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“Oi! Cambridge!”
Walking across the car park to the station entrance, James pauses before looking around to ensure an impassive expression – both in response to the nickname and the speaker. Pullman is a uniform sergeant a few years older than James and who, according to gossip, has made three unsuccessful applications to join CID. He’s made no effort to disguise his resentment of James’s status as a detective.
“What?” James’s tone is neutral, with just the right hint of I need to get to work, so this better be important. Not that he’s really in any particular hurry. All he’s got to look forward to this morning is paperwork, without even the distraction of sparring good-humouredly with his governor to relieve the tedium.
“Heard your ex-boss might be on his way back.” Pullman smiles, and it’s not pleasant.
Knox? That’s not possible, surely. It couldn’t be. He was charged with being drunk in charge of a vehicle, and – as per policy – immediately suspended from work pending a disciplinary hearing. Oxford Police strictly observes Home Office guidelines on police officers who’ve committed alcohol–related driving offences, and so James has no doubt that Knox will lose his job. Couldn’t happen to a nicer person, he thinks – not that he’s shared his feelings on the subject with anyone. All the same, to the best of his knowledge, no-one at the nick has exactly expressed any sympathy for Knox. He was never at the top of anybody’s Christmas card list, from what James can tell. In fact, as news of Knox’s arrest had spread, James had overheard a couple of DCs on the team singing something that sounded like What shall we do with a drunken copper? He’d had to glare at them, of course – no doubt adding to his reputation as a stuck-up know-it-all with no sense of humour.
As far as he knows, though, Knox’s disciplinary hearing hasn’t taken place yet. According to Lewis, Knox had applied through his Police Federation representative to defer the hearing until after his trial – apparently, he hadn’t been much over the limit, so he’d been hoping for a shorter period of driving suspension and to avoid a prison sentence. Not that that would make much difference to his disciplinary, Lewis had commented; Knox had been on duty and on his way to a crime scene when he’d been stopped. Completely unprofessional and displaying appalling judgement, apart from the criminality of it – and it’s hardly as if he hadn’t had a choice. He could easily have phoned for a DC or uniform to come and pick him up.
“Highly unlikely, I should think,” he tells Pullman dismissively, preparing to walk away. This time, the bloke’s talking out of his arse.
Pullman’s tone is pitying. “You’re behind the times, Cambridge.” Taken aback, James pauses. “Knox pulled the defective equipment defence and got away with it. Charges dismissed.” An unpleasant grin forms on Pullman’s face. “He’s asked for his disciplinary to be dismissed on grounds of no case to answer and a return to work date.” Pullman starts to turn away, then glances back, as if with an afterthought. “Oh, and I heard he’ll be asking for his bagman back, too.”
With that parting shot delivered, Pullman saunters off, leaving James slack–jawed.
It couldn’t be true, could it? Well, he wouldn’t put it past Knox to have the arrogance to assume that he could return to work as if nothing had happened, but could he really have pulled the clichéd defective equipment defence and got away with it? Seriously?
And if that bit’s true, is it even remotely likely that Innocent would agree to have him back on the job – or would she even have a choice?
To his relief, James makes it up to the squadroom and into his and Lewis’s shared office without having to do more than nod a greeting to anyone. Lewis is away, which is both a blessing and appalling timing. Lewis would know whether what Pullman said is accurate – though Pullman is rarely wrong when it comes to the veracity of station gossip. Lewis, though, would know whether it’s within the bounds of possibility that Knox could return to his previous position after a four–month gap and having been the subject of a police investigation.
At the same time, if Pullman’s also right about Knox wanting James back as his sergeant – though why on earth would he? – Lewis is likely to have a say in that decision.
But would Lewis fight for James right now? They hadn’t parted on great terms at the end of the case Lewis refers to as the bloody arrogant, entitled tossers of the twice–born. James had argued hard for several days that Anne Sadikov and Tina Daniels should be charged with pre–meditation in the death of Theodore Platt. Lewis, implacable, had refused to consider it, and although the note had been included in the file sent to CPS, along with the evidence of the writing–pad found in Tina Daniels’ flat, Lewis hadn’t included any commentary as to its possible significance.
