The next morning, Jones takes the last shower. Kate has to be back at the university for an afternoon tutorial, Sarah has a morning staff meeting, and John has a mountain of paperwork waiting on his desk.
Jones, on the other hand, has his own personal doctor insisting that he not work or drive for at least another day, so he's assigned babysitting duty.
John makes another pot of coffee while Sarah reads over her notes for the meeting. "I'll make up a thermos for you. I imagine you didn't get much sleep last night, and I'd hate for you to fall asleep at the wheel," he teases Kate.
"John!" Sarah scolds, but she looks at Kate with unabashed curiosity.
"I slept very well, thank you very much. Concussion, remember?" Kate does indeed look well rested, though she also looks more content than John has ever seen her.
"Is he a cuddler?" Sarah asks, with a wicked gleam in her eye. "I've always thought Ben would be a cuddler."
"Sarah!" John and Kate exclaim together, though Kate is embarrassed and John merely mocking. He's not entirely sure how he feels about his wife speculating about Jones's bed habits, though, and he's certainly never thought of Jones as cuddly.
"Shh," Sarah says suddenly. "He's singing."
They move closer to the staircase, and John can just make out Jones's rich tenor above the sound of the shower.
"Oh," Kate says, and when he looks at her, her expression is open and joyful. "We slow-danced to this at my birthday a few years back."
"And then he held your hair while you threw up," John guesses, remembering Winter's passed along advice - and the sudden look of hope on Jones's face.
"I thought something happened that weekend," Sarah exclaims.
"Nothing happened that weekend," Kate replies, a little sharply. "I told you he was a perfect gentleman. He took me home, made sure I was okay, and then someone decided to call him in on his day off, and we never spoke of it again."
John has faced down armed killers, vicious dogs, and teething babies, but that's nothing compared to the look Sarah gives him, a look that promises much discussion later. "I don't commit the crimes," he protests.
"But you do the rosters," Kate retorts. She relents at his expression of genuine remorse. "Never mind. We probably would have made a mess of it back then. Too close quarters."
John thinks there might be some truth to that. Sarah is his rock, but she's also his refuge. There's something to be said about sheltering together, but sometimes it's an escape that's needed, not a reminder. He's seen too many interdepartmental relationships shatter when escape turns to betrayal.
Still, John could see how well suited they were, even back then, and he wonders how much of her decision to take the job at the university was motivated by Jones's more frequent visits after Betty was born. He also wonders if that was one of the reasons Sarah insisted that Jones be Betty's godfather. She plays a long game with multiple objectives.
Jones is still humming when he comes downstairs, hair damp, but his beard trimmed neatly. John will never get used to the beard, but he has to admit it suits Jones. He looks less like a cricket bum now, and more like the games master the real Jack Morris must have been. A teacher who loved sports, was the girls' first crush, and counselled the boys through their first crush.
He looks like he had a good night's sleep as well; his eyes are bright and clear and his colour is much better. There are still pain lines around his eyes, but he seems to be recovering from the concussion nicely.
He stops humming when he sees them clustered in the hallway, though, a light flush tinting his cheeks. His smile dims as well, when he realizes that Kate has her jacket on and is ready to leave. "I thought maybe we could get a coffee before you go."
Kate looks at her watch regretfully. "I'm afraid I'm already pushing it with post-holiday traffic. When are you due back in Brighton?" Kate asks.
"Depends on how the interviews go. Monday at the latest." Jones smirks at John. "Or whenever I outstay my welcome."
"If you can get Betty to eat her peas, you can stay as long as you like." The novelty will wear off soon enough, and she'll be flinging food in his face. John loves his daughter, but less so at mealtimes.
"Maybe I can come back Friday after my last lecture." Kate is trying to sound nonchalant, but John can tell she's not sure of her welcome.
"I thought you had book club on the first Friday of the month," Jones says. "Book club is sacred," he tells John. "I made the mistake of dropping by when Kate was hosting. Haven't seen that many looks of disapproval since we interviewed the DeWitts."
'I think you mistook disapproval for morbid curiosity. Nothing excites bored academics more than a mysterious stranger, especially one dripping blood on the doorstep."
"I wasn't…" Jones shakes his head. "Suspect in a rape case got a lucky swing in," he tells John and Sarah. "Cut my cheek with his ring. I made my sergeant do the paperwork and took the crime scene photos to Kate's. I thought she might be able to tell if any of the cuts on the victim were made from the same ring."
"He just wanted a drink and some sympathy. What he got were butterfly stitches and a boot out the door before any of my supposed friends volunteered to do a full physical." But she leans in and traces her finger down his cheekbone in a way that is far from professional.
Jones's pupils dilate, but he manages to keep his voice steady. "You were disapproving," he teases. "Ignored me for days. Sent your opinion to my sergeant."
"I was extremely annoyed. It was my choice of book, and I had brilliant things to say about it, but once you left there was no more talking literature."
