Lewis fic: Suspect 2/2
Story: Suspect
Author: wendymr
Characters: Robbie Lewis, James Hathaway, Jean Innocent, other minor characters/OCs
Rated: PG
Word count: 10,400
Summary: "I'm very sorry, sir, but there are some questions I need to ask."
Written for the Lewis Summer Challenge 2012 event on lewis_challenge, and with excellent BR services by lindenharp - obviously all errors remain mine.
This is an alternate version of part of Old, Unhappy, Far Off Things, based on a 'what if?' premise which occurred to me when I started thinking about the fact that Lewis was the last known person to see one of the victims alive.
Suspect Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Robbie gets up with his seven o’clock alarm, despite not having anywhere to go. Habit, of course, and anyway what’s the point in lying in bed half the morning? Especially as he’ll be called to the station for the obligatory interview at some point anyway.
Habit also leads him to glance at the street outside, and he’s just about to let the curtains fall back into place when he hesitates, frowns and looks again at the snow-dotted familiar grey Astra parked on the other side of the road - and at the even more familiar blond head just visible through the darkened windows.
He’s reaching for the phone to order Hathaway home when he stops himself. After last night, James deserves better than to have him play the heavy-handed governor, doesn’t he?
Robbie sighs and heads to the bathroom.
The lad’s an idiot, he decides as he steps into the shower. He told James that he could look after himself, and anyway that he didn’t think he was a very likely target. Yet James has stayed up all night anyway, by the look of it. And it’s the second time in just a few days that he’s stayed up all night for Robbie, isn’t it? The photos for the Chloe Brooks case - and what was his reason? You thought something wasn’t right.
Not for the case. For Robbie.
Then last night he risked his job by coming over and giving Robbie information official procedure says he shouldn’t have access to. Now this.
He’s reminded suddenly of a night - oh, it’s got to be fourteen, fifteen years ago now - when he sat in his car all night outside Morse’s flat, worried about his governor’s state of mind after the discovery that his recently-widowed former fiancée had committed suicide. Course, useless sod that he was, he’d fallen asleep before dawn and never noticed Morse leave - but he’d found the bloke later and made sure he was all right. And then, for the first and only time in his career, he’d broken the rules and destroyed official evidence, for the sole reason that the contents of that tape would have distressed Morse even more.
What has he done to earn that sort of loyalty from James? He’d call it devotion, even, except that it seems such a ridiculous description, though then again this is James Hathaway, almost-priest and frequently other-worldly. The concept of devotion is probably not so ridiculous for him.
Yet to him, Robbie Lewis, an ordinary DI with nothing particular to recommend him, other than thoroughness and determination to see a job done well? He’d understand if it were someone like Morse, brilliant yet flawed, with the reputation for genius everyone wanted to touch, even if they ended up getting burned.
Doesn’t matter why. What matters is the man sitting outside in the cold. Robbie dresses quickly, then, in the kitchen, puts the kettle on before picking up his landline; no point in having a call go to James’s mobile from the work mobile of someone he’s not supposed to be in contact with.
“Hathaway.” And how can he sound so alert when he’s been awake all night? Because one thing Robbie’s certain of is that there’ll have been no falling asleep on what he’ll have considered duty for James Hathaway.
“Get yourself inside.” He hangs up before James can answer. He’s just put out cereal and popped two slices of bread in the toaster when there’s two muted raps at the front door.
“Sir,” James begins as Robbie opens the door, apology and the beginnings of self-justification in his tone.
Robbie cuts across him. “Give over, soft lad.” He stands back. “Breakfast’s ready. You can tell me after. Should be sendin’ you home to sleep, mind,” he continues as he follows James back into the kitchen. “Not that I’ve got any right to at the moment.”
“Sir.” The stubborn protest in James’s tone is clearly directed at Robbie’s suggestion that he’s not currently entitled to act as James’s governor. But his eyes... oh, Robbie was right. Loyalty and devotion, which he still has no idea what he’s done to deserve.
“Don’t call me sir,” he says quietly, setting a mug of tea, milk added appropriately, in front of James, who is obediently helping himself to cereal. “Not-”
“With respect, sir,” James cuts in, “I don’t give a monkey’s about process and your official position vis-a-vis the force at the moment. It’s ridiculous that you’re being treated like this when no-one considers you a suspect, but even if we hadn’t found evidence that would eliminate anyone else in your position from the enquiry I’d still feel the same way.”
Robbie smiles. James’s defence of him is endearing, though the lad’s got it completely wrong. “Not what I meant, man.” He spreads strawberry jam on his toast. “Right now, we’re just two mates havin’ breakfast, an’ mates don’t call each other sir.”
James’s eyes widen momentarily, and then his lips tilt upwards fractionally at the corners. “Robbie, then. But what I said still applies.”
“I know.” He looks steadily at James until the bloke meets his gaze. “And thank you.”
“No thanks necessary.”
It’s very necessary, but he won’t push it. “You got a change of clothes in your car?” James nods. “Right. After breakfast, you can shower and change. Can’t go into work in yesterday’s suit.” Especially when it’s full of creases from spending the night in a car that’s really too small for someone of James’s height. Next time they’re issued with new official vehicles, he’ll have to make sure something’s done about that.
He shoos James to the bathroom a few minutes later, after the bloke’s got his suit-bag - James knows where to find clean towels and a spare toothbrush, and he knows the man has a razor in his bag. It’s not the first time James has dressed for work at his flat, but it’s the first time Robbie’s not been going with him.
Fifteen minutes later, as James is ready to leave, Robbie abruptly realises that he finally understands what it was like for Val all those years. Today, he’s the one seeing his partner off to work, having to stay behind out of obligation.
Val always kissed him before he went out the door. His gaze slides away from James’s - where the bloody hell did that come from?
“See you later, s- Robbie.” James isn’t happy that they’re not going to work together, either, that’s clear.
“Yeah,” he manages.
“I’ll get him - or her - for you.” It sounds more like a solemn vow than a promise.
“Thank you.” His voice is gruff.
James’s lips curve upwards at the corners briefly before he replies. “It is as much for me as for you, of course. I’m doing your job as well as mine at the moment. Besides, if you’re not back soon you’ll forget all the effort I put into training you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He pushes James out and shuts the door behind him.
