The rest of the week dragged by. Hathaway was in the office only in the mornings, to check his computer, and in the evenings, to shut it down again. Lewis was never there, and James soon concluded that Lewis was not coming in at all. His chair never moved, nothing moved on his desk. His personal things were still there, and his name was still on the door, both good signs. On Thursday morning, Innocent was in the hallway when James arrived.
"Hathaway, if you have a moment?"
How he dreaded those words.
He closed her office door behind him and remained standing.
"Despite your preoccupation with D.I. Laxton's case, you may have noticed Inspector Lewis's absence this week."
"Um, yes, ma'am, I did."
"I've asked him to take a bit of leave time. You two are in between cases, and he seems unusually troubled by something. He wouldn't tell me. Did something happen between you two?"
"Um, no, ma'am, not that I'm aware."
She studied him, analytically, for a long time. Finally,
"I see." Meaning, he knew, I see right through you.
"Um, ma'am . . . will he be coming back?" She looked at him sharply. "I mean, when will he be coming back?"
"I expect him back Monday. And you'll be assigned to him whether Laxton's project is done or not. So you have that to look forward to."
When he left the office the next night, Hathaway found himself aimlessly driving around the city. Laura had asked him to go for a pint, but he snapped at her and she snapped back. Looked like he succeeded in alienating yet another person he cared for. But why did she have to involve him in her little plan? She didn't have to work with the man, but he did. And now they couldn't even look at each other, let alone work together.
He realized then he wasn't driving as aimlessly as he thought; this was a familiar route. What was he doing here? He felt a bit like a love-sick schoolboy.
But he continued in the same direction. When he got to Lewis's house, he drove by slowly. It was completely dark. Either he was gone or asleep or sitting and stewing in the dark. This was silly. It was not his job to get into Lewis's head and sort out his thoughts for him. Why had he let Laura talk him into this little project? He sighed. No, it wasn't fair to blame her, they cooked it up together after they were both amused and a bit saddened when Lewis totally ignored the advances of the Trout's rather attractive barmaid one night.
It had seemed like such a worthy mission. The man was rarely happy and clearly needed help working through the grieving process. It would be good for Lewis to have a little tenderness back in his life, someone he already knew and trusted to help him relax at the end of a rough day. And then that Friday, it seemed that fate had presented them with the perfect set-up, everything in place. All that Lewis needed was that little push.
And then it all went spectacularly wrong, their great idea going down like the Titanic. Who the hell were they to think they had any right to tinker with the man's life? Love and grief were some of the most complicated emotions James could think of, and here they were acting like this was some simple little thing that could easily be fixed, given an hour or two and a bottle of wine. He pounded the steering wheel in frustration. Idiot! Looked like he was on the verge of totally screwing up his own life again. And once again screwing up the life of someone he cared for very much. Why couldn't he just let people live?
Angry at himself, he drove home a bit too fast, practically shoving the car into its parking space. He banged through the door and jerked his tie from his neck. He poured himself a tumbler full of scotch and sat in silence in the dark. By the time he knocked the bottle off the table trying to grab it, it was empty.