DC Jones had taken his assignments extremely seriously. Newly transferred from Uniform he was keen to make a good impression particularly on DI Lewis who had a formidable reputation. He'd heard that if he backed you with the Chief Super then you were bound to go far, and Jones had some very lofty ambitions indeed. He'd expected to be assigned a lot of desk work, such as the painstaking dull task of reviewing CCTV footage, but being asked to talk to potential witnesses was not something he'd anticipated. On reflection he thought he'd hidden his excitement pretty well when DS Hathaway had asked him to talk to the staff at the Randolph, playing it cool as if he'd been in CID for years. He'd known exactly who he'd wanted to talk to, the footage clearly showing not only that someone had followed Kevin Maloney out of the bar but that one of the bartenders had known exactly who they were. And now, as he entered the police station, he was armed and ready for their morning catch up armed with what he hoped would be a breakthrough piece of evidence.
Up early, showered and dressed, Laura sat at her table looking out over the garden. The sun was just visible above the houses that backed onto her little outdoor sanctuary, the nearest flower bed was full of brightly coloured tulips which were just reaching their peak and their bright red blooms contrasted with the greenery elsewhere. Hugging her mug of steaming coffee close to her chest, she thought back to the happenings of the previous day and considered whether they really warranted her feeling as hopeful as she currently did. Don't get ahead of yourself, giving herself a stern warning, you've been here before and it came to nothing. But this time something felt different even though she couldn't quite put her finger on what that was. Draining the last dregs from her mug, she stood and headed for the bookshelf in the lounge which was groaning under the weight of hundreds of titles, an interesting mix of the heavy and serious, exactly what an outsider would expect a doctor to read, butting up alongside the downright frivolous. Finding the one she wanted, she flicked through to double check she'd remembered it correctly and slipped it into her bag as she grabbed her coat and keys, pulling the front door firmly closed behind her.
"Thomas didn't know who dad was talking to?" James enquired of his boss, "That's a shame. Could have been helpful."
Robbie consented that it was frustrating. "But it does at least help to confirm that the bruising did happen at the pool by whoever it was the boy saw his day arguing with. You never know, he might even be able to ID him, if we can find him that is. How did you get on at the accountants?"
Robbie's turn now to be caught up.
"Kevin's secretary wasn't clear on who he was meeting but said it wasn't unusual for certain appointments to be marked as private. She looked back at some old entries and they seem to be every couple of weeks for the last six months. I think we might want to get a warrant for his laptop, see if his email doesn't reveal something, given the phone log was a dead end."
James turned at the sound of the door opening and raised an eyebrow at the sight of their DC.
"Ah, Jones. Nice of you to join us," he remarked, a whiff of irritation in his tone.
"Sorry, Sir," Jones started, "Bus was late, but I think I have something that will compensate." He proceeded to pull some sheets of paper from his bag. "I got these images from the CCTV from the Randolph. That's Kevin Maloney there leaving the bar around 9.20pm," he said pointing at the slightly fuzzy black and white image of a man in a suit. "And there, behind him, is one Peter Moore. Known criminal and all round bad egg."
"Now that's more like it. Good work, Constable," said Robbie, genuinely impressed. "Solid bit of detective work there," he added, keen to encourage the lad where he knew his Sergeant wouldn't. "Why don't you pull up his record and any last known address and we'll take it from there, shall we?"
Beaming, Jones nodded and headed straight for his desk in the open plan part of the office.
"What?" asked James, seeing Robbie looking at him, shaking his head, "Can't give out praise all the time."
"I'm not suggesting you start gushing," Robbie said pointedly, "But the odd 'well done' wouldn't go amiss," James merely sniffed in reply.
Plodding through records and tracking down various potential links between the shreds of evidence gathered so far took most of the morning. They managed to establish that Peter Moore did have a registered address, courtesy of his most recent court appearance for assault, which was located in a surprisingly well-to-do part of the city. Jones commented on how unlikely this seemed, given his record, with James not holding back in pointing out that it was exactly what you'd expect, the proceeds from drug dealing and other shader enterprises having to go somewhere and that for the criminal fraternity property was a sound investment. Dispatching Jones, warrant in hand, to retrieve the laptop gave Robbie and James an excuse for further speculation of various theories over an early lunch in the nearby greasy spoon before the torture of the afternoon commenced.
"Means, motive and opportunity and when it comes down to it we have exactly none of those," Robbie summarised, his voice laced with the frustration he felt.
James watched his Inspector use the last of his toast to mop up the juice from his baked beans, making a conscious decision not to comment, deciding to focus on the case instead. "We do have means, the giant boot to the back," he pointed out.
"Just not the person in the boot," Robbie grunted. "Come on, we better get back."
By late afternoon a glimpse of progress was visible just on the horizon. The IT technician assigned to the team had worked his magic and managed to retrieve a full client list along with several deleted files, all of which seemed to relate to the same company, Kempton Holdings.
"They seem to have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, Sir," Jones said, sifting through the various print outs, "A health food shop in Summertown, some kind of homeware shop, and a boxing gym in the town centre."
"A gym?" Robbie looked up from his computer, he had been attempting to submit his expenses. "Any details?"
James looked at him curiously as Jones scrabbled for more information. "Um, not much, Sir. A list of Directors and some accounts from the last year, it looks like."
"Why the interest?" James asked.
"Just something Laura mentioned yesterday, to do with the insulin. Any of the names familiar?" Robbie asked Jones.
Jones frowned, " Actually there might be. Hang on."
