Chapter 14

They waited outside the courtroom, no words spoken, each lost in his own thoughts. Robbie watched him, searching for the right words to say, finding they didn't come. He was worried about James. Since he'd found the young girl's body, he hadn't been the same. He'd been reclusive, even more so than normal.

At his best, James was too introspective, took the job to heart too much. This had hurt him, damaged his psyche in ways other cases hadn't. As much as James liked to pretend he was above it all, Robbie knew otherwise. He needed to say something, give some advice. As he opened his mouth, they called for James.

James straightened, schooled the expression on his face. It hurt Robbie to see him withdraw even further into himself. "Alright?"

Looking forward, not daring to make eye contact, "Yep." Without another word, he turned walking away.

All Robbie could do was wait, stay and offer support when it was over. His ringing phone had other plans though.

James was seated at his desk, brooding, when Robbie returned from the murder scene. One glance at him and Laura's words returned. He didn't know what to say, she might be right but he thought it was best to distract James.

"We need to establish where he joined this magical mystery tour."

James nodded, "Nobody saw him get on?"

"Well, you know these tours, people are so busy gawping, they don't pay much heed to their fellow travelers."

"I think I might notice if there was a corpse sat next to me." He turned, smirking at Robbie.

Robbie handed him the map route for the bus, "There's an itinerary. See if you can find out if anybody saw him along the way."

James looked down at the map, "Where will you be?"

"Kidlington, for starters. Tudor Crescent, where he lived. I'm going to try and find out a bit more about him." He walked to the door, pausing, "How'd it go?"

James stared, fixedly, at the wall. "Zelinsky changed his plea after all of that."

"Result, then." At James scoff, "What?"

"Remanded for sentencing pending a social report, which'll probably say he had a very unhappy childhood."

"And did he?"

Anger clouded James' features, "Well, who didn't? We don't all go round abducting ten-year-old girls, do we?"

"Court's decision. Thankfully. We just nick 'em. It's why God created beer." James snuffled, Laura's words echoed in Robbie's head again. "Listen…"

James looked up, an edge in his voice, "You didn't find her."

He couldn't fix him, couldn't make this better. He'd have to let the lad find his own way. "No. I know." All he could do was be there, keep things as normal as possible. "Oh, you'll probably bump into Hooper and some of the other lads on your travels. There was a firearms incident at one of the staging posts this morning. Crevecoeur…Crevecoeur Hall."

He walked the grounds, a million memories returning. This had been one of the last places he'd been truly happy. It seemed a hundred years ago. As a secondary awareness, he'd heard the car roll to a stop on the gravel but it wasn't until he heard the voice it really registered.

"Excuse me? Why are there police cars all over the…James?" He looked over at the woman. She removed her glasses, the beginning of a smile, "My God! It's James Hathaway, isn't it?"

He smiled, would have recognized her anywhere. "Hello, Scarlett."

"It's been a long time. I heard you'd joined the priesthood."

"Didn't take."

"Not sure I can quite see you as a Father Hathaway."

"Nor could I, in the end. What about you?"

Pointing at the house, "Me? I'm one of the idle rich. Surely you've read about us."

He nodded, "I read that you got married."

Her smile broadened, "Mmm, yes, Fabio. That was, uh…" She took a deep breath, "I'd almost forgotten about him. We all make mistakes. You?"

"Mistakes? Plenty, I'm sure."

"Of the matrimonial variety?"

His mobile rang, as he shook his head. "No."

"Perhaps we should compare notes."

He pulled the phone from his pocket, silencing it. "Sorry."

"Well, it's, uh…" Leaning in she kissed him on the cheek. "You should call me. Or not."

As she turned to leave, he stuttered, "I, uh… I don't have your number."

Turning back to him, she smiled. "You're a detective, aren't you?"

He met James on the steps. Holding out the shirt he'd been given, "Present from Mr. Hopkiss. I won't ask." Nodding back at the woman, "So?"

"Selina was due to ride out this morning with Scarlett, but she cried off with a migraine, took a couple of tablets and went to bed."

"Anyone vouch for her?"

"She says she spoke to a Professor Pelham. Art historian. He's looking into some His Lordship's paintings. He's a fellow of Longsdale College."

"What about the daughter, Scarlett?"

They started walking, "Arrived at the same time as I did this afternoon."

"And?"

James shook his head, "Flying visit, apparently. According to Selina, she was dropping off some place cards for her engagement. They're having a big do day after tomorrow."

Robbie nodded, "So His Lordship said."

"You don't really think any of them are involved, do you?"

"Well, we'll have a clearer idea once we find out a bit more about Dr. Black. Oh, did you get on to Frances Woodville?"

"Oh, I'm sorry sir. I haven't had a chance."

"No, no, it's all right. Not to worry, I'll track her down. You cut along."

"What about the estate manager?"

Nodding, "Grahame. It's fine. I'll take it. You had a long day. Court and so forth." He paused, then decided to say something. "You know, James…"

"All right then, I'll…" They both laughed, uncomfortable. James nodded, "I'll, um, I'll go, then, sir. Nothing else?"

