Inspector Morse 13 The Remorseful Day

by Colin Dexter

  indulging in a lot of Scottish whisky by the smell of it!"

  ' - when Lewis here rang and asked me to come along. Well, he's been a

  faithful soul most of the time, so . . "

  "So you just came along as a sort of personal favour?"

  "That's about it." (Andrews sidled silently from the room. ) "Well let

  me tell you one thing, matey. You won't be staying on as a personal favour

  is that clear? You'll be staying on because you're in charge of this case

  because that's an order. You may have had some excuse as far as the

  Harrison case was concerned: I could just about understand that."

  (Strange's voice had momentarily dropped to a semi-sympathetic register. )

  "But you've no bloody excuse now. And if you decide to get on your high

  horse again and start arguing the toss with me, you'll be up before the Chief

  Constable first thing Monday morning!"

  "The Chief's on furlough," interposed a brave Lewis.

  129

  "Shut up, Lewis! And he'll have your guts for garters, Morse. So

  that's settled. All you've got to do is sober up and put your thinking-cap

  on."

  "I usually think better when But Morse's disquisition on his personal style

  of ratiocination was cut short by a further knock, with Dr Hobson's pretty

  head appearing round the door.

  "Oh, sorry! It's just ' " Come in! " growled Strange, his jowls still

  wobbling.

  "Just thought I'd check. We've got him outside and Andrews says it's OK if '

  " Who is he? " asked Strange.

  "Don't know. I had a tentative feel round his pockets. No wallet, though,

  no cards ' " He's pretty easily recognizable though? "

  "Oh, yes. His face is fine. It's his stomach that's all a gory mess where

  the knife or whatever it was went in."

  "At least we've got a good mug-shot of him then."

  "Probably identify him straightaway. I got this from his trouser-pocket."

  Strange looked down at a white

  "Cardholder's Copy' receipt from Oddbins of Banbury Road, itemizing the

  purchase of a crate of Guinness, the number of the Visa credit card printed

  below in a faded indigo.

  "There we are, Lewis! Shouldn't be too difficult, should it?" He handed

  over the receipt with an unconvincing smile. "Unless you manage to lose

  that, of course."

  It was a hurtful dig. But the patient Lewis briefly examined the evidence

  himself, and sought to put a finger on the fairly obvious: "Not much chance

  this afternoon, sir. Saturday? The banks'll all be shut."

  "What? For Christ's sake, man! We've put someone on the moon, remember?

  And you say we can't trace a credit-card

  number because it's a bloody Saturday^. Is that what you're telling me? "

  Morse had remained silent during these exchanges; and remained so now, his

  brain already galloping several furlongs ahead of the field.

  And Lewis, after such a withering rebuke, also remained silent, holding the

  receipt tightly, like a punter clutching a winning betting-slip. Only

  Strange, it appeared, was willing to break the awkward silence as he turned

  again to Dr Hobson.

  "They're just carting him off, you say?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, let us know let Chief Inspector Morse know what you come up with.

  Sooner the quicker. Understood?"

  "Of course."

  The assembled personages rose to their feet; and matters at Sutton Courtenay

  were seemingly now at an end.

  But not so; not quite.

  It was Morse, at last, who made his brief though extra- ordinarily

  significant contribution to the afternoon's developments

  "Sir, I think you ought to have a look at him."

  "I don't like dead bodies any more than you do, Morse."

  "I know that, but. . ."

  "But what?"

  '. . . but you ought to have a look at him. " Morse spoke his words

  slowly and quietly.

  "You see, I think it's quite possible that you'11 recognize him."

  Frequently afterwards, in the post-Morse years, would Sergeant Lewis recall

  that afternoon at the fill-in site in Oxfordshire: when Chief Superintendent

  Strange had looked at the bloodless face of a murdered man; and when his

  erstwhile ruddy cheeks had paled to chalky white.

  "Bloody 'ell! I knew him, Morse. I interviewed him twice in the Harrison

  murder enquiry."

  131

  When the top brass had finally dispersed, Eddie Andrews let himself

  back into the now deserted office, turned on the TV, found Sport (Cricket) on

  Ceefax and noted with quiet satisfaction that Northamptonshire were really

  doing rather well that day.

  chapter twenty-nine caliph: And now how shall we employ the time of waiting

  for our deliverance? jafar: I shall meditate upon the mutability of human

  affairs masrur: And I shall sharpen my sword upon my thigh hassan: And I

  shall study the pattern of this carpet caliph: Hassan, I will join thee: Thou

  art a man of taste (James Eiroy Flecker, Hassan) most patiently no, most

  impatiently had PC Kershaw been waiting for his passenger to emerge from the

  closeted consultations. Like some starry-eyed teenager he had been looking

  forward so much to his first date with Susan Ho, a delightful, delicately

  featured Chinese girl, a researcher at Oxford's Criminological Department;

  and although he had been able to contact her after Morse's diktat, neither he

  nor she had been particularly pleased.

