Dark and stormy clouds signalled the start of another day, with rain threatened for later. Unusually for him Robbie hit snooze on the alarm for the second time but didn't turn over for another few winks of sleep, rather sat up, propping himself up on the pillows. The weather he could see through the crack in the curtains fairly accurately reflected his mood, already tired from tossing and turning all night and nothing but another slog of a day in front of him. He didn't like falling out with James and, distracted by the blasted book incident, they'd not had a chance to patch things up. He cast his eye around his bedroom, not much to show for his years, he thought depressingly. He remembered the room he and Val had shared. It had been a kind of a haven, somewhere to hide from the world together, a place in which to be comforted after a traumatic day. God, he missed her, her arms wrapped tightly around him as inwardly processed whatever it was his work was throwing at him. But, he ruminated, his thoughts on that had shifted of late. He'd swap his life for hers in an instant if he could, but recently he'd begun to wonder about whether the pain he felt was the loss of her or the loss of himself.
"Come on, man, stop this melancholy", he said out loud to himself and, as the alarm went off for the third time, he turned it off and pushed back the duvet.
James leant on his car sucking on the last of his cigarettes, unaware of quite how he'd managed to get through a whole packet in the last twelve hours. He'd left the station in a state of inward despair, mostly at himself for the way he'd reacted and for having lashed out at the one person in his life who understood him and tried to see him right. But despite this, he didn't consider Robbie immune from blame. Why couldn't he just leave him alone, let him brood and do things his way? It had gotten him this far, hadn't it? But a small voice in his head had kept him awake most of the night, a voice that was telling him that he was fooling himself.
He shifted his focus to the task at hand and the residence of one Peter Moore. The large modern house in front of him sat back from the road, a smart driveway leading to the double fronted property with a well kept garden to the front and side, the curtains at the windows still pull tightly closed given the hour. The open door of the garage revealed an expensive black SUV, the twin of the red one parked closer to the front door and, if he hadn't known better, James would have concluded that it was the home of a successful IT consultant and not that of a known criminal with a list of convictions which no doubt garnered him a high level of respect and influence in his world.
Rejoicing in a final intake of nicotine, he dropped the butt on the pavement and ground it with his heel. Looking down at it he thought how if his boss had been here he'd make him pick it up again, but this morning he wasn't in the mood for behaving the way he knew he should. Checking his watch, he figured that Mr Moore would likely still be asleep and, as he regarded the gentleman in question's property once more, he concluded that an early wake up call might be just what he needed to catch the bugger off guard. As he set off up the drive, determination in his stride, he steeled himself for a fight.
Jackson was working overtime to hide his nervousness at the sudden reappearance of the police in his office. He'd not been happy about having to hand over Kevin's laptop but had been confident they wouldn't find anything untoward. However the stress of the last few days was beginning to take its toll having not slept properly since Thursday, and probably longer ago than that if he could bring himself to admit it. He knew the dark circles under his eyes were beginning to show and if they weren't then the shaking hands from an increasing overreliance on coffee certainly was. Putting on a jovial front, he'd greeted the two officers and gestured for them to take a seat.
"I'll not beat about the bush, Mr Brompton," the older of the two started, "We're keen to know everything you can tell us about Kempton Holdings."
Jackson baulked slightly but covered it well. Secretly impressed at this question it didn't stop the quiet panic from rising up inside as the realisation that the mantra 'pride comes before a fall' was almost certainly about to be proved correct. Not keen to give up so easily lest they didn't know as much as this question implied, he replied, "Kempton Holdings? I'm not sure I'm familiar with them."
Robbie smiled inwardly. The manner of the response was exactly what he'd expected, decades of experience meaning he could see the slight change on someone's face, the briefest look of concern or surprise was rarely missed.
"That seems unlikely, Sir, if I may say," he countered, "Given that records pertaining to them were deleted from the laptop my Constable here confiscated from your firm just yesterday."
The two men stared at one another and, simply in the interests of time, Robbie was pleased that the other blinked first.
"Ah, yes, I remember now. One of Kevin's accounts. I wasn't too involved, you understand. As I recall they own a few businesses in Oxford, nothing too exciting. I can't imagine why Kevin deleted any records about them."
"Well, he didn't, Sir, did he?" Jones now piping up. "The files were deleted after Mr Maloney was found dead. Any ideas on how that might have happened?"
Robbie smirked, nothing like a junior officer turning the screws on an already nervous suspect, he thought, and when Jackson didn't reply, he jumped back in. "Continue this down the station, shall we, Sir?"
Leaving the more than capable DC Jones to escort Jackson, Robbie set off in the opposite direction. As he drove he wondered about whether to text James but, unlike with Laura, he was drawing a blank of what to say, where to start even. As awkward as his relationship with her could be to define, it was based on the firm foundation that they were friends and had been for an awfully long time. What existed between him and James however was complex; part professional, part friendship, part mentor, maybe even with a bit of father/son thrown in for good measure.