They waited as he padded back to his desk and he searched under piles of yet more paper for something and then returning, James commented, "You want to think about tidying up that desk of yours, Constable."
Jones smiled weakly in acknowledgement before saying, "This is the list of names from the pool," and catching sight of the look on James face added apologetically, "I took the liberty of borrowing it from your desk. Sorry, Sir. Anyway, look, the same name is on both. Lana Browne."
Robbie smiled with relief, finally something to move on. "Ok, we'll dig into that tomorrow. Tell you what, Jones, you and me will pay a visit to Agile Accounting first thing and see if we can't find out a bit more. DS Hathaway here can drop by on our friend Mr Moore and see which rock he's been hiding under of late."
Dismissing a happy-looking Detective Constable for the night, Robbie sat back down heavily in his chair, his hands behind his head as he regarded his Sergeant. He'd clocked his facial expression as Jones had presented his evidence and made the connection, a rarely seen frown evident on his face. Usually James was much better at hiding his feelings on a particular subject.
"You know, Jim, it really wouldn't harm you to try and find a kind word for the lad. He's worked hard today," Robbie began. He'd been looking for a way to start this conversation and now the opportunity had presented itself. "One day you'll be an Inspector and you'll need to be as encouraging to your Sergeant as I've been with you, you know."
This caused James to look up from his typing, an eyebrow raised. "Encouraging? Perhaps I was on leave that day, Sir," causing Robbie to roll his eyes.
"All I'm saying is, it doesn't hurt to feign a bit of enthusiasm for your subordinates every now and then," Robbie paused. "Look, I know you've got your doubts about promotion but you're there. You're ready. Don't rule it out because of a few bad incidents. They happen to all of us. It's how you learn, how you move on from them, that counts."
James pondered this, realising of course what he was referring to, the most recent person to die in his arms one of many occasions that had unsettled him. He wasn't like Robbie, he knew that. He wasn't born to policing in the way he was. He relished the precision of it, the procedure, the challenge of deciphering the workings of the human mind for sure, but as to the rest of it, the jury was definitely still out.
"The thing is I'm not sure I'm cut out for any of it anymore," James confessed, feeling that this might be a moment for a bit of honesty. "The unpredictability."
Robbie looked at him sympathetically. "I always wanted to make Inspector. Drove Morse mad nagging him about it. But it didn't mean I didn't have me doubts. It's a step up for sure but you're ready, more than ready. You've got to find a way to get over this insecurity, find a way to move forward. Stop that big brain of yours putting up barriers that aren't there, don't run from it like you do from everything else. Embrace it, the opportunity. You'll regret it if you don't."
Caught off guard by his bosses' perceptive lecture on the state of things, James flinched; the words about running away hitting far too close to home. Deep down he knew that running was exactly what he did, time and time again, but the effect of actually hearing it from someone else caused him to stiffen, his voice cold as he lashed out, "And you'd know about that, wouldn't you, Sir? Regrets and insecurity holding you back?"
Robbie recoiled slightly at the almost venom-like tone, caught unawares that his attempt at concern had suddenly garnered such a response. He looked at James questioningly, the lines around his eyes creased into a silent question.
James steeled himself, in too deep now to turn back, "Doctor Hobson," he said plainly, his eyes meeting Robbie's with an unflinching gaze.
Laura hadn't meant to work so late but as ever she'd gotten swept up in the business of the day, her diligence not allowing her to cut corners or pass off tasks to others when she could do them herself. She'd bid the night porter a good evening as she left and strode quickly to her car, thinking how if she got a move on she might just catch Robbie still in the office.
As she parked she clocked that his car was still there bringing a small smile to her lips. Ever since his tantalising invitation the night before she'd been keen to see him, even if only for reasons of work, just to see his face, exchange the odd word about their upcoming plans. Predictably, given the hour, the station was quiet, hers the only footsteps to be heard, although dampened by the worn grey-green utility carpets that lined the corridors. As she made her way towards his office she could hear heated voices, the sound of them amplified through the otherwise empty floor. She slowed as she thought she heard her name and readied herself to hear the criticism of her post-mortem report which, she supposed, would be the invariable consequence eminating from their own lack of progress. But as she got closer it became clear that the dead were not the topic of the conversation.
"My relationship with Dr. Hobson is private, Sergeant," Robbie responded calmly. "A fact which I think we've covered several times in the past."
"I see," retorted James, "But my apparent inability to embrace the next stage of my career is a matter for public discourse. A double standard if ever there was one."
"My job as your Inspector, James, is to coach and mentor you so that you're ready. That gives me every right to talk to you about your hesitancy. Actually it's my responsibility." Robbie's voice rose as he warmed to his theme, "And a level of respect for our differing rank wouldn't go amiss in this moment, Sergeant."
James met this criticism with silence. He knew deep down he should stop, that he was crossing a line, crossed it already in fact. But his hackles were up and he was angry, angry with himself that everything Robbie was saying was true and that he felt powerless to do anything about it. And angry that Robbie was seemingly content to risk a future happiness with his own stubbornness. He took a deep breath, trying to control his tone.
"We're both lonely men, Sir," James acknowledging rank as requested, "And it pains me that on your part it is so unnecessary. Dr. Hobson and you could be -"
"Stop, James. Now," Robbie interrupted forcefully, holding up his hand to reinforce his point. "Laura Hobson and I are friends, nothing more. Now leave it."
Standing in the corridor, Laura heard only silence now, a truce of sorts called between the two men. She looked at the book in her hand. 'Nothing more' she repeated silently to herself. And as she began to back away, his words ringing in her ears still, she turned and hurriedly retraced her steps.
