Inspector Morse 11 The Daughters of Cain

by Colin Dexter

  In his summing up, the Coroner stressed the evil na-ture of trafficking in drags, and pointed to the ready availability of such drugs as a major contributory factor in Rodway's death.

  Taken in the fa'st place to alleviate anxiety, they had in all probability merely served to aggravate it, with the tragic consequences of which the court had heard.

  Matthew's mother is reluctant to accept the Coroner's verdict. Speaking from her home in Leicester, Mrs. Mary Rodway wished only to recall a bright, caring son who had every prospect of success before him.

  "He was so talented in many ways. He was very good at hockey and tennis. He had a great love of music, and played the viola in the National Youth Orchestra.

  "I know I'm making him sound like a dream son. Well, that's what he was." (See Leader, p.8)

  Morse turned to the second cutting, taken from the same issue: A DEGREE TOO FAR A recently commissioned study highlights the increasing percentage of Oxford graduates who fail to find suitable employment. Dr. Clive Hornsby, Senior Reader in Social Sciences at Lonsdale College, has endorsed the implications of these findings, and suggests that many students, fully aware of employment prospects, strive for higher-class degrees than they are competent to achieve. Others, as yet mercifully few, adopt the alternative course of abandoning hope, of seeking consolation in drink and THE DAUGHTERS OF CAIN drags, and sometimes of concluding that life is not worth the living of it. It may well be that Oxford University, through its various advisory agencies and help-lines, is fully aware of these and related problems, although we are not wholly convinced of this. The latest suicide in an Oxford College (see p. I) prompts renewed concern about the pressures on our undergraduate community here, and the ways in which additional advice and help can he pro-vided.

  Morse now mined again to the third cutting, taken from the Oxford Times of Friday, June 18, 1993: a shorter article, flanked by a photograph of "Dr. F. F. Maclure,' a clean-shaven, rather mournful-looking man, pictured in full aca~ demic dress.

  PASTORAL CARE DEFENDED

  Following the latest in a disturbing sequence of Suicides, considerable criticism has been levelled against-the Uni-versity's counselling arrangements. But Dr. Felix Mc Lure, former Senior Lecturer in Ancient History at Wolsey Col-lege, has expressed his disappointment that so many have rushed into the arena with allegations of indifference and neglect. In fact, according to Dr. Mac Clure, the Univer-sity has been instrumental over the past year in promoting several initiatives, including the formation of Oxford Uni-versity Counselling and Help (OUCH) of which he was a founder-member. "More should be done," he told our re-porter.

  "We all agree on that score. But there should also he some recognition of the University's present concern and commimaent."

  "You'll soon know those things off by heart," ventured a well-pleased Lewis as he stopped in a leafy lane on the eastern side of the London Road and briefly consulted his street-map, before setting off again.

  "It's not that. It's. just that I'm a slow reader."

  "What if you'd been a quick reader, sir? Where would you be now.9"

  "Probably been a proof-reader in a newspaper office.

  They could certainly do with one," mumbled Morse as he considered "Maclure" and "Mc Lure" and "Mac Clure" in the last cutting, with still no sign of the genuine article, "former Senior Lecturer..."

  Interesting, that extra little piece of the jigsaw--that "former"...

  Lewis braked gently outside Number 14 Evington Road South; then decided to continue into the drive, where the low-profile tires of the Jaguar crunched into the deep gravel.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death (ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON, The Two Voices)

  Mrs. Mary Rodway, a smartly dressed, slim-figured, pleas-antly featured woman in her late forties, seemed quite willing to talk about herself--at least for a start.

  Four years previously (she told the detectives) her hus-band, a highly-salaried constructional engineer, had run off with his Personal Assistant. The only contact between her-self and her former marriage-partner was now effected via the agency of solicitors and banks. She lived on her own happily enough, she supposed--if anyone could ever live happily again after the death of an only child, especially a child who had died in such dubious circumstances.

  She had seen Mc Clure's murder reported in The Inde pendent; and Morse wasted no time in telling her of the specific reason for his visit: the cuttings discovered among the murdered man's papers which appeared firmly to under-line his keen interest in her son, Ma Uhew, and perhaps in the reasons for his suicide.

