Lewis suddenly wanted his family, all three of them, very, very much. So he went home, almost on autopilot, trying to think and feel as little as possible, which actually wasn't very hard, since he was so numb inside. But when he got home he quickly remembered that it was one of Val's late nights – her car was gone. (Which meant that somehow it'd been fixed, probably by Ken, and Lewis was glad of that at least).
Ken was, in fact, the only one at home, save for the two friends that seemed always to be hanging around. Things had been strained lately between Lewis and Ken, but Lewis needed his family so much at the moment that he didn't care. Without even loosening his tie, he went and pounded on Ken's closed door, harder than he felt was polite, in order to be heard over the music.
"Night, Mum!" Ken called through the door.
Lewis didn't think it humanly possible to correct the misimpression in English over the noise, and knocked on the door again.
The volume of the music dropped by about half, and several moments later Ken opened the door.
"What? Oh," he said, seeing Lewis instead of Val as he'd expected.
"It's Dad actually," Lewis said unnecessarily.
"Yeah. What?" Ken repeated. "My mates are here."
Lewis nodded to the two of them. "A word?" he said to Ken.
Obviously annoyed, Ken stepped out into the hall and shut the door, his jaw set. "What?" he asked for a third time.
"You fixed Mum's car?" Lewis asked.
"Well, someone had to. You weren't here."
This was not an argument that Lewis was going to go into at the moment. "I'm pretty hopeless with engines – I'm glad you did it," he said, grinning weakly. "It'd be in the shop if it was up to me." He had an idea. "Will you show me what you did to fix it?" he asked. "Tomorrow, maybe?"
Caught off guard, Ken frowned. "Will you be here?"
"Day off," Lewis said.
"Alright," Ken agreed suspiciously, after a moment.
"Alright, then," Lewis nodded.
"Is that all?"
Lewis wanted to hug him. He wanted to take him to a pub, sit down with him over a couple of pints, and pour his heart out to him.
"That's all," Lewis said.
Ken gave him a funny look and started to disappear behind his door again.
"Ken," Lewis said quickly, and his son stopped and looked back at him. "I'm really proud of you and all."
Ken frowned again. "Because of the car?"
"Because of a lot."
Lewis got another funny look and a mumbled something in response, and then Ken ducked back into his room and shut the door.
It was late, and Lewis and Val had a standing agreement that they would never, outside an emergency, call Lynn at uni after 9pm. It was her first term, and it wasn't clear whether or not there'd be another – this one had eaten up most of his and Val's savings. It was shocking, really, how much more expensive it was now compared to when Val had gone. So they didn't want to get in the way of her success, given what a small chance she had for any at all.
But he called Lynn anyway. She didn't pick up; he let it ring eight or nine times, and then hung up. But he figured that he'd likely woken her, even though she hadn't answered, so he dialed again.
She answered on the third ring.
"Lynn?"
"Dad?"
"Did I wake you, love?" Lewis asked apologetically.
"No, it's just luck I heard you at all – I was coming back in 'cause I'd forgotten my wallet."
"You're going out at this hour?"
"It's all right," Lynn explained patiently. "My only lecture tomorrow is half one. So, what's happened?"
"Must something have happened?" Lewis asked.
"You never call after 8," Lynn said.
"Oh –" Lewis didn't know quite what to say. "Miss you," he finally came up with, "just wanted to hear your voice, mostly, is all."
"Oh," Lynn said. Lewis could hear, in her voice, the puzzled frown on her face.
"Well, we'll talk later," Lewis said. "Don't want to keep you. Have a good time, and don't stay out too late."
"Uh-huh," Lynn said skeptically.
"Good-bye, then."
He stood next to the phone for several moments after they'd hung up, then turned to the clock. Val would be home eventually, but it would be some time yet before she was... but he could wait. He took a shower and changed into joggers and a t-shirt, and then began wandering around the house looking for something to do. A few dirty dishes in the kitchen recommended themselves, so he started to work on them.