***
The breakfast dishes are already cleared away and Robbie’s at a loss as to what to do with this unanticipated day off, until he remembers that there’s laundry needing doing. Being on leave doesn’t stop him thinking about the case, and he’s mulling over the key players and possible motives as he sorts the washing into whites and colours. It’s still not making sense, though, and he realises that he never did ask James whether he’d found out any more about the costumes worn at the party.
Who had a motive for the murders? There’s Ruth Brooks now, isn’t there? Now he knows that Judd Havelock - Ruth’s boyfriend at the time - was trying it on with Ruth’s little sister, and Ruth knew. He saw her face when he confronted her with it. Could she have been angry enough, in the heat of the moment, to kill Judd? And then Poppy Toynton could have found out and threatened to expose her, and Ruth killed her too to silence her. Didn’t she arrive late to the do that night? She said she was working, but she certainly had time to follow Poppy up the staircase and kill her. And then Samantha because she was a possible witness.
Ruth? Is it possible?
There’s the body in the car that Ali’s suspect talked about on the tape - well, she would have had to dispose of the body somehow. Probably had help with that, and if she did - well, that’s another potential murder victim, isn’t it? Unless it was Poppy who helped her.
And disposing where? The decommissioned Upper Heyford RAF Base keeps coming up, doesn’t it? James even found a photo of it in Chloe Brooks’ bag, in Poppy Toynton’s bedroom.
He needs to get Ruth into the interview room as soon as possible, get to the bottom of all this-
But he can’t, can he? He’s off the case.
Bugger. Maybe he can send James an email? From one of those cyber-cafés, maybe. Get him to investigate Ruth more closely.
Though, wait. Is he really willing to believe that Ruth attacked her own sister and left her for dead? But that could explain her devoted care over the years: guilt, maybe?
Devoted care... James. He still can’t believe the bloke spent all night outside his flat. Saw nothing, too. James didn’t dwell on that, just acknowledged that there was nothing of concern overnight.
He’s moving the first load to the dryer when his mobile rings. “Lewis.”
“Pete Lawson. Sorry to do this to you, mate, but we need you to come in for an interview about the Ali McLennan murder.”
At least Lawson didn’t keep him waiting all day. Lawson’s not so bad, anyway - there’s definitely DIs he’d like less to be in charge of this, even if, according to James, Lawson’s instincts don’t seem to be up to scratch. “I’ve been expecting it. When?”
“Half an hour? You’ll be met at the front desk. And thanks, Robbie. This is bollocks, we know it is, but it is procedure.”
He sets the dryer going, then heads to the bedroom to change. He might be on enforced leave, but he’s still a detective inspector and he’s going to act like one. He’s not going to walk into the station wearing jeans and a rugby shirt.
The first thing he sees when he opens the front door is the marked police car parked outside. Robbie sighs; so James didn’t just give up on his idea that Robbie could be the next target, did he? All the same, he can’t really blame the bloke. If it were anyone other than himself, he’d have done the same thing.
He leans down next to the driver’s door; the uniformed constable, a middle-aged man he recognises, rolls down the window. “I’m heading down to the station, Donaldson. Don’t think I’ll be in any danger there. Be a good time for you to take a break.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll be following you, though. Under orders to stick with you.” Donaldson glances at his watch. “How long do you think you’ll be there?”
He shrugs. “Half an hour? Hour?” He shrugs. “Go to the canteen. I’ll get a message to you when I’m ready to leave.”
Twenty-five minutes after Lawson’s call, he jogs up the steps into the station. James is lounging against the front desk, idly chatting to the desk sergeant - a conversation that halts abruptly when he sees Robbie. “Sir.” Immediately, he comes over. “Thanks-”
“Don’t you thank me.” It was more James’s formal, ultra-professional tone than the words that irritated him - he won’t have James treating him as if he’s any other witness or potential suspect they’ve asked to come in.
“Sorry.” To his credit, James does sound genuinely regretful. “I’ll confess I have no idea how to handle this,” he adds in a low voice as they walk together towards the interview suite.
“So you decided to treat me like any other interviewee?”
“It wasn’t a conscious decision.” James glances his way briefly. “I do apol-”
He touches James’s arm. “Don’t.” James subsides. “I’m surprised they let you meet me.”
“Well, it’s not as if you’re seriously a suspect. Though I’m under orders.”
“Not to talk about anything related to the cases,” Robbie says. “Well, best make sure we don’t, then. So I won’t tell you I’m currently thinking that Ruth Brooks is worth a closer look, and you won’t tell me what you think of that.”
James’s lips twitch. “Worth a punt, I’d say. If you’d said anything, which of course you haven’t. Which is why I won’t tell you that I’ll look into that hypothesis in between the list Lawson’s given me and checking with the costume shop again to see if they’ve managed to find out who rented the Dottore de la Peste costume.”
The what costume? Obviously someone from the 2002 party James now considers a suspect. “You’re a tough nut to crack, Sergeant.” He studies James as the bloke holds a door open for him. He’d like to ask if James has got anywhere with that number-plate yet, but that’d be taking too much advantage. “Promise me something. Regardless of whether the case is solved today or not, you go home on time and get a full night’s sleep.”
“That an order, sir?”
It’s not too difficult to understand that James needs the reassurance that Robbie’s still his governor. He arranges his face into a gruff commanding expression. “Bloody well is, Sergeant.”
James lays a hand briefly against his back. “Your wish is my command, sir. Except that if the case is solved today I hope you’ll permit me to invite you for a pint.”
“I’ll consider it.” He lets James shepherd him into the interview room, where he greets Pete Lawson and sits for the first time in his life in the interviewee’s chair.
Lawson conducts the interview; James sits slightly behind him, not meeting Robbie’s gaze, and doesn’t say a word. The only time he reacts is when Robbie - giving a step-by-step account of his evening with Ali - mentions that she kissed him. James jerks forward in his seat and his eyes, very wide, focus on Robbie. He knows James is wondering why Robbie didn’t tell him before.
“And you’re sure it stopped there?” Lawson asks. “You didn’t go home with her?”
“Like I said,” Robbie answers, holding onto his patience, “I said goodnight. She said not to be a stranger, and she went off down the tow-path. I went to my car and drove home.”
“And you didn’t decide you’d missed out on a sure thing and drive over to her place later?” Lawson puts to him. James’s mouth thins and Robbie can see his fists clench.
“No. I didn’t.” He leans forward. “She was my sergeant - not any more, o’ course, but still. I’d never have taken her up on it. I let her kiss me-” He shrugs. “-for old times’ sake an’ not to be rude, but if I’d seen her again I’d’ve made clear it wouldn’t happen again.”
