Thursday

The morning broke as warm as any James had noticed so far this summer. He'd woken in the night too hot under the covers and stripped down to his boxers before opening the windows to let the air circulate. He'd tossed and turned but eventually drifted back to sleep only to be woken by the alarm piercing through his dream. As his hand slammed down to silence the offending sound, he could still half remember the sweet sensations that had filled his sleeping mind, the image of locks of flame-red hair fanned out across his chest still dancing in his thoughts. But as he gained full consciousness, James felt the serenity of all that drift away only to be replaced with the reality of another full day ahead of him. It was his fault that they'd worked so late, he shouldn't have dragged Robbie back to the station, away from Laura, but he'd been too chuffed with his discovery not to. And actually, when he thought about it, his boss hadn't mentioned the lovely doctor all evening. It had felt like before, just the two of them, distracting themselves with an impossible riddle. Forcing himself from the mattress and into the shower, he was only vaguely aware of his phone ringing and the beep of a voicemail arriving and continued getting ready.

"Right, where were we?" Robbie asked as he entered the office.

As was often the case, James had beaten him in, already clicking away as he concentrated on the screen. He wondered how long he'd been there given it was already late morning. Robbie has massively overslept having not finally dropped off until the early hours.

"I've started cross-referencing the list from the Mantle case, all those whose whereabouts weren't verified for whatever reason," James explained. "If there's any link to this latest murder then we might have something."

Robbie nodded, agreeing that was the sensible action. Last night he'd been dismayed at the number of names that James had identified as needing revisiting. He had a vague recollection that he'd tasked all of that to the inept Sergeant he'd been allocated but in all honesty he couldn't really remember. The sense of being stonewalled whichever way he'd turned as the investigation had unfurled was still strong, but as to the salient details, they weren't something he'd kept hold of. That was unlike him, he thought, he had a good memory in general. It was a skill that the job demanded highly of him. But this case had been lost amongst a rollercoaster of other events, not least of all some of the darker days of grieving for Val.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked his Sergeant. James looked up and blinked, an expression of mild surprise rapidly chased away but not quick enough. "Oh come on, man. We both know you should be taking your Inspector's exams, not planning a trip to wherever you've decided. And," he added, giving a look, daring him argue, "I'm not above a bit of direction."

James wasn't sure he quite agreed but it was a rare opportunity to do the bossing about and so suggested, with all due deference, that Robbie could follow up with Sandra Smith's best friend.

"Hang on, I've got her number here," James said, pulling out his phone and frowning at the number of missed calls from an unfamiliar number. He swiped them aside and searched his notes he'd taken to typing out on his phone, long past the rigmarole of carrying around a pen and notebook. He waited as Robbie searched in vain for a pen that worked, going through several before looking up expectantly and carefully jotting it down and shifted to his desk to make the call.

"Everything alright, Jim?" Robbie asked, receiver in hand as he'd been about the dial. He'd sensed his Sergeant had stopped moving, he'd looked up to confirm that James was routed to the spot, still staring at his phone intently.

"What?" Um, not sure actually..." tailing off as he lifted his phone to his ear to listen to his voicemail,

Robbie watched as his Sergeant's naturally pale face drained of colour, it leaching from his cheeks and his eyes flashing up at Robbie with what could only be described as an expression of abject panic.

The smart grey metal outdoor tables were all but full but Jean managed to bag one with two chairs and used her overfull briefcase to reserve one whilst she sat down heavily in the other. It was turning into a long week in a line of many other long weeks. Some days she rejoiced in her job, the pressure it brought that drove her forward, the leadership that she knew she excelled at, even if she pretended not to hear the moans and groans from the coppers under her when she brought in new initiatives. The latest drive to clear old cases had come from the top and the scrutiny was about as much as she'd experienced in Oxford. She'd given Lewis the coldest, and therefore most important, case, no question in her mind that his taking a second swing would leverage a result. But over the last day or so doubt had crept in and found herself in need of a second opinion as to what to do about it. She pushed back a strand of hair that had worked itself loose from the up-do she'd carefully coiffed this morning and tried tucking it back in but without success. She reached for her purse for the small mirror she kept there. She didn't consider herself to be a vain person but she did take pride in her appearance. Despite her achievement in rising through the ranks there were still those who questioned women in senior roles and she couldn't help, on occasion, from reaching for every ounce of confidence she could muster, and sometimes looking her best was just that.

She was just smoothing the last strands when a voice from behind her said, "No need to get dolled up on my account, Jean," and she turned to see the amused smile of Laura Hobson.

"That would be a rumour and a half," she replied, snapping the compact mirror shut decisively.

Laura's eyes crinkled at the thought, reflecting that they'd make the most unlikely of couples even if that was an option for either of them. She hoovered briefly as Jean moved her briefcase under her own chair before sitting down and picking up a menu.

"Are we celebrating or commiserating?" Laura enquired, her eyes not lifting from the list of dishes and drinks in front of her.

It wasn't completely unheard of for Jean to suggest they had lunch together but it was far from a regular occurance. They weren't friends exactly, but were more than just passing colleagues. They faced similar challenges in the workplace and had swapped many war stories over the years, but it was their concern and care for a certain Detective Inspector that had brought them together on more than one occasion.

