the Jewel That Was Ours

by Colin Dexter

  'And you're not very far forward at the minute?'

  'Not far.'

  'Couldn't we make a little more progress, Morse?' The fingers of her left hand were toying with the top button of her scarlet blouse, and Morse heard the siren voice beside his ear: 'What would you say to another little drink before you go?'

  'I'd say "no", my lovely girl. Because if I'm not reasonably careful, if I do have another drink, in fact if I stay a further minute even without another drink - then I shall probably suggest to you that we proceed - don't forget that we don't "progress" in the police force, we always "proceed" - to, er . . .' Morse waved a hand vaguely aloft, drained his glass, rose from the settee, and walked to the door.

  'You'd enjoy it!'

  'That's what's worrying me.'

  'Why not, then?'

  Sheila had not moved from the settee, and Morse stood in the doorway looking back at her: 'Don't you know?'

  A few minutes later, as he turned right into the Banbury Road, now beginning to think once more with some semblance of rationality, Morse considered whether his witness had been telling him the whole truth. Just as ten minutes earlier, as he had driven back to St Aldate's, Lewis had wondered the same about Mrs Kemp; in particular recalling the curious fact that, for a woman who had so manifestly hated her husband, she had reacted to the news of his death with such terrible distress.

  25

  Going by railroad I do not consider as travelling at all; it is merely being 'sent' to a place, and very little different from becoming a parcel

  (John Ruskin, Modern Painters)

  At Kidlington HQ Morse and Lewis swapped notes at 7.45 a.m.: both felt very tired, but neither confessed to it; and one of them had a headache, about which he likewise made no comment. The Jaguar had been parked outside his flat that morning, with the keys found on the door-mat; but just as of his weariness and of his hangover, Morse made no mention of his gratitude.

  At least the morning plan was taking shape. Clearly the biggest problem was what to do about the tour, scheduled to leave Oxford at 9.30 a.m. bound for Stratford-upon-Avon. It would certainly be necessary to make some further enquiries among the tourists, particularly about their activities during the key period between the time Kemp had arrived back in Oxford, and the pre-dinner drinks when everyone except Eddie Stratton, it appeared, was accounted for. One of the tourists, quite definitely, would not be able to produce his or her copy of the Oxford stage of the programme, for the yellow sheet found in Parson's Pleasure was now safely with forensics; might even produce some new evidence. And even if no fingerprints could be found on it, even if several of the tourists had already discarded or misplaced their own sheets, there would not be too many Americans, surely, who regularly wrote their sevens with a continental bar across the down-stroke. Then there was Cedric Downes. He would have to be seen a.s.a.p., and would have to come up with a satisfactory explanation of exactly why and when he'd left The Randolph.

  In addition it was to be hoped that Max could come up with some fairly definite cause of death; and it was even possible (if only just) that the surgeon might throw caution to the wind for once and volunteer a tentative approximation of the time it had actually happened.

  An hour later, as he drove the pair of them down to Oxford, Lewis felt strangely content. He was never happier than when watching Morse come face to face with a mystery: it was like watching his chief tackle some fiendishly devised crossword (as Lewis had often done), with the virgin grid on the table in front of him, almost immediately coming up with some sort of answer to the majority of the clues - and then with Lewis himself, albeit only occasionally, supplying one blindingly obvious answer to the easiest clue in the puzzle, and the only one that Morse had failed to fathom. Whether or not he'd be of similar help in the present case, Lewis didn't know, of course. Yet he'd already solved a little 'quick' crossword, as it were, of his own, and he now communicated his findings to Morse. The first part of Kemp's day had probably been something like this:

  Left home earlyish for his visit by rail to London to see his publishers; been picked up by taxi at about 7.20 a.m., almost certainly to catch the 07.59, arriving Paddington at 09.03; obviously with only some fairly quick business to transact, since he'd appeared confident of meeting his commitments with the tourists at lunchtime at The Randolph, and then again during the afternoon; likely as not, then, he would originally have intended to catch the 11.30 from Paddington, arriving Oxford at 12.30.

  'Have you checked with BR?'

  'No need.' Lewis reached inside his breast-pocket and handed Morse the Oxford-London London-Oxford Network South-East timetable; but apart from briefly checking the arrival time of the 13.30 from Paddington, Morse seemed less than enthusiastic.

