Chapter 23

Sorry, again, for the delay. Nothing tragic this time, I've just been writing something else. Alas, it is not fanfic and it might never see the light of day but it has rather consumed me. But here we pick up with The Soul of Genius. I have actually never written about this episode which is shocking because it might be one of my favorite in the entire series. Celia Imrie is simply magnificent. I also thought her chemistry with Robbie was quite good. Let me know what you think.

Standing still was its own form of punishment. There had been a time in his life, not too long ago, where he would have given anything to make time stand still. Now, well now, he wanted something to happen. What, he wasn't sure, but it was time for something.

The ringing phone dragged him from his thoughts. He laughed to himself. Perhaps he should be careful what he wished for, "James…"

He watched her walk toward them, a grumpy expression on her face. Cocking his head to the side, he noticed her shorter hair, tried to remember when he'd last seen her, surely it hadn't been that short then. If it had been and he hadn't noticed, there would be hell to pay.

She was talking before she even got close to them. Her voice further expressing the grumpiness on her face. "Male, adult, must have been in there a couple of weeks. First inspection reveals blow to the front right side of the skull above the temple. Probable cause of death." Looking back to the body, dismissing them with her words, "All pretty straight forward really."

Turning back to them, seeing their looks she shrugged. "It's my day off. I had plans. I was trying to have a life. Instead of which, as usual, I'm up to my knees in body parts." She took a deep breath, shaking her head, "Sorry." Opening her eyes, she met Robbie's even gaze, "I don't think there'll be any surprises in the postmortem. But the grave's pretty interesting. The body was wrapped in a fine cloth, very fine."

Holding a bag out to them, "And this was laid on the chest."

Robbie took the back, examining the hand-crafted cross it contained. "He was buried with some ceremony, then."

James eyed the cross, "And care."

Manipulating the second bag, she turned it for them to see, "There's an inscription on the back. "

Robbie took the bag, flipping the watch to see the inscription, "Nulli secundis."

James automatically translated, "Second to none."

Nodding toward the body, "Who found him?"

Pointing to a young woman behind them, "Liv Nash. She's a botanist based at the Botanic Gardens."

"What brought her all the way out here?"

"They were doing some conservation work."

Nodding James towards the witness, Robbie fell into step beside Laura. Looking over his shoulder to make sure James was out of earshot, "Sorry about your plans."

She shrugged, her voice softened, "It's alright."

"No, you need some time off."

"I'd only booked the day, Robbie. It's not as if I had plans to run off to Gretna Green."

He looked down at her, shocked by her words. Was she implying there was someone in her life? "When's the last time you had a real vacation?"

"When's the last time you did?"

Holding up his hands in surrender, "Alright, I give." He paused, "I know I wasn't part of your plans but how would you feel about dinner?"

She shook her head, "No, but thanks." Pointing toward the SOCOs, "I'm just going to hand off this stuff and then head out, make the most of what's left of my day. Nine sharp." He nodded at her retreating body.

The last place either of them wanted to be was calling on Michelle Marber. But they had to before she damaged the case further. Robbie took the lead on the approach to her front door. He rang the bell before noticing the door was slightly ajar.

Concern tickled the back of his conscience as he pushed the door open. It was replaced by disgust and alarm as he realized the walls were papered with notes and pictures as if she was running her own investigation. Colored yarn connected dots of evidence probably only clear in her mind.

James was the first to speak, "It's an incident room."

Robbie looked up noticing the name printed in charcoal on the ceiling. He wondered if it hadn't been for the kids and the job if this could have been him.

"I like to lie on the floor sometimes, look at the whole picture. I think if I can see it all in one glance, I might understand it better. But I never quite seem to."

"Mrs. Marber, we hear you've been out and about with your little notebook again."

James shifted uneasily from one foot to another, anxious to be anywhere but here. "I'll check the rest of the house."

"Mrs. Marber?"

Turning back to Robbie, she seemed surprised to see him, "Oh, Inspector. Yes, sorry, how can I help you? Would you like a cup of tea?" Walking away, she muttered to herself, "I don't know if I've got any tea."

Robbie followed her, trying to stay on topic, "We warned you that impersonating a police officer was a criminal offense, as is harassment. You've been making trouble again."

Hathaway screamed down the stairs, "Sir."

"Mrs. Marber!"

Again Hathaway's voice beckoned, "Sir!"

"What?"

"You've got to come have a look at this."

Shaking his head at the circumstances, "Oh, for God's sake." He turned away from Mrs. Marber and made his way to the stairs. He followed James into the room; all of his anger evaporating. He recognized the depth of anguish this woman was in and he knew that but for the grace of God, this could be him.

The shrine to her son was heart-wrenching. His eyes lingered on the pictures of the boy at all ages of life. When a spouse dies a person becomes a widow or a widower. When parents die a person becomes an orphan. But when a child dies, there is no word to describe the parent, almost as if the English language can't comprehend the loss and dares not define it with a simple word.

Her footsteps behind them seemed heavier as if they felt the weight of his own guilt. She smiled softly at him, "Stevie, my son." Casually, she replaced the dying flowers with live ones. "He was found dead at his room. He was doing his post-grad at Carlyle College. The coroner returned 'death by misadventure', and overdose. But she was wrong. Stevie would never have been so stupid." Looking back at the flowers, "It's an overused word these days, but he was…" Tears pooled in her eyes as she looked away, "He was a genius. My miraculous boy. My little pal."

Robbie's voice was softer, "Michelle, why didn't you tell us?"

Wiping away a tear, "Oh, I've learnt it's the surest way to be dismissed. They give you a little card with a number on it, a helpline. Least as Miss Marple, I got a few extra days, got a little bit closer." She paused, "I started by going backwards, trying to piece together the last days, but it was all too confusing." She walked past them, leading them toward her work. "So I started at the beginning. I must have visited every day of his life since he left me. But I still don't know why he died."