  "He was quite wrong--the Coroner. You do realise that?" Mary Rodway lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply.

  "You don't believe it was suicide?"

  "I didn't say that. What I do say is that the Coroner was wrong in making such a big thing about those hard drugs. That's what they call them: 'hard' as opposed to 'soft.' It's just the same with pornography, I believe, Inspector."

  Whilst Morse nodded his head innocently, Mrs. Rodway shook her own in vague exasperation. "Life's a far more complicated thing than that--Matthew's was--and that Coroner, he made it all sound so... uncomplicated."

  "Don't be too, er, hard on him, Mrs. Rodway. A Coro-ner's main job isn't dealing with right and wrong, and making moral judgements, and all that sort of thing. He's just there to put the bits and pieces into some sort of pattern, and then to stick some verdict, as best he can, in one of the few slots he's got available to him."

  If Mrs. Rodway was at all impressed by this amalgam of metaphors, she gave no indication of it. Perhaps she hadn't even been listening, for she continued in her former vein: 'here were two things--two quite separate things--and they ought to have been considered separately. It's difficult to put it into words, Inspector, but you see there are causes of things, and symptoms of things. And in Matthew's case this drugs business was a symptom of something---it wasn't a cause. I knew Matthew I knew him better than anyone."

  "So you think...?"

  "I've stopped thinking. What on earth's the good of churning things over and over again in your mind for the umpteenth fime T'

  She stubbed out a half-smoked cigarette savagely, and immediately lit another.

  "You don't mind me smoking?"

  "No, no."

  "Can I offer you gentlemen one?" She held out a packet of King-Size Dunhill International, first to Lewis who shook his head with a smile; then to Morse who shook his head with stoical resolve, since only that same morning, when he'd woken up just before six with parched mouth and pounding head, he had decided m forgo--for ever-more--the spurious gratification not only of alcohol but of nicotine also.

  Perhaps his decision could wait until tomorrow for its full implementation, though; and he relented. "Most kind, Mrs. Rodway. Thank you... And it's very valuable, what you're sying. Please do go on."

  "There's nothing more to say."

  "But if you felt feel--so strongly, why didn't you aee to give evidence at the Inquest?"

  "How could I? I couldn't even bear to switch on the TV or the radio in case there might be something about it. You couldn't bear that, could you, Inspector? If it had been your child?"

  "I--1 take your point," admitted Morse awkwardly.

  "You know usually, when things like that happen, you get all the rumour and all the gossip as well. But we didn't have any of that--at the Inquest."

  Three times now Mary Rodway inhaled on her cigarette w/th such ferocity that she seemed to Lewis hell-bent on in-flicting some irreparable damage to her respiratory tract.

  But Morse's mind for a few seconds was far away, a glimmer of light at last appearing at the far end of a long, black tunnel.

  "So..." he picked his slow words carefully, "you'd hoped that there might be some other evidence given at the Inquest, but you didn't want to provide any of it yourself?."

  "Perhaps it wasn't all that important anyway."

&nb
sp; "Please tell me."

  "No."

  Morse looked around the large lounge. The day was warm already, yet he suspected (rightly) that the two long radiators were turned up to full capacity. Much space on the walls was devoted to pictures: prints of still-life paintings by Braque, Matisse, Picasso; photographs and watercolours THE DAUGHTEI OF CAIN 63 of great buildings and palaces, including Versailles and Blenheim--and Wolsey College, Oxford. But virtually no people were photographed or represented there. It was as if those "things" so frequently resorted to by Mrs. Rodway in her conversation were now figuring more prominently than people.

  "You know Dr. Mc Clure, I think," said Morse.

  "I met him first when Matthew went up to Oxford. He was Matthew's tutor."

  "Didn't he have rooms on the same staircase as Mat-thew?" (Lewis had spent most of the previous evening doing his homework; and Morse's homework.)

  "The first year, and the third year, yes. He was out of college his second year."

