Thank you for all the reviews and comments, they are always much appreciated. I am trying to write this in as similar a style to an episode as I can manage, but if it starting to drag please let me know and I'll do my best to pick up the pace!
Chapter 3
Anyone who observed Sergeant Hathaway that morning was witness to the restorative powers of cups of coffee; strong, black and drunk in copious quantities. By half past eleven his pallid complexion had restored itself to its usual merely pale and he cast occasional glances from his report of the morning's burglary and subsequent murder, to out of the window, clearly longing for his next fix of nicotine. He had even cheered up sufficiently to hum Christmas tunes idly under his breath, although he halted that as soon as he saw his Inspector's broad grin.
Lewis in the meantime was sorting his mail, sighing dispiritedly at the vast quantities of junk he seemed to receive regarding a whole manner of things that didn't appear to relate in any way to any form of policing. Groaning melodramatically in disgust he cast the pile to the desk and picked up his mug.
"Another coffee, Jim?" he asked, startling the younger man out of typing what was clearly a sentence filled with far more syllables than Lewis could cope with.
"I'll get them sir," the younger man offered, reaching eagerly for his mug and knocking over a sheaf of paper with his elbow as he did so. Lewis doubted whether the man would sleep at any point in the next month, he seemed to have consumed enough coffee in the last couple of hours to run the National Grid over the entire Christmas period. Although, it did occur to him that it seemed on many occasions that Hathaway didn't actually sleep anyway.
"You're alright, you're the only one of the two of us actually doing some work."
Hathaway nodded his appreciation with a quicksilver grin, and reached to pick up his papers, shaking his head ruefully at them as he did so.
"Nothing in the post then?" he asked, as he swiftly shuffled the papers into something resembling an order.
"Depends on how you feel about a session of lunchtime "Path To Enlightenment" yoga?"
The sergeant appeared to attempt to hold back his smirk, although he was largely unsuccessful.
"I'd rather have the coffee I think, sir."
"Smart lad."
When Lewis returned, two brimming mugs of coffee in hand, James was on the phone listening intently to the other end.
"Yes," he agreed with the caller, "No, he's here now. Yeah, I'll let him know. Cheers." He hung up and looked up at his boss, reaching out for his mug with long slender fingers and a broad grin. "Thanks, sir."
Lewis nodded at the phone, wondering who the call was from.
"Front desk, sir. Mrs Blackwall's daughter has arrived, she's waiting in the Relative's Room," the younger man's expression sobered immediately and he took a deep swig of his coffee, before setting it down on the desk regretfully and making a move to stand up.
"Stay and finish your report, James," Lewis suggested, "Then take yourself off for some 'fresh' air and find us a sandwich. This afternoon we'll go back over to the bungalow and find out what's missing." Lewis sighed, talking to relatives was never easy, "I'll not be long."
He found Sarah Blackwall to be in much the state he had imagined he would find her. She was pale, her face devoid of makeup and streaked with the silvery tracks of dried tears. Her chestnut brown curly hair hung limply down her face, leaving her looking drawn and pale. Lewis' heart immediately went out to her in sympathy.
The identification was a quick process, there would be time later for her to view her mother's body, alone and unhindered by his presence. A quick nod of confirmation was all he required at this point following which he ushered her into an interview room for, as he put it, a cup of tea and a quick chat.
"It's just routine," he reassured her, as he passed her a cup of hot sweet tea, "then if your up to it we need to take you over to your mother's house to establish what, if anything, is missing."
"You think she was robbed?" Sarah asked, her voice quiet and tremulous.
Lewis nodded sombrely.
"It's certainly a possibility, at this point in time. Are you aware of anything she would have had of value?"
Sarah paused in thought for a long moment, reaching almost absentmindedly for a tissue.
"She'd just bought a new TV," she commented after a long moment, "said if all she was going to do was watch TV all day she may as well do it in style," she laughed, a hollow, empty, grief filled sound, "and she had a few bits of jewellery but she kept them hidden away."
Tears had begun to fall down her cheeks in earnest and Lewis' heart ached in both sympathy and remembered grief.
"Did she have any enemies, that you know of?"
The younger woman, probably only a few years older than Hathaway, looked at him askance.
"Enemies? Inspector, my mother was eighty six years old! Apart from pottering in the garden she left her house once a week with me to go to the local supermarket. So no, apart from the occasional disagreement over politics with Mrs Banford from across the road, I wouldn't have said she had any enemies."
Lewis, smiled softly and apologetically.
"I understand, I'm sorry but I had to ask, routine you know. Now, once you've finished your cup of tea, if you're up to it, my sergeant will drive us over to your mother's house."
She nodded, balling a tissue up angrily in one fist.
"That's fine. My ex-husband has the girls after school tonight anyway so I am, as they say, at your disposal."