  'Did you know, Lewis, that before nine o'clock the third-class rail fare—' 'Second-class, sir!'

  '—is about, what, seven times - eight times! - more expensive than getting a coach from Gloucester Green to Victoria?'

  'Five times, actually. The coach fare's—' 'We ought to be subsidising public transport, Lewis!' 'You're the politician, sir - not me.' 'Remember Ken Livingstone? He subsidised the tube, and everybody used the tube.' 'Then they kicked him out.' 'You know what Ken Livingstone's an anagram of?' 'Tell me!'

  ' "Votes Lenin King." ‘

  'They wouldn't be voting him king now, though.' 'I thought you might be interested in that little snippet of knowledge, that's all.' 'Sorry, sir.'

  ‘Why are you driving so slowly?'

  'I make it a rule never to drive at more than forty-five in a built-up area.'

  Morse made no reply, and two minutes later Lewis drew up in front of The Randolph.

  'You've not forgotten Ashenden, have you, sir? I mean, he was the one who took the call from Kemp - and he was the one who wasn't looking round Magdalen.'

  'I'd not forgotten Mr Ashenden,' said Morse quietly, opening the passenger door. 'In fact I'll get him to organise a little something for me straightaway. I'm sure that all these tourists - almost all these tourists - are as innocent as your missus is—'

  'But one of 'em writes these peculiar sevens, right?'

  'They're not "peculiar"! If you live on the Continent its ours that look peculiar.'

  'How do we find out which one it is?'

  Morse permitted himself a gentle grin: 'What date did the tour start?'

  26

  Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?

  (Book of Common Prayer, Solemnization of Matrimony)

  At just after 9.30 a.m., Morse sat with Lewis, Ashenden, Sheila Williams, and the (now fully apprised) Manager of The Randolph in a first-floor suite which the latter had readily put at police disposal. Without interruption, quietly, quickly, Morse spoke.

  'I've no wish to hold up the tour a minute longer than necessary, Mr Ashenden, but I've got certain duties in this case which will involve your co-operation. Likewise, sir' (to the Manager) 'I shall be grateful if you can help in one or two practical ways - I'll tell you how in a few minutes. Mrs Williams, too - I shall. . . we, Sergeant Lewis and I, shall be grateful for your help as well.'

  Morse proceeded to expound his preliminary strategy.

  The tour, originally scheduled to leave at 9.30 a.m., could not now leave until well after a buffet lunch, if this latter could be arranged by the kitchen staff (the Manager nodded). A meeting of all the tourists would be summoned straightaway (Ashenden felt a pair of unblinking blue eyes upon him) - summoned to meet somewhere in the hotel (the Manager nodded again - the St John's Suite was free), and Morse himself would then address the group and tell them as much or as little as he wanted to tell them, believing, he admitted, that Rumour had probably lost little of her sprinting speed since Virgil's time, and that most of the tourists already had a pretty good idea of w
hat had happened. After that meeting had finished, it would help police enquiries if the tourists could be kept amused for the rest of the morning. And if Mrs Williams - and how very grateful Morse was that she'd agreed to his earlier telephone request to be present! - if Mrs Williams could possibly think of some diversion . . . some talk, some walk. Yes, that would be excellent.

  So! There was much to be done fairly quickly, was there not?

  Ashenden left immediately, with the manifold brief of herding his flock together, of informing the coach-driver of the postponed departure, of phoning Broughton Castle to cancel the special out-of-season arrangements; of explaining to the Stratford hotel the cancellation of the thirty lunches booked for 1 p.m.; and finally of reassuring the lunchtime guest-speaker from the Royal Shakespeare Company that her fee would still be paid.

  The Manager was the next to leave, promising that his secretary could very quickly produce thirty photocopies of the brief questionnaire that Morse had roughed out:

  Name

  Home address

  (c) Whereabouts 3-6.30 p.m., Friday 2nd Nov.