Lawson nods. “If we can go back to your conversation over drinks... did you ask Ms McLennan about her recollection of the Chloe Brooks case again?”
“No. She’d already told me she didn’t remember. I was surprised, but I believed her - I’d never known her to lie to me. I just put it down to her drinkin’ too much over the years.”
“Did she mention anything about money, by any chance? How the business was doing?”
Remembering that he’s not supposed to know anything about the blackmail, Robbie focuses solely on his conversation with Ali. “Other than saying that she sank her severance into the business, no. I suspected that business might not have been great, but she didn’t say.”
Lawson nods, then glances behind him. “Sergeant, any questions?”
James shakes his head. “No, sir.”
“Interview concluded.” Lawson leans forward and stops the tape recorder.
James doesn’t escort him out. He has to content himself with a sir and a brief nod before he’s accompanied out by a uniformed constable. With nothing else to do, he drives himself home, followed by Donaldson, his shadow for the day.
***
He’s been home ten minutes when his mobile beeps. It’s a text message - from James. Car registered to Stuart Toynton, given to Poppy as a runaround. Poppy disposed of body, I’m guessing at Heyford, but for whom? With whom?
It takes Robbie far too much time to text back: Could poppy have killed judd? doesnt explain her murder or others
I think she helped the murderer, James texts back less than a minute later. And the murderer, unless I’m wrong, was wearing a Dottore de la Peste costume with blood on its beak.
His phone beeps again before he can even think of answering James’s text. This time, it’s a photo: of a bird-creature with a long, gold beak with a red tip.
fits with chloes recollection, he texts back. any idea who wore it
Working on it, James responds. Later.
The costume shop, no doubt. Damn this bloody suspension. If it wasn’t for that, Robbie’d be on his way to House Beautiful to lean on Ellerby’s acolytes again. They know more than they’ve been telling him, he’s absolutely convinced of that, and they’ve been far too bloody bolshy about answering questions.
He phones Innocent. “I must have been ruled out by now, ma’am! Can’t I take back the case?”
“Absolutely not, Robbie! I can’t even believe you’re asking. I know it’s frustrating,” she adds, more calmly, “but I need you to stay away from anything to do with this or any other case until we’ve arrested the murderer and got a confession.”
Ending the call, he curses under his breath, then grabs pen and paper and sits down at the kitchen table. An hour later, he’s got a list of possible suspects, another list of people who’ve been eliminated, and other players together with possible motives.
Ruth Brooks is still a possibility - but why would Poppy Toynton help her by using her car to dispose of a body? And - though he’d have to check her bank account to be certain - there’s nothing to suggest that Ali was blackmailing her.
Poppy as the original murderer, with Ali blackmailing her - but then who killed Poppy? Not Ali. No matter that he’s been well and truly disillusioned by what he now knows about her, he still can’t see her as a murderer. Double murderer: she’d have had to kill Samantha Coyle as well. And then who killed Ali? That would mean three murderers in total. Doesn’t make sense.
There’s Ellerby’s acolytes, Lakshmi Eyre and Freya Carlisle - but there was clearly no love lost between either of them and Poppy. Who would Poppy be willing to help get away with murder?
He gets up and makes himself a cuppa, giving himself time to think.
And there it is: the one thing that never made sense all along. Why did Professor Ellerby invite Poppy Toynton to live at House Beautiful? She wasn’t clever, or witty, or the kind of person who was going to make an impact on the world. She wasn’t Ellerby’s usual type at all. But if Ellerby owed her for that kind of favour...
Yet Ellerby claimed she wasn’t at the party, and her acolytes haven’t contradicted that. At the same time, they wouldn’t, would they? And it was Ellerby who needed her shawl, meaning that Poppy had to leave the Great Hall and go exactly where the murderer could find her.
The more he thinks about it, the more convinced he is. Ignoring the boiling kettle, he reaches for his mobile and hits the first number on speed-dial.
“Hathaway.”
He doesn’t bother with preliminaries. “It’s Ellerby.”
“I know. I’m following her right now - traffic camera showed her headed north. I’m guessing Heyford.”
Abandoned for ten years or more; they’ve both already concluded that it’d be the perfect place to dump a body. But why’s Ellerby going there now? Oh, shit. Has she got another victim with her? Who, this time? “Lawson’s with you?”
“No, I’m on my own. Couldn’t get hold of him. I’m driving, got to go.” The call’s disconnected.
Robbie doesn’t even stop to think. He grabs his keys and runs, on the way ordering Donaldson to call for full backup immediately.
James is going after a conscienceless killer on his own. Diana Ellerby’s killed four times already to protect herself, maybe even five by now - though he still has no idea why she killed Havelock in the first place - and she won’t hesitate to make James her next victim.
Not on his watch. No fucking way.
Innocent calls as he’s speeding up the Woodstock Road. “Robbie, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“We know who the murderer is, ma’am. James has gone after her on his own. What do you think I’m doing?”
“He might be on his own, Robbie, but if you think he didn’t call for backup himself you really don’t know your sergeant. Several cars are on their way, and the Eye in the Sky’s monitoring Ellerby’s vehicle.” Innocent’s tone is exceedingly tetchy. “I told you to stay out of this-”
“Have I been cleared?” he snaps, navigating a roundabout at speed.
“Of course you-”
“All I needed to know. Thank you, ma’am.” He hangs up, returning his full attention to the road ahead.
He hears the helicopter overhead as he drives into the base, grateful for the fresh fall of snow overnight that means he can follow the tyre-tracks. Both sets lead to one of the sheds; Robbie comes to a fast yet safe halt beside James’s car and silently makes his way inside.
Ellerby’s talking, justifying her actions - she’d actually been having an affair with Judd Havelock, which is about the last thing he’d have imagined. She found out about his other affairs, and then caught him in the act with Chloe. James is doing an excellent job, encouraging her to talk, to confess everything. It doesn’t sound like he’s in any danger, or especially worried about anything-
“Put down the petrol, Professor Ellerby!”
Hell. Robbie steps out into view - but it’s not as he feared. Ellerby’s soaking the area close to where she’s standing, by some sort of pit filled with water - Judd Havelock’s resting place? - but she doesn’t appear to be threatening James.
“Come on, Professor, give that to me,” he says, gently as he can, moving next to James and holding out his hand. James glances sharply around, eyes widening, but he’s too well-trained to say anything.
“Stay back!” Ellerby sloshes the can in their direction.