Robbie paused for a moment, wondering if he was missing a moment. "No, no, nothing else."

James smiled, looked down, "Night."

Robbie watched him walk away, certain he'd missed his opportunity. Concern grew inside him.

"You arranged to meet Dr. Black yesterday. We found your number on his answerphone."

She nodded, "He called a couple of days ago, asked me to meet him at the Turl. When he didn't turn up, well…you heard my message." She paused, the full measure of what Robbie had told her sinking in. "Now I know why."

"What did he want?"

Looking up at Robbie, "He wouldn't say." She leaned over picking up her bag. She was stalling looking for the right words, not wanting to speak ill of the dead. Finally, she decided the Inspector looked trustworthy. "Fond of a bit of cloak and dagger was our Stephen."

Robbie closed the distance between them, "You wouldn't happen to know what he was working on?"

Putting away her things, "By all accounts, he'd been pretty much living at the Bodleian. The chief librarian might shed some light."

"When did you last see him?"

"Couple of months ago. College dinner to celebrate his appointment to the Commonwealth Chair."

"And how did he seem?"

She paused, looking for a word, "Tiggerish. He said, in that rather grand way he had, that his great work was about to reach its apotheosis."

Robbie smiled at her reference to the Winnie the Pooh character, another woman who used that book to express herself. "And what did you take that to mean?"

Tilting her head, "Impossible to say with Stephen. Especially in his cups."

He followed her, "Oh, he liked a drink, did he?"

"I like a drink." At the door, she turned back to him. "Stephen? It was the real thing."

"It doesn't sound like you thought a lot of him."

"We had our moments." Looking down she decided to trust this man again, "He 'borrowed' much of the work which underpinned my doctorate to secure the Commonwealth Chair."

Robbie's eyebrows raised, "That's against the rules, isn't it?"

"Have you been in Oxford long?" At his smile, "Stand us a pint and I'll give you the grisly."

They'd ordered their drinks. He'd smiled when he'd ordered and she'd told the bartender to make it two. He'd been certain her comment about a pint had simply been a euphemism.

He watched her take a drink, waiting for her to start the conversation. After a quick sip, she dove in. "All right. What was Stephen like? Well, that would depend on whether you mean before or after the accident."

"What accident?"

"About six years ago, he ran his car into a student, Freddie Randall. The boy's fault." She waved her hand, "Coroner said as much."

"How was that?"

"Lad had been drinking." She looked up, meeting Robbie's gaze, "He just stepped out in front of the car. Nothing he could have done, but… Stephen vowed he would never get behind the wheel again, and he really started putting away."

"Is that why you didn't go public on his…what would you call it? Theft of intellectual property?"

"What, a few dusty old lines on John Thurloe? Hardly worth going to war over." She looked down, smiled fondly. "No, actually, I felt sorry for him. He'd been my tutor. Terrible to watch a brilliant man fall apart so completely."

"Were you two ever…"

"Were we ever lovers?" At his nod, she smiled, "Long ago, another lifetime. Then we were friends, then colleagues. And we kept our love lives separate.

"Did he ever mention a Linda Grahame?"

"No. But as I say, Stephen's love life was a closed book."

"This work couldn't have anything to do with Crevecoeur hall, could it?"

She nodded, "Possibly." At his curious look, she elaborated. "English Civil War 101. By 1648, King Charles was a prisoner of the Scots. There was always a rumor that he entrusted Richard Mortmaigne, Fourth Marquess of Tygon, with certain priceless treasures for safekeeping."

"What sort of treasures?"

"A king's ransom. Literally. Now, one source alleges he tried to buy his own release with part of that treasury in Mortmaigne's safekeeping."

"Why do I get the feeling there's a 'however' coming?"

She leaned forward, "Because I suspect you're much smarter than you look." At his look, "It's a compliment."

"Aye, backhanded."

"When word was sent to Crevecoeur, Richard Mortmaigne claimed, with much regret, that it had been lost."

"Richard Mortmaigne stole the treasure?"

"And concealed it somewhere on the estate."

"And Stephen Black was looking for the treasure?" He paused, "Why?"

"Legacy, obsession, who knows?" She paused for a moment, "Why do you do it?"

He shook his head, "Do what?"

"Play the dumb copper, routine. Surely people see through it."

"In all of my years in Oxford, you're only the second person who has."

"Why do you think that is?"

"People hear the accent, make assumptions."

"Who is the other person?"

"A colleague. But we've worked together for years." He took a sip from his beer, "How did you come to the conclusion I'm smarter than I look."

"The way you questioned me. Never giving anything away yet eliciting the maximum amount of information. That takes real skill and a keen intellect. The skill might be learned but the intellect is native." She smiled, reaching across to lightly touch the hand cupping his glass. "I really did mean it as a compliment. I've enjoyed your questioning."

Laying his hand flat on the table, he didn't move it when her hand covered his. "I enjoyed your answers."

As he walked toward her rooms, he found himself excited to see her. Truthfully, a thrill had run through him when they'd found the papers. James had offered to bring them over and he'd quickly shot him down. This was an errand he would run.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on her door, smiling to himself when she told him to enter. Pushing open the door, he smiled. "Thank for seeing me."

