At two in the afternoon on that Wednesday, Hathaway's mobile buzzed. Knox looked up to see if Hathaway would answer, an act Knox had made clear was forbidden. But Hathaway knew enough now to let the call go, wait half an hour, and then go for a smoke break and see who called. It was Laura.

"Sorry, I couldn't take the call, the ogre was awake." Flat tone. It wasn't even slightly funny any more.

"Lewis is being discharged today. He asked me to drive him home. But James, he can't walk at all, and I know I won't be able to get him up the steps of his flat by myself."

Discharged? When he still couldn't use his legs? "I'll be there, Laura, even though I'm sure I'll catch it for skiving. When do you need me?"

They went to his room together. Lewis was already dressed and in a wheelchair. He wouldn't look at his two friends. His thinness and the week's growth of beard made him look unfamiliar, Hathaway reflected. Do I even know you any more?

The orderly wheeled him to the hospital entrance where Hathaway's car waited. James started to take over from there, but Lewis waved him off brusquely and wheeled himself to the open passenger door. Then he struggled for what seemed like a long time to hoist himself out of the chair and into the car. James and Laura weren't sure how to assist and could only watch helplessly. It was clear Lewis had gotten some training in the process, and eventually he succeeded. He unhooked from the chair the collection bag attached to his catheter, laid it on the floor of the car, and slammed the door.

Hathaway folded the chair and put it in the boot and they rode in strained silence.

They all struggled equally upon arriving at Lewis's flat. This time it was inescapable that James and Laura had to help. When they got inside, James was pierced by the reminders of the last time they had been there: the Scrabble set on the table, the leftover roast chicken in the fridge, and the pile of quilts needing to be folded and put away. It seemed a year ago.

"Thanks, both of you." There was an awkward silence. "You can go now, please." His tone made his defensiveness obvious, but Laura approached him, intending to give him a hug. His being at sitting level, combined with his sharp turning away, made that impossible, and all she could do was bite back tears.

"I have someone coming in to wet-nurse me, so you don't need to worry. Go." There was bitterness in his voice. "I'll call you if I need anything."

When they got back in Hathaway's car, Laura broke down completely, sobbing silently and blowing her nose furiously. Hathaway put his arms around her and held her until she cried herself dry.

She made a final dab at her eyes and made an exasperated sound. "I wasn't going to cry. I never cry about things like this, okay? I'm just tired."

"Me, too."

"He'll be fine. He just needs some time to get used to it."

* * *

The next day was one of Hathaway's worst. At one point, Knox told him he should be sacked for correcting spelling errors made by Knox in a paragraph he added to James's latest report. Knox expressed frustration with Hathaway's slow progress in learning who was the senior officer, and James told him to go to Hell.

Of course he was written up for that. Innocent called him into her office.

"Hathaway, you've crossed the line this time. I'm sorry, but you leave me no choice but to give you a day's suspension, to be taken tomorrow."

Her tone softened considerably. "James, there's no guarantee Lewis will ever be back here. You know that. Don't burn all your bridges just because DI Knox is hard to work for. At this point in your career, you need to try to avoid all these disciplinary actions. I know it may mean swallowing your pride and doing things you find distasteful or even things you think are incorrect. You have to steel yourself and make this work with Knox. Otherwise, the next time another inspector needs a sergeant, one look at your record will keep you out of the running. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She assessed his tone.

"Inspector Lewis is out of hospital, correct?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"So he's recovering?"

"I'm not sure I would call it that."

"Explain."

"He seems totally overwhelmed by the challenges of his changed life. He's completely isolated himself, won't let anyone see him or talk to him, and still seems to think he can live in a flat with a half flight of steps to negotiate. I get the impression he has given up."

"Well, it's a big change and it will take time for him to accept it."

"The thing is," Hathaway continued, "Doctor LaPeer said there's no permanent nerve damage. There's a good chance he could recover completely. In fact, the doctor said he expected Lewis to be better than this by now."

"You think it's mostly in his head."

"Or his heart."

* * *

Over the three-day weekend, James devoted both thought and prayer to the issue of his relationship with DI Knox, and his future as a police officer.

He went for a long run each morning, the exercise clearing his head and giving him time to think. In the evening, he put on Gregorian chants, had a glass of wine—just one—and sought divine guidance until he got too sleepy to stay up.

By Sunday evening, he had decided to do everything he could to get along with Knox, as Innocent advised. He didn't want to ruin his chances to get assigned to a different inspector. And if Lewis was able to return to duty, James didn't want him to be ashamed of his sergeant's record. That thought especially cemented his resolve. No matter what, Hathaway would bear it in groveling silence. A time would come when the whole thing would be over, and Knox was not going to destroy Hathaway's chance at a decent career. It would be a bizarre battle of wills, in which James's primary struggle would be in fact to exercise no will of his own at all.

* * *