Letting his frustration get the better of him, James had – ill-advisedly – accused Lewis of turning a blind eye to vigilante justice. He hadn’t compounded his stupidity by suggesting that it had anything to do with the death of Lewis’s wife, but he hadn’t needed to. The anger on Lewis’s face made clear that he’d interpreted it that way.
Clearly working hard to keep his temper in check, Lewis had bitten out, “There’s no evidence to prove that’s what that note meant. It’d never stand up in court, assuming it’d ever get past a CPS solicitor in the first place. That’s why I’m not recommending charges, sergeant. An’ if you really believe anything different, then you’d better go an’ talk to the Chief Super.” Without letting James respond, he’d marched out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
And that, two days ago, was the last he’d seen of Lewis. An hour or so later, Innocent had sent for him and informed him that Lewis had asked for some time off. “He’ll be gone a few days, visiting family,” she’d said. “I assume you can hold the fort in the meantime. It’s not as if you have anything major on at the moment.”
So he’s clearly not in his governor’s good books, to say the least. Not if Lewis hadn’t told James himself that he was going away. The inspector hadn’t even come back to the office to collect any personal belongings, let alone give James instructions for the period of his absence.
So would Lewis protest if Pullman’s right and Knox is coming back and wants James back as his bagman?
You’re such a stupid fucking idiot, James Hathaway! Why can’t he ever learn to keep his bloody mouth shut instead of feeling compelled to share his opinions with bosses who don’t want to hear them? He’s given Lewis every reason not to want to fight for him, hasn’t he?
This is getting him nowhere. James boots up his computer and signs in. If any of this is true, he won’t convince Lewis to fight for him if he doesn’t do his job.
And he wants Lewis to fight for him. These last few months have been the best he’s experienced in the three years since he became a copper. He has a governor who treats those who report to him with respect, while at the same time demanding high standards and no cutting of corners. Even more admirable is Lewis’s treatment of the people they serve: the general public, victims of crime, witnesses and so on. What other senior officer would think to rush away from a crime scene to reassure a grieving teenager that Danny Griffon hadn’t killed her father after all?
So no excuses: it’s past time he got some work done. But first things first: is there even a single shred of truth in Pullman’s claims?
It doesn’t take much searching of local arrest records to find that there is. Fuck. The charges were dropped last week. The breathalyser had been tested at the insistence of Knox’s solicitor, and the calibration had been found to be very slightly off. In James’s opinion, not by enough to have made a difference, but CPS had concluded that the charges were unlikely to succeed in court. So Knox had no case to answer and is, in the eyes of the law, a free man, without a stain on his character.
So, yes, there’s every chance that the rest of what Pullman said is true: Knox would be seeking reinstatement – why wouldn’t he? – and he’ll need his bagman back. And James would rather set up home in a nest of spiders than work for DI Charles Knox again, especially now that he’s had the good fortune to work with a governor who listens to his ideas and treats him with decency.
Reason reasserts itself by the time he’s dealt with his inbox. DCs’ timesheets, requests for leave and other reports, and requests for assistance from other teams or forces all serve to remind him of the day-job and calm his panicking brain down. And reason, having returned, reminds him of why it makes no sense at all that Knox would want him back.
They weren’t a match made in heaven from Knox’s perspective. That had become clear within the first few days of Knox becoming his governor. DI Knox was an old-school copper who’d come up through the ranks and was aggressively proud of it. He had no time for bloody intellectuals who don’t know their arses from their elbows and don’t like getting their hands dirty. And James, in his view, was not only a “bloody intellectual”, but a prime example of the uselessness of the fast–track scheme. Too hidebound by theory and hasn’t got a clue about real policing or what coppers on the ground have to do to get results.
So of course Knox isn’t going to want James back, assuming he actually is reinstated.
You bloody naïve fool, James Hathaway. Pullman was – as usual – trying to wind him up, and James fell for it. More fool him. Well, enough. He pushes back his chair. To the canteen for a coffee and then outside for a quick smoke, and then it’ll be time for the morning case review.
He’s made it as far as the stairs when he hears his name called. “Oi! Hathaway!”
