Inspector Morse 13 The Remorseful Day
Page 24
bondage session that evening. I think that was somebody else. And I think
it's most likely that our lover-boy knew that someone else."
"And in your book Barren was the lover-boy?"
"Well, he was doing a job for her hanging about the place quite a bit strong,
good-looking sort of fellow the husband away a good deal of the time .. ."
"But I'll say it again what if it wasn't Ban-on?"
"Plenty of other candidates, surely?"
"Oh yes?"
Morse measured his words carefully.
"I think that anyone meeting Yvonne Harrison, if she turned things on a bit
anyone, including me - would have given a month's beer money' " A week's in
your case. "
' - for an hour or two between the sheets, or between the bedposts, or
between anywhere else. By, er, by all accounts she was a . well, let's say
she had the same effect on men as they tell me Viagra has on the impotent, or
the victims of chronic erectile dysfunction, as they're known these days. "
"Really! So for all we know, this chap could have been a client from North
Wales or somewhere."
"More probably South Wales, sir."
"And much more probably, somebody local."
"Agreed."
"Any ideas?"
"Well, the only fellow I've met in that little community who's topped up with
surplus testosterone is the landlord of the Maiden's Arms."
"You've interviewed him?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that it wasn't
Ban-on. You see I still think he's the key to all this ridiculously complex
business. But complex only because those involved deliberately made it
complex."
"Barren's phone calls, you mean? No luck there?"
"No. Change of BT office, change of procedure, change of monitoring, files
re-classified ... no hope! Wouldn't help anyway. All Barren said was that
he'd rung her and the number was engaged; and then rung her again and the
call wasn't answered. Neat, wasn't it? No record of anything."
"He was lying, you think?"
"Yes."
"What about the burglar alarm?"
"Thunderstorm, possibly that sets 'em off."
"There wasn't a thunderstorm that night."
"No? Probably a cat then they set 'em off too."
"They hadn't got a cat."
"Oh."
Strange lumbered to his feet.
"Look! You surely don't still think Barren's your man, do you?"
Morse smiled.
"Don't I?"
chapter fifty I can't tell a lie not even when I hear one (John Bangs,
I862-I922) in the world of detective fiction, alibis are frequently concocted
in order to mystify the reader. In what is called the 'real' world they
usually provide an invaluable method of eliminating a few runners in an
already limited field, thereby affording the police a better prospect of
backing the likely winner. For (except in Morse's mind) an alibi is an
alibi: if someone is seen in one place at one particular time, it seems
highly improbable that this same someone may be seen in some other place at
the same time. Yet it is sometimes difficult adequately to corroborate an
alibi viz, that plea of the criminal to have been in another place at the
material time; and alibis may well be doubted, closely checked, and indeed,
on occasion, be spectacularly broken.
This in various ways.
It is highly unlikely, for example, that a well-focused video camera will be
in operation in that first particular place; and even if it is, some smart
electronic alee may well be able to doctor the evidence. Almost always,
therefore, corroboration will depend on the testimony of eyewitnesses who,
even if honest, can be the victims of tricks of memory over times and
sightings; or, on the testimony of witnesses who are dishonest, and are
willing to fabricate falsehoods - for friends, perhaps, or for a fee. The
alibi problem is further complicated by the
confident assertion of some mystic sects that one can, in fact, be in two
places simultaneously, although the police are grateful that such bizarre
beliefs are currently not widely embraced.
Morse himself championed the view that all alibis should probably be ignored
in the first instance, on the not illogical grounds that if just one of them
were suspect, it was sensible to assume that all of them were . . .
Such views (with variants) Sergeant Lewis had heard several times before, and
it was therefore with some diffidence that he broached the subject the
following morning.
"Don't you reckon it would be a good idea to get all these alibis sorted out
a bit clearer?"
"A bit more clearly, Lewis."
"The night Mrs Harrison was murdered, the morning Flynn and Repp were
murdered ' " And don't forget Monday morning. "
"Barron, you mean? You surely don't still think ?"
Morse held up his right hand in surrender.
"You're right, perhaps.
Let's make a list. Well, you make a list. Ready? "
He steepled his slim fingers in front of him and stared into the middle
distance, though with little observable enthusiasm in his eyes: "Frank
Harrison Simon Harrison Sarah Harrison Harry Repp John Barren ..."