  "Where was that, do you remember T'

  Did Lewis observe a flicker of unease in Mary Rodway's eyes? Did Morse?

  "I'm not sure."

  "Oh, it doesn't matter. Sergeant Lewis here can check up on that easily enough."

  But she had her answer now. "It was in East Oxford somewhere. Cowley Road, was it?"

  Morse continued his questioning, poker-faced, as if he had failed to hear the tintinnabulation of a hell: "What did you think of Dr. Mc Clure?"

  "Very nice man. Kindly--genuine sort of person. And, as you say, he took a real interest in Matthew."

  Morse produced a letter, and passed it across to Mrs.

  Rodway: a single handwritten sheet, on the pre-printed stationery of 14 Evington Road South, Leicester, dated June 2, the day after the Coroner's verdict on Matthew Rodway's death.

  Dear Felix

  I was glad to talk to you on the phone however briefly. I was so choked I could hardly speak to you. Please do as we agreed. If you find anything else among M's things which would be upsetting please get rid of them. This includes any of my letters he may have kept. He had two family photos in his room, one a framed one of the two of us. I'd like both of them back. But all clothes and personal ef-fects and papers--get rid of them all for me.

  I must thank you for all you tried to do for Mat-thew. He often spoke of your kindness, as you know.

  I'm so sorry, I can't go on with this letter any more.

  Sincerely yours

  Mary

  Morse now accepted a second cigarette; and as Mrs.

  Rodway read through the letter Lewis turned his head away from the exhalation of smoke. He was not overmuch con-cemed about the health risks supposedly linked with pas-sive smoking, but it must have some effect; had already had its effect on the room here, where a thin patina of nic-otine could be seen on the emulsioned walls. In fact the whole room could surely do with a good wash-down and redecoration? The comers of the high ceiling were deeply stained, and just above one of the radiators an oblong of pristinely bright magnolia served to emphasise a slight ne-glect of household renovation.

  "Did you write that?" asked Morse.

  "Yes."

  "Is there anything you want to tell us about it?"

  "Pretty clear, isn't it?"

  "Did Dr. Mc Clure find anything in Matthew's rooms?"

  "I don't know."

  "Would he have told you if, let's say, he'd found some drugs?"

  "I doubt it."

  "Did he think Matthew was talcing drags?"

  It was hard for her to say it. But she said it: "Yes."

  "Did you ever find out where he got his drags from?"

  "No.'

  "Did he ever say anything about his friends being or drags?"

  THE

  DAUGHTERS OF CAIN

  "Do you think they may have been?

  "I only met one or two of them--on the same staircase "Do you think drugs were available inside the college' "I don't know."

  "Would Dr. Mc Clure have known, if they were?"

  "1 suppose he would, yes."

  "Was Matthew fairly easily influenced by his frienc would you say?"

  "No, I wouldn't."

  The answers elicited from Mrs. Rodway hardly appeart to Lewis exciting; or even informative, for that matter. B Morse appeared content to keep his interlocution at lc key.

  "Do you blame anyone? About the dmgs T' "I'm in no position to blame anyone."

  "Do you blame yourself?."

  "Don't we all blame ourselves?"

  "What about Dr. Mc Clure--where did he put ti blame?"

  "He did say once... I remember..." But the vol, Wailed off as she lit another cigarette. "It was very odd ally. He was talking about all the pressures on young pe pie these days--you know, about youth culture and all son of thing, about whether standards were declining in well, in everything, I suppose."

  "What exactly did he say?" prompted Morse gently. But Mary Rodway was not listening. "You know, if or Matthew hadn't... killed himself that night, whatever reason was--reason or reasons he'd probably have be perfectly happy with life a few days later, a week later That's what I can't... I can't get over." Tears were dropping now. And Lewis looked away. But not Morse.

  "What exactly did he say?" he repeated.

  Mrs. Rodway wiped her tears and blew her nose noisi "He said it was always difficult to apportion blame in Ii But he said.., he said if he had to blame anybody it wot be the students."

  "Is that all?"

  "Yes."

  "Why was that an 'odd' thing to say, though?"