John has listened in on Sarah's book club in the past. There's precious little talking about literature to begin with. A tall, dark, and bloody stranger would be a far more interesting topic of conversation.
Sarah laughs. "I remember you telling me about that. As I recall, your main objection was that you were suffering the indignities of idle gossip without anything to show for it."
"Tell you what," Jones says. "I'll volunteer to patrol the pier on a Saturday night and crash one of your faculty parties after I've broken up a couple of fights. That'll give the eggheads something to talk about."
She smacks him on the arm. "I'm an egghead."
"Have I ever told you that I have a weakness for eggheads?" he says, and Kate grins.
"You know what else I have a weakness for?" she asks, and it's far too soon and sickening for them to have private jokes, even if they've known each other for years. John almost regrets sending Kate the picture.
"Convertibles," Jones replies smugly. "You begged your parents for one for your graduation present, but all you got was a second-hand Mini Metro. Practically child abuse that was."
"Do you remember all the stupid things I say when I'm drunk?" Kate sounds both amazed and horrified, perhaps regretting the amount of lager she's poured into him - and herself - in the past.
But it escapes nobody's notice that Jones chose a convertible for his undercover car. John suspects it was less a romantic than a calculated gesture, however. If the eminently sensible Kate Wilding can be swayed by a slick convertible, so can the cricket-crazed denizens of Lower Pampling.
"Just who were you trying to impress?" he asks. It couldn't have been Kate; he hadn't expected to see her. And Melody Henderson doesn't seem the type to be impressed by a car.
Jones rolled his eyes. "I was trying to make myself a target. A cricket bum with no visible means of support driving a flash car? Sounds like a good candidate for match fixing."
"I'll take the bus up on Friday," Kate says with a gleam in her eye. "Then we can drive back together and I can indulge all my teenage fantasies. Riding in a convertible with a ne'er-do-well cricket star!" She leans in and gives him a quick kiss. "Now remember what I said. No driving until tomorrow. Interviews when you feel up to it, but no screens until at least Thursday." She shakes her head when Jones scrunches his face in silent protest. "Don't look at me like that. I've just given you permission to avoid paperwork."
She hugs Sarah and John. "I'll leave it to you to make sure they both follow the rules," she tells Sarah.
John thinks he should be insulted, but the monthly reports are overdue, and Jones knows all the paperwork shortcuts. And he was hoping for a movie marathon once Betty was tucked in bed. Jones doesn't like old horror movies any better than Sarah, but he pretends better than she does.
"You can count on me," Sarah replies. "I'm heading off now, too. I'll walk you out."
"Call me when you get a chance," Jones calls after them. He has a dopey grin on his face, and John hopes Kate doesn't see it, or she might be frightened away, and Sarah would surely find a way to blame him.
But as soon as the door is closed, the smile slips from Jones's face. He turns to John and takes an envelope from his pocket. "I found this in my duffel bag," he says. "It's from Melody Henderson."
"Are you sure?" The envelope hasn't been opened.
"I recognize the stationary from Leo's office. And her handwriting." He hands the envelope to John. "You should open it. If she's making a complaint, I don't want there to be any question about the chain of evidence."
Melody is hardly going to file a complaint via personal note, and John knows he would have heard if she'd gone through official channels. But he also knows that's really not what Jones is worried about. The slap left a mark, though not one that can be seen any more. And words can be as dangerous as a minefield.
The envelope is addressed to Inspector Jones, but the salutation on the letter is simply "Dear Jack." John reads it through silently, looking for trip wires.
Dear Jack,
I know you're not Jack, that there is no Jack, but that's who you still are to me.
I want to apologize for yesterday. I was upset, but that's no excuse for slapping you. Serena thinks I should have hit you harder, but Leo died, Fitz died, you nearly died, because of what I did to Cilla when I listened to Serena.
This time I listened to Cilla. She asked if you took advantage of me, if you hurt me in any way. I told her the truth: that you were nothing but kind to me in my moments of deepest despair.
She said that it doesn't matter that your name isn't Jack Morris, that you're a policeman not a cricket player. What matters is that you were there for me when I was heartbroken, when I was alone, when I was afraid.
I wish I had listened to Cilla twenty years ago. She's forgiven me so much, so it's nothing at all for me to forgive you for not being who I wish you could have been.
It's hard for me to accept that Leo is gone. Even harder to accept that he knew about Cilla's son and did nothing to help either of them. Leo's son. I think in time I'll be able to accept that as well, even be grateful that part of him lives on.
I did some sleuthing of my own. You're a local boy. You probably played against Leo at school. You still have family and friends in Midsomer. I hope you will count me among them.
I hope too that next time you visit you can meet Leo's son. I'd like him to know the kind of man his father could have, should have been. And I'd like to get to know Ben.