Reaching her destination, she pointed to photos on her desk, "That was his first day at Davy Institute. His first day as Alex Falconer's research assistant. All that promise, all that excitement. And no idea what was to come."

"What happened?"

Looking back at Robbie, a steely gaze, "Alex Falconer, never satisfied. Nothing Stevie did was good enough. He didn't work hard enough, he wasn't rigorous. Stevie had his own way of working. But Alex Falconer was such a narrow… He sacked Stevie. And then he came to the inquest and he stood up there in front of me and told me that my son was a drug addict. My son did not die of an overdose. My son would never have been so stupid."

"How do you think he died, Michelle?" She swallowed, fighting tears. Robbie stepped aside to let her pass. "But you blame Alex Falconer for his death?"

"I don't know what he did. I don't know how it happened."

He followed her down the stairs, "You actually think he killed him?"

Looking back at him, "Yes, yes I do. With every fiber of my being."

Incredulous, Robbie continued pushing her. "But why? Why would he kill your son?"

"Perhaps Stevie found something out, something about Alex."

"Like what?"

Breaking down, she shook her head, "I don't know, I don't know."

Gutted by her anguish, he patted her on the back. "All right, I'll put a brew on."

James leaned forward, lighting her cigarette. She smiled up at him, "You're rather nice, you two." James smiled kindly.

Robbie called from the other room, "Michelle, you've got nothing in!"

"Oh, I can't be bothered to eat. I just need to sleep."

Robbie returned, nodding toward James. He pulled some money from his pocket, whispering, "Nip out get her a bit of shopping in, will you? I don't know, simple stuff, teabags and milk?"

James nodded then turned to leave. Robbie waited until he was gone then return to Michelle. "You can't let yourself go. Stevie wouldn't want it."

She looked up at him sharply, "How would you know? How do you know what I'm going through?"

"My wife was killed. Hit by a drunk driver."

"Did they find the person?"

He nodded, "My sergeant did."

"Is that how you got over it?"

He paused at her words, realizing that to some extent he was over it. There wasn't the mind-numbing pain that had been his constant companion for so long. But it wasn't finding the man, it was the people he surrounded himself with. "It was just time? But you can't isolate yourself like this. I know from experience it doesn't help. It just keeps you alone with your ghosts."

They sat alone at the table, drinking a pint, James smoking. The clues taunting them, drawing them closer only to push them further away.

James crushed out the cigarette, "The impossible quest."

"I can feel myself disappearing." Robbie took a sip from his glass, watching James brood. "Are you all right?"

James sniffed at the material of his jacket. "My clothes smell of dry rot. Murray's house." He paused tapping his hand on the table, frenetic energy pulsing through him. Picking up his glass, "All of these lonely people pouring their lives into puzzles that can't be solved." Putting his glass on the table, "Ah, ignore me. I've got a touch of existential flu." He looked over at Robbie, noting the concern, "What?"

Taking a deep breath, Robbie dove in. "I am going to say it, just this once. For your sake, you need a partner, James. You need someone in your life. Let's call it a day. I want to check on Michelle." Seeing the concerned look on James' face, "I'm just going to look in, make sure she's okay."

Once again, the door was open. He pushed it and entered, calling her name, "Michelle?"

Relief flooded through him when he heard her call back, "Upstairs."

Climbing the stairs, he lectured her, "You must remember to lock your door." Seeing the discarded, lit cigarette, he shook his head as he picked it up. "And please, stop leaving lighted ciggies all over the place." He stubbed out the cigarette, "You're like a walking public safety warning, woman."

Smiling back at him, "I know, I know. I've just got too much to think about. Have you got some news for me?" Seeing the look on his face, "No, no, on second thoughts don't tell me."

He shook his head, "What do you mean?"

Pausing, she looked away then back at him. "Stevie dies a hundred times a day in my head. I see it, his last breath. It plays on a loop. And then I fall asleep, and I dream. I dream that I can't get through the door. If I could get through the door, I could save him. If I knew how he died, at least I could stop imagining it." She walked past him to the landing, "But then, if I knew, would I not just imagine that? And what if it's worse?"

Robbie followed her, leaning into the door jamb, "If you knew, you could think less about his death, and more about his life."

She turned away from him, "This investigation, I'm not finding anything out. All I'm doing, really, is retracing his steps." Sitting on the top step, she continued, "I go to a coffee bar and sit in a chair and I think 'Maybe this is the chair he sat in'. And I can almost feel his presence. But as soon as I feel it, it's gone. It slips away from me like mist under the sun."

Looking away from her, "Softly and suddenly vanishes away." He met her curious gaze, "My wife. I think about her every day. But about it, about the accident, only every other day now. I think about her as she was, her laugh, her smile. I miss her. I talk to her all the time, around the house. Don't tell my sergeant. But I don't relive it, not anymore. Well, anyway, not as often."

"How did you get there? I don't know how to get there."

He sighed, "I think it was when I accepted it. When I stopped fighting it." Pulling at his collar, he shook his head, "But how it happened? I couldn't tell you."

His words to Michelle Marber echoed through his mind on the drive home. He couldn't help but wonder if they'd been true. Had he really stopped fighting it, learned to accept it? Parking in front of his building, he looked at his front door. It was true.

The only part that hadn't been true was when he said he couldn't tell her how it happened. He knew how it happened. It was the people in his life who kept him anchored, Lyn, Patrick, James. And, even more, Laura. Suddenly, he didn't want to go inside, didn't need to see Val.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he pressed the two button and waited for the call to connect. The second he heard her voice, he smiled. "Laura, if you're not too busy having a life, do you think you might like to have dinner with me?"