  "Because, you see, he was always on the students' side. Always. So it was a bit like hearing a trade-union boss sud-denly siding with the Conservative Party."

  "Thank you. You've been very kind, Mrs. Rodway." Clearly (as Lewis could see) it was time to depart; and he closed his notebook with what might have passed for a slight flourish--had anyone been interested enough to ob-serve the gesture.

  But equally clearly (as Lewis could also see) Morse was momentarily transfixed, the blue eyes gleaming with that strangely distanced, almost ethereal gaze, which Lewis had observed so often before a gaze which usually betokened a breakthrough in a major case.

  As now?

  The three of them rose to their feet.

  "Did you get to university yourself?." asked Morse. "No. I left school at sixteen--went to a posh secretarial college---did well--got a good job---met a nice boss--became his PA--and he married me.... As I told you, In-spector, he's got a weakness for his PAs."

  Morse nodded. "Just one last question. When did your husband leave you?"

  "I told you, don't you remember? Four years ago." Sud-denly her voice sounded sharp.

  "When exactly, Mrs. Rodway?" Suddenly Morse's voice? too, sounded sharp.

  "November the fifth Bonfire Night. Not likely to forget the date, am IT'

  "Not quite four years ago then?"

  Mrs. Rodway made no further reply.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Everyone can master a grief but he fiaat has it (SH^v. ESP pounds P. E, Much Ado About Nothing)

  "Big thing you've got to remember is that it's a great healer--time. Just give it a while, you'll see."

  It was just before lunchtime that same day, in his office at Kidlington Police HQ, that Chief Superintendent Strange thus sought to convey his commiserations to Detective Chief Inspector Phillotson--going on to suggest that an ex-tended period of furlough might well be a good thing after ... well, after things were oven And if anyone could help in any way, Phillotson only had to mention it.

  'Frouble with things like this," continued Strange, as he rose from behind his desk and walked round to place a kindly hand on his colleague's shoulder, "is that nothing re-ally helps much at all, does it?"

  "I don't know about that, sir. People are being very kind."

  "I know, yes. I know." And Strange resumed his seat, contemplating his own kindliness with some gratification.

  "You know, sir, I've heard from peop
le I never expected to show much sympathy."

  "You have?"

  "People like Morse, for instance."

  "Morse? When did you see Morse? He told me he was off to Leicester this morning."

  "No. He put a note through the letter-box, that's all.

  Must have been latish last night it wasn't there when I put the milk-tokens out..."

  'Td say 1 probably wrote it in a pub, knowing Morse."

  "Does it matter where he wrote it, sir.'?"

  "Course not. But I can't imagine him being much com-fort to anybody. He's a pagan, you know that. Got no time for the Church and... Hope and Faith and ail that stuff.

  Doesn't even believe in God, let alone in any sort of life af-ter death."

  "Bit like some of our Bishops," said Phillotson sadly. "Like some Theology dons in Oxford, too."

  "I was still glad to get his letter."

  "What did he say?"

  "Said what you just said really, sir; said he'd got no faith in the Almighty; said I just ought to forget ail this mumbo-jumbo about meeting... meeting up again in some future life; told me just to accept the troth of it all that she's gone for good and I'll never see her again; told me I'd probably never get over it, and not to take any notice of people who gave you ail this stuff about time healing--"

  Phillotson suddenly checked himself, realising what he'd just said.

  "Doesn't sound much help to me."

  "Do you know, though, in an odd sort of way it was. It was sort of honest. He just said that he was sad, when he heard, and he was thinking of me.... At the end, he said it was always a jolly sight easier in life to face up to the truths than the haif-truths. I'm not quite sure what he meant... but, well, somehow it helps, when I remember what he said."

  Phillotson could trust himself to say no more, and he rose to leave.

  At the door he turned back. "Did you say Morse went to Leicester this morning?"

  'hat's where he said he was going."

  "Funny! Odds are I'd have been in Leicester myself. I bet he's gone to see the parents of that lad who killed him-self in Wolsey a year or so ago."

  "What's that got to do with things?"