Thanks to everyone who is reading this. Your comments mean a lot and are spurring me one to keep writing. This chapter is important to the story, but not very long or too exciting. Hopefully in the next few chapters things should all come together nicely – if all goes to plan!

Chapter Five

Sergeant Hathaway had said very little in the car, simply apologised for dripping on the seats; for the remainder of the journey he had stared, unseeing out of the front window, moving only to adjust the heating.

Now Lewis sat in the younger man's immaculately kept living room enjoying a cup of coffee, while Hathaway showered and changed. The inspector was always amazed by eclectic collection of items his friend owned, there was a chess board on the table, the guitar propped in the corner, a stack of books on a huge range of topics and music ranging from some tiny indie group to a madrigals compilation. It was the sort of room that you could sit in for hours without a moment of boredom and by the end of the time still know nothing at all personal about the inhabitant. It was James Hathaway all over.

The peace was shattered by the insistent ringing of Lewis' mobile, and he was struck with an overwhelming premonition that nothing good would come of answering the phone.

"Lewis."

He was unsurprised to hear the voice of one of the detective constables on the other end.

"Sorry to disturb you sir. DCI Innocent asked me to let you know that Rachel Emmerson, the girl from the hit and run this evening has just died in hospital. She'd like you and Detective Hathaway to work with traffic on this one."

"Aye, alright," Lewis agreed, "We'll be in shortly."

"She's asked me to pull the CCTV for that stretch of road; she wants the sarge to have a look over it."

"Fine. Have we had anything back from the lab yet?"

"Just that it was a red car, sir."

"Ok, that gives us a start anyway. Thank you constable."

"You're welcome. Goodnight sir."

Hathaway appeared at that moment, dressed for once not in a suit but jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt, a towel draped over his shoulders. His towel dried, dark blond hair stood up in unruly spikes and he looked like anyone his age about to embark on a night out. The casual dress reminded Lewis immediately of how young his sergeant truly was.

"What's happened?" he asked without preamble, recognising all too well the look on his boss's face.

"That was the station," Lewis began gently; knowing instinctively what was coming Hathaway dropped onto the sofa.

"She died, didn't she?"

"I'm sorry, James."

Hathaway dropped his head into his hands for a long moment, before looking up and meeting his Inspector's worried gaze.

"It's alright, sir. I didn't even know her. I just... I really hoped she'd be ok." He sighed, deeply before slowly rising to his feet. "Did I hear they want us back at the office? I'd better get changed."

"You're alright Hathaway, the Super just wanted you to look through some CCTV don't need to be suited and booted for that."

With a reluctant nod, Hathaway acquiesced, leading the way back out into the rain.

Two hours later and the office was deserted apart from Hathaway and Lewis. DCI Innocent had left half an hour earlier, having popped in ostensibly to clarify her request, though Lewis suspected it was more to do with ensuring that they were fully aware that the girl who had been killed was the daughter of Sir Emmerson, one of the Masters of one of the more prominent colleges in Oxford.

Hathaway sat hunched at his desk scrolling through what seemed to be hours of footage from endless traffic cameras on the Banbury Road. Lewis, unwilling to leave the young man to it was purporting to be researching the Emmerson family in case there was a need to speak to them in the morning.

"Gotcha!"

Had the office been fully occupied, Lewis doubted whether he would have heard the soft expression of accomplishment from Hathaway. As the office was all but silent, it carried across the office startling him into alertness.

"What have you got Sergeant?" he crossed the office and leaned over to observe the monitor.

"Well, sir," Hathaway tapped at a few keys and paused the video, "Here, this is the camera just before the accident site, and here's a red car going past. Now unfortunately the accident site isn't covered by the camera, but here we go," he spooled the video forward, "there I am going through. Now, obviously that doesn't prove anything but," he clicked a few more buttons to open another video stream, "this is from the next set of cameras, and here is the same red car going through, but..."

Lewis saw immediately what he was getting at.

"It's got a headlight out."

Hathaway nodded.

"Exactly. In the space of a mile, they've lost a headlight. So I can't be sure, but I think that," he tapped at the car on the screen with his pen, "is where we should start."

Lewis clapped him on the shoulder in appreciation.

"Good work Hathaway."

Hathaway, shrugged modestly.

"Thanks sir."

He opened a new programme and type industriously for a few moments.

"I've got a match on the registration plate," he commented after a minute, "Its... well this is odd..."

"What's odd?"

"That car, according to this is registered to a Sarah Blackwall, at an address in Summertown."

Lewis brow furrowed as he tried to place the familiar name.

"Sarah Blackwall? As in the robbery victim's daughter?"

Hathaway grabbed a file from a stack on his desk, comparing the two addresses before him.

"Yes sir." He confirmed after a moment, "How unlucky can one person be?"

"Well, you know what they say sergeant," Lewis commented, stunned by the discovery.

"No sir. I don't care what they say. No luck like this should come in threes."

"Let's hope not, Jim."