Work Text:
THURSDAY
SEPTEMBER 21, 2006
Over the next couple of days, Lewis found himself thinking back on that meeting in the church with Father Hathaway. Definitely one of the odder encounters he had had with the clergy in this town, and that was rather saying a lot. Odd in that it wasn't very odd at all. Hathaway came off as friendly, polite and helpful, three traits Lewis rarely experienced in his line of work. There also was that note of playfulness in their exchange. If it weren't for the fact the man was a priest, Lewis would almost say it felt like Hathaway was flirting with him.
But surely that must be him getting the wrong end of the stick. Or maybe wishful thinking. After all, why would a priest, especially one so young and handsome, be flirting with him?
Best to just banish those forbidden thoughts and get on with the job.
He was sitting at his desk, cup of cold, forgotten coffee beside him, making his way through a box of old evidence and hoping to find a pattern that matched his current case when Maddox poked her head into his office. "Sir, there's a man at reception asking to speak to you."
"Whozzit?"
"Didn't give his name," she answered. "I think he's a priest, though. Or a reverend. He's wearing a white collar at any rate."
Speak of the devil, Lewis mused. Grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and quickly slipping it on, he hurried down to the lobby. Sure enough, there was Father Hathaway, dressed in black shirt, black blazer, and black slacks covering long lean legs, the white collar and silver cross of his stock in trade once more present. He was currently leaning with his arm on the desk, chatting amiably with the young constable manning the station. "Father Hathaway?" Lewis greeted, dismayed to notice the priest was even younger and more handsome than he had remembered.
At the sound of his name, Father Hathaway said his farewells to his new friend and stepped over to Lewis. "Thank you for seeing me, Inspector Detective," he said, holding out his hand.
"A'course," Lewis replied, taking the offered hand and shaking it firmly. "What can I do for you?"
"I have a confession to make."
"Well, that's a change, eh?"
A quick flash of a grin pulled at Father Hathway's lips, acknowledging the joke, before he continued. "I wasn't completely honest with you the other day, I'm afraid."
" 'Bout what?"
The priest glanced down at his feet as he admitted, "Kieran never actually left that night. He's still at the church."
"What!?!" The exclamation was loud enough to draw the attention of the constable, who gave Lewis a concerned look.
"He had a row with his parents," Father Hathaway explained. "He didn't have anywhere to go and I couldn't send him back into that storm. He's afraid to go home, so I've been letting him kip on my sofa for the last few days."
Lewis swore he could feel his blood pressure soaring with each passing second. "You've been harboring my eyewitness for nearly a week," he hissed.
"You never said he was an eyewitness," the priest countered. "Just that you wanted to talk to him."
"What did you think I wanted to talk to him about?" Lewis demanded. "To discuss the weather? Or perhaps last night's cricket scores? Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out."
"He's my responsibility," Father Hathaway argued.
"He's my lead!" Lewis shot back. By now, they not only had the attention of the gaping constable, but a few other onlookers passing through the lobby. Aware that this could get ugly quickly, Lewis grabbed an unresisting Father Hathaway by the elbow and led him into a nearby empty room. Closing the door, he turned to face his adversary.
If Father Hathaway was alarmed by this development, it didn't show in his face, which remained calm and stoic. A fact that caused Lewis to fume.
How could he have missed the clues that Father Hathaway had been lying to him? He was usually much better at reading people. 'Because you were thinking with something other than your brain', a little voice in the back of his head taunted. A truth which made him even angrier at himself, something he turned now on the priest. "I don't know what game you think you're playing, Father."
"He came into my church and asked for sanctuary," the priest stated. "I couldn't refuse him."
"Whatever rules you think apply in your church don't matter in the real world."
"If refuge is requested, it is my obligation to provide it. I was simply doing my duty." Father James gave a sharp little jerk of his head as he practically spat out, "I'm sure you can relate to that. Sir."
"You're on thin ice, Father," Lewis warned.
"Sacred principals take precedent," Father Hathaway insisted. "The teachings of the church are very explicit when. . ."
"I should have known," Lewis muttered, cutting the priest off with a disgusted wave of his hand. "You're just like all the rest."
"Excuse me?"
"You bloody church people with your antiquated rules and secrets," Lewis scoffed. "You think you can hide behind a cross and that puts you above everyone else. I should charge you with perverting the course of justice just for the hell of it."
For the first time, Father Hathaway's placid facade broke. "I'll have you know I am betraying everything that I believe in right now," he declared, heatedly. Crossing his arms over his chest as if trying to protect himself, his right hand clutching at his left sleeve so hard it began to wrinkle, he added, "Because I trusted you."
The words stunned Lewis, but before he could form a response, the priest continued. "I convinced Kieran it was in his best interest to meet with you, even though he's terrified. I wanted to help you." Taking a deep cleansing breath, trying to regain his composure, Father Hathaway fairly pleaded, "Please don't make me regret that decision."
That simple appeal struck Lewis. His first instinct about this man may have been right after all, and he was just letting his aversion to religion in general, and God in particular, get the better of him. Taking a calming breath of his own, he asked, in a tone much softer and more controlled, "Where's the boy now, Father Hathaway?"