James stiffens. He knows that voice. Slowly, reluctantly, he turns, as Knox adds, “Better not be ignoring your old gov’nor. That wouldn’t be respectful, would it, Sergeant?”
Knox is clearly here for a meeting. He’s in what’s obviously a brand–new suit, and he’s had a haircut. Even his shoes are shiny enough to reflect his face.
“I didn’t see you, sir.” It takes some effort to sustain the neutrality in his voice and demeanour, even as a sick feeling is forming in his stomach. “How are you?”
“Looking forward to getting back on the job.” Knox’s tone suggests that he believes he should never have been taken off the job. “Back to normal. Hear you managed to get yourself assigned to Lewis.” Knox starts to walk down the hallway, in the direction of Innocent’s office. “Hope he hasn’t let you get into bad habits. Don’t want to have to train you all over again.”
Now his stomach is starting to churn, and he sags against the stair–rail. It doesn’t make sense, but Pullman’s right. Knox does want him back.
He should have known. Never expect anything good to last. He learned that lesson young, and it’s never failed to be of value. The only times he’s forgotten it have led to his own personal disasters. Now, he’s allowed himself to get comfortable as Lewis’s bagman, dropping his guard, going beyond doing his duty to believing in the potential for a lasting partnership with a man he admires and respects. Stupid. He should have remembered: nothing decent and good ever lasts.
Coffee would make him gag. He can’t even face a cigarette. James turns around and heads back to the office.
James manages to lead the DCs through an update and strategy meeting on an assault they’re investigating, as well as a couple of minor offences they’re handling. It’s all fairly routine, which is just as well: at least part of his attention is focused on wondering what’s happening a dozen or so yards away, in Innocent’s office.
It still doesn’t seem possible that this is happening. Yet it is, and how many others at the nick are aware of it? Pullman found out and, yes, he’s an inveterate gossip, but he’s hardly the only one. How many around this table are counting the hours until Knox may rid them of this resented sergeant?
But this lack of focus isn’t helping. He won’t add to the gossip by being so obviously distracted that everyone will know how worried he is. So of course he manages to show how worried he is by micro-managing the meeting, snapping at DC Ryan when she admits that the phone number a witness gave is apparently no longer in service, and then getting up the team’s noses by telling everyone how to do their jobs.
And, because this is already the day from hell, and so of course things can only get worse, Lewis walks into the room just as the DCs are still staring at him, some in disbelief, some in barely-disguised contempt. “Carry on, sergeant,” Lewis says with a casual gesture, walking quickly past and into their shared office.
Fuck.
He winds up the meeting and gathers up his files before he can put his foot further into the hole of his own making, and follows Lewis into the office. “Good morning, sir.”
“Morning.” Lewis is booting his computer and only briefly glances at James. Then, just as James is about to offer an update on progress in his boss’s absence, Lewis looks in his direction again. “Was that my imagination, or did I see Chas Knox leaving the nick as I was coming in?”
“He was here, sir. A meeting with Innocent, apparently.” James flicks through his inbox; he doesn’t want his expression to give him away.
“What’s Innocent doing meeting with him when he’s got a trial coming up? The gutter press likes to say coppers charged with criminal offences get off lightly as it is. We don’t need to be giving them ammunition.”
Lewis sounds thoroughly pissed off, enough that James glances sharply up at him. His governor’s brows have snapped together, and his lips have thinned.
James suspects that the next piece of news might not assuage his boss’s annoyance. Not that he has any real idea what Lewis’s opinion of Knox is, beyond thinking the bloke’s an idiot for driving the morning after putting a few away. Or, even, what Detective Sergeant Lewis and Detective Sergeant Knox’s relationship might have been over the years. Lewis has never mentioned Knox in James’s hearing since the man’s arrest. “Apparently there won’t be a trial. Defective equipment.” He strives to keep his tone matter-of-fact, but clearly fails, because Lewis’s brows draw together.
“What’s going on, sergeant?”
James clasps his hands behind his back. “I encountered DI Knox on the stairs a little earlier, sir. He informed me that he was here to see Innocent regarding his return to work, and that I’d better not have developed any bad habits in his absence.”
Lewis’s eyes widen. “You what?” His tone’s incredulous.