“Careful, sir!” Alarm in his voice, James grabs Robbie’s arm and steps backwards.
Ellerby continues talking, about feeling let down, disgraced, by Judd, about loving him still. “If only he’d been kind...”
Robbie tries to intervene again, but Ellerby has a cigarette-lighter in her hand. With a sense of inevitability, they watch her ignite herself.
***
There was no other victim. It seems Ellerby’s conscience had got the better of her and her intention had been to kill herself all along, to burn herself and Havelock’s body together.
Outside, waiting for backup, SOCO and the pathology team to arrive, Robbie feels James’s gaze on him. “Not that I wasn’t very glad to see you, sir, but what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be off the case.”
“Bein’ an idiot, looks like.” He grimaces, mocking himself. “Thought you were goin’ off alone after a serial killer an’ I might have to...” No. After everything James has done for him, it’s not the time to mock the bloke. “I was terrified she’d kill you too.”
James’s expression turns surprised - and very touched. “Thank you, s- No. Thank you, Robbie.”
He touches James’s arm lightly as the roar of sirens signals the arrival of backup. “Owed you, didn’t I? Not that I wouldn’t have done it anyway,” he adds; James deserves to know that.
He gets a flash of a quick smile in response; then the first vehicles come to a halt and the opportunity for private conversation’s over. There’ll be that pint later, though. Probably just the one; James needs an early night.
Robbie waves James forward as the new arrivals await instructions. “Your case, Sergeant. You’re in charge.”
***
Robbie brings their pints to the outside table, where James is halfway through his cigarette. At least the snow’s melted and the temperature’s warming up a bit. Sitting, he tilts his glass so that it touches James’s. “Cheers. And thank you.”
James taps his glass in return, though a faint pink flush is staining his cheeks and he’s not meeting Robbie’s gaze. “Not necessary. I’m just glad it’s over and done with and we’re back to normal.”
It’s very necessary; James put his future in the force on the line for him. Regardless of Robbie’s innocence and the fact that no-one seriously believed otherwise, if Lawson or Innocent found out about what James did the least he could expect is to be demoted.
But he won’t embarrass the bloke any further. James knows that Robbie values what he did, and that’s enough.
“There is one thing I’ve been wondering.” James meets his gaze this time, raising an eyebrow. “What was your problem with Ali? I don’t mean later, when you found out what she’d been up to,” he clarifies as James gives him a you’re joking! look. “Right from the start, when I took you out to meet her, you didn’t like her. You wouldn’t even come for a drink with us.”
James fiddles with his lighter. “I wish I had. Like you said yesterday morning, I would have been your alibi.”
“Don’t avoid the question.” James doesn’t immediately answer, so Robbie continues, “I know you said you felt some of what she said got you suspicious, but your hackles were raised even before then.” A possible answer occurs to him. “Never even thought - you were at the station for around two years before she resigned, weren’t you? Did you know-”
“I never came across her,” James says, and his expression’s completely honest. “I can’t even remember hearing her name mentioned.”
“Ah.” So it’s not that. What, then? “James...”
He’s fidgeting again, and another pink flush is spreading over his neck as well as his face. “Sir - Robbie, I... You’re right. I didn’t take to her, but honestly I can’t explain why.” He lights another cigarette with fingers that aren’t entirely steady. “Can we drop it, please?”
Robbie studies his sergeant for a long moment, then nods. “Fine. You were right, anyway, so I can hardly complain, can I?” He drains his pint. “Another? Though you should probably get off home and get some sleep.”
“It’s not even seven o’clock.” James finishes his own drink. “And, actually, I’m more hungry than tired at the moment. Should I get the menus while I’m up there?”
“Only if I’m paying for dinner.” It’s the least he can do. “And we go inside to eat.”
Robbie watches James walk back into the pub, unable to prevent the fond smile that creeps over his face. It’s not too difficult to figure out what James’s problem was with Ali - he’s not a detective inspector for nothing, and James gave a lot away even without saying much at all. He was jealous - stupidly, unnecessarily so, but that’s so obviously what the problem was.
Why, though? It’s not as if there was any question of James being replaced as his bagman - or as his friend and drinking companion. Piqued at finding out that Robbie had worked closely with someone else before James came along? Someone who was comfortably informal with him, calling him Rob and not sir. Though that’s completely irrational.
But then, isn’t most jealousy irrational? And, Robbie considers, based on insecurity. Could that be it? Well, James should have no doubt now that Robbie considers him not just a valued colleague but also a good friend. Hasn’t he made clear what James’s work on the timeline leading to Chloe’s attack, and his loyalty over the last two days, has meant to him? And that he likes the lad’s company? Nonetheless, it won’t hurt to reinforce that from time to time.
An hour later, when they’re leaving, he rests his hand on the back of James’s shoulder. “Doing anything this weekend?” It’s a rare weekend off for the two of them.
James shrugs, turning to face Robbie. “Other than the usual - laundry, dry cleaning, shopping - nothing much.”
“Good. Come over on Friday. We can get a takeaway, watch something on TV or get a DVD, eh? Bring an overnight bag so you don’t have to worry about driving home. Sorry I’ve only got the sofa to offer-”
“I’d like that. Thank you.” James looks genuinely pleased.
“An’ if you have time, maybe we can do something on Saturday or Sunday.” He shrugs. “Get out of Oxford, like.”
James grins. “I could give you a guided tour of Cambridge. About time you got to know England’s best university.”
Robbie pretends to look appalled. “As if I don’t spend enough time in a university town as it is. But if you insist...”
“Absolutely.” James’s droll enthusiasm makes Robbie grin. His mouth quirks up at the corners. “I’ll look forward to it. Thank you.”
“Ah, give over, man. Wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t enjoy your company.” There. That should be enough to reassure the lad.
He gets another smile in response. He’s about to say goodnight and walk to his own car, parked a few yards away, when James suddenly grins in a way that makes Robbie very suspicious. “What?”
“I was just wondering... if I were to kiss you goodnight, would you let me, not to be rude?” James’s grin widens. “And then explain very kindly tomorrow that it couldn’t happen again?”
Robbie stares, speechless. James leans in, presses a swift kiss to his parted lips, then, hands in his pockets, he strolls off to his car, calling a cheerful “Goodnight!” over his shoulder, leaving Robbie gobsmacked.