"I was hoping you would call." Looking at the pile of papers under his arm, "Of course, I was hoping it was my wiles that would have you calling. But I'll take what I can get." Motioning toward the papers, "What's all this?"

He spread them across her desk, "Stuff recovered from Dr. Black's house. His notebooks, charts…"

Smiling over at him, "What do you want me to do with it?"

"Well, there's no doubt he was interested in Crevecoeur, and the history of the Mortmaignes in particular. I can't make head nor tail of it, but…"

"You thought I might?"

"Hoped, actually. From what I've been able to sort out…" He pulled a single piece of paper from the stack, "This seems to be some sort of cryptogram?" Looking over at her innocently, "Is that what it's called?"

"I said you were smart." She nodded, "It's a code employed by John Thurloe's men."

"Didn't you mention something about him in relation to your doctorate?"

"I did, yes."

"Who was he, John Thurloe?"

"Spymaster for Oliver Cromwell."

"Can you crack it?"

Tilting her head, "What's it worth?"

"My undying gratitude."

"Does that include dinner?"

He smiled, laughing just a bit. She intrigued him. "Yes, it does."

Scarlett and her fiancé walked away from them. Suddenly, it all made sense. James's caginess about this case didn't have to do with his childhood. It had to do with this woman.

James tried to cover, "I'm invited to the engagement party as Scarlett's guest."

Walking away, "Conversational Mandarin? There something you want to tell me?" He looked back at James, "We're in the middle of a murder investigation and you've got yourself…what? Involved with one of the suspects?"

"I thought the investigation was done."

"Yeah, well, it's not. So now what? God, are you out of your mind? If anybody else gets wind of this, you could find yourself on a disciplinary charge."

Anger built inside him, "Yeah, well, no one else is going to."

Turning back to James, "Oh, really? Are you sure about that? Hooper's already putting it around the nick that you're cozying up to the nobility. I'm sure it would break his heart to lay it before the superintendent. And you'd be busted down to constable. Maybe even dismissed."

"Well, to be honest with you, I'm not sure I want to wake up in 20 years-time, old and with nothing more to show than a life spent picking through other people's misery."

"Okay, well, I'll make it easy for you. You're on leave as of now."

"Leave?"

"Yeah, You're due, aren't you?"

"What about the investigation?"

"No longer your concern."

He needed to talk to someone, needed advice. The only person who knew them both and wouldn't judge was Laura. He found her still at work in the morgue. Sticking his head in the door, "You got a minute?"

"I guess."

"Care to grab a drink?"

She smiled sadly, "I'm not really dressed for it."

"I can wait if you want to change."

He'd told her the story while walking to the pub. Leaving her to find the table, they picked up the conversation when he brought the drinks to the table.

"He's just not thinking straight."

"The Zelinsky case?"

"Yeah, well, it's partly that but…" Taking a sip from his beer, "It's something more. To do with Crevecoeur. Going back there after all these years. Whatever it is, it's got him all bent out of shape."

Taking a moment, Laura stared down at her glass. "So how've you left it?"

"I told him to take some time. Think it over. Then tell me what he wants."

"And what do you want him to do?"

He looked at her for a moment, "Me? It's not for me."

"Why not?"

"Well…" Meeting her eyes, he was surprised by the concern he saw. "He's an awkward sod at the best of times. God knows. But he's my awkward sod. I don't want to go through all the palaver of getting another sergeant house-trained."

She paused for a moment wondering why he didn't see how much alike they were. Robbie liked to think he was a man of the people but in his own way, he was as awkward as James. "Have you told him?" Her pager beeped. She dug through her purse, looking at the display when she found it. "Duty calls, I'm afraid."

"Well… Thanks for…you know, listening."

She nodded, "Any time." Pausing again, she decided to just say what was on her mind. "People don't know how you feel unless you tell them."

He'd covered for the lad with the Chief Super. He'd known, since his conversation with Laura, he would. Walking through the grounds, he knew where he'd find James.

James tossed the cigarette away as Robbie came to a stop, "I'm going to hand in my papers."

Robbie looked over at him, "Resign?"

"I compromised the investigation."

"You made a mistake. You're human."

"Not good enough."

"Why do you have to be better? What happened here… You're not to blame for any of it. Not then, not now. As for handing in your papers? Well, if it's all the same to you…" Robbie paused, heard Laura's words and pushed on. "Between us we make a not bad detective." He met James' glance. "I'm the brains, obviously."

"Obviously." James looked into the distance, knew he'd been forgiven. All of the hurt and anguish from the last few weeks disappeared. He smiled, a genuine smile. "Sir, would you like to get a pint? Celebrate the closing of the case."

Nodding he turned and started walking away. "Normally, I would say yes. But some of us have social lives."

Following a few steps behind, "I'm sure Dr. Hobson won't mind if I tag along, sir."

"I'm sure she wouldn't. But I'm not meeting Dr. Hobson."

"You have a date, sir."

"Aye, I do, sergeant."

"Might I ask with whom?"

"You might, but it doesn't guarantee I'll answer."