In writing this chapter, I had a little rethink. I often have these but rarely do anything about it but I felt compelled to this time and added a short section to the end of chapter 7. Please pop back and read it. It starts after they pull up on the driveway and continues after they enter the house. If you already know that bit then you're up to date!

As ever, my sincere and grateful thanks for your patience and perseverance with me and my tales!

Martin Johnson didn't consider himself to be anything like as bad as others did, that much he'd come to realise over the last decade. A career copper he took pride in every investigation he'd led, every arrest that he'd made, every criminal that was now banged up because of him. His rise up the ranks had been based on his record built slowly over years thanks to long days and even longer nights. He was dedicated and successful and frankly anyone who thought differently could go stuff themselves. At least that's what he told himself.

Because he actually did care. He always had. But showing that would be a sign of weakness and he was no weakling.

The pint of beer in front of him was growing gradually warmer as he made it last as long as possible. He had no desire for a second but no great wish to get back to his hotel room for one. The sun had long since disappeared behind the treeline someway off to his left and the overhanging willow trees that dotted the pub garden was making the place darker still. It wasn't surprising then that he had the place pretty much to himself and that was fine by him. After all, iIt was why he'd taken the time to drive out of the city to rediscover the place. He reckoned he hadn't been anywhere near the place since he'd run into Morse and his lapdog of a Sergeant on one of his last weekends in Oxford. They'd exchanged polite nods of greeting, choosing to pretend that they hadn't spent years in an undefined battle for the upper hand. It was hard to recall now when the rivalry between had begun or why, other of course than Morse had been a pompous prat who refused to accept there was more than one way of solving crime, one that didn't involve Latin and an in depth knowledge of the Classics. Johnson gave a wry chuckle at that and absent mindedly took a large swig of his drink, forgetting for a moment his earlier resolve. But as he set the glass down on the table another memory popped into head, the one he'd been desperately trying to suppress and had been succeeding in doing. But it seemed that just like the doctor it concerned, it refused to be forgotten.

Laura remained where she was, hoovering in the small hallway with the incriminating envelope still in her hand. The study was just a few footsteps away and it would take but a moment to enter, locate the small office shredder that was tucked away under the desk and magic the situation away. Heck, she could shred the whole case file and let herself be convinced that its absence would save her from the impending hurt. But just as the ostrich wouldn't be saved by the sand nor would she.

With silent resolve she moved to the sideboard in the living room, switching on the light as she went. The heavy doors squeaked as she yanked them open, achy and stiff from age and general neglect. She was pretty sure her grandfather had been in the habit of giving them a regular oiling when it had sat in their dining room as their most valuable possession. She even had a vague memory of him letting her help once, his instructions on what to do coming with a severe warning not to let anything drip onto the rug. She would have listened too, keen to learn and to do the best job she could even then. She crouched down and peered in, checking she'd remembered that this is where she'd put them before starting to lift various objects out of the way; a half finished bottle of spiced rum, a small shoebox containing goodness knows what, a set of napkin rings that were probably never going to see the light of day again. At last she found it and pulled it out, flicking through the first few pages to see it was the right one before standing and heading towards the stairs.

Johnson stared down into the near empty glass and sighed as he finally concluded that she wasn't coming. He wasn't sure he'd ever really thought that she would but it had been worth a try when she'd not returned his call. His retirement and lack of access to the police database hadn't prevented him from tracking her down her address even if it had meant breaking one of his rules and begging Renton for a favour. He'd done it quite willingly in the end and even offered up a nugget of information that he'd not quite believed at first. He remembered Lewis as bright and diligent, too bright and too diligent in his opinion, but far from being someone that Laura Hobson would ever be interested in, let alone shack up with. Lewis was a plod through and through, with cheap suits and ill fitting shirts, and an annoying propensity towards honour. But after spotting them from afar earlier in the week, strolled contentedly hand in hand along the towpath, he'd been forced to. She'd been talking animatedly, her free hand emphasising her point as he listened, his face breaking out into a broad grin as she presumably said something amusing. They looked happy and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little jealous.

He allowed himself a few minutes to think back on how he had it good there for a while. A wide circle of friends and colleagues that had been happy to bathe in the reflected glory of his successes and massage his ego. They'd been a motley crew in many ways, individuals he'd gathered together from across the different teams and departments. All with ambitions of better things, the drive to make things happen that would lead them onwards and upwards. And she'd been a part of it, for a while at least. But that time had long since passed and, he concluded as he tipped the last dregs of flat beer down his throat, there was no getting it back.

Laura reached the top of the stairs and couldn't help smiling in spite of it all. Robbie had changed and was sprawled out on top of the duvet, one arm bent behind his head with a book balanced precariously on his stomach. He looked settled, calm even, as if he had not a care in the world. This was the man she knew and loved beyond measure, who cared for her in his own quiet, understated way. Whereas the man who'd just turned his back on her and walked away was someone she didn't recognise at all.

She watched him for a minute, noticed how his eyes flicked across the lines at a rapid pace, his lips turning up slightly as he came across something that amused him. As he turned the page he coughed and tried to clear a tickle in his throat. Not succeeding, he tried again before placing the book down and turning to reach for the glass of water on the bedside table. It was then that he looked up and saw her framed in the doorway.

"Coming to bed?" he asked evenly.

