Chapter Eighteen—A Question of Trust

As disgruntled as Hathaway was about his suspension, he had to admit that there were some agreeable things about the situation. He was finally out from under Harvey Malcolm's thumb for one thing—didn't have to put up with the accusing stares and malicious allegations. The extra free time was another welcome compensation. After he finished the drink in front of him, he was planning to return home and spend a quality afternoon with his guitar—something he hadn't done in what felt like years. And maybe he'd get to…

Oh, whom was he kidding? He was already thoroughly bored, and it hadn't even been three hours since he'd left. How was he supposed to last another two-and-a-half days?

It wasn't just the dullness that worried him, however. He wondered how Lewis was going to cope without him. To his knowledge, they'd never solved a case without each other since they'd been paired. True, there had been the odd case where one member of the team discovered the final clue and had been forced to act immediately without having any time to alert his partner of the update. But this…this was different. Lewis was going to need to put the whole damned puzzle together on his own—not just the final piece. If only Hathaway had thought to keep his mouth shut for just one more day, they might have made some decent progress. But he hadn't kept his mouth shut, and now he was off the case.

Or was he? He thought back to the conversation he'd had with Innocent earlier in the day. Unless he was missing his guess, the chief superintendent had only said he wasn't to go anywhere near the station for the next three days; she hadn't said anything about his being "off the case" or banned from talking to his inspector. There was still plenty of investigating that could be done away from the workplace; he might go to the hospital and see if Innocent's sister could remember anything from the attack, or he might go back home and look through some of Innocent's old case files a second time—in the hopes of picking up on something he'd missed last time.

Although Hathaway knew that—by doing this—he'd be severely testing his professional relationship with Innocent for the third time in one week, he didn't much care. He was more than willing to break a few rules if it meant keeping her safe. Besides, James wasn't the only one who'd been reckless.

What had Innocent been thinking—wandering around Oxford at night with only an inebriated sister for protection? It would've been a dangerous feat even under ordinary circumstances; an attractive, well-dressed woman would be a tempting target to all sorts of dodgy characters. But these hadn't been ordinary circumstances—had they: an overzealous ex-boyfriend, a murdered husband, veiled death threats? How could someone who was normally so clever, so cautious show such negligence when it came to her own safety?

A horrible thought then struck Hathaway. What if… what if Jean didn't care anymore?

As of late, he'd often seen a look in her eyes that frightened him—an unfocused emptiness that suggested the chief superintendent wasn't all there, that—present though her body might have been—her mind and heart were light-years away.

Troubling as this thought was, it wasn't the only thing that worried James. He knew she wasn't sleeping regularly—if at all—and he was starting to think that might actually be a blessing.

The nightmares were the worst part in Hathaway's experience: the fact that not even rest was sacred, the fact that even the things you'd managed to supress in waking memory came back to you in horrifically vivid detail as you slept, the moment when you awoke to a frightening black emptiness and suddenly remembered why you'd been so terrified of the dark as a child.

Innocent's dreams were even worse than Hathaway's in all likelihood. She'd been on the force for far longer than he had, and she'd served with the Met for a while. And that wasn't even taking into account the traumatic events of the past week.

It was slightly different for James, though. He'd slept alone for so long that he'd almost gotten used to it. But Jean…Jean had once had someone to hold her when the world seemed to be collapsing around her. She'd gotten used to clinging to someone for support, and now…now she was going to have to re-learn something for which she'd been highly-out-of-practice for years—the art of coping alone.

He hoped she realised that she didn't have to go through this completely alone—that there were people who'd be there for her if she'd only ask for their help.

But would she ask? That was the real question. Hathaway was inclined to think that she would not, but then again, he was currently seeing a side of Jean Innocent he'd never seen before—a side he hoped he'd never have to see again. The one good thing about this new lost, confused, highly emotional model was that she needed help so obviously and desperately that she might actually seek it out herself.

And if she didn't seek help? Well then, Hathaway supposed help would just have to seek her. Lewis would be an ideal choice for a confidant; not only was he patient, compassionate, and a remarkably good listener, but he also had some inclination of what Innocent was currently experiencing.

But what if…what if the memories were still too painful for Robbie to revisit? What if it was still too soon? Who would Jean turn to in those circumstances?

James knew that the least he could do was offer his own comfort, but he was highly dubious as to how desirable or effective his "help" would prove. While he'd witnessed many tragedies in his life, he'd never experienced anything quite like this. He wouldn't know what to do or say, how to respond. Hell, he had enough trouble talking to women under ordinary circumstances. What was more, the last time he'd tried to comfort this particular woman, he'd ended up behaving in a highly inappropriate manner.

Still, Innocent needed someone, and even if there was no possible way that James could help, he should still give it his best effort. He owed her that much.

" James?" He heard a voice beside him and turned his head toward the source. Why speak of the devil!

Not that Innocent was the devil of course. If anything she was the other extreme—so honourable that it could prove a right pain in the arse sometimes.

But anyway, all this was beside the point. How long had she been there? He must've been so lost in thought that he'd missed her entrance—further proof that this case had left him dangerously unfocused.

" Ma'am. I…er…. What are you doing here?"

" Well, I've just gotten back from the hospital to visit my sister. And well, I'm…I'm not really all that eager to return to the station in all honesty. So, I guess you could say that I'm dragging my feet a bit. Or that I'm giving myself a bit of liquid courage," she said, holding up a half-full glass.

"How is your sister doing by the way?"

Innocent sighed. " She's fine—weak, but still expected to make a full recovery. Not that the doctor's have been all that much comfort to me. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a bit of a worrier by nature."