He drew up outside the house and sighed. What was it about this place that was causing him so much angst, he wondered. He'd never say that he was unaffected by the cases that came across his desk but generally he could meet them with a reasonable level of professional indifference and certainly this one was proving to be fairly unremarkable in and of itself. And yet it had echoes of another case, one that had similarly reminded him of how stuck he felt, unable or unwilling, maybe, to risk stepping into the unknown.
James eyed the character through the one way glass currently seated at the chipped wooden table. It had been clear the instant a sleepy Peter Moore had opened the front door, the knocking having been loud enough to raise the entire household, that he warranted further questioning. He'd smirked through James' enquiries as to his movements on Thursday evening, predictably evasive when it came to Kevin Maloney, and downright irritating with his confidence that James couldn't touch him. And, given the Sergeant's mood, they'd been an inevitability about him asking Moore to accompany him. He'd come surprisingly willing although was experienced enough at this to have called his lawyer already. James sighed heavily before heading back to the office. A request for legal representation just meant delay. Not that Lewis had turned up yet, he noted, which was probably just as well given how strained things were going to be between them. Spotting Jones in the corridor, he grimaced. If he'd come to any conclusions overnight, that he should be kinder to his DC had been one of them.
"Morning Constable," he called out to him, "Any success at the accountancy this morning?"
Jones looked up from the papers he'd been reviewing and swallowed hard. He was hardly in Hathaway's favour and he found him quite intimidating, his reputation for precision and sound detective work preceding him.
"Um, yes Sir. DI Lewis asked me to bring Mr Browne in. He's in Interview Room 3 currently."
James gave a slight nod, asking tersely, "Where is the good Inspector?"
"He's gone to speak with the widow again, Sir," Jones replied. "Said to wait for him before we spoke to Mr Brompton, wants him to sweat him a bit, I suppose."
James contemplated this and on balance agreed it was the right approach. "Right, well, in that case, coffee, Constable?"
Jones bulked, "Oh yes, sorry, Sir. White with two sugars isn't it?" he asked as he went to move towards the canteen.
James smiled thinly, "No, Jones. I meant you and me. Coffee. Place down the road," adding, "But I need to pick up some more cigarettes on the way."
Ushered into Katherine Maloney's kitchen, Robbie's eye went to the quotes on the wall. He thought he'd remembered them correctly from his previous visit. She saw him looking.
"A fan of poetry, Inspector?"
He grimaced apologetically as he scratched the back of his head, "Not really, but that one's Kipling, isn't it? I seem to have a distant memory of studying it in at school."
She nodded enthusiastically, "Yes! It's a bit of a cliché and not without its controversies these days, but it's one of my favourites. It speaks of something, don't you think?"
"If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew, To serve your turn long after they are gone," he quoted, and gave a small forlorn chuckle as the words rolled around in his mind. "Aye, it speaks of something".
She wrapped her arms around herself, "That line is particularly apt for both of us, I suppose." She appeared to be lost in thought for a moment before continuing, "I was an English scholar many moons ago but gave it up for the kids, you know, hard enough without two careers to balance. But maybe now...oh, who knows..."
He gave her a look of understanding, knowing all too well her thoughts right now. "I wanted to ask you about Kevin, about whether he'd been different over the last few months. I know you said he hadn't, but sometimes things come to us later."
She regarded him carefully, she'd not lied before but her initial shock had made her protective of Kevin.
"He'd seemed distracted but that wasn't that unusual depending on how much work he had on. We didn't exactly argue about it, more just pretended that everything was fine, that his job wasn't coming between us." She paused, "Our marriage wasn't exceptional, certainly not all sunshine and roses, but it was ours. Nothing happened as such, except..."she hesitated, thinking back "There was one evening a fortnight or so ago. He came home in a terrible mood grumbling about something to do with a client. I wasn't really paying attention if I'm honest but that evening I was closing the curtains and I thought I saw someone looking up at the house from the street. I told Kevin and he was furious and stormed out of the house but I think whoever it was, if there'd even been someone, had gone. I asked him about it but he just dismissed it and in the end I convinced myself I hadn't seen anything." She looked at Robbie, the slightest hint of tears forming just behind her eyes, "There was someone, wasn't there?"
"Maybe, but maybe not," Robbie replied non-committedly, "What did they look like, the person you thought you saw?"
"Um, a man, I think. It was dark but I'm pretty sure they were wearing a dark hat, like a beanie-type one. Sorry, not very helpful," she sniffed.
He gave a small smile, trying to be reassuring, "Don't worry, it's probably nothing, most of the time it isn't. Try not to dwell on it," although his instinct was telling him something quite different.
"We did love each other, you know, but life sort of got in the way." she said, a sadness creeping in. "Tell me, if you don't mind, does the guilt ever go?"
He stopped, caught off guard by her question, he had been readying to leave. He looked at her, wondering how much truth was fair to land her with. But she was so earnest in her asking that he had to be honest.
"No, it doesn't go. But it does ease with time. And it changes. I used to feel guilty for being alive, but now..." he paused, reluctant to give the thought a voice.
"But now?" Katherine asked, touching his arm lightly.
He looked down at her fingers resting on his jacket, "But now I feel guilty because I want to move on," his voice laden with sorrow.
