hathaway then tiptoed into the room, and walked over to his bedside table. He picked up the charger and turned to go, but Innocent's voice stopped him.
"Please, don't do this."
Hathaway stood completely immobile for a full minute before he realized that the chief superintendent was not talking to him. In fact, Innocent had cried out in her sleep.
"Richard, you've caused enough trouble for yourself already. This will only make everything worse."
Who the hell was Richard, and what had he done that had Innocent so concerned?
"Please!" Innocent was practically sobbing by now. "You need to stop. Richard, no! Please, stop! I'll do anything."
At this point, Hathaway thought about waking Innocent. He felt horrible just standing there, listening to her desperately call for help in her sleep. Besides, this Richard—whoever he was—obviously had an enormous emotional impact on Innocent, and he was therefore a potential suspect.
But waking Jean right now would surely result in some sort of repercussion. Hathaway strongly suspected that if he put another toe out of line, Innocent would immediately sack him without pausing to ask any questions.
The sergeant was still trying to decide what to do when Innocent ended up making up Hathaway's mind for him. The chief superintendent awoke suddenly and sat up in the bed. She placed her hand on her heart and took several deep breaths to calm herself. Then, Innocent noticed Hathaway, standing beside the bed and staring at her. The chief super instinctively pulled the covers tighter around her.
"What are you doing in here?" Jean snapped. "I thought we agreed that you were sleeping on the couch!"
"I only came in here to get this," Hathaway said, holding up the mobile phone charger in his hand. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you."
To his relief, Innocent seemed to buy his excuse. "Fine. Just please leave now so that I can go back to sleep."
"First, you need to tell me who Richard is. You kept calling his name out in your sleep. It sounded serious."
Innocent sighed. "Very well, then. One of the occupational hazards of being a police officer is that sometimes unpleasant faces from the past haunt your dreams. You have Zelinsky, and I have Richard Trout."
"But what did he do?"
"What he did doesn't really matter anymore. He died in prison about a year ago."
"Oh, I…I see. We can still talk about, if you want."
"I don't want to talk aboutit,so I'd really appreciate it if you left now."
Hathaway went over to the door and was about to walk through it when Innocent spoke again.
"Oh, and James?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Lock the door behind you. Regardless of how desperately you may 'need' me, you have no right to invade my privacy!"
Hathaway did as he was told.