He grinned. " Oh, I've noticed ma'am. I've definitely noticed."

Jean was a worrier all right—about everyone and everything except her own safety. Though he wouldn't have dreamed of bringing this up, Hathaway couldn't help but find it imprudent that she'd elected to go to the hospital unaccompanied—at a time when she really shouldn't be making a move without back-up.

An awkward silence overtook the pair of them, and Hathaway finally said something that had been weighing on his mind.

" Look, erm…there's something I should've told you. And that is that I'm sorry…about earlier—not for what I did, cause I still think that it was the right thing to do. But I am sorry that my actions upset you so much."

Innocent took a sip of her drink, and then answered." What really irritated me is not what you did so much; it's the fact that you didn't discuss this with me beforehand."

"I assumed you'd…get angry, I suppose."

" And I would've, but not as upset as I am now. It's just…all the sneaking around—not only on this case but on others as well… I can't help but wonder if…if maybe…maybe you don't trust me or something."

" I have to admit trust does play into it, but it's not so much a question of me not trusting you. It's got more to do with your not trusting me."

She stared at him for a long moment, looking unsure whether she was more surprised or hurt by his answer. " James… while I may disapprove of some of your choices, never think for a moment that I don't trust you." She paused, and he contemplated this for a moment. " If you…if you want proof, just sit and think for a moment. Do you really think that I'd have assigned a case that's so important to me to someone I didn't trust, someone that I wasn't 100% sure would do anything and everything in his power to grant me the answers I need?"

He was genuinely touched by her response, but he still couldn't help feeling that her trust was misplaced. Despite the fact that it had been almost five full days since the murder, no real progress had yet been made in the investigation, and Hathaway knew that this was due to his fault rather than Lewis's. In his recent inquiries, the sergeant had proven himself incapable of staying objective when it really mattered. He'd let himself care too much, which could be just as dangerous as not caring enough. Not to mention the fact that he was caring about the wrong thing. Lately, his focus had been primarily on protecting Jean—whether from Harvey Malcolm's amorous designs or from those of a far-more sinister figure. His real aim should've been to find the killer as soon as possible, so that protection wasn't necessary.

"Anyway…." Innocent said, lancing down at her watch. " I really should be getting back to the station now. It was…it was nice talking to you, James." She gathered her things and left.

A minute or so after she'd gone, he noticed that she'd left her keys behind, and grabbing them, he quickly ran out after her. He could only just make her out from where he stood, and he made to follow her, doubling his pace when he realised that he wasn't the only one doing so….

She could see him out of the corner of her eye—the black hooded sweatshirt, the tall, muscular frame. Unless Jean was missing her guess, it was the same figure that had been watching her at John's funeral, the one who'd made her momentarily question her previously held notion that she wasn't in danger after all.

The chief superintendent tried to tell herself that she was being paranoid. Hooded sweatshirts weren't exactly rare articles of clothing—were they? And even if it was the same man, this was surely a coincidence. He wasn't following her.

Still, she couldn't help but lengthen her strides as she walked to her car, taking careful note of the locations of any CCTV cameras and wishing that the street was a bit more occupied.

When she reached her destination, she began fumbling frantically in her handbag for her keys. They had to be in there somewhere.

He was getting closer and closer by the second, and she knew that she'd feel much more secure in a locked car.

She peered into the window, wondering if she'd foolishly left the keys in the ignition, but she didn't see them. Where the Hell could they be? She needed to find them soon; if this man really was stalking her, she didn't have much time left.

She felt hands grabbing her by the waist and she instinctively swung her handbag upward to hit her attacker. The contents of the purse spilled out onto the pavement, and the chief superintendent carefully surveyed them, wondering if there was anything she could use among them.

A pack of tissues? Maybe if she started crying, her attacker would show pity or something. It was a long shot, but…ah, whom was she kidding?

Her wallet? She could always try bribing him—though she had a feeling if he'd wanted her money, he would've just taken it.

A varied array of cosmetics? Well, the eyeliner pencil might be of some use. She'd barely used it, so it should still be fairly sharp—good for poking someone with for lack of a better weapon.

Her mobile? Bingo! Even if she wasn't able to phone or text someone in time, the device might still have some use. Innocent thought she remembered hearing about some fashion model who'd been convicted of assault because she kept beating people with her phone.

The problem was getting to it. Jean began trodding very firmly on her attacker's toes, and when that failed, she repositioned her legs and kneed him in the groin. The attacker's grip slackened momentarily, and she took advantage of this opportunity to escape, bending down to grab her phone as she did so. She ran as fast as she could, cursing her decision to wear heels today.

Eventually, Innocent felt someone grab her by the ankle and force her to the pavement. She reeled her head around to get her first real look at her attacker's face: cold, dark eyes, a pale, almost- anaemic skin tone, thin lips curved into a mirthless smile—features she hadn't seen in years, and she'd prayed she'd never see again.

Jean suddenly forgot about her phone, forgot about escaping, forgot about everything except the heart she could feel rapidly pounding in her chest.

The man withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and held it firmly against Innocent's nose, a sickly-sweet scent soon filling her nostrils.

Though her surroundings grew fuzzy, she could still hear a voice calling her name. Jean knew that voice, but she couldn't quite remember to whom it belonged. She felt the handkerchief leave her nose, and then, she heard loud footsteps, more shouting, what sounded like punches being thrown. The chief superintendent reminded herself of the need to stay awake, but she could feel her eyelids growing undeniably heavier.

Maybe if she were only to rest her eyes for a moment…

I've already made significant progress on the next chapter, so I hope it will be up sometime this week. As always, reviews are much appreciated.