"Through The Mists"
Three
"This bond between us can't be broken"
Lewis had been given strict doctor's orders that he was to take at least a fortnight before returning to work. Five days after being discharged, he had had enough of being at home. So it was that mid-Tuesday morning he walked cautiously into the Kidlington HQ building. Everyone stopped him, told him they were glad he was okay and how terrible it must have been. He smiled and nodded. They didn't really want to know that he couldn't sleep at nights, that he awoke hour after hour, sweating profusely, pulse racing, mind clinging to the white blaze of agony that had overwhelmed him each and every time the knife had cut.
He wanted to see Morse, wanted to talk because he knew his boss of old, and although Phils was rightly being held for murder and attempted murder, there were unanswered questions that only Morse would know to ask. Yet he hadn't asked them, and Lewis was finding it becoming more and more important to him that this did not remain between them.
Their office was empty, and Lewis felt a wave of desperation the likes of which he'd only imagined before. Fighting down the panic, he hurried up to Strange's office, only just remembering to knock before entering. The simple normality of seeing his boss' boss sitting behind his desk reading the morning paper served to stop the mounting hysteria in its path, and Lewis was left standing in the doorway, white and trembling, suddenly cold.
Strange was on his feet in a moment, coming around to direct Lewis to a chair before
asking Dixon to bring them some tea and closing the office door. He pulled up a chair next
to his sergeant, watching the other man with barely hidden empathy. "Should you be
here, Lewis?"
It took him a few moments to find his voice. "No, Sir." He didn't look up, and
began to pick at the frayed edges of the dressing on his still-bandaged left hand.
Strange put a hand on his shoulder, directing him silently to look up. "Are you all
right, Sergeant?"
"I... I wanted to see the Chief."
"He and Sergeant Kershaw are out checking up on a suspicious death in Summertown.
They'll be back soon, I'm sure. Probably after poor Adrian's been coerced into lunch at
the Fox and Hare or the White Hart."
Strange chuckled, expecting the lighter note to
bring a smile to Lewis' face. But Lewis only felt another stab of hurt.
Dixon knocked and entered with a small tray - two mugs of steaming tea and a plate of
biscuits. He smiled at Lewis - an honest, open smile. "It's good to see you back,
Sergeant," he commented. "We were all worried."
Lewis thanked him. He'd received a card - signed by many - and a few gifts from the station during his days in the hospital and at home. He had yet to properly thank people, and he took this opportunity, knowing instinctively that Dixon would have been one charged with making the purchases.
As the other sergeant closed the door behind him Lewis took up a mug slowly, checking
his shaking hand was steady enough to hold a container of boiling liquid.
Strange picked up his own mug, eyes wide with concern. "You know you really shouldn't
be here."
Lewis nodded briefly. It was obvious he didn't want to talk, so Strange filled him in on the few occurrences that he'd missed in his absence. Phils had been officially charged. The arraignment was next week and there would be no bail for him. There had been more trouble at Hanbury House. Lady Hanbury had been released from jail early and the journalists had been plaguing her and her family. Strange had little sympathy, and for a few fleeting moments, when he managed to shift his thoughts to this new development, neither did Lewis.
Tea finished, Lewis finally excused himself. He would check if Morse was back and then
go home, he promised.
His hopes weren't high; the pubs were just opening and surely Sergeant Kershaw would be
more than happy to take the legendary Chief Inspector for a pint. Yet as he approached the
office he shared with his boss, Lewis could hear that so-familiar voice. It sounded like
Morse was on the phone; he picked up a few snippets.
"...yes, I know that! What I'm trying to.... Well you could have told me that in the
first instance..... What? No. No, don't bother....."
Lewis smiled contentedly. He'd missed the miserable sod for some inexplicable reason.
Pushing the door open, he entered the room silently and sat down on the edge of his desk,
watching Morse. Only when his boss slammed the phone back down did he look up to see his
sergeant sitting there grinning.
"Lewis!" At once, the frown was gone and the anger melted. "You're not
supposed to be in yet, are you?"
Lewis shook his head, but he was still smiling. "How are you?"
"Fragile," he finally admitted. "But I'd like to buy you lunch...."
He trailed off as Sergeant Kershaw stepped into the office waving a set of car keys. "Whenever you're ready, Sir!" Then his eyes met Lewis', and for a moment the visual exchange was a taut thread of territorial challenge.
Morse stood, unaware perhaps of anything amiss. "It's all right, Kershaw, you're
off the hook. Sergeant Lewis here has made me an offer I absolutely can't refuse."
Lewis smiled, relieved somehow. "You'll have to drive, I'm afraid, Sir." But
Morse was already out in the corridor.
"Well, I wouldn't expect you to with that hand, and those injuries. What *are* you
doing here, Lewis? And how did you get here?"
"Taxi, Sir."
Their voices reached back to Sergeant Kershaw, where he stood in the doorway of their office realizing at last that the path of his career was never going to venture towards working for the great man he idolized.
*
Morse drove them out to the same pub he'd taken Lewis to when they'd had Seth Greene in
custody.
At the bar, Lewis ordered a pint of Theakstons' Old Peculiar and a half a Clementine.
Morse frowned. "Not drinking?"
"Can't, Sir, still on the pills."
"Of course, I'm sorry."