  (d) Name of one fellow-tourist able to corroborate details given in (c)

  Date of arrival in UK

  Signature Date

  Sheila Williams, however, appeared less willing to cooperate than her colleagues: 1 willingly agreed to come here, Inspector - you know that. But my only specialism is mediaeval manuscripts, and quite honestly not many of this lot are going to be particularly ecstatic about them, are they? I could - well, I will, at a pinch - traipse around these inhabited ruins and try to remember whether Queens is apostrophe "s" or "s" apostrophe. But like Dr Johnson I must plead ignorance, Inspector - sheer ignorance.'

  Here Lewis chipped in with his first contribution: 'What about shipping them all off on one of these circular tours -you know, on the buses?'

  Morse nodded.

  'Or,' pursued an encouraged Lewis,' "The Oxford Story" - brilliant, that!'

  'They went on it yesterday - most of them,' said Sheila.

  'I suppose we could just ask them to stay in their rooms and watch the telly,' mused Morse; but immediately withdrew the suggestion. 'No! People will be arriving—'

  'They could just walk around Oxford, couldn't they, sir? I mean there's an awful lot to see here.'

  'Christ, Lewis! That's what I suggested, at the start. Don't you remember?'

  'What about Cedric, Inspector?' (This from Sheila.) 'I'm pretty sure he's free this morning, and he's a wonderfully interesting man once he gets going.'

  'Could he do the sort of talk Dr Kemp was going to give yesterday?'

  'Well, perhaps not that. But he's a bit of a Renaissance Man, if you know what I mean. The only thing he's a bit dodgy on is modern architecture.'

  'Good! That's fine, then. If you could ring this polymath pal of yours, Mrs Williams . . . ?'

  'He'd take far more notice of you if you rang him, Inspector. And ... he probably won't know yet about—'

  'Not unless he was the one who murdered Kemp,' interposed Morse quietly.

  * **

  Cedric Downes had himself been on the phone for about five minutes, trying frustratedly to contact British Rail about times of trains to London that day; yet he could have had little notion of the irrational and frenetic impatience of the man who was trying to contact him; a man who was betweenwhiles cursing the incompetence of British Telecom and bemoaning the cussedness of the Universe in general.

  'Hullo! Is that British Rail?' (It was, by the sound of it, Mrs Downes, surely.) 'What?' answered Morse.

  'Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that my husband couldn't get through to BR, and he rang the operator and I thought. . .' Clearly Mrs Downes had little idea what she'd thought. Her manner was rather endearingly confused, and Morse switched on what he sometimes saw in himself as a certain charm.

  'I do know what you mean. I've been trying to get your number . . . er . . . Mrs Downes, isn't it?'

  'Yes. I'm Mrs Downes. Can I help you?'

  'If you will. Chief Inspector Morse here.'

  ‘Oh!’

  'Look, I'd much rather be talking to you than . . .'

  'Ye-es?' The voice, as before, sounded a little helpless, more than a little vulnerable. And Morse liked it.

  '. . . but is your husband in?'

  'Ah! You want Cedric. Just a minute.'

  She must, thought Morse, have put her hand over the mouthpiece, or perhaps Downes himself had been waiting silently (for some reason?) beside the phone, for there was no audible summons before a man's voice sounded in his ear.

  'Inspector? Cedric Downes here. Can I be of help?'

  'Certainly, if you will, sir. We have a bit of a crisis here with the American Tour. I'm speaking from The Randolph, by the way. The sad news is—'

  'I know.' The voice was flat and unemotional. 'Theo's dead - I already knew.'

  'Do you mind telling me how you know?'

  'John Ashenden phoned a couple of hours ago.'

  'Oh, I see!' On the whole Morse was not unhappy that Ashenden had been ringing around. 'Why I'm calling, sir, is to ask if you're free to come to The Randolph this morning.'

  This morning} Well . . . er . . . er . . . Well, I've got commitments after lunch, but this morning's free, I think.'

  'If you could get down here, sir, I'd be very grateful. We've got our hands a bit full with things.'

  'Of course.'

  'If you could—'

  'Walk 'em round Oxford again?' 'A different route, perhaps?'

  'Or I might be able to get the Oxford University Museum to open up a bit early - you know, Inspector, the dodo and Darwin and the dinosaurs.'

  'Wonderful idea!'

  'Glad to help, really. It's awful, terrible - isn't it? -about Theo.'

  'You'll contact the Museum, sir?'

  'Straightaway. I know someone there who's still trying to classify a few of the South American crabs that Darwin left to the Museum. Fascinating things, crabs, you know.'

