Chapter 9

"Squash? You're going to play squash with a man young enough to be your son. Does that really seem wise?"

He grumbled into the bag he was packing, "Enough, woman. You're always on me to get more exercise. This is exercise."

"I meant walking more, maybe a ride on a bike." Motioning at his attire, "This is insanity."

"It'll be fine, pet. Besides, I made a promise to spend more time with James."

She sighed, "I know, I just thought you meant at the pub. Not in some infantile athletic exercise."

"Get used to it, love. I'm an athletic man."

She rolled her eyes, "Run along. I'll be here with some liniment when you come limping along." He lifted the bag walking toward the door. "Be sure to tell the dishy sergeant I said hi."

Looking over his shoulder, "I thought you were calling him James now."

"Oh, I still am. But I'm imagining him in his athletic gear and I suspect he's quite dishy in those."

Muttering under his breath as he opened the door, "You and Laura…"

Val smiled to herself at the comparison, wondering if he even knew he'd made it. "See you later."

He staggered in the door, trying to stand as upright as possible. He didn't want her to know she'd been right. Squash was a mistake.

Falling back against the door, he thought about the comments from Oswald Cooper. There was no need for the man to have mentioned Val. He couldn't help but feel he was being manipulated, his buttons pushed.

"Robbie, you alright?"

Taking a deep breath, he pushed away from the door, wincing as his back caught. "I'm fine."

"I thought I would teach you a simple pasta dish tonight."

Turning into the kitchen, he raised the bag he was carrying, wincing as he did. "Takeaway."

Raising a single eyebrow, she smirked, "How bad is it?"

"A muscle spasm. Some pills and I have to buy a new mattress. Already bought it. It'll be delivered tomorrow."

"Poor thing. There's some liniment in the bathroom. What if you tell me about your day while you take a bath?"

He opened the takeaway container, forked up some of the contents. "No teasing, no I told you so's."

"It's no fun kicking you while you're down."

"Has the hospital called, am I dying?"

She laughed, "No, you're perfectly healthy." Motioning to his back, "If a bit worse for the wear at the moment."

"I've not heard the end of this have I?"

"Not by a long shot."

He smiled, happy she seemed to be more focused on his injury. Perhaps she wouldn't notice his distress over the words of Oswald Cooper."

The envelope was sitting on his desk when we returned to the office. A handwriting he didn't recognize. He could feel something hard inside.

Tearing open the envelope, he removed a newspaper clipping. The headline was a kick in the gut. The story of Val's death. Panicking he dug into the envelope, removing a single piece of paper with a key taped to it. The same handwriting, this time signed.

Never stop looking.
Your house is not a home.

Oswald Cooper

A chill ran down his spine. Another ghost, this one decidedly less friendly. This would have been mailed before the man was killed. The feeling of being manipulated returned. Tucking the note back into the envelope, he put both of them in his jacket pocket.

They sat in the pub, catching up on the afternoon. The ends of this case didn't quite meet. He was certain they had all they needed, well almost all of it. But it wouldn't quite come into focus.

Pulling the pill bottle from his pocket, he shook a few into his hand then downed them with a healthy swig from his pint. Seeing the look from James, "What?"

"I'm just…glad to see you're taking care of yourself."

"Finish your drink, sergeant, then you can take me home."

"You know, sir, I notice you always call me sergeant when you're annoyed with me."

"Just goes to show you're smarter than you look."

They walked down the hallway to his flat. His old mattress was leaning against the wall outside. Cringing, he punched at the mattress, "Left it on the table, I think." He opened the door, reach in finding the book. "Yeah. There you go." James opened the bag, removing the book. "Eunuch, means keeper of the bed." Nodding his head toward the discarded mattress, "Maybe he'd know what to do with this."

"Well I'll give you a hand getting rid of it if you like."

"What, this time of night?"

James nodded, "Yeah, there's a skip down your road."

"What?"

"Oh, come on, it's a skip. Be rude not to."

Scoffing "I can't bel… We're police officers, man."

James shrugged his shoulders, "Fine."

They'd gotten the mattress down to the car rather easily. Now they were driving down the road with the mattress on the roof of the car. Robbie holding it down with one hand.

James stopped next to the skip and hopped easily out of the car. Robbie looked around, hoping no one was looking from their windows.

"Any chance of a hand? Come on."

Robbie opened his door, still looking around guiltily.

James waited till Robbie was at the other end of the mattress, "One, two, three."

They heaved together, grunting with the effort. But managed to send the mattress flying into the skip. A dog started barking in the distance, Robbie panicked, headed for his car door. "Now can we just get out of here?"

A resident of one of the buildings turned on a light, yelling at them from the window. Robbie ducked his head, trying to hide his face. James pulled away, tires squealing against the damp street.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into that."

James howled, enjoying the experience. "Call of the wild, sir."