The beer garden was quiet, and with their food ordered, Lewis decided it would be best
to get serious matters out of the way.
"While we're waiting, Sir, why don't you ask me all those things you should have
asked me in the hospital?"
Morse sighed, a lopsided expression of affectionate patience gentling his face. "It's
over, Lewis, let it be."
"No." His voice was suddenly desperate, and to emphasise his plea, he reached
out for Morse's hand, clasping it tightly. "Ask. Me."
For a few moments, Morse simply stared at their fingers. He pulled back slowly, gently,
meeting the haunting blue eyes of his sergeant. "Lewis...." Those eyes flashed,
and Morse finally relented. "All right, all right."
He wrapped his hands around
the pint glass, the beer remaining untouched. "When we went into the master's lodge,
and saw the bodies, why did you react as you did?"
Lewis frowned; it hadn't been the question he had been expecting. 'Why did you lie to me
about the phone, Lewis?' had been one. 'Who was the accomplice?' had been another. But he
did know the answer. All too well. "I recognized him." Quietly.
"Alex Ladbery." Lewis nodded. "Founder member of a rather elite escort
service that ran from Lonsdale College." Another nod. "Anthony Phils found out,
and killed them both to protect the reputation of the college. A twisted way of doing it,
if you ask me. What I don't know is who held you while that bastard attacked you."
Lewis smiled. That was more like it. "His name was ... Stuart, that's all I know. He
grabbed me from behind as I went for my phone. The timing's a bit hazy... but I think
after the third or fourth cut, I managed to turn, and I saw him and he saw me. He let go.
I don't know after that. But it's my guess that he rang for the ambulance."
"Why did you lie?"
"You know why I lied."
Morse conceded the point. There was only one plausible connection between Alex Ladbery and
Sergeant Robert Lewis. And his name was Stuart.
"Will this mean my job, Sir?"
Morse gave him that look again. "This stays between you and me. I'm not going to lose you because some college scout got over-zealous in his job description." He looked up toward the pub as the landlord brought out two plates; smoked salmon and dill on white and pie and chips. He missed Lewis' expression of gratitude, but the man was still smiling when Morse picked up his pint and thanked their impromptu waiter. He actually grinned. "Oh, stop it!"
With some difficulty, Lewis cut into the steak pie. The ate in companionable silence,
just enjoying the sunshine and the peaceful surroundings.
"Is Kershaw with you ... until I get back?"
Morse shrugged, and nodded. "Probably. He's a good man." He glanced up in time
to see his sergeant's frown. And then he remembered the moment in the office, when Kershaw
had walked in. He smiled to himself incredulously, but Lewis really had had enough today
and he thought he wouldn't harass his sergeant further. He simply added, "He's good,
but he's not you." It was worth the priceless smile. "How are you, really?"
"It's still quite painful. And... I don't sleep too well."
"Nightmares?"
"Very, very vivid ones."
"You need to keep your mind active, give it something else to dwell on."
"Any suggestions?"
"Paperwork?" But it was a tentative try.
Lewis laughed. "That doesn't actually sound too bad."
"Maybe I should send Dixon over with some."
They finished eating, and Morse turned down the offer of a second pint. "There is
just one thing that doesn't fit."
It was such characteristic timing that Lewis may have been worried later if Morse hadn't
asked. "Go on."
"Why would Stuart have helped Phils?"
"I don't know. I... I've been thinking it over and over, and all I could come up with
is that Stuart was with the master and Alex Ladbery when Phils burst in on them. Maybe...
maybe Phils threatened him."
"What does 'Stuart' do when he's not... out with friends?"
"He's a lecturer, All Souls College, I think."
"That would be grounds enough for blackmail I suppose." Morse looked up and smiled. "Maybe I will have that second pint, Lewis. But I'll get it."
When he sat down again, the questions were still etched into his face, burning in his
eyes.
"Ask me." Spoken with a little impatience and a great deal of good humour.
"I don't know how to." Morse frowned. "It's... Stuart."
Lewis nodded. "I met Alex Ladbery that morning we were at the master's lodge, looking
into the suicide of that student. I met him again at a pub in the city a few nights
later." Morse's eyes widened, but he said nothing. "He was friendly, chatty, we
talked for hours. At the end of the night he handed me a card, said to give him a ring. I
didn't, for about a week. And then I had a bad day at work, Val was out when I got home,
and I rang the number. Alex set up a ... date between Stuart and I. We met at a hotel, out
of town, had a meal, drinks... and then I chickened out."
Morse smiled a little sadly. "Didn't like him?"
"I liked him a lot, but... I dunno." Lewis was smiling, but there was a sadness
in his eyes that touched Morse's heart.
"It's a dangerous path you're walking, Robert," he said quietly. "Please be
careful."
A smile, and a nod ended the conversation. Under usual circumstances he would have had a team of constables searching for 'Stuart'. But Lewis neither wanted nor needed that. Stuart had - after all - saved his life. Eventually.
Lewis glanced at his watch. "I'd better get you back to work, before Sergeant
Kershaw reports us missing."
Morse chuckled. "I thought you two got on."
"We do." Lewis sighed. "Guess I'm just jealous."
"Jealous?" Morse laughed at that, although not unkindly. "Lewis...." Whatever he was going to say, he simply shook his head once.
* * * * *