  'Oh yes!' said Morse. 'I'm most grateful to you, sir.'

  'Anyway, I'll call in at The Randolph, so I'll see you soon.'

  'Er, just before you ring off, sir?'

  'Yes?'

  'It's only fair to tell you that we shall be asking everyone here a few questions about what they were doing yesterday afternoon.'

  'As is your duty, Inspector.'

  'Including you, sir.'

  'Me?’

  'I shall be asking you why you were cycling up St Giles' towards North Oxford after lunch yesterday. So if you can have your answer ready? It's only a formality, of course.'

  'Would that all questions were so easy to answer!' ‘Where were you going, sir?'

  'I was going home to get a new hearing-aid. I almost always carry a spare, but I didn't yesterday. At lunchtime the aid started going off and I suddenly realised that I wasn't going to get through the afternoon—'

  'Your hearing's not all that bad, is it, sir? You don't seem to have much of a problem hearing me now.'

  'Ah, but I'm very fortunate! My dear wife, Lucy, bought me a special phone-attachment - bought it for my last birthday, bless her heart.'

  Something had stirred in the back of Morse's brain, and he sought to keep the conversation going.

  'It sounds as if you're very fond of your wife, sir?'

  'I love my wife more than anything else in the world. Can that be so surprising to you?'

  'And you'd do anything to keep her?' It seemed a brusque and strange reply, but Downes seemed in no way disconcerted.

  'Yes! Certainly.'

  'Including murdering Kemp?'

  From the other end of the line there was no manic laughter; no silly protestation; no threat of lawyers to be consulted. Just the simple, gentle confession: 'Oh yes! Including that, Inspector.'

  For the moment, Morse was completely wrong-footed, and he would have discontinued the exchange without further ado. But Downes himself was not quite finished:

  'It was Sheila, I know that, who saw
me yesterday afternoon. And I don't blame her in the slightest for telling you. If you have got a murder on your hands, it's the duty of all of us to report anything, however insignificant or innocent it may appear. So I may as well tell you straightaway. As I biked up St Giles' yesterday afternoon I passed one of the group walking up to North Oxford. Would you like to know who that was, Inspector?'

  27

  It is a matter of regret that many low, mean suspicions turn out to be well founded

  (Edgar Watson Howe, Ventures in Common Sense)

  As Lewis saw things, Morse's talk to the tourists was not one of his chief's more impressive performances. He had informed his silent audience of the death - just 'death' - of Dr Kemp; explained that in order to establish the, er, totality of events, it would be necessary for everyone to complete a little questionnaire (duly distributed), sign and date it, and hand it in to Sergeant Lewis; that the departure of the coach would have to be postponed until late afternoon, perhaps, with lunch by courtesy of The Randolph; that Mr Cedric Downes had volunteered to fix something up for that morning, from about 10.45 to 12.15; that (in Morse's opinion) activity was a splendid antidote to adversity, and that it was his hope that all the group would avail themselves of Mr Downes's kind offer; that if they could all think back to the previous day's events and try to recall anything, however seemingly insignificant, that might have appeared unusual, surprising, out-of-character - well, that was often just the sort of thing that got criminal cases solved. And here, sad to relate, was more than one case - not only the theft of a jewel, but also two deaths: of the person who was to present that jewel to the Ashmolean, and of the person who was to take official receipt of such benefaction.

  When he had finished Morse had the strong feeling that what he had just implied was surely true: there must be some connection between the disturbing events which had developed so rapidly around the Wolvercote Tongue. Surely, too, it must be from within the group of American tourists, plus their tutors and their guide, that the guilty party was to be sought. And fifteen minutes later, with all the completed questionnaires returned, there was good reason to suppose that Morse could be right, since three of those concerned, Eddie Stratton, Howard Brown, and John Ashenden, appeared temporarily unable to provide corroboration of their individual whereabouts and activities during the key period of the previous afternoon - the afternoon when the original groups, three of them, had been re-formed slightly (following Kemp's telephone call), and when anyone wishing to absent himself for some purpose would have been presented with a wonderful opportunity so to do. And keeping check on who was doing what, and when, and where, could well have proved as complicated as calling the roll after Dunkirk.