“I’m afraid I didn’t have the opportunity to assure him that you would never allow sloppy standards among your subordinates, sir.”
Lewis waves a hand in an impatient gesture. “Like to see him even come close! No, what d’you mean he’s coming back to work? Innocent’d never let him. Charges dropped or not, he’s a liability now. Plenty of witnesses that he was drinking the night before, and the copper who pulled him over swears he could smell alcohol. Not to mention CCTV that looks like he’s driving erratically. He got off on a technicality, that’s all.” He pushes back his chair. “As for wanting you back…” He stands and comes around from behind his desk, making for the door.
“Yes, sir?” James’s gut is still churning.
“I’ll be back,” is all Lewis says before he closes the door behind him.
Lewis is right, of course. Knox would be a liability on the force regardless of the outcome of his drink driving case. And Innocent, from what James has seen, has made it her business to clean house as much as possible since her arrival: some older and, in Innocent’s apparent view, less effective officers of various ranks have taken transfers or early retirement, while others have been moved to positions where they’re less visible – presumably in the hope that they’ll leave through one means or another. It’s what almost happened to Lewis, after all.
And Innocent has never been a particular fan of Knox. James was well aware of that and, of course, shared her opinion – especially when it came to concepts such as professionalism and respect. Knox is a relic of a previous era in policing, one Lewis shares, of course; but, unlike Knox, Lewis has been able to adapt with the times. Or, perhaps, his values have always been a step above what used to be considered acceptable in policing culture.
So, yes, Innocent will no doubt be extremely resistant to taking Knox back in his former capacity, if at all. James’s mind is – almost – at rest about that. But it’s not at rest when it comes to his place as Lewis’s bagman.
As for wanting you back...
Lewis hadn’t finished his sentence. What would he have said? Was he expressing objection to Knox’s prior claim on James? Or something different? Who will rid me of this troublesome sergeant, perhaps, to misquote Henry II?
Lewis hadn’t chosen James, after all. He hadn’t objected, but then he’d probably been relieved that Innocent had changed her mind about shuffling him off to the training centre, and decided that the devil he already knew was better than any alternative Innocent might assign to him.
Damn it! He thumps the desk, then glances through the window, hoping none of the DCs noticed. His fingers itch for a cigarette, but he’s got no idea how long Lewis is going to be, and he can’t risk his boss coming back to find him gone. So he forces himself to concentrate on emails and spreadsheets – tedious, routine stuff, but work that requires his full attention.
And then, abruptly, the door opens and Lewis is standing there.
He doesn’t say a word, and his expression gives nothing away. He just jerks his head in a follow me motion, then walks away. James shoves back his chair, almost falling over in his haste to get up, and jogs after Lewis, catching the man up in the hallway.
Lewis doesn’t speak until they’re outside. “You can smoke. Can tell you’re gasping.” He strides across the car park, leaving James fumbling for ciggies and lighter, and again he has to run to catch up.
“Sir. Where are we–?”
“Need a coffee. Don’t fancy the canteen stuff.” Lewis gestures up the road, where there’s a Costa Coffee. “You can introduce me to the posh stuff. Tell me which unpronounceable, overpriced drink I need.”
A long, slow breath eases its way out of James’s lungs. Lewis is mocking him. It’s going to be all right.
And he knows Lewis’s taste in coffee. Strong enough to strip paint, more milk than any self-respecting caffeine drink should include, and enough sugar to make Lewis’s nurse-daughter protest loudly. “Caffé latte for you, sir. Add your own sugar, of course.”
“Oh, yeah?” Lewis raises an eyebrow with just a hint of the grin that had endeared James to him on the second day of the Griffon case. “And what ludicrous concoction am I supposed to order for you?”
“Americano, black, one sugar.” James ventures a sideways glance with a faint smile.
“What?” Lewis looks disbelieving. “Not a mochaccino or cappuccino or macchiato?”
James chokes back a laugh, and it’s not only for Lewis’s butchering of the Italian pronunciation. He hopes he’ll never stop being delighted when his boss decides to drop the ‘uneducated Geordie’ façade and reveal some unexpected nugget of knowledge beyond what might be expected of him.
