Putting Hathaway up in his spare bedroom had not been Lewis' intention. Hathaway was certainly welcome, but Lewis had thought that he would feel more comfortable recovering in his own home. The state of Hathaway's flat, however, had horrified Lewis.

He'd left the lad sleeping in the car whilst he'd gone inside. On opening the front door, he'd been assaulted by the smell of rotting rubbish and stale cigarette smoke. Stepping over the threshold, he'd stood dumbfounded at the sight that greeted him.

The flat, although having a lived-in feel, had always been tidy and clean whenever he'd called round in the past. The sight before him had been one of disarray, with papers strewn across every surface. Large sheets from a flipchart, full of Hathaway's carefully printed writing, had been tacked across the bookcase, making an impromptu whiteboard. Lewis had moved further into the room and scooped up a pile of papers from the coffee table. They were a mix of handwritten notes and photocopied reports, all relating to Anna Ivakina's murder case.

Dismay had washed over him in bitter waves. As he shuffled the papers on the coffee table into an untidy pile, he'd uncovered a large glass ashtray full to the brim with cigarette butts, its sour smell becoming more pungent now it was exposed. Several unlit cigarettes had been torn and crumbled next to the ashtray, and shreds of tobacco had fallen and been ground into the carpet.

Apprehensively, Lewis had abandoned the papers and moved to the kitchen. A check of the bin showed it half full of uneaten food, a mixture of noodles and naan bread and other staple take-away items. The fridge was empty apart from half a pint of milk and a lump of something Lewis concluded was once cheese but was now furred with green mould. Dirty mugs, glasses and cutlery cluttered the worktops. Beside the bin was a recycling box full of items ready to be put out for collection. Inside it were a few take-way containers, a pizza box and an empty Choco Pops cereal box. What held Lewis' attention though were the countless beer and wine bottles. He'd rummaged through the box trying to determine if the bottles had accumulated over a period of time, or if they were all recent additions. The two empty scotch bottles just increased his concern.

A decision made, he'd headed for Hathaway's bedroom. Finding a sports bag in the wardrobe, he'd filled it with enough clothes and necessary toiletries to last Hathaway a few days.

With a heavy heart he'd closed the door on the flat and headed back to his car.

Lewis was jolted back to the present when a hand brushed against his shoulder.

"He'll be fine, Robbie," Hobson assured as he turned to look at her.

After getting Hathaway to his spare bedroom, Lewis had, as gently as possible, manhandled Hathaway into pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt. Getting Hathaway's work shirt off had been a relatively simple process compared trying to get the t-shirt on, and Lewis had sworn quietly as he'd gingerly manoeuvred it over the lad's head. He'd baulked at trying to get Hathaway's cast through the armhole, and instead had taken a pair of scissors to the shirt.

A worried phone call to Hobson had resulted in her arriving on his doorstop twenty minutes later; ten minutes after that she had Hathaway's t-shirt on properly and his arm securely strapped across his chest and an assurance that it was quite normal for Hathaway to be groggy and to practically fall asleep standing up.

Hobson had agreed to stay with Hathaway so that Lewis could get back to the station and sort things out. Innocent was already there by the time he had returned and, in her quiet way, had been somewhat aggrieved to have had one of her officers assaulted.

Together, they had interviewed Gary and Stefan Wilkes and Tyson Peterson, failing to get any information out of them about Anna Ivakina. Innocent and Lewis had both agreed that they weren't involved in Anna's murder. There was nothing to connect them to the murder scene and all three had been almost frantic to provide proof of their whereabouts on the night of the murder, admitting to drug dealing to give themselves alibis. They were rattled enough by being questioned about a murder to confess to assaulting Hathaway, not wanting to be caught with drugs on them. Innocent had charged them with assaulting a police officer and drug dealing. Lewis had been caught between rage at the unfair fight, pride that Hathaway had not only detained Peterson but fought off the Wilkes as well, and despair that the lad had felt compelled to canvas the pubs and clubs and then to return to the crime scene alone. Hathaway was a sergeant; he should have commandeered a constable to go with him at the very least.

He turned his gaze back to Hathaway; who slept soundly, his broken arm angled across his chest and securely bound. His bruised and swollen face looked, if possible, even more spectacular and certainly more painful.

"He's been asleep over six hours, is he okay?"

"He'll be fine, Robbie," Hobson reiterated with a smile. "On top of working all night and the painkillers, I wouldn't be surprised if he's out of it for another few hours. He'll be very uncomfortable for a few days, but that eye is really the only concern. Thankfully the A&E staff got his contact lenses out before it swelled up completely."

In quiet despair Lewis rubbed a hand across his eyes. "He's taken this case to heart, Laura," he said quietly. "His flats a bloody mess and he hasn't been looking after himself, and I didn't notice." He turned to look at Hobson. "I didn't notice."

"You'll get to the bottom of this one," Hobson reassured him, as she squeezed Lewis' shoulder in support.

Lewis shook his head. "Not this time," he admitted bitterly. "We've got nothing. Innocent has charged the yobs that attacked James with assaulting a police officer and for possession of a Class A drug with intent. But if they were involved in young Anna's death, we can't prove it. And they're more than happy to confess to drug dealing on the Wood Farm Estate at the time of her murder."

"They've confessed to it, but can it be proved? Could they be making it up to save their collective necks?" Laura looked hard at Lewis.