"Can we do both?" Jean asked. "I haven't had a chance to congratulate you, if that's the right word, and I could happily open a bottle of something and fail to return to the office."

This last part was said with a tone Laura couldn't recall having heard from Jean, one of downhearted resignation. She'd certainly never expressed a reluctance about her work before, her passion for policing almost exalted her own for pathology. Laura's eyes narrowed slightly as she wondered what could be wrong but decided that it would probably come out later.

"Well, I'm open to a glass or two if you are," she offered, opting for friendly and enthusiastic. "I'm not on call and I've only a mountain of paperwork waiting for me in the office. Nothing that won't wait."

She looked carefully at Jean, trying to determine what it was that her lunch partner was far too subtly trying to tell her, and seeing the slightest of nods proclaimed, "Right! That's decided then. We're blowing off work for the afternoon. About time we clawed back a few hours from the hundreds owed to us."

Jean gave an uncharacteristic giggle as she watched Laura turn and give a small but effective wave to summon over a waiter. She leant back with a sigh, feeling herself relax as she uncharacteristically let someone else take control for a change.

Robbie had charged after James as he'd fled the office and headed for his car. Wrenching the passenger door open and clambering in, James had barely waited for him to pull it closed again before he was speeding off, out through the narrow lane that marked the entrance to the staff car park and swung out into the busy streets of Oxford. As Robbie was thrown against the door for a second time as James took a corner at speed, he finally relented.

"You going to tell me what's going on?"

James huffed and bent further over the steering wheel, focused on navigating the traffic which fortunately wasn't up to its usual midday levels.

"Jim, come on. What is it?"

"My friend," he relented, "The girl in the pub. She left me a message this morning asking me to call her, she sounded worried, really worried. I didn't get it until now..."

Robbie frowned, that wasn't enough to cause this reaction in James and so he waited, there was obviously more to it.

"Then there was a second voicemail and a third...God, Sir, in the last one it was just her crying and a lot of loud noises, banging..."

Robbie understood. "It's ok, James, it's ok," he said, keeping his voice level, "We'll get to her, alright. Just keep driving."

Laura and Jean's inconsequential chatter came easily. It wasn't difficult to find topics of common interest given the considerable overlap in their work and once the wine had started to flow more freely it was easy to slip into gossipy mode, there always being a rumour or two flying between their respective teams. Recent experience meant Laura held back more than she usually might have done but she wasn't immune to the temptation of indulging this particular pastime. She laughed as Jean relayed news of an unfortunate incident regarding a junior member of the team as he'd attempted to impress a new recruit in uniform and had failed spectacularly as the lady in question politely informed him of who her father was.

"Hitting on the Chief Constable's niece! A career limiting move if ever there was one," Laura commented.

"Sleeping with the enemy is never advisable," Jean joked, leaning back to allow the waiter to put her chicken caesar salad in front of her.

She whisked the napkin off the table and onto her lap, and began to tuck in. It was some moments to realise that Laura wasn't eating and asked if she was alright.

She nodded, "Yes, of course," and picked up her fork to start attacking the tuna salad she'd opted for. "So, what else is going on?" she ventured between mouthfuls, hoping to entice whatever this lunch was about from Jean.

Jean looked up from her plate and contemplated Laura wondering if this was a good idea after all, her and Robbie were such private people. But she was worried about him and knew he'd brush her concerns aside if she spoke to him, reluctant to show any sign of emotional weakness. Jean had suspected for a while that it wouldn't be as straightforward for the two of them as she'd hoped it would be. God knows they deserved to be happy together but they were two independent spirits with their own differing relationship histories. Simply wanting to be together was never going to be quite enough. She reached for her glass giving herself a few brief moments to collect her thoughts.

"Is he ok?" Jean asked, hoping for an ease to her tone that would belie her concerns. "Robbie seems, I don't know, not quite himself."

Laura bulked slightly at the inquiry, she'd been expecting the conversation to go in a different direction.

"Um, fine, I think. I mean the case is bothering him, of course, what with recent revelations. He won't let on but he'll be blaming himself."

Jean nodded sagely, she knew he would be. And despite the impression she'd tried to give, she blamed him as well. The case had garnered a lot of attention at the time, a pretty young woman murdered. The assumptions made at the outset had set the path, one that had ultimately led nowhere. Discovering her best DI may have been to blame was hard to reconcile.

"Is he up to it, Laura? I mean, he's got a foot out the door already. If I was him I'd be tempted to go through the motions, countdown the days."

"Robbie?" Laura scoffed, "Do anything other than give a case 110%? You've let the wine go to your head." She reached for her drink and took a sip. "Besides, he may have changed his mind about retirement."

Jean's head jerked suddenly, "What makes you say that? He's not said anything to me. "

Laura shook her head, realising too late she'd spoken out of turn, said too much. She coloured a little as she realised what she'd done, and that Robbie wouldn't thank her. She flirted with the idea of denial, of backpedalling, making something up, but under Jean's questioning state she felt her resistance crumble away and sighing she heard her words tumble out.

"He's not told his children, Jean. About us, me, retirement, any of it."