He should tell James tomorrow that it can’t happen again. Not that James is likely to do it again anyway. But... maybe he’ll just say nothing and see what happens. Maybe.
end
Author: wendymr
Characters: Robbie Lewis, James Hathaway, Jean Innocent, other minor characters/OCs
Rated: PG
Word count: 10,400
Summary: "I'm very sorry, sir, but there are some questions I need to ask."
Written for the Lewis Summer Challenge 2012 event on lewis_challenge, and with excellent BR services by lindenharp - obviously all errors remain mine.
This is an alternate version of part of Old, Unhappy, Far Off Things, based on a 'what if?' premise which occurred to me when I started thinking about the fact that Lewis was the last known person to see one of the victims alive.
Suspect Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Robbie gets up with his seven o’clock alarm, despite not having anywhere to go. Habit, of course, and anyway what’s the point in lying in bed half the morning? Especially as he’ll be called to the station for the obligatory interview at some point anyway.
Habit also leads him to glance at the street outside, and he’s just about to let the curtains fall back into place when he hesitates, frowns and looks again at the snow-dotted familiar grey Astra parked on the other side of the road - and at the even more familiar blond head just visible through the darkened windows.
He’s reaching for the phone to order Hathaway home when he stops himself. After last night, James deserves better than to have him play the heavy-handed governor, doesn’t he?
Robbie sighs and heads to the bathroom.
The lad’s an idiot, he decides as he steps into the shower. He told James that he could look after himself, and anyway that he didn’t think he was a very likely target. Yet James has stayed up all night anyway, by the look of it. And it’s the second time in just a few days that he’s stayed up all night for Robbie, isn’t it? The photos for the Chloe Brooks case - and what was his reason? You thought something wasn’t right.
Not for the case. For Robbie.
Then last night he risked his job by coming over and giving Robbie information official procedure says he shouldn’t have access to. Now this.
He’s reminded suddenly of a night - oh, it’s got to be fourteen, fifteen years ago now - when he sat in his car all night outside Morse’s flat, worried about his governor’s state of mind after the discovery that his recently-widowed former fiancée had committed suicide. Course, useless sod that he was, he’d fallen asleep before dawn and never noticed Morse leave - but he’d found the bloke later and made sure he was all right. And then, for the first and only time in his career, he’d broken the rules and destroyed official evidence, for the sole reason that the contents of that tape would have distressed Morse even more.
What has he done to earn that sort of loyalty from James? He’d call it devotion, even, except that it seems such a ridiculous description, though then again this is James Hathaway, almost-priest and frequently other-worldly. The concept of devotion is probably not so ridiculous for him.
Yet to him, Robbie Lewis, an ordinary DI with nothing particular to recommend him, other than thoroughness and determination to see a job done well? He’d understand if it were someone like Morse, brilliant yet flawed, with the reputation for genius everyone wanted to touch, even if they ended up getting burned.
Doesn’t matter why. What matters is the man sitting outside in the cold. Robbie dresses quickly, then, in the kitchen, puts the kettle on before picking up his landline; no point in having a call go to James’s mobile from the work mobile of someone he’s not supposed to be in contact with.
“Hathaway.” And how can he sound so alert when he’s been awake all night? Because one thing Robbie’s certain of is that there’ll have been no falling asleep on what he’ll have considered duty for James Hathaway.
“Get yourself inside.” He hangs up before James can answer. He’s just put out cereal and popped two slices of bread in the toaster when there’s two muted raps at the front door.
“Sir,” James begins as Robbie opens the door, apology and the beginnings of self-justification in his tone.
Robbie cuts across him. “Give over, soft lad.” He stands back. “Breakfast’s ready. You can tell me after. Should be sendin’ you home to sleep, mind,” he continues as he follows James back into the kitchen. “Not that I’ve got any right to at the moment.”
“Sir.” The stubborn protest in James’s tone is clearly directed at Robbie’s suggestion that he’s not currently entitled to act as James’s governor. But his eyes... oh, Robbie was right. Loyalty and devotion, which he still has no idea what he’s done to deserve.
“Don’t call me sir,” he says quietly, setting a mug of tea, milk added appropriately, in front of James, who is obediently helping himself to cereal. “Not-”
“With respect, sir,” James cuts in, “I don’t give a monkey’s about process and your official position vis-a-vis the force at the moment. It’s ridiculous that you’re being treated like this when no-one considers you a suspect, but even if we hadn’t found evidence that would eliminate anyone else in your position from the enquiry I’d still feel the same way.”
Robbie smiles. James’s defence of him is endearing, though the lad’s got it completely wrong. “Not what I meant, man.” He spreads strawberry jam on his toast. “Right now, we’re just two mates havin’ breakfast, an’ mates don’t call each other sir.”
James’s eyes widen momentarily, and then his lips tilt upwards fractionally at the corners. “Robbie, then. But what I said still applies.”
“I know.” He looks steadily at James until the bloke meets his gaze. “And thank you.”
“No thanks necessary.”
It’s very necessary, but he won’t push it. “You got a change of clothes in your car?” James nods. “Right. After breakfast, you can shower and change. Can’t go into work in yesterday’s suit.” Especially when it’s full of creases from spending the night in a car that’s really too small for someone of James’s height. Next time they’re issued with new official vehicles, he’ll have to make sure something’s done about that.
He shoos James to the bathroom a few minutes later, after the bloke’s got his suit-bag - James knows where to find clean towels and a spare toothbrush, and he knows the man has a razor in his bag. It’s not the first time James has dressed for work at his flat, but it’s the first time Robbie’s not been going with him.
Fifteen minutes later, as James is ready to leave, Robbie abruptly realises that he finally understands what it was like for Val all those years. Today, he’s the one seeing his partner off to work, having to stay behind out of obligation.
Val always kissed him before he went out the door. His gaze slides away from James’s - where the bloody hell did that come from?
“See you later, s- Robbie.” James isn’t happy that they’re not going to work together, either, that’s clear.
“Yeah,” he manages.
“I’ll get him - or her - for you.” It sounds more like a solemn vow than a promise.
“Thank you.” His voice is gruff.
James’s lips curve upwards at the corners briefly before he replies. “It is as much for me as for you, of course. I’m doing your job as well as mine at the moment. Besides, if you’re not back soon you’ll forget all the effort I put into training you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He pushes James out and shuts the door behind him.
***
The breakfast dishes are already cleared away and Robbie’s at a loss as to what to do with this unanticipated day off, until he remembers that there’s laundry needing doing. Being on leave doesn’t stop him thinking about the case, and he’s mulling over the key players and possible motives as he sorts the washing into whites and colours. It’s still not making sense, though, and he realises that he never did ask James whether he’d found out any more about the costumes worn at the party.