Yours,
Melody
John hands the letter back to Jones and watches as he reads. He can see the tension ease from his body, the final doubts put to rest. Words can heal as well.
"All right?" he asks.
Jones nods and carefully refolds the letter, slipping it back into the envelope. "I should write her back," he says. "It's too raw for a phone call. But next time I'm up. Maybe next month?"
"You know you're welcome any time." It's a far cry from the early days of their partnership. He tried at first to overrule Sarah's open invitation for Jones to drop by any time, but it had been hopeless from the start.
Back in Brighton, John had a larger team, worked with a series of sergeants and constables, depending on the case. It was easy to keep apart from the ranks.
But when he got to Causton, the department was smaller, and Jones practically lived in his pocket. And no matter how hard he tried to keep his distance, Jones was there, alternately annoying and amusing, and ultimately indispensable.
The doorbell rings and John glances at his watch. "That'll be Winter," he says. "He's giving me a lift to the station." He opens the door to let the younger man in.
Winter is, as always, impeccably dressed for the work day. He wears a suit well, always looks comfortable buttoned up, unlike Jones, who rarely made it past lunch with his collar fastened.
John takes a moment to consider his former and current sergeants. On the surface, they're nothing alike. Winter is college educated and fast-tracked to CID, while Jones languished in patrol for nearly a dozen years before Tom Barnaby recognized his potential.
Winter is younger too, young enough to make John feel old most days, though it occurs to him that Jones was about the same age when he started working with Tom. But he was an experienced sergeant by the time John arrived on the scene, seasoned, if not always mature.
Somehow, though, he doesn't think Jones was ever as young as Winter is now. Or maybe it's just that John keeps getting older and the sergeants keep getting younger.
Winter nods at Jones and glances around. "Dr. Wilding gone back to Brighton?"
"You just missed her," Jones replies. "She's hoping to come back for the weekend, though," he adds, when Winter looks a bit panicked.
Sarah, in a fit of mischief, sat Kam between John and Ben at dinner, pointing out that proximity was not the problem when John questioned her tactics later.
That didn't stop Kam from flirting with Jones, or Jones from flirting back, though John saw Jones give Kate a wink, and Kam very clearly sized up the situation within minutes of arriving. Only Winter was left out of the joke.
"Kam's a lovely and brilliant woman," Jones says, and Winter tenses again. "Can I give you some advice? Tell her how you feel. Worst case, she doesn't feel the same way. But if she does, you'll regret every second you waited."
"I thought you were just friends," Winter teases, his confidence back now that he knows Jones isn't competition.
"Maybe not 'just',' Jones acknowledges. "But that's the most important part."
John gives him a thoughtful look. That's been the truth of his marriage; Sarah is his friend and confidante, and that has only become more important as the years pass. "Wise words," he says. "Listen to your elders, Winter."
Jones wrinkles his nose, though he's as much older than Winter as he is younger than John. "You want wise words?" he says. "Don't let him blackmail you over your social life."
"I didn't blackmail you," John protests. "I merely proposed a quid pro quo." He'll never tire of teasing Jones about it, though. "What I should have done was blackmail you into accepting protection."
"You didn't have much leverage once Fred Burns's lawyer told the court about Susie and me." He gives John an amused look. "I think the statute of limitations for you feeling guilty about Grady Felton has long expired. Or did your cousin give you a hard time about it again?"
"Jones was my cousin's sergeant before he was mine," John tells Winter. "Tom's still a bit territorial."
"I'm sure DCS Hicks can commiserate," Jones says wryly.
That, at least, isn't something John feels guilty about, not if it will make Jones a little more cautious, knowing someone is looking over his shoulder. The only thing worse than walking into a warehouse to find Jones strung up and about to be murdered is not being there to walk into the warehouse.
"Wait until one of your sergeants grows up and then you'll understand."
"My sergeant is older than you and took early retirement while I was risking my life to make amateur cricket safe for punters." He looks thoughtful. "I'll see if I can find a fit young thing like Winter here to make sure the crims don't outrun me."
Winter flushes, and John makes a note to follow up on that later. He thought Jones had been far too forgiving of Winter's suspicions. He should have remembered that Jones always keeps a snarky remark or two in his back pocket. It's another sign that Ben Jones is slipping out of the shadow of Jack Morris.
"Hopefully you can keep up with a two-year-old," he says. "If you need a break, Betty can have an hour of screen time this afternoon. But none for you. Kate will have my head if you're not fully fit by Friday."
At the sound of her name, Betty toddles over, dragging the ever-present bunny behind her. John lifts her up for a farewell hug. "Are you going to behave for your Uncle Ben?" he asks.
"Benny!" she cries, leaning away from his kiss to reach for Jones.
John doesn't know whether to be amused or jealous, watching his daughter practically leap into Jones's arms. He didn't expect to lose her affections to another man quite so soon. But the Barnabys have always had a soft spot for Ben Jones.
