Sunday

Pint in one hand, a very cold glass of a New Zealand Sauvignon in the other, Laura navigated the benches scattered haphazardly between the pub and the towpath until she reached the one being saved for them. It was the perfect spot, the river calmly flowing by, a rare undeveloped field of cattle on the opposite bank allowing for an uninterrupted view to the hills rising in the distance. She'd spent the day happily ensconced in the lab, had been bothered by no one outside her own team, the only police consult having been for the man opposite her who was now tipping his pint in thanks towards her.

"Will the evidence be enough, do you think? she asked, taking a sip of her wine and enjoying the immediate effect it seemed to have on her.

"I hope so," James replied, the large circles under his eyes all too visible after two long days and nights of pulling the case against Franklin together. "Lewis and Innocent have my report, nothing more I can do."

Laura smiled and patted his arm in reassurance, "You've done what you can. No one can expect any more than that."

Reluctant to believe her, he focused on his pint instead. He knew the case was weak, as did she. They all did. But it was what there was and they knew that too.

"You like her, don't you?" Laura asked gently after a while. "This Jessica."

"Lewis' been talking, I take it," he grimaced.

"No, he hasn't as it happens," she said, shaking her head. "But I've known you a while too, you know, and as much as you seem to enjoy dwelling in this fantasy that we don't love and care about you, nothing could be further from the truth."

James smirked, "Well, Dr Hobson's back, I can see that much," he commented, a reference to her mood of recent days.

He feigned pain as she punched him lightly on the arm, both secretly pleased to see the other laugh. But it had the desired effect as James began to speak about the first girl he'd ever loved and never quite got over. As the tables around them filled, the sun on its decidedly downward path, he confessed how it had tarnished how he saw himself, the insecure innocent boy who'd fled to the church in solace but hadn't found it to be the home he'd hoped it to be. He'd found that in the police force, with Robbie, but the doubts about himself had never quite disappeared.

"It's why this sabbatical will be good for me," he concluded, swirling the last dregs of his pint around. "Do I want to stay a policeman because I enjoy it, because I'm good at it, or did I only ever stay because of him?" he posed rhetorically before downing the remainder and putting his glass resolutely down on the table.

Laura didn't attempt a response and he was glad for it. Listening was one of her greatest strengths and for as much wisdom on the matter that he knew she'd have and willingly share if asked, he was scared of the truth she'd undoubtedly hit upon. He'd resolved to stay until he retired and then go, disappear quietly into the night as he was apt to do.

"Where are they?" she asked, breaking the silence. "How long is your report?" she teased.

"Long enough," came the response from behind her, a hand on her shoulder before she could turn to look. "Another pint, Jim? Innocent's buying."

James nodded and watched on amused as he gave an unseen figure a signal with his hand and proceeded to slide in alongside Laura on the bench.

"She's already got your order," he explained to Laura, anticipating her unspoken question as he slipped his hand into hers under the table and gave it a squeeze, James politely deciding not to notice.

"No Jessica?" he asked.

"Later," James replied, "And not here," he added pointedly, only partially succeeding in hiding his look of horror at the very idea that everyone should be introduced.

"What could you possibly mean by that, Sergeant," Robbie guffawed, flashing him a grin that James again politely decided to ignore.

Desperate to change the focus away from himself, James asked, "So, do we have him?"

Robbie nodded. He'd admit that James' work on the case had been impeccable, close to crossing the line with the manner of the arrest, the case had been thin when he'd happened to catch him returning home, but policing was largely about seizing the opportunity and the boy wonder had certainly done that.

"It's a bit circumstantial for the case against him for Deborah Mantle," Robbie confirmed, "But that'll be for the CPS. Chief Super reckons they'll make it stick when they see the evidence for Sandra Smith given the similarities."

James looked up as Robbie paused, he'd been expecting a bit more. He caught his boss giving Laura a quizzical look and smirked as she played the innocent, a silent look of denial that she had any further information for him. He was about to put him out of his misery when his second pint was thrust in front of him and Jean sat down beside him.