The task left his mind free to wander back to Morse, and the case, and eventually, because he would not think about anything that was going to make him cry any more, he wondered again why on earth Morse hadn't told him about the letter. Strange he understood – he, too, would feel conflicted about making another man's private concerns known to anyone else, even if they were technically evidence. But Morse had always been open enough about himself before this, if it pertained to a case. Lewis wondered if Morse's mind had been affected by his illness, far more than they'd suspected. But, he'd been sharp enough at the last to solve the case, when Lewis and everyone had been stumped.
It had been a terrible case – it was disgusting. All those people, with that woman, kinky...
And suddenly, mid-thought, Lewis was struck dumb with understanding, seeing with perfect clarity why Morse hadn't told him about the letter. He'd been going to. Maybe he had even been opening his mought to say the words, or at least to begin leading up to them...
"Oh, ****," Lewis breathed, standing stock still up to his elbows in soapy water. "Robbie, you stupid fool!"
He stood for a few moments, absorbing the magnitude of what a witless, blundering numpty he'd been, right when it had mattered.
He was appalled at himself, but kept on at the washing up, until he had another thought, and hurried for the door, wiping his hands on his pants. He detoured past Ken's room, where he knocked quickly.
"Back soon," he bellowed over the noise, and then was out the door, grabbing his keys on the way, entirely forgetting that his wallet was still in the coat that he'd shed upstairs.
He drove back to where he'd just been, not two hours before, glad that there wouldn't be much of anyone around at that hour, parked, and hurried in.
"Got to check something," he said to the man at the front desk by way of explanation, and rushed by before the man could reply.
They wouldn't have moved Morse yet; they wouldn't move him until morning. He was fairly confident of it at least, but he broke into a jog regardless.
They hadn't moved him, Lewis discovered with relief. Not very carefully, he went to Morse's side and uncovered his head again. "Sir!" he exclaimed, panting a little, "Sir, I understand. I know. I know why you didn't tell me about the letter. And, oh, I'm so sorry! But it was a misunderstanding. I didn't mean that about you. I wouldn't have, even if I'd known everything then. I know you. You're not frivolous; you've never been frivolous. Even if it was the same woman, it wasn't for the same reasons." He stopped for a breath, stepping closer, and tears came, but he didn't even try to stop them. He touched Morse's forehead, half-expecting to be yelled at, but of course he wasn't, and he left his hand where it was. "I know you pretty well, sir. There's nothing you've done that'll make me think any less of you. You'll always be the best in my book." He leaned closer. "And I'm not fussin'." He grinned through the tears, and then stood up, taking up the sheet in his hands. "This is goodbye for real, now, sir," he said. "It has to be. I am sorry, because – well, you're really important to me." Biting his lip, he covered Morse's head again.
On the way home, it struck him that he'd just done the most fanciful and irrational thing of his life, but he felt better. Not better – more settled. Room had been cleared inside himself, so he could feel all of the loss at once. It was staggering.
When he pulled into his driveway, it took him several moments to realize that there was an extra car in it, and not even one that he recognized. He groaned inwardly – who in the world, who drove a car he didn't know, would come over this late at night, today of all days? But he felt like he'd cried himself dry on the way home, so he went in without any delay.
Val must have heard him approaching, because she met him at the door.
"Robbie, where have you been?" she asked.
"Had to go back in," he said.
"In joggers?"
Lewis opened his mouth to explain, but just sighed.
"Well, come in, love," Val said. "It doesn't matter to me if it doesn't matter to them. But why have you brought Lynn home?"
"I haven't," Lewis began, but then he saw Lynn standing behind Val. "Lynn?" he asked. "Oh, is it you in the car?" he pointed.
Lynn nodded. "Borrowed it from a friend," she said. "Train schedule is rubbish this time of night."
"But why have ye come?" he asked.
"You sounded so sad on the phone, I thought I'd best," she said, coming up to him.
He hugged her wordlessly, and found that he hadn't actually run dry yet.
She and Val waited for him to be ready to talk, which he appreciated. He felt Val's hand, rubbing his back, and he straightened up, and swallowed.
"Morse died," he said carefully.
"What? Just like that? What happened?" Val wanted to know.
"Heart attack, this afternoon, and again this evening," Lewis explained.