Who had a motive for the murders? There’s Ruth Brooks now, isn’t there? Now he knows that Judd Havelock - Ruth’s boyfriend at the time - was trying it on with Ruth’s little sister, and Ruth knew. He saw her face when he confronted her with it. Could she have been angry enough, in the heat of the moment, to kill Judd? And then Poppy Toynton could have found out and threatened to expose her, and Ruth killed her too to silence her. Didn’t she arrive late to the do that night? She said she was working, but she certainly had time to follow Poppy up the staircase and kill her. And then Samantha because she was a possible witness.
Ruth? Is it possible?
There’s the body in the car that Ali’s suspect talked about on the tape - well, she would have had to dispose of the body somehow. Probably had help with that, and if she did - well, that’s another potential murder victim, isn’t it? Unless it was Poppy who helped her.
And disposing where? The decommissioned Upper Heyford RAF Base keeps coming up, doesn’t it? James even found a photo of it in Chloe Brooks’ bag, in Poppy Toynton’s bedroom.
He needs to get Ruth into the interview room as soon as possible, get to the bottom of all this-
But he can’t, can he? He’s off the case.
Bugger. Maybe he can send James an email? From one of those cyber-cafés, maybe. Get him to investigate Ruth more closely.
Though, wait. Is he really willing to believe that Ruth attacked her own sister and left her for dead? But that could explain her devoted care over the years: guilt, maybe?
Devoted care... James. He still can’t believe the bloke spent all night outside his flat. Saw nothing, too. James didn’t dwell on that, just acknowledged that there was nothing of concern overnight.
He’s moving the first load to the dryer when his mobile rings. “Lewis.”
“Pete Lawson. Sorry to do this to you, mate, but we need you to come in for an interview about the Ali McLennan murder.”
At least Lawson didn’t keep him waiting all day. Lawson’s not so bad, anyway - there’s definitely DIs he’d like less to be in charge of this, even if, according to James, Lawson’s instincts don’t seem to be up to scratch. “I’ve been expecting it. When?”
“Half an hour? You’ll be met at the front desk. And thanks, Robbie. This is bollocks, we know it is, but it is procedure.”
He sets the dryer going, then heads to the bedroom to change. He might be on enforced leave, but he’s still a detective inspector and he’s going to act like one. He’s not going to walk into the station wearing jeans and a rugby shirt.
The first thing he sees when he opens the front door is the marked police car parked outside. Robbie sighs; so James didn’t just give up on his idea that Robbie could be the next target, did he? All the same, he can’t really blame the bloke. If it were anyone other than himself, he’d have done the same thing.
He leans down next to the driver’s door; the uniformed constable, a middle-aged man he recognises, rolls down the window. “I’m heading down to the station, Donaldson. Don’t think I’ll be in any danger there. Be a good time for you to take a break.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll be following you, though. Under orders to stick with you.” Donaldson glances at his watch. “How long do you think you’ll be there?”
He shrugs. “Half an hour? Hour?” He shrugs. “Go to the canteen. I’ll get a message to you when I’m ready to leave.”
Twenty-five minutes after Lawson’s call, he jogs up the steps into the station. James is lounging against the front desk, idly chatting to the desk sergeant - a conversation that halts abruptly when he sees Robbie. “Sir.” Immediately, he comes over. “Thanks-”
“Don’t you thank me.” It was more James’s formal, ultra-professional tone than the words that irritated him - he won’t have James treating him as if he’s any other witness or potential suspect they’ve asked to come in.
“Sorry.” To his credit, James does sound genuinely regretful. “I’ll confess I have no idea how to handle this,” he adds in a low voice as they walk together towards the interview suite.
“So you decided to treat me like any other interviewee?”
“It wasn’t a conscious decision.” James glances his way briefly. “I do apol-”
He touches James’s arm. “Don’t.” James subsides. “I’m surprised they let you meet me.”
“Well, it’s not as if you’re seriously a suspect. Though I’m under orders.”
“Not to talk about anything related to the cases,” Robbie says. “Well, best make sure we don’t, then. So I won’t tell you I’m currently thinking that Ruth Brooks is worth a closer look, and you won’t tell me what you think of that.”
James’s lips twitch. “Worth a punt, I’d say. If you’d said anything, which of course you haven’t. Which is why I won’t tell you that I’ll look into that hypothesis in between the list Lawson’s given me and checking with the costume shop again to see if they’ve managed to find out who rented the Dottore de la Peste costume.”
The what costume? Obviously someone from the 2002 party James now considers a suspect. “You’re a tough nut to crack, Sergeant.” He studies James as the bloke holds a door open for him. He’d like to ask if James has got anywhere with that number-plate yet, but that’d be taking too much advantage. “Promise me something. Regardless of whether the case is solved today or not, you go home on time and get a full night’s sleep.”
“That an order, sir?”
It’s not too difficult to understand that James needs the reassurance that Robbie’s still his governor. He arranges his face into a gruff commanding expression. “Bloody well is, Sergeant.”
James lays a hand briefly against his back. “Your wish is my command, sir. Except that if the case is solved today I hope you’ll permit me to invite you for a pint.”
“I’ll consider it.” He lets James shepherd him into the interview room, where he greets Pete Lawson and sits for the first time in his life in the interviewee’s chair.
Lawson conducts the interview; James sits slightly behind him, not meeting Robbie’s gaze, and doesn’t say a word. The only time he reacts is when Robbie - giving a step-by-step account of his evening with Ali - mentions that she kissed him. James jerks forward in his seat and his eyes, very wide, focus on Robbie. He knows James is wondering why Robbie didn’t tell him before.
“And you’re sure it stopped there?” Lawson asks. “You didn’t go home with her?”
“Like I said,” Robbie answers, holding onto his patience, “I said goodnight. She said not to be a stranger, and she went off down the tow-path. I went to my car and drove home.”
“And you didn’t decide you’d missed out on a sure thing and drive over to her place later?” Lawson puts to him. James’s mouth thins and Robbie can see his fists clench.
“No. I didn’t.” He leans forward. “She was my sergeant - not any more, o’ course, but still. I’d never have taken her up on it. I let her kiss me-” He shrugs. “-for old times’ sake an’ not to be rude, but if I’d seen her again I’d’ve made clear it wouldn’t happen again.”