  He opened the passenger door as Morse approached. "It's all right, Kershaw.

  Sergeant Lewis'11 be taking me back to Oxford."

  "You mean ?" "I mean you can bugger off, yes." "Couldn't you have told

  me earlier, sir? I've been .. ." But his voice trailed off as he found

  Morse's blue eyes looking straight at him; uncomprehending, cold.

  ^S

  Lewis was grinning wryly as he pushed the police car into first gear.

  'you never treated even me as bad as that. "

  "Cocky young sod! University graduate. God help us!"

  "What's he doing with us?"

  "Dunno. Learning how to make a cup o' tea, I shouldn't wonder."

  "Exactly where I started."

  "I hope he's better than you were."

  "Isn't it about time you told--' " I just don't believe this! " said Morse

  as he picked up the single cassette that lay in the tray beside the

  gear-lever, inserted it into the player, and subsequently sank back into his

  seat with the look of a man sublimely satisfied with life.

  "Just find out who usually drives dlis car, Lewis. He's a man after my own

  heart. I never realized we had such sensitivity in the Force.

  There's not much of it out there, you know. "

  For a moment it seemed that Lewis was going to speak. But clearly he thought

  better of it; and as he drove way above the speed limit down the A34 to

  Oxford, he listened, with considerable enjoyment himself, to the Prelude to

  Wagner's Parsi- fal, convinced that Morse was soundly albeit unsnoringly

  asleep.

  "Turn off here, Lewis."

  "Next exit's best, sir avoid the city traffic that way."

  "Turn off here' So Lewis turned off there, driving sedately now, up the

  Abingdon Road, past Christ Church, straight over through Cornmarket and

  Magdalen Street, where (as bidden) he tur
ned left at the lights by the

  Martyrs' Memorial and duly stopped (as bidden) on the double-yellows beneath

  the canopy of the Randolph, above which the Union Jack and the flag of the EC

  drooped languorously that late afternoon.

  Lewis was still in brave mood.

  "Like the Super said, don't you think you ought ' " Think'? That's exactly

  why I'm here to think! I can't think unless I'm given the chance to think.

  You don't imagine I drink just for the pleasure of it, do you? "

  Morse sat back with his pint of bitter and stared serenely at the Ashmolean

  Museum just opposite in Beaumont Street.

  "If there's a bar anywhere in Britain with a better view than this . .."

  Lewis hesitated awhile over his orange juice.

  "You ready to tell me how you knew it was Paddy Flynn?"

  "I didn't really know. Just that I always wondered about him a bit.

  Key witness, agreed? Picked up Frank Harrison from the railway station, then

  parked outside the house just when the burglar alarm was ringing. "

  Lewis nodded.

  "Only person to give Harrison a convincing alibi."

  It was Morse's turn to nod.

  "That's why Strange interviewed him."

  "Interviewed him twice."

  "Suspicious mind, that man's got!"

  "But you're still not telling me how you guessed it was him."

  "Full of guesses, what we do, isn't it? After the first couple of days, I

  only read about the case at second hand ' " Like me. "

  ' - but I remember thinking I'd have put an each-way bet on some of the

  outsiders in the race: the builder he gave himself and several others an

  alibi; the landlord at the Maiden's Arms he's got the testosterone level of a

  randy billy-goat; and then there was the taxi driver . . .

  "Why him, though?"

  "Put yourself in his position. You pick up your fare outside 135

  the

  station and drive him out to Lower Swinstead; and there you're asked if you

  want to earn a bit a lot of extra money. You don't really have to do much at

  all. Fellow says he's going into the house - his house, anyway and the

  burglar alarm is going to ring. All you've got to do is to say, if you're

  questioned about things, that you heard the alarm ringing while you were

  parked outside. Not too difficult? The alarm was ringing by then. And

  you're offered what?

  I dunno twenty or thirty quid, two or three hundred quid? But the key point

  is that Flynn never fully realized how vital his testimony was going to be. "

  "Are you making it all up?"

  "Yes! So allow me to continue making it all up. Flynn's got little idea of

  why he's getting such a bonus for doing virtually bugger-all.