The priest hesitated for a moment before confirming, "You're just going to talk to him?"
Lewis nodded. "I promise."
Father Hathaway bit down on his bottom lip, almost as if he was trying to keep the words from escaping, but in the end he finally revealed, "He's downstairs in the canteen. He was hungry and wanted a sandwich. It was the only way I could think to keep him from running. Teenage boys are hungry a lot apparently."
That got a slight chuckle from Lewis. "I rememba," he agreed, thinking back on his own son's teenage years.
"Just. . .please be kind to him," Father Hathaway beseeched. "He's a good kid."
"You care about him." Lewis said it as a fact and not a question.
A slight shrug of his shoulders as the priest simply said, "Someone has to."
Through all of their interactions, Lewis had been so focused on getting to his witness, getting to the truth, that he lost sight that he was dealing with a kid. A scared kid at that. And while he was a pain in the arse, Father Hathaway had been in the boy's corner, keeping him safe. Lewis knew he might regret his next offer but found himself saying it anyway. "You know, Kieran might be nervous, talking to me. He'd pro'bly feel better if he had a friend there with him."
A curious tip of the head. "Is that allowed?" Father Hathaway asked.
"As I said, I just want to talk to him. I can do that in a canteen with a sandwich and a priest just as easily as in an interrogation room."
Father Hathaway's lips curled into a cross between a smile and a smirk. "You're an extraordinary cop, Inspector Lewis."
"I assure you, I'm very ordinary."
"But that's what makes you extraordinary."
Lewis just shook his head fondly. "C'mon, you. Before your boy does a runner."
Together they jogged down the stairs and along the hall towards the canteen. Upon entering the room, Lewis instantly spotted Kieran, recognizing him easily from the photo he had been showing all over Oxford. The blond-haired youth was huddled alone at a corner table, wary eyes constantly scanning the room. During one sweep he caught sight of them. He gave a small smile as he saw Father Hathaway, then he ducked his head away.
Lewis strode over to the table, Father Hathaway on his heels. Up close he couldn't help but notice Kieran's blackened right eye and the fading but still prominent bruises around those slender wrists, and he began to understand why the priest was so protective of the lad. "Kieran Shepard?"
The boy startled at his name and looked as if he was ready to bolt until Father Hathaway placed a calming hand on one slim shoulder. "It's okay, Kieran," he said, gently. "This is Mr. Lewis. I told you about him. He wants to help."
Having been introduced, Lewis sat down in the chair next to the boy. "Hello, Kieran. I'm Detective Inspector Lewis, but you can call me Robbie." He spoke softly, keeping his voice at a soothing pitch, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible. "You're not in any trouble, son. I just need to ask you a few questions about the other night. The night of that big storm. Okay?"
He didn't get a response, just a slight nod from the obviously frightened boy. Lewis's keen eyes took in the Green Day concert tee-shirt Kieran was wearing and tried another tactic. "Me son, Patrick, loved that band back in the day," he commented, pointing to the shirt. "I'm more of a classic rock fan meself. The Beatles. The Rolling Stones. That whole lot." He didn't get a reply to that, either, just Kieran pulling his hoodie close, so the band name was no longer visible.
Lewis risked a quick glance up at Father Hathaway, feeling as if he was being judged, and failing miserably. And why did it even matter what that holy man thought of him? But instead of disappointment, the priest gave him a small encouraging smile, and a little 'go on' nod.
Well, if at first you don't succeed. . .
Making a show of perusing the remains of Kieran's snack scattered on the table, Lewis joked, "Looks like someone was hungry." Kieran's only reply was to shrug and scrunch down further into his hoodie. But Lewis was not going to be deterred this time. "I know the feelin'," he continued. "Haven't had a chance to grab lunch meself yet. This job some days. Just lose track of time. You know, there's a quiet little cafe around the corner. Much better sandwiches than here, but don't tell Lottie that. She runs the kitchen back there. I'd never hear the end of it. What do you say? Wanna join me for a bite to eat and a little chat?"
Finally, FINALLY, Lewis got a reaction as Kieran pulled his head out of his hoodie, his bright green eyes hopeful, the mention of food apparently being the magic words. The boy glanced up at Father Hathaway who gave him a comforting smile, before his attention turned back to Lewis. "What about Father James?" he asked, shyly.
James. The kid was on a first name basis with the man. Not having been granted that privilege, Lewis kept it professional. Well, as professional as it was possible to be under the circumstances. "Father Hathaway can come too, if he's not busy," he assured Kieran, as if it wasn't something the two of them had already discussed.
"If you're buying, Robbie," Father Hathaway replied.
Lewis gave the priest a look at the use of his nickname. Father Hathaway's face was passive as always but there was a little twinkle in his gray-blue eyes, and Lewis had to admire the cheek. What the hell? Professionalism was overrated anyway. "Of course, I'm buying, since you're both me guests. Let's clean up this mess and go, eh?"
As Kieran gathered up the discarded wrappers from the table, Lewis looked over at Father Hathaway and mouthed a silent, "Thank you." A pleased little smirk and a tip of the priest's head was his reply.
THE END