Lawson nods. “If we can go back to your conversation over drinks... did you ask Ms McLennan about her recollection of the Chloe Brooks case again?”
“No. She’d already told me she didn’t remember. I was surprised, but I believed her - I’d never known her to lie to me. I just put it down to her drinkin’ too much over the years.”
“Did she mention anything about money, by any chance? How the business was doing?”
Remembering that he’s not supposed to know anything about the blackmail, Robbie focuses solely on his conversation with Ali. “Other than saying that she sank her severance into the business, no. I suspected that business might not have been great, but she didn’t say.”
Lawson nods, then glances behind him. “Sergeant, any questions?”
James shakes his head. “No, sir.”
“Interview concluded.” Lawson leans forward and stops the tape recorder.
James doesn’t escort him out. He has to content himself with a sir and a brief nod before he’s accompanied out by a uniformed constable. With nothing else to do, he drives himself home, followed by Donaldson, his shadow for the day.
***
He’s been home ten minutes when his mobile beeps. It’s a text message - from James. Car registered to Stuart Toynton, given to Poppy as a runaround. Poppy disposed of body, I’m guessing at Heyford, but for whom? With whom?
It takes Robbie far too much time to text back: Could poppy have killed judd? doesnt explain her murder or others
I think she helped the murderer, James texts back less than a minute later. And the murderer, unless I’m wrong, was wearing a Dottore de la Peste costume with blood on its beak.
His phone beeps again before he can even think of answering James’s text. This time, it’s a photo: of a bird-creature with a long, gold beak with a red tip.
fits with chloes recollection, he texts back. any idea who wore it
Working on it, James responds. Later.
The costume shop, no doubt. Damn this bloody suspension. If it wasn’t for that, Robbie’d be on his way to House Beautiful to lean on Ellerby’s acolytes again. They know more than they’ve been telling him, he’s absolutely convinced of that, and they’ve been far too bloody bolshy about answering questions.
He phones Innocent. “I must have been ruled out by now, ma’am! Can’t I take back the case?”
“Absolutely not, Robbie! I can’t even believe you’re asking. I know it’s frustrating,” she adds, more calmly, “but I need you to stay away from anything to do with this or any other case until we’ve arrested the murderer and got a confession.”
Ending the call, he curses under his breath, then grabs pen and paper and sits down at the kitchen table. An hour later, he’s got a list of possible suspects, another list of people who’ve been eliminated, and other players together with possible motives.
Ruth Brooks is still a possibility - but why would Poppy Toynton help her by using her car to dispose of a body? And - though he’d have to check her bank account to be certain - there’s nothing to suggest that Ali was blackmailing her.
Poppy as the original murderer, with Ali blackmailing her - but then who killed Poppy? Not Ali. No matter that he’s been well and truly disillusioned by what he now knows about her, he still can’t see her as a murderer. Double murderer: she’d have had to kill Samantha Coyle as well. And then who killed Ali? That would mean three murderers in total. Doesn’t make sense.
There’s Ellerby’s acolytes, Lakshmi Eyre and Freya Carlisle - but there was clearly no love lost between either of them and Poppy. Who would Poppy be willing to help get away with murder?
He gets up and makes himself a cuppa, giving himself time to think.
And there it is: the one thing that never made sense all along. Why did Professor Ellerby invite Poppy Toynton to live at House Beautiful? She wasn’t clever, or witty, or the kind of person who was going to make an impact on the world. She wasn’t Ellerby’s usual type at all. But if Ellerby owed her for that kind of favour...
Yet Ellerby claimed she wasn’t at the party, and her acolytes haven’t contradicted that. At the same time, they wouldn’t, would they? And it was Ellerby who needed her shawl, meaning that Poppy had to leave the Great Hall and go exactly where the murderer could find her.
The more he thinks about it, the more convinced he is. Ignoring the boiling kettle, he reaches for his mobile and hits the first number on speed-dial.
“Hathaway.”
He doesn’t bother with preliminaries. “It’s Ellerby.”
“I know. I’m following her right now - traffic camera showed her headed north. I’m guessing Heyford.”
Abandoned for ten years or more; they’ve both already concluded that it’d be the perfect place to dump a body. But why’s Ellerby going there now? Oh, shit. Has she got another victim with her? Who, this time? “Lawson’s with you?”
“No, I’m on my own. Couldn’t get hold of him. I’m driving, got to go.” The call’s disconnected.
Robbie doesn’t even stop to think. He grabs his keys and runs, on the way ordering Donaldson to call for full backup immediately.
James is going after a conscienceless killer on his own. Diana Ellerby’s killed four times already to protect herself, maybe even five by now - though he still has no idea why she killed Havelock in the first place - and she won’t hesitate to make James her next victim.
Not on his watch. No fucking way.
Innocent calls as he’s speeding up the Woodstock Road. “Robbie, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“We know who the murderer is, ma’am. James has gone after her on his own. What do you think I’m doing?”
“He might be on his own, Robbie, but if you think he didn’t call for backup himself you really don’t know your sergeant. Several cars are on their way, and the Eye in the Sky’s monitoring Ellerby’s vehicle.” Innocent’s tone is exceedingly tetchy. “I told you to stay out of this-”
“Have I been cleared?” he snaps, navigating a roundabout at speed.
“Of course you-”
“All I needed to know. Thank you, ma’am.” He hangs up, returning his full attention to the road ahead.
He hears the helicopter overhead as he drives into the base, grateful for the fresh fall of snow overnight that means he can follow the tyre-tracks. Both sets lead to one of the sheds; Robbie comes to a fast yet safe halt beside James’s car and silently makes his way inside.
Ellerby’s talking, justifying her actions - she’d actually been having an affair with Judd Havelock, which is about the last thing he’d have imagined. She found out about his other affairs, and then caught him in the act with Chloe. James is doing an excellent job, encouraging her to talk, to confess everything. It doesn’t sound like he’s in any danger, or especially worried about anything-
“Put down the petrol, Professor Ellerby!”
Hell. Robbie steps out into view - but it’s not as he feared. Ellerby’s soaking the area close to where she’s standing, by some sort of pit filled with water - Judd Havelock’s resting place? - but she doesn’t appear to be threatening James.
“Come on, Professor, give that to me,” he says, gently as he can, moving next to James and holding out his hand. James glances sharply around, eyes widening, but he’s too well-trained to say anything.
“Stay back!” Ellerby sloshes the can in their direction.