She nodded and moved forward, placing the items in her hands down on the edge of the bed before crossing to the ensuite. She left the door ajar as she went about the business of removing her makeup as light as it was, washing her hands and face before moving on to brush her teeth. He'd left her pyjamas balanced on the rim of the bath, something he often did if he came up first. She'd never yet been able to get to the bottom of why and so instead put it down to being another of the little things he did that seemed to show she was always in his thoughts. She changed quickly and then turned to give herself a long stare in the mirror, her hands braced on the basin, steeling herself for what she had to do.

Switching off the bathroom light as she re-entered the bedroom, she met Robbie's gaze with a half smile. He seemed to return it before reaching for the football ticket stub he was using to mark his progress and slipping into between the pages of the book. Taking advantage of him being momentarily distracted by tidying it away, she took a deep breath and climbed up onto the bed settling herself crossed legged next to him, a move that had him frowning at her with an unspoken question.

"The summer before we first met," she began, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her pyjama bottoms, "Before all that business up at Blenheim and in Wytham Woods…"

"Before you put the idea into our heads that we'd rather be working for DCI Mouse," Robbie interrupted.

"Yes," she said, looking up to see his gentle smile looking back at her, one which she tried to meet. "Yes, before that," she confirmed, pausing very briefly before continuing. "I was asked to help a colleague on the death of Benjamin Knight, a well known drug dealer who had been presumably murdered outside a cannabis factory. The theory was that he'd been strangled but there was no obvious cause. No ligature marks, little bruising of any kind. It was early days in my career in the department and I was flattered, I suppose, to be asked for my opinion. Being keen to make an impression I dug around a bit in the literature, shared a few ideas on what could have happened and that was it. I wasn't the lead pathologist, not even the assist. Just a second, or even a third or fourth, opinion when they were trying to build a case."

She stopped, considering how best to explain the next bit and reached for the objects still sitting on the edge of the bed. She put the envelope to one side and opened the other.

"What's that?" Robbie asked.

"A photo album," she said, turning the first few pages until she found the one she wanted, "From the first year I was back in Oxford."

She turned it round so he could see it.

"That's Heather Maynard there," she said, pointing to a tall, slim woman in the centre of a small group of about seven or eight. "That's me next to her," she said as her finger moved across the photo, "And of course you recognise Johnson."

Robbie didn't speak for a moment, just looked at what he was being shown, the frown on his forehead still very much in evidence.

"Heather was the reason you came back to Oxford, was she? I seem to remember you told me that once."

Laura nodded. "She'd been my mentor at college and when a job came up she put me forward for it. She was brilliant," she mused. "Bold in her thinking with seemingly endless enthusiasm for using pathology to not just get to the truth but to make things better, for everyone. But it was her empathy I admired the most. She never seemed to rush anyone through the process whether that was a copper or a family member, or try to bamboozle them with fancy words." Laura shrugged as she added "Without her I wouldn't be a pathologist."

She turned the album back around and stared at the picture. She'd not looked at it in a long time and was struck by how young they all looked, how fresh faced and happy they seemed. They'd been an unlikely group of friends but she'd admit that they had been, for a time at least. Bonded together through long days and longer nights of working on grim and often gruesome cases. But they'd drifted away from each over time and it struck her that she'd not seen any of them in a long time. She began to wonder what they all looked like now, what they might all be doing but her thoughts were cut off as Robbie spoke.

"So, Heather was the lead pathologist, then?"

Laura nodded again. "She was the one who asked me to help. I trusted her and had no reason to doubt she had anything but my best interests at heart. Until now that is."

"What do you mean?" Robbie asked, his hand extending to brush his fingers against hers. "The notes are probably just missing which is why James went to see her. To find out what she knew as head of the department at the time."

"Yes, exactly," she said with emphasis, "And of course she didn't deny she was around at the time l. How could she? But neither did she let on that she did the post mortem and I'm pretty much certain that she did. Anyway," shaking her head dismissively, "it's more than that."

She heard her voice break a little as she said that and fought to gain control over her growing nerves, sitting up straighter and pushing her shoulders back to face him squarely.

"She was in love with Johnson," she explained, "Or at least infatuated with him."

"Really?"

"I'm pretty sure," she said cautiously. "I thought it at the time but I suppose I was too caught up in my own world to worry much about it. But over the last few days I've remembered certain things. The way she looked at him, sought out reasons to drop in on him wherever he was. He relished the attention, of course. From all of us really, but from her especially. They were always just there, together, wherever we ended up. The first to arrive and the last to leave."

She paused and appeared deep in thought, her mind in a different time and place for a moment before she snapped out of it and was back with him.

"The thing is Robbie," she ventured, locking her eyes onto his, "I think Johnson was involved in Knight's death in some way and Heather found out. I think he asked her to help him cover it up and she agreed."

"Surely not. How would she pull that…" he started.

Laura let out a bitter laugh cutting him off. "By doing exactly what you think has happened. By making the paperwork disappear. It wouldn't be difficult in a case where the cause of death was ruled inconclusive and where no further action was going to be taken. Just take out the bits you don't want anyone to see and then a few more to make it look like careless filing, wait for it to all go quiet and for new and more demanding cases to fill the void."

Robbie shook his head. "Maybe, but then why change her name for yours? What does that achieve?"

"Security," she stated simply, her resolve gaining as she neared the end, "If what she'd done ever came to light then I imagine she thought she'd be safer with me involved. Someone in her corner as someone who had every reason to be grateful to her. And," she paused, holding Robbie's gaze with her own, "If that wasn't enough then she probably thought something else would convince me to play long."

"What's that?" Robbie asked, his eyes wide as tried to process everything she was saying

Laura took a deep breath. "That Johnson had asked me out, more than once, and in her eyes it would only be a matter of time before I came to my senses and said yes."