Chapter Four
The officers' second visit to Mrs Blackwall's property offered none of the jesting of the first; Lewis gently led Sarah round the property seeking out missing items, while Sergeant Hathaway trailed behind like a discrete shadow noting down missing items in his ever present pocket notebook in his neat script. Occasionally he would ask for clarification or a further description of an item but other than that, conversation was kept to a minimum.
The absence of some objects, like the television and accompanying DVD player were easy to note, and suggested the use of a vehicle in the robbery; others, like the old lady's watch took much longer and a great deal of searching to identify as missing. The more valuable jewellery that Mrs Blackwall kept in a locked box in her wardrobe remained intact, much to the relief of her daughter, and all in all it seemed that not a great deal was missing. The whole, almost tortuous process, took little more than an hour, after which Sarah Blackwall left to collect her children, leaving the two gentlemen to consider the case back at the office.
Hathaway angrily tapped his pen against the list of missing items, as he trawled laboriously through online lists of items for sale in the Oxfordshire area, searching for matches to the stolen goods. So far, he had had no luck, and was considering widening his search area to include London. A trawl through the local CCTV had revealed no coverage of the specific street in question – and provided him with a mere seventy four cars in roughly the same area at around the time of the murder.
Frustrated he threw his pen to the desk, subconsciously rubbing the back of his head with one hand, a clear indicator of his annoyance to anyone that knew him well; including Inspector Lewis as he passed through the door, post mortem report in hand.
"All right?" Lewis asked, peering at Hathaway's screen over the younger man's shoulder.
"No luck, sir," James sighed, pushing his chair away from the desk and swivelling to face his boss, his face set in an expressionless mask, "I've tried every source I can think of but I can't find anything."
Lewis rested a fatherly hand on his shoulder for a brief moment.
"Leave it for tonight, eh James? They might be waiting for the fuss to die down before they try and sell the goods."
Hathaway nodded slowly in agreement.
"It was no go on the vehicle either, sir," he admitted, staring fixedly at his shoes, "I couldn't get close enough on the traffic cameras to narrow down to a sensible number to search. And there's no guarantee that I didn't miss him, or he came in by a route I didn't expect."
"Alright," Lewis sighed, "I don't think there's anything more we can do tonight. Have you eaten?"
Hathaway shook his head, "Not really hungry sir."
"Come on Jim, I'll shout you some fish and chips and you can tell me what's bothering you."
James shook his head.
"Don't know what you mean sir."
Lewis sighed, he was fairly sure he knew what was bothering the young man, there was a good chance that it was the same thing that was bothering him.
"Well, in that case, I'll tell you what's bothering me and I'll even still shout you the fish and chips. How about that?"
Hathaway nodded again, this time with the faintest glimmer of a smile and reached across to grab his coat.
"Sorry, sir," he apologised as they walked out of the station together into the crisp winter air, "It just bothers me."
Lewis opted not to say anything, choosing instead to give the blond man the time and space to say what he needed to say. After a long moment, the sergeant continued.
"I mean, she was an old lady, couldn't hurt a fly, all the neighbours like her and she gets killed. And worse than that, she gets killed for a TV, a watch and a few knick knacks. And it makes me think, is that all a human life is worth to some people? If it is, then that makes me really angry."
He kicked out aimlessly at a tin can on the ground sending it rattling across the pavement, reminding Lewis for a moment of his son when he was a teenager. He wanted to say something to help, something to explain away the callous behaviour of some of the human race, before he realised there really was only one thing he could say.
"I know, lad. I know."
In sombre silence the two men continued their walk.
The next afternoon showed little progress on the case. Hathaway was out of the office for the day having been called to court in nearby Bicester to give evidence on a recent violent assault case. This had left Lewis repeating the searches the sergeant had run yesterday in the hope that the thieves had listed the stolen items for sale online. By six o'clock he was ready to call it a night, and was on his way out to the car when his desk phone rang.