They both laughed, the amusement of the moment catching up with them. Robbie sighed, "Don't know how long we've kept that mattress."

James looked away. It suddenly dawned on him the full meaning of Robbie's words.

"You chuck this stuff out and catch yourself thinking 'Is that it'? Is that the last bit of my marriage gone?" James looked over at him, "No more taps on the shoulder. Still…stuff the stuff we keep."

James watched him get out of the car, unable to find words to comfort the older man. As Robbie closed the door, he smiled to himself. "Good night, sir."

The case was over; it had ended with a bang. He didn't envy the family having to put all of the pieces back together but somehow he felt certain they would. He wasn't as certain he would be able to do the same.

A small piece of him was certain Oswald Cooper was sending him a message. It hadn't been some vain attempt to throw him off the scent. The man had something, he just had to find it. Lifting the key from his drawer, he left the station. He was on autopilot as he drove. He wouldn't rest until he found it, whatever it was.

He'd been here an hour, digging through the files, staring at the walls, searching for some hint, some clue. There was one file with a copy of the paper with the article about Val. There were other articles, follow-ups to the original story. A number was on the file. He used the number to find a file on the computer, certain there was something.

Hours later, he was cross-legged on the floors. Files strewn all across the floor. He'd never felt so defeated. It was here, he knew it and he couldn't find it.

"Sir?"

He started at James' voice, "I'm just taking a breather."

"Any luck?"

Sighing, he shook his head. "I know what you're thinking. But you're wrong. He left something." Getting to his knees, he started shuffling papers together. "He left something for me to find, or else, why send me that letter?"

"Sir, let it go." James stood, "We've been through every shred of paper. Every word, every file, every photo."

"Then we'll keep looking!"

James raised his voice, "No. I'm not gonna stand by and watch you doing this to yourself. You know I'm not. There is nothing here about your wife! Let it go!"

He turned to James, "How can I? It's in my head now."

James turned to leave then stopped. He removed his jacket, tossing it onto the desk. Squatting next to Robbie, he helped him pick up files. Softly, he spoke to Robbie, "She wouldn't want this, sir. I know I didn't know her. But I can't imagine anyone who loved you and was loved by you as deeply as you loved her would have wanted this." When Robbie dropped the files, James gently touched his shoulder. "Let me take you home, sir. I'll cover with Innocent, say your back is worse. You need some sleep."

"I'm never going to find the bastard who did this. Never get any peace."

"It's not my place but you've had a rough week. Getting rid of the mattress, hurting your back. You need rest. Let me take you home."

Robbie lifted his head, his eyes met James'. The raw pain there almost set James back on his heels. "There's nothing here, is there?"

"No sir, if there was, we would have found it."

Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply. "Take me home, James."

James helped him through the door, Robbie was almost staggering. Val stood, hearing the commotion. Concern wracked her features.

"Sir, why don't you take a shower? I'll fix you something to eat."

"I'm not sure what I have."

"I'll scrounge up something. Go on, sir."

She watched the two men, not sure what to do. Robbie moved listlessly to the bedroom. She could feel the pain rolling off him in waves. Her heart broke watching him. Hearing the water start, she turned her attention back to James.

He was moving around the kitchen, pulling things from the refrigerator. Quickly he'd put together the ingredients for an omelet. His movements were economical. There was something mesmerizing and soothing in watching him.

Just as he was flipping the omelet, expertly, onto a plate Robbie joined him. He was still toweling his hair, clothed in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms.

"Something smells good, James."

Setting the plate in front of Robbie, he smiled. "It's just an omelet, sir. Nothing too heavy but it'll help you sleep."

Picking up the fork, he smiled up at James. "Thank you, James."

"It's an honor, sir."

James stayed until Robbie had eaten. He washed the few dishes, leaving them on the rack to dry. Then he left, making Robbie promise he wouldn't come into the station that day. Val followed him to the door, reaching out to touch his shoulder. She whispered softly as she did, "Thank you, son."

She heard Robbie fall, heavily, into the bed. His grumbled words floated through the air, "Damn mattress."

She went to him, sliding into bed next to him. "What's wrong with the mattress, love?"

"It's not ours. It was the last thing I had that was ours. Throwing it away was like throwing away a piece of us."

Suddenly, it all made sense. His pain, the way this case had impacted him. Reaching out, she brushed the damp lock from his forehead. "I don't live in the things we possessed. I live in your memories." She dropped her hand to cover his heart, "And in here. And I always will. As long as you and the kids can remember me a part of me is alive and well."

"What happens when I can't remember?"

"The memories might soften, go a bit fuzzy around the edges but they will always be there."

"I love you, Val."

"And I love you. Always have, always will. Now sleep, my love. I'll be here when you wake."

Closing his eyes, he covered the place on his chest where her hand rested. He squeezed at his shirt, thinking it was her hand. Within seconds, he slept.