He nodded sadly. "There'd been a call on the night of the murder from one of the Neighbourhood Watch ladies about a bunch of lads she suspected of dealing. We bought her in and she picked the three of the out of two separate line-ups. I've never seen anyone so relieved about being identified before."

With one last look at Hathaway, Lewis walked from the bedroom door and made his way into the kitchen and filled the kettle.

"You must have had a case or two in your time that made you react the same way as James," Hobson said as she sat down at the table.

"Aye, there was more than a couple," Lewis admitted as he added milk and tea bags to two mugs. "The difference being though, that although they ate away at me, I had Val, then the kids." He turned to face Hobson. "Having a family to come home to, a wife to talk to, kids to hug, it made it easier. You were forced to let some of it go. It gave you some space, time to clear your head, but..." Lewis let out a heavy sigh and he turned back to the boiling kettle.

"You never forget them," Hobson finished off for him, sadness lacing her voice. "And James has no one to lighten his burden."

"He could have come to me." Lewis placed the two mugs of tea on the table and sat down opposite Hobson. "I should have known that this one had got to him. I knew he was putting in some long hours. Dammit Laura, I should have done something sooner. He went off, without backup, trying to shake something loose." Lewis abruptly pushed away from the table and stood up, stalking the two steps to the counter and back to the table as he ran an agitated hand through his hair. "What if he's damaged that eye, Laura? He could be pulled from active duty. What the hell was he thinking?"

"Don't going borrowing trouble, Robbie," Laura warned gently. "There's nothing to suggest that James won't heal properly, and if there is some damage it may very well be easily treated." Hobson took a sip of her cooling tea, as if needing the time to consider her next words. "James needs your support, Robbie. Don't take your guilty feelings out on him. He doesn't deserve it."

Lewis was about to deny Hobson's allegation when he saw Hathaway shuffle into the room.

"James! What are you doing out of bed lad?" Lewis made his way across the room and gently grabbed the younger man's right arm as Hathaway started to sway backwards.

"Let's get him sat down," Hobson said as she appeared at Hathaway's left side.

"I'm fine," Hathaway stated, but gave no protest as he was led to the sofa. He sunk down into the cushions with a relieved sigh and closed his eyes as he leant his head against the back of the sofa.

Hobson grabbed a couple of throw cushions and pushed them between the arm of the sofa and the bottom of Hathaway's left elbow, giving the strapped arm some extra support.

"How's that?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Hathaway repeated.

"Yeah, you keep saying that," Lewis said. "Still don't believe it." He sat down on the coffee table in front of Hathaway. God, he looked rough. The right side of Hathaway's face was swollen with bruising. Lewis couldn't decide if the lad was incredibly pale or if it was the black and purple contusions that made the rest of his face look pallid.

"Here," Hobson suddenly said from beside them. "Drink this and take these, James." She held a mug in one hand and in the open palm of the other were two white pills.

Hathaway took the mug, giving Hobson a quick lop-sided smile as he noted the contents.

"I didn't think you'd feeling like eating just yet," she explained. "But you need to have something and some warm milk and honey will help your stomach, especially with taking these." She jiggled the pills in her hand.

"No, I'm fine," Hathaway refused, taking a sip from the mug.

"James," Robbie warned.

"They make me feel groggy, sir," Hathaway explained. "My head still feels fuzzy."

"You're feeling groggy, James, because your body needs to rest and recover," Hobson stated firmly, offering the pills to Hathaway once again. "These are just painkillers and you'll need them very soon. Your last dose was over six hours ago."

Lewis gently took the mug from Hathaway as Hobson passed the pills over to the reluctant man. Lewis handed the mug back over so Hathaway could swallow the pills down.

"Good boy," Hobson smiled, as she gently ruffled Hathaway's hair. "Right, I'm going to leave you boys alone. Behave yourselves."

Lewis stood up from the coffee table and walked Hobson to the door.

"Thank you for staying with him."

"He really will be fine, Robbie. He just needs some rest. He'll probably want to go home tomorrow if he's feeling better, and it's okay for him to do that," Hobson said kindly.

"I know," Lewis smiled. "But we need to have chat first and he's not going back to his flat until I've tidied it up and got some food in," he stated.

"Don't be too hard on him, it wasn't entirely his fault, remember," Hobson said as she opened the door and, with a quick pat on Lewis' arm, left the flat.

When he went back to the living room, Hathaway had fallen asleep on the sofa. Lewis didn't know how he was going to tell him they still didn't have Anna's murderer. It would bring little comfort to the lad to know the Wilkes and Peterson had admitted to assaulting him. Lewis decided though, it wouldn't be today. Instead, he would do his best to convince Hathaway to stay a couple of nights, at least until he could get Hathaway's flat in some sense of order, and then he would find the right moment.

Lewis promised himself to keep a better watch over Hathaway in future, resolving to never let him again bear such a weight alone. They'd have to talk at some point. Lewis would encourage Hathaway to tell him next time a case burdened him down so much. They would work it out together. They'd always managed to work things out between them in the past, haven't they?

But Anna would become an unsolved case and he and Hathaway would have to let her go, and move on to the next one. The forensic evidence would be stored, the paperwork filed and the database updated, ready and waiting for the day that something came along that would reopen the case. And Lewis knew that a copy of all the reports – forensic, post-mortem, witness statements, police activity – would always be in Hathaway's possession, waiting for the day Anna received justice.

Anna Ivakina would never be forgotten.