"All of a sudden?"
"Well, not really all that sudden," Lewis said. "He hasn't been well. I just thought – well, after the first attack, I was hoping they'd be able to do something for him, to help him."
"At least you were with him," Val said comfortingly.
Lewis shook his head slowly. "He solved the case in hospital –" he saw Val wondering – "you know that's how things went with him – the most unlikely thing in the world would give him an idea – he saw someone punching an elevator button, and that did it – and he sent me out for the suspect. I got the call while I was out."
"Oh, Robbie," Val said, and Lewis shrugged.
She took him by the arm and led him to the sofa; he sat and she sat beside him.
"Tea, Lynn," she suggested.
Lynn went and made three cups of peppermint tea, and on her way back to the living room, wondering why her brother was such a clueless lump – it's not like he was away at uni, after all – she went to his door. Not bothering to knock, or be in any way polite or careful, she barged in.
Ken was alone, working at his desk; the ever-present friends had gone home.
"Hey," she said. "Kenny."
"Get out," he said in greeting, neither expecting nor really wanting her to obey.
"What are you doing?"
"Homework, duh. What are you doing? Why are you here? Is it vacation already? Hard life, uni."
"For heaven's sake, Ken, are you really this oblivious, or are you just pretending?"
"What?"
"You didn't notice how upset Dad is?"
Ken frowned up at her. "No. Weird, yes; upset, no. Why, what happened? Turned down for promotion again? So what?" He turned back to his work.
"No, Ken," Lynn said critically. "Inspector Morse died."
"The old man is dead?" Ken looked up.
"Yes, and of course Dad's really sad about it. You know how much he loved him."
"Yeah," Ken agreed bitterly, "more than he loves us."
"You're so stupid," said Lynn. "You know we saw more of Dad growing up than any other copper's kids we know saw theirs. A person has to work. ****. Don't be such a prat, and come on."
Ken, seemingly, remained unmoved, continuing to plug away at his maths as if Lynn had been telling him about the weather in Manchester. Lynn gave up on him, ruffled his hair with an annoyed roll of her eyes, and went to reclaim the temporarily abandoned cups of tea.
When she returned to the living room, Lewis was still sitting close to Val, telling her about what had happened in a voice so low that Lynn had to lean forward from her seat on the coffee table to hear what he was saying.
Some time later, when Lewis had finished talking and was resting his aching head against Val's shoulder, and when Lynn was just starting to yawn, Ken suddenly appeared in front of them.
"Dad," he said awkwardly, "well, Lynn told me what happened. I'm sorry; well, I mean, I'm sorry to hear about it."
Having said so much, he turned to go, but Lewis was quick, and caught him in a hug before he got away.
"Thank you," Lewis whispered.
He finally had his whole family around him. It was good they'd known they were wanted; he certainly wasn't capable of telling them how much he needed them at the moment, or even how he felt. There weren't words he could say that would begin to cover it...
"life... death... regret..."
That's what he felt like! – that music from that tape – the very first bit (it had lost him a little when they'd started singing in German) of the K-napper-ts-bush recording of Parsifal – standing here, hugging Ken, Val and Lynn right beside him, missing Morse, and so, so sorry for him, and not knowing whether Morse had just been putting up with him the whole time or whether he thought Lewis could actually do the job well on his own, not knowing whether Morse was proud of him or not, and, at the end, simply not having been there – it was all there in that music, and Lewis had a quick impulse to go back again, and tell him that he understood about Wagner, too – but he didn't. He had his family with him now, after all.
A family, in fact, that was staying up with him into the wee small hours. He straightened up, holding Ken by the shoulders.
"Well," he said, swallowing. "It's past my bedtime."
Lynn and Val both yawned.
Lewis stayed in the living room, ostensibly finishing his tea while Ken buried himself in his room again, and while Val wandered off to help Lynn get installed in her own room for the night.
He'd brought the tape in the other evening – it was in the player there in the living room. Lewis rewound it to the beginning, made sure the volume was turned down quite low, and played it, stretching out on the sofa with his arms wrapped behind his head, and listened.