"Good morning, Sir. Have a good weekend?" Hathaway was already at his desk when Lewis came into the office Monday morning. The Inspector did not return the greeting, but headed straight for the coffee pot they'd tucked into the corner, against regulations but with the tacit approval of Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent.

"Is this all the coffee you've left me?" Not very friendly this morning, Hathaway thought.

"Sorry, Sir, I'll make some more."

Lewis looked at his desk. "Hathaway, where the hell's the report from last week's case? What's taking you so long, man? Innocent will be in my face if she doesn't have it today. That better not happen, you savvy?" Openly hostile now. Not good.

"I'm just finishing it up now, Sir. Which do want first, the coffee or the report? Your wish is my command." He never could resist a dig, even when he knew it was ill-advised.

"I want them both NOW, so I'm gonna go get meself some coffee and when I get back, that report will be on me desk." He fairly stomped out of the room.

As soon as Lewis was out of sight, Hathaway was on the phone. Damn! Got her voice mail.

"Laura, it's James. Call me when you get this. Boss is a bit of a prick this morning and I need to know if Friday night has something to do with it. Bye."

He typed in the last of the report, hit print, and had it waiting when Lewis returned. Lewis glanced at it cursorily, signed it, and set it aside. Apparently, he was going to wait and make Innocent come get it, rather than put it in her box. So Lewis's chip was against the whole world, Hathaway concluded. Not just against him.

Lewis continued to shuffle the papers on his desk in stony silence. An hour crept by, feeling like five. James would peek up at him every now and then, trying to see if he was calming down or getting worse. But there were no visible clues on that question.

The next time he peeked up, Lewis was staring directly at him. His look hardened.

"Say it, Hathaway."

"Sir?"

"You're muckin' around with the papers on your desk and doing nothing. That always means you have something you want to say."

"Um, I wanted to thank you for driving Friday night. I really enjoyed the evening." Then, against his better judgment, "Did you?"

Lewis smiled grimly, but his answer was without sarcasm. "Oh, aye. Friday night was champion."

"Then what's bothering you?"

"Who says something's botherin' us?"

Hathaway wondered if Lewis really didn't know. "You are aware, aren't you, Sir, that your Geordie gets noticeably thicker when you're under stress?"

Lewis gave a little snort and turned away, not answering either of Hathaway's questions.

James could not leave it alone. "Well, if Friday night was 'champion,' that means Saturday morning must have been . . . What's the word I'm looking for here?"

Silence. Then, barely audible, "Shite." Suddenly rising from his desk and heading out the door, "Right. I've got to go down to Personnel for a bit. Try to do something useful while I'm gone."

Hathaway had to talk to Laura. Something definitely had gone wrong.

As if she could hear his thoughts, his phone buzzed: "Hobson calling" was on the screen. "Yeah, Laura, what happened Friday?"

"Everything went as I told you it would. He came in, we talked, had some wine, and we were dancing a little when the light went on very suddenly. He seemed really, really happy. Did you know he has a tattoo?"

"I am scared to ask."

"Newcastle United's crest. Upper arm. Looks like he's had it a long time."

"So you ended up in bed?"

"Didn't I say we would?"

"How did that go?"

"Well, the first time was a bit quick, but he made up for it later by—"

"Laura! Too much information. I just was wondering if he wasn't up to it, so to speak."

"Oh, that. No, he was fine."

"So what happened in the morning?"

"I have no idea. I was up and had the kettle on, and he came out dressed already but looking pretty rough. Too much wine, I should think. He just stood there a bit and then he said he was sorry, he had a lot of thinking to do. And then he left. Just like that. I tried calling him later and on Sunday but he wouldn't pick up." She paused a bit. "James, I hope we didn't make a mistake doing this. How does he seem?"

Hathaway furrowed his brow. How did Lewis seem? "Well, he's shouting at me for no reason, he's purposely inconveniencing Innocent, and he's indicated that Friday night was good but Saturday morning was not the high point of his life. Hurt? Angry? Embarrassed? And why? I really have no idea. Must be something like that, though. How much did you lead him along?"

"Not much at all. Don't be making this into my fault, James. I kept the wine glass full, I steered the conversation back to him when necessary, and it was my idea to dance. Mostly I kept my mouth shut and he did the talking. He came to the realization all on his own, I guarantee that. And he was the one who started the kissing and the one who asked where the bed was."

"Okay, sorry. Sounds like you did everything right. Look, I wouldn't mind being gone when he gets back here, and I guess I owe you lunch, so can we continue this post-mortem at the Maiden's?"