"That's the short-list?" Morse nodded.
"OK. First I'll recheck where they all were, or where they were all supposed
to be, first when Mrs Harrison " Already been done. You've read the files.
" " Weren't checked very thoroughly though, some of 'em. "
"Long time ago, Lewis. People forget or want to forget or pretend to
forget."
"A day like that though, when she was murdered? Biggest day in village
history. Everybody remembers where they were, like when Kennedy was
assassinated."
"Nonsense, Lewis! People remember where they were and what they were doing
at the time they heard of things like that. Agreed. But what else? Do you
remember what you were doing for the rest of the day when Kennedy was shot?
Do you?"
"No. I take your point, sir."
"Who are you thinking of particularly?"
"Well the family got away with some pretty flimsy alibis, didn't they?
Especially Simon and Sarah. No one seems to have checked them much at all."
"Ye-es."
"Simon said he got home from work about a quarter-past five, had a meal, then
went down to the ABC cinema in George Street to see The Full Monty. Still
had his ticket if I remember rightly."
Morse nodded and Lewis continued: "Sarah? She was at a Diabetes Conference
in the Radcliffe Infirmary that day no doubt about that. And after it had
finished she went over the road to the Royal Oak for a drink with a few
friends no doubt about that either and then left for her flat in Jericho at
about a quarter-to-seven, where she listened to The Archers, had a long hot
bath, watched the Nine O'clock News, and then had an early night."
"Making no mention in the course of her evidence that she had a phone call in
the middle of the evening, as a result of which she tore down to the ABC
Cinema, bought a ticket for The Full Monty ' " Probably no seats left that
night, sir. "
' - bought a ticke
t and promptly tore it across the middle and then tore out
of the place."
"Sir! Not so much of this tearing about all over the shop! She'd sprained
her ankle just before then and she'd probably be hobbling ' ' -she hobbled
out of the cinema with a very valuable little alibi in her pretty little
hand."
"Alibi for Simon, you mean?"
"Or for herself."
"You're losing me again, sir."
"I'm losing myself. Don't worry."
"What about Frank Harrison?"
"You tell me' " Well, anyone who finds the body first is usually going to be
number one in your book, I know that. But there's no doubt about Paddy Flynn
being on taxi-shift from 8 p. m. that night. He was seen on and off by his
fellow-drivers as well as being contacted at regular intervals from base. No
doubt either about him picking up Frank Harrison about eleven from Oxford
railway station. But that's not to say is it, sir? - that Harrison had just
got off a train at the railway station.
It would be the most natural thing in the world for anyone to think he had,
but . "
Morse smiled.
"Could hardly have put it better myself. But somebody paid Flynn for
something. So it was probably for something that happened after eleven
o'clock. And there was only one person with Flynn then: Frank Harrison. And
he's the only one of the whole bunch with the sort of money to buy Flynn off."
"And buy Repp off, if we're right about him being there that night.
Harrison must be earning, well. . . "
"A little more than you are, Lewis, yes. In fact he got a bonus - a bonus of
85,000 last year. Seems he was sorting out his bank's involvement in the
Nazi confiscation of Jewish assets, and his bosses were more than pleased
with him."
"How on earth do you know that?"
"Aren't we supposed to be detectives?"
Lewis pursued the matter no further.
"So, what do you think?"
"Waste of time as far as the children are concerned. But it might help to
look at their father again."
"You think it was Harrison who murdered his wife?"
"I dunno."
"You think he murdered Flynn and Repp?"
"He had enough reason to. He couldn't go on forking out indefinitely."
"So we'd better have a careful check on wherever he was that Friday morning."
"Well, wherever else he was he wasn't in his London office."
"How on earth ?"
"What else can I tell you?" asked Morse wearily.
"I've just asked you. Do you think he murdered Flynn and Repp?"
"He could have done. But somehow I don't believe he did."
"So who . . .?"
"I keep telling you, Lewis. My modest bet is still on Barron."
"Shouldn't we be looking a bit more into their backgrounds? Repp's?
Flynn's? Barren's? "
"I don't think we're going to get anything more out of Debbie Richardson."
"Why do you say that?"
"Just a feeling, Lewis. Just a feeling."
"What about Flynn?"
Morse nodded.