“Poseurs’ drinks,” James observes drily, and Lewis responds with a bark of genuine laughter.
“Private meetings with current or former police officers remain confidential,” Lewis says, clearly quoting, after they’ve got their coffees and he’s led the way down to the Cherwell river walk. “Hypothetically, she said, if someone was charged with what’s normally a sackable offence and then wanted to return to duty if the charges were dismissed on a technicality, it’s highly unlikely that such a request would be granted.”
“Right.” James sips his Americano. “As you speculated, sir.”
“Mmm.” Lewis lifts one shoulder in a slight shrug. “Not sure I’d be expectin’ to see a retirement party announcement any time soon, but I’d bet me pension on that being the deal. So, just in case you were holding out hope of working for Knox again, sorry to disappoint you.” His governor grins in a very indiscreet manner.
“I think you’re well aware that that’s not the case, sir.”
“Just as well.” There’s dry amusement in Lewis’s voice. “Didn’t spend the last few months training you up just for someone else to get the benefit. Told Innocent that an’ all.”
“Thank you, sir.” James’s tone is heartfelt.
“Could say you should’ve known that without needing to be told,” Lewis continues. “And maybe if I’d not disappeared on you, you would have.”
James looks down at the path, his gaze focusing on the ragged bits of grass and weeds forcing their way through the concrete. He’s got no idea what Lewis expects of him here. The truth is that he still believes he was right to argue that Anne Sadikov and Tina Daniels should have been looked at for premeditation, so he can’t apologise for holding that opinion. And if he and Lewis are to make a decent job of their partnership, they have to accept each other as they are – which means James needs to feel free to state his opinions, even when he disagrees with Lewis. And he’d thought, right from that first case, that Lewis valued his willingness to speak up when he disagreed.
What he does need to apologise for is not knowing when to stop, and for going too far with his accusation against Lewis. He’d kept pushing for days, rather than letting it go once it’d become obvious that Lewis wasn’t going to change his mind, and then he’d said what he had about vigilante justice. Not surprisingly, he’d pissed Lewis off enough that the man had left it to Innocent to inform James of his whereabouts.
“Sir–”
Lewis holds up his hand, stopping James from speaking. “After I left the office, I went for a walk. An’ when I’d calmed down, I realised what you were trying to tell me: I was letting me personal feelings cloud me judgement. Again. So I went to see Innocent and told her about the note. She agreed with me that it was too flimsy to prove pre–meditation, an’ told me I needed some time off to get me head together.”
Yet more evidence, if James needed it, that Lewis is a very different man from Knox: acknowledging when he’s in the wrong, not only to his boss but also to his subordinate. Well, James could do worse than follow his example. “I could have been more tactful, sir. Should have been.”
Lewis tips his coffee-cup in James’s direction. “Early days. You’ll learn,” he says kindly, his lips twitching.
Oh, god, not twice in one day. Pullman’s leaving the nick as James and Lewis reach the door.
“Sir. Hathaway.” Pullman holds the door open and waits for the two of them.
Lewis barely nods at Pullman, turning to James as they mount the couple of steps up to the door. “Not to worry, Hathaway,” he says, loudly enough to be overheard. “Couple of years working wi’ me, you’ll be fluent in Geordie. Listenin’, anyway. You’ll never manage speaking.”
“Aye. I’m sure I will, sir,” James answers without a blink at Lewis’s non-sequitur. Just how did the man know Pullman had been gossiping about Knox’s intentions?
But that’s something he really just needs to accept where Lewis is concerned. The man’s omniscient. There’s very little that goes on around the nick that James’s governor doesn’t know about, but at the same time he reveals very little of what he knows.
And, as they pass Pullman on their way into the building, the look of chagrin on the other sergeant’s face is, James considers, ample revenge for Pullman’s mischief-making. That, and the knowledge – based on Lewis’s deliberate dig just now – that if Pullman ever does make it to CID, he’ll never end up on Lewis’s team.
And for that alone, never mind everything else Lewis has done for him today, he’d gladly fetch his governor a caffé latte on a daily basis.
James smiles. It’s turning out to be a pretty good day, after all.