Hathaway had spent the majority of the day sat in a waiting room drinking appalling coffee from a machine in the corner, all for a brief, half hour appearance to confirm the details of the report he had submitted to the court. By half past five he was starting his drive home, grumbling at the early darkness and the driving rain which stung his skin like needles on the walk from the courtroom to the car.
By the time he drove into the north of Oxford into Summertown the rain was approaching torrential, and the windscreen wipers were struggling to keep up. He slowed down, to combat the terrible visibility, but even at a crawl he almost missed the overturned bicycle in the ditch, and the young woman lying beside it.
Cursing, he screeched to halt and leapt out of the car, reaching in his jacket pocket for his phone, dialling for an ambulance and police support almost on instinct. The rain plastered his hair to his skull in seconds, and he could barely feel the unconscious cyclist's pulse with hands trembling with shock and cold. Shrugging out of his jacket he laid it over her prostrate form and found himself wishing he remembered more basic first aid. He was sure she had a pulse, that she was breathing, but unsure of her injuries and his abilities he decided he would be safer not to move her and to await the ambulance he had called.
It seemed a long time before the quiet stretch of road was lit up by the reassuring, strobing blue lights of first an ambulance then two squad cars. Hathaway found himself shouldered away from the girl's side by two paramedics who bombarded him with questions.
"Any idea what happened?"
"No," he confirmed, "found her lying by the road. Her bicycle shows some damage, I think perhaps she's been the victim of a hit and run."
"Has she been conscious at all?"
"No."
"Do you know who she is?"
"No, I..."
The paramedics nodded and got back to work, bundling the girl into the warmth and safety of the ambulance, leaving Hathaway drenched and frozen in the presence of one of the attending police constables, while the other worked to secure the road.
"Sir?" the constable approached him, "Are you able to answer a few questions?" At his answering nod, the younger man approached him, almost warily.
"You say you found the girl by the road?"
"Correct."
"Did you see any other vehicles sir?"
He shrugged, trying to think back.
"I've seen some lights going the other way, but no one driving recklessly and I wouldn't be able to tell you what kind of cars they were."
The policeman's face became stern.
"And if I were to go to look, would I find any damage to your car sir?"
Hathaway rolled his eyes, and shivering, led the way to the front of his car.
"No you would not," he pointed out, as the constable checked the car thoroughly by torchlight, "I suggest you get the bike to SOCO, see if they can narrow down to a colour with any paint residue. Then someone will be able to check the traffic cameras for a match."
The constable turned to stare at him, in surprise, that turned rapidly to embarrassment when Hathaway flashed his ID.
"Sir...I'm so sorry..." The mumbling apologies were cut off by a shout, from a figure wrapped in a large raincoat ducking under the crime scene ribbons.
"Hathaway!"
The tall man spun round, surprised to hear the distinctive accent of Inspector Lewis calling him.
"Sir! How did you...?"
Lewis was appalled at the sight of his sergeant, standing out in the rain, wearing nothing but his shirt, looking pale and shocked in the car headlights. He crossed quickly to his side, concern written all over his face.
"Got a call from dispatch that a Sergeant Hathaway had reported a possible hit and run in, and did I think it could be you? So I thought I'd drive out and check. Christ man, you must be frozen!"
Hathaway nodded, teeth chattering as the adrenaline began to wear off, leaving him chilled to the bone. Lewis turned almost angrily to the young constable.
"I'm taking DS Hathaway home," he told him, his tone brooking no argument, "If you have any further questions I'm sure he'll have no problem answering them at the station. Isn't that right Jim?"
Hathaway nodded at the stammering constable, as kindly as he could manage in his frozen state.
"Sorry sir, of course. We'll get SOCO out to look at the bike," guilt at keeping his senior officer freezing outside was clearly now worrying at the young man, "We can have someone bring the sergeant's car back to the station if you like sir?"
"Thank you constable," Lewis softened considerably, "if this turns out to be a Hit and Run we'll liaise with Traffic Investigation back at the office." He turned to Hathaway, "In the meantime sergeant, let's find you a towel."