  But then he starts to read a few press-reports; and unlike our boys he puts

  two and two together, and he smiles to himself because he knows the answer.

  And pretty soon he realizes he's sold himself stupidly cheap, and he decides

  he'll balance the books a bit better. "

  "Are you saying what I think you're saying? He's been trying to blackmail

  Frank Harrison?"

  Morse drained his pint.

  "Not sure. But I'd like to bet that someone that night was more than ready

  to pay his way out of trouble."

  "Or her way."

  "Could be, yes." Morse contemplated an empty glass.

  "Is it your round or mine, by the way?"

  "Yours."

  Morse consulted his wristwatch.

  "Good gracious me! Time you drove me home. I need a shot of insulin, Lewis.

  You should've reminded me."

  'you still haven't told me why you thought it was Flynn," complained Lewis as

  he drove north through the Summertown shopping area.

  "Small man that's why."

  "So's the landlord of the Maiden's Arms."

  "Ah, but Flynn was very fond of Guinness."

  "What the hell's that got to do with anything?"

  "I forget. I'm, er, I'm getting muddled."

  Lewis pulled up outside Morse's flat.

  "Anything . . . anything I can do for you, sir?"

  "Certainly not. It's just that I'm beginning to feel exquisitely sleepy,

  that's all. The day's still comparatively young, I grant you.

  But don't ring me not tonight not unless anything dramatic happens. "

  "You mean' (Lewis's heart rose within him) 'you mean you are going to take on

  the case?"

  "Different ball-game, isn't it? As they say in Chicago or somewhere."

  "Shall I let the Super know?"

  "I've already told him when we were at the rubbish dp."

  Lewis shook his head in benign bewilderment as Morse made to get out of the

  car.

  "And I'll take possession of this -just temporarily, of course. And if you

  can find out whose it is . . ."

  He pocketed the Parsifal cassette and was walking towards his front door when

  Lewis wound down the car window.

  "You can keep it as long as you like, sir. But let me have it back when

  you've finished with it. They said at Blackwell's it's the top recording by

  a fellow called Napperbush."

  "You mean .. .?"

  Lewis nodded happily.

  "Thou art a man of taste."

  "I thought you'd be pleased, sir."

  "By the way, Lewis, we pronounce him

  "K-napper-t-s-busch" ," amended the Chief Inspector, pedantically separating

  the consonantal clusters.

  W

  chapter thirty Often would the deaf man know the answers had he but the

  faculty of hearing the questions. Likewise would the un imagingative man

  guess wisely at the answers had he but the wit of posing to himself the

  appropriate questions (Viscount Mumbles, from Essays on the Imagination) As

  lewis drove up to HQ, one particular thought was troubling him as it often

  had: the marked inferiority of his own mental processes compared with those

  of the man he had just left; the man who was doubtless now sleeping off the

  effects of what had been (even for Morse) a hyper- alcoholic afternoon. It

  wasn't that his own processes were necessarily all that much slower; just

  that they seemed always to leave the starling-blocks way after Morse had

  sprinted on ahead.

  Obviously (Lewis knew it! ) innate intelligence was a big factor in

  everything: the speed of perception and understanding, the analysis of data,

  the linkage of things. But there was something else: the knack of

  prospective thinking, of looking ahead and asking oneself the right

  questions, as well as the wrong questions, about what was likely to happen in

  the future; and then of coming up with some answers, be they right or wrong.

  So frequently in previous cases had Morse led him along, and by prompting the

  right questions evinced the right sort of answers.

  "Socradc dialectic', Morse had called it, recounting

  how Socrates had managed to elicit from a totally untutored slave-boy the

  basic principles of plane geometry -just by asking the right questions.

  So.

  So, in his office that early evening, Lewis visualized himself seated

  opposite Morse opposite Socrates, rather.

  You 'we got to find the car, haven't you ? The car that dumped the body?

  Where will you find it?

  I don't know.

  Where would you have driven that car?

  I don't know. Anywhere, I suppose.r />
  Isn't there blood everywhere? Blood all over your clothes?

  Yes.

  Haven't you got to change your clothes then ?

  Yes.

  So you couldn't just leave the car anywhere, could you? You couldn't walk

  too far all covered in blood?

  No.

  So where would you go ?

  I'd go home, like as not.

  Before, or after, you'd ditched the car?

  Before, probably, although . . .

  Go on!

  Might be a bit risky. Neighbours would probably notice the strange car.

  Might even notice the blood-stained clothes.