Colin Dexter - The Daughters of Cain

‘Purely incidental, that is.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yes. You’d better get back to the museum for a while. I don’t think we’re going to get very far on the fingerprint front — but you never know.’

Lewis was frowning. ‘I just don’t see the link myself — between the McClure murder, and now this Pitt Rivers business.’

‘ She saw a link, though, didn’t she? Jane Cotterell? Clever lass, that one.’

‘But she said whoever else it was, it couldn’t have been Brooks who took the knife.’

‘Exactly.’

‘So?’

‘So what?’

‘So where’s the link?’

Morse’s eyes remained unblinking for several seconds, staring at nothing it seemed, and yet perhaps staring at everything. ‘I’m not at all sure now that there is a link,’ he said quietly. ‘To find some connection between one event and another ensuing event is often difficult; and especially difficult perhaps when they appear to have a connection…’

Morse was aware of feeling worried at the prospect — the actuality, really — of his return to work. For, in truth, he had little real idea of the correct answers to the questions Lewis had just asked. He needed some assistance from somewhere; and as he drove down to North Oxford he patted his jacket-pocket where he felt the reassurance of the square packet he had retrieved from the waste-bin immediately after Lewis had left for the Pitt Rivers Museum.

Now Julia Stevens was very fair to behold, for there was a gentle beauty in the pallor of the skin beneath that Titian hair, and the softest invitation in the redness of her lips. And as he sat opposite her that evening, Morse was immediately made aware of an animal magnetism.

‘Care for a drink, Inspector?’

‘No — er, no thank you.’

‘Does that mean “yes”?’

‘Yes.’

‘Scotch?’

‘Why not?’

‘Say when.’

‘When.’

‘Cheers!’

‘Mind if I smoke?’

‘Yes, I do.’

She left the room, and re-appeared with an ashtray. Perhaps they were beginning to understand each other.

‘Mrs Brooks stayed the night here?’ began Morse.

‘Yes.’

‘You see, her husband’s gone missing — he failed to keep an appointment at the hospital this morning.’

‘I know. Brenda rang me.’

‘You’d both been to Stratford, I understand.’

‘Yes.’

‘Enjoy the play?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘My life will not be significantly impoverished if I never see another Shakespearian comedy.’

‘Mrs Brooks enjoyed it though, I believe?’

Julia nodded, with a slow reminiscence. ‘Bless her! Yes. She’s not had much to smile about recently.’

‘Have you ?’

‘Not much, really, no. Why do you ask that?’

But Morse made no direct answer. ‘Isn’t it just a bit odd, perhaps, that Mrs Brooks didn’t call in to see if her husband was all right?’

‘Odd? It’s the most natural thing in the world.’

‘Is it?’

‘She hates him.’

‘And why’s that?’

‘He treats her in such a cruel way — that’s why.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Brenda’s told me.’

‘You’ve no first-hand evidence?’

‘I’ve always tried to avoid him.’

‘Aren’t you being a bit unfair, then?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Have you any idea where he might be?’

‘No. But I hope somebody’s stuck a knife into him somewhere.’

As he looked across at the school-mistress, Morse found himself wondering whether her pale complexion was due not so much to that inherited colouration so common with the auburn type, as to some illness, possibly; for he had observed, in a face almost completely devoid of any other cosmetic device, some skin-tinted application to the darkened rings beneath her eyes.

‘Did Mrs Brooks go out last night, after you’d got back?’

Julia smiled tolerantly. ‘You mean, did she just nip out for a few minutes and bump him off?’

‘ Could she have gone out? That’s all I’m asking.’

‘Technically, I suppose — yes. She’d have a key to get back in here with. I just wonder what you think she did with the body, that’s all.’

‘She didn’t go out — is that what you’re telling me?’

‘Look! The only thing I know for certain is that she was fast asleep when I took her a cup of tea just before seven this morning.’

‘So she’d been with you the whole time since yesterday afternoon?’

‘Since about a quarter-to four, yes. I would have picked her up in the car, but the wretched thing wanted to stay at home in the garage. Suffering from electrical trouble.’

Morse, who didn’t know the difference between brake fluid and anti-freeze, nodded wisely. ‘You should get a car like mine. I’ve got a pre -electrics model.’

Julia smiled politely. ‘We took a bus up to school and, well, that’s about it, really.’

‘Did you actually go into the Brooks’s house?’

‘Well, I suppose I did, yes — only into the hallway, though.’

‘Was Mr Brooks there?’

‘Only just. He was getting ready to go out, but he was still there when we left.’

‘Did you speak to him?’

‘You mean… ask him politely if he was feeling better? You must be joking.’

‘Did his wife speak to him?’

‘Yes. She said “goodbye”.’

‘She didn’t say “cheerio” or “see you soon”?’

‘No. She said “goodbye”.’

‘What about you? Did you go out last night?’

‘Do you suspect me as well?’

‘Suspect you of what, Mrs Stevens?’

Julia’s clear, grey eyes sparkled almost gleefully. ‘Well, if somebody’s bumped off old Brooks—’

‘You look as if you hope someone has.’

‘Didn’t I make that clear from the start, Inspector?’

‘Have you actually seen Mrs Brooks since you left home this morning?’

‘No. I’ve been in school all day. Bad day, Thursday! No free periods. Then we had a staff-meeting after school to try to decide whether we’re all satisfying the criteria for the National Curriculum.’

‘Oh.’

It was a dampener; and for a little while each was silent, with Morse looking around the neatly cluttered room. He saw, on the settee beside Julia, a copy of Ernest Dowson’s Poems . He pointed to it:

‘You enjoy Dowson?’

‘You’ve heard of him?’

‘I’m impressed. Can you go on?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Morse quietly.

For some reason, and for the first time that evening, Julia Stevens betrayed some sign of discomfiture, and Morse saw, or perhaps he saw, a film of tears across her eyes.

‘Anything else I can do for you, Inspector?’

Yes, you can take me to bed with you. I may feel no love for you, perhaps, but I perceive the beauty and the readiness of this moment, and soon there will be no beauty and no readiness.

‘No, I think that’s all,’ he said.

The phone rang as they walked into the narrow hallway, and Julia quickly picked up the receiver.

‘Hullo? Oh, hullo! Look, I’ll ring you back in five minutes, all right? Just give me the number, will you?’ She wrote down five digits on a small yellow pad beside the phone, and said ‘Bye’ — as did a male voice at the other end of the line (if Morse had heard aright).