"You're right. He was being paid for some- thing.
Exactly what, though . . . Yes. Leave that to me. "
"What about Barron? Shall I leave that to you, as well?"
"No, no! The less I have to do with the women in this case the better. You
go along. And if you can find out more about where he was or where he was
supposed to be on both those days . .. Yes, you do that!"
"All right. But don't you think we ought to widen the net, sir?
Haven't we got any other suspects? "
"Tom Biffen, perhaps?"
Lewis's eyebrows shot up.
"You mean ?"
"The landlord of the Maiden's Arms, no less. We'll go out and interview him
together once we get a chance. You'll be able to buy me a pint."
"But wasn't it a Tuesday when Mrs Harrison was murdered?"
"You're right, yes."
"Well, he always goes out fishing on Tuesdays, Biffen - dawn to dusk."
"Really? How on earth do you know that?"
"Aren't we supposed to be detectives, sir?"
chapter fifty-one Once cheated, wife or husband feels the same; and where
there's marriage without love, there will be love without marriage (Benjamin
Franklin, Poor Richard's AlmamuK) at 9. 30 a. m. the following day, Mrs
Linda Barron stepped back from the threshold, nodding rather wearily as Lewis
produced his ID. In the kitchen, he accepted her offer of instant coffee.
She was a brunette of medium height, slightly overweight, with a small,
cupid-lipped mouth, wearing a blue-striped kitchen apron over skirt and
blouse.
Lewis decided she was coping with life, just about.
The smallish kitchen was cluttered with shelves and cupboards, the
floor-space additionally limited by the usual appliances: cooker, dishwasher,
fridge, micro-wave, washing machine. Lewis immediately noticed the damp
patch of crumbling ceiling over the cooker. Same old story! Husband a
plumber, and a tap-washer never gets fixed; husband a builder, and there's a
two-year wait before a bit of re-plastering gets done . . Difficult to say,
offhand, whether the Barrens were better or worse off than they appeared.
From experience, Lewis had learned never to try his hand at commiseration or
counselling; but when he questioned her, he did so in the kindly fashion that
was his wont. He asked her tactfully about the times and places relevant to
her husband's
alibis; more tactfully about the family finances; most tactfully about the
state of her marriage.
Alibis? On the two key dates she could be of little help. Mondays to
Fridays he usually got home about 6 p. m. " when she'd have a cooked meal
ready for him. Between 8 and 9 p.m. he'd quite often go out for a pint or
two, either down at the local or sometimes at a pub in Burford. But he
wasn't a big drinker. She knew he'd rung up Mrs Harrison on the night of her
murder something about roofing dies but he'd not been able to get through.
Tried twice he'd told her so; the police knew all about that, though: it had
been important evidence. On the second key date, the Friday, he'd gone off
to Thame in the morning, she remembered that. He'd been asked for an
estimate on some work there, and he'd gone over to size up the job. She
didn't know didn't ask what he'd done after that; but he was back home at the
usual sort of time. He always was on Fridays, because it was eggs-and-chips
day his favourite meal.
MrJ. Barron, Builder, was going up in Lewis's esteem. Money? They were OK.
For the past three years or so houses were selling fairly freely again; and
mobility in the housing market always meant new owners wanting some
renovation or structural changes: conservatories, extensions, garages, loft-
conversions, patios. Yes, the past few years had been fairly good for them:
she knew that better than he did. Her part in the business, for which she
took a small official salary, was to look after the books: tax returns,
invoices, VAT, expenses, bad debts everything. If he was ever in the habit
of accepting cash instead of the usual cheque-payments, she wasn't aware of
it; and quite certainly neither of them was sufficiently bright in
; business-finance to be able to exploit any tax loopholes. She knew nothing
about any regular payments in cash. ("What payments?" ) She'd have known if
any envelopes had arrived through the post, because the mail was invariably
delivered after he'd set off for work every morning. They had a joint
account; and he had a separate private account, with an overdraft facility of
2,000.
Mr J. Barron, Builder, Lewis decided, was hardly in the Gates or the Soros
brackets.
Marriage? It was only here that Linda Barron was less than fluent in her
answers.
"Would you say the pair of you had a " tight" marriage?"
'. . Perhaps not, no. "
"Was he ever unfaithful?"
"Aren't wtorimen?"