"That," she said, her eyes bobbing down to the drink she'd just delivered, "Is conditional on telling me how you did it."

"Ah," James began, lifting his pint to his lips purely for dramatic effect, "Dr. Hobson, would you like to do the honours?" and seeing her shake her head, a small conspiratorial laugh urging him on, he continued.

He explained how it all seemed so unlikely and yet it did seem that it was the case that Sandra Smith was killed in a jealous rage unleashed when she'd asked to cool the growing closeness between them, her husband getting too suspicious. It was all a theory, complete conjecture based on information they'd been able to piece together. That she'd been invited to the pub seemed clear, but a fence panel seemed such an unlikely murder weapon for something pre-meditated or spontaneous, and yet that was an undisputed fact. But that was what had triggered the attack of Jessica, the mere hint that she'd like to slow things down.

"So we had to have missed something," James concluded simply, noting the expectant faces around him.

"And as always it's the little things that matter," Laura volunteered, "The tiniest of splinters in his left hand that would have lodged itself there when he grabbed the plank and wrenched it free."

"Very impressive," Innocent interjected, "And we know all that from the report. But how did you think to look for it in the first place, that's what I'm interested in."

James and Laura grinned, enjoying the too rare moment of them working together without Robbie. The theory had come to James when he'd interviewed Franklin for a second time over the weekend. As before he'd given little away but James had picked up on how he was still scratching his hand. Initially he'd put it down to a nervous tick that he couldn't help but reveal, but then wondered if he had eczema or skin condition that could have led to some kind of DNA transfer.

"It was a good theory," Laura praised gently, "But it was merely an irritation from something unseen buried under the skin."

"Those will find you out every time," Innocent commented pointedly, sipping as the three colleagues rolled their eyes at one another, each with their own interpretation to what on earth she might be referring.

"Well, cheers," Robbie said, breaking into their thoughts, his glass tipped towards his Sergeant, "All's well that ends well, isn't that right, Jim?"

"Yes, Sir," James nodded with a thin smile, but before he could add anything further his shoulders dropped slightly, noticed only by Laura who turned to see who he was now staring at over her shoulder.

"Well, this is a happy crowd," came the unnecessarily cheerful voice of DI Peterson as he drew level to where they sat, "Mind if I join you?" but not waiting for a reply before he drew up one of the wooden chairs from the adjacent table. "Cracked another one, Lewis, or so the boys tell me. And, no doubt the lovely doctor was on hand to help?"

Robbie bristled, his shoulders rising along with his heckles. About to speak, to retort his defence of himself, of his team, of Laura, he felt a cool, slender hand grasp his, a silent warning not to react.

"Just good old fashioned, diligent police work, Sir," James offered, sensing the changed atmosphere.

Peterson sniggered, "Of course, what else?" his eyes flicked across to Laura who was studiously ignoring him. "Although I did hear a rumour that the vital evidence didn't come from you, Sergeant," he said pointedly.

"Inspector," Jean warned.

Peterson held up his hands in surrender before reaching for his pint and raising it, "To Team Lewis," he offered.

But his deliberate attempt to provoke was halted as Laura dramatically lifted her own glass, took a large gulp and made to stand.

"I'm sorry to be rude," she said calmly, her eyes directly focused on Peterson who's drink had now been lowered. "But I've got somewhere to be."

She shifted her gaze to Robbie who smiled back and repeated her action, a swift downing of warm beer, standing to join her, hiding a smile as he felt her hand slip into his.

"Aye, me too," Robbie apologised but without the required sincerity. "And it's been a long day, what with all the..."

"Pillow talk," Laura interrupted abruptly, adding "Have a good evening, everyone," as she subtly pulled Robbie's hand and together they headed across the garden to the towpath, sharing a smug smile as they left the bewildered voices of their colleagues far behind.