“Careful, sir!” Alarm in his voice, James grabs Robbie’s arm and steps backwards.
Ellerby continues talking, about feeling let down, disgraced, by Judd, about loving him still. “If only he’d been kind...”
Robbie tries to intervene again, but Ellerby has a cigarette-lighter in her hand. With a sense of inevitability, they watch her ignite herself.
***
There was no other victim. It seems Ellerby’s conscience had got the better of her and her intention had been to kill herself all along, to burn herself and Havelock’s body together.
Outside, waiting for backup, SOCO and the pathology team to arrive, Robbie feels James’s gaze on him. “Not that I wasn’t very glad to see you, sir, but what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be off the case.”
“Bein’ an idiot, looks like.” He grimaces, mocking himself. “Thought you were goin’ off alone after a serial killer an’ I might have to...” No. After everything James has done for him, it’s not the time to mock the bloke. “I was terrified she’d kill you too.”
James’s expression turns surprised - and very touched. “Thank you, s- No. Thank you, Robbie.”
He touches James’s arm lightly as the roar of sirens signals the arrival of backup. “Owed you, didn’t I? Not that I wouldn’t have done it anyway,” he adds; James deserves to know that.
He gets a flash of a quick smile in response; then the first vehicles come to a halt and the opportunity for private conversation’s over. There’ll be that pint later, though. Probably just the one; James needs an early night.
Robbie waves James forward as the new arrivals await instructions. “Your case, Sergeant. You’re in charge.”
***
Robbie brings their pints to the outside table, where James is halfway through his cigarette. At least the snow’s melted and the temperature’s warming up a bit. Sitting, he tilts his glass so that it touches James’s. “Cheers. And thank you.”
James taps his glass in return, though a faint pink flush is staining his cheeks and he’s not meeting Robbie’s gaze. “Not necessary. I’m just glad it’s over and done with and we’re back to normal.”
It’s very necessary; James put his future in the force on the line for him. Regardless of Robbie’s innocence and the fact that no-one seriously believed otherwise, if Lawson or Innocent found out about what James did the least he could expect is to be demoted.
But he won’t embarrass the bloke any further. James knows that Robbie values what he did, and that’s enough.
“There is one thing I’ve been wondering.” James meets his gaze this time, raising an eyebrow. “What was your problem with Ali? I don’t mean later, when you found out what she’d been up to,” he clarifies as James gives him a you’re joking! look. “Right from the start, when I took you out to meet her, you didn’t like her. You wouldn’t even come for a drink with us.”
James fiddles with his lighter. “I wish I had. Like you said yesterday morning, I would have been your alibi.”
“Don’t avoid the question.” James doesn’t immediately answer, so Robbie continues, “I know you said you felt some of what she said got you suspicious, but your hackles were raised even before then.” A possible answer occurs to him. “Never even thought - you were at the station for around two years before she resigned, weren’t you? Did you know-”
“I never came across her,” James says, and his expression’s completely honest. “I can’t even remember hearing her name mentioned.”
“Ah.” So it’s not that. What, then? “James...”
He’s fidgeting again, and another pink flush is spreading over his neck as well as his face. “Sir - Robbie, I... You’re right. I didn’t take to her, but honestly I can’t explain why.” He lights another cigarette with fingers that aren’t entirely steady. “Can we drop it, please?”
Robbie studies his sergeant for a long moment, then nods. “Fine. You were right, anyway, so I can hardly complain, can I?” He drains his pint. “Another? Though you should probably get off home and get some sleep.”
“It’s not even seven o’clock.” James finishes his own drink. “And, actually, I’m more hungry than tired at the moment. Should I get the menus while I’m up there?”
“Only if I’m paying for dinner.” It’s the least he can do. “And we go inside to eat.”
Robbie watches James walk back into the pub, unable to prevent the fond smile that creeps over his face. It’s not too difficult to figure out what James’s problem was with Ali - he’s not a detective inspector for nothing, and James gave a lot away even without saying much at all. He was jealous - stupidly, unnecessarily so, but that’s so obviously what the problem was.
Why, though? It’s not as if there was any question of James being replaced as his bagman - or as his friend and drinking companion. Piqued at finding out that Robbie had worked closely with someone else before James came along? Someone who was comfortably informal with him, calling him Rob and not sir. Though that’s completely irrational.
But then, isn’t most jealousy irrational? And, Robbie considers, based on insecurity. Could that be it? Well, James should have no doubt now that Robbie considers him not just a valued colleague but also a good friend. Hasn’t he made clear what James’s work on the timeline leading to Chloe’s attack, and his loyalty over the last two days, has meant to him? And that he likes the lad’s company? Nonetheless, it won’t hurt to reinforce that from time to time.
An hour later, when they’re leaving, he rests his hand on the back of James’s shoulder. “Doing anything this weekend?” It’s a rare weekend off for the two of them.
James shrugs, turning to face Robbie. “Other than the usual - laundry, dry cleaning, shopping - nothing much.”
“Good. Come over on Friday. We can get a takeaway, watch something on TV or get a DVD, eh? Bring an overnight bag so you don’t have to worry about driving home. Sorry I’ve only got the sofa to offer-”
“I’d like that. Thank you.” James looks genuinely pleased.
“An’ if you have time, maybe we can do something on Saturday or Sunday.” He shrugs. “Get out of Oxford, like.”
James grins. “I could give you a guided tour of Cambridge. About time you got to know England’s best university.”
Robbie pretends to look appalled. “As if I don’t spend enough time in a university town as it is. But if you insist...”
“Absolutely.” James’s droll enthusiasm makes Robbie grin. His mouth quirks up at the corners. “I’ll look forward to it. Thank you.”
“Ah, give over, man. Wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t enjoy your company.” There. That should be enough to reassure the lad.
He gets another smile in response. He’s about to say goodnight and walk to his own car, parked a few yards away, when James suddenly grins in a way that makes Robbie very suspicious. “What?”
“I was just wondering... if I were to kiss you goodnight, would you let me, not to be rude?” James’s grin widens. “And then explain very kindly tomorrow that it couldn’t happen again?”
Robbie stares, speechless. James leans in, presses a swift kiss to his parted lips, then, hands in his pockets, he strolls off to his car, calling a cheerful “Goodnight!” over his shoulder, leaving Robbie gobsmacked.
He should tell James tomorrow that it can’t happen again. Not that James is likely to do it again anyway. But... maybe he’ll just say nothing and see what happens. Maybe.
end