Colin Dexter - Last Bus To Woodstock

He reached for his outside phone and rang his sergeant's home number.

'Lewis?'

'Speaking.'

'Morse here. I'm sorry to ruin your weekend, but I want you here.'

'Straight away, sir?'

'If you can.'

'I'm on my way.'

Morse looked through his in-tray. Reports, reports, reports. He crossed through his own initials immediately, barely glancing at such uncongenial titles as The Drug Problem in Britain, The Police and the Public, and The Statistics for Crimes of Violence in Oxfordshire (second quarter). At the minute he was interested only in one statistic which would doubtless, in time, appear in the statistics of violent crime in Oxfordshire (third quarter). He'd no time for reports. He suspected that about 95 % of the written word was never read by anyone anyway. But there were two items which held his attention. A report from the forensic lab on the murder weapon, and a supplementary report from the pathology department on Sylvia Kaye. Neither did more than confirm what he already knew or at any rate suspected. The tire-lever proved to be a singularly unromantic specimen. Morse read all about its shape, size, weight. . But why bother? There was no mystery about the lever at all. The landlord of The Black Prince had spent the afternoons of Tuesday, 28th and Wednesday, 29th tinkering with an ancient Sunbeam, and had unwittingly left his tool kit outside the garage on the right at the back of the courtyard where he kept the car. There were no recognizable prints — just the ugly evidence, at one of the lever's curving ends, that it had crashed with considerable force into the bone of a human skull. There followed a gory analysis, which Morse was glad to skip.

It was only a few minutes before Lewis knocked and entered.

'Ah, Lewis. The gods, me thinks, have smiled weakly on our inquiries.' He outlined the developments in the case. 'I want Miss Jennifer Coleby brought in for questioning. Be careful. Take Policewoman Fuller with you if you like. Just held for questioning, you understand? There's no question at all of any formal arrest. If she prefers to ring up her legal advisers, tell her it's Sunday and they're all playing golf. But I don't think you'll have much trouble.' On the latter point, at least, Morse guessed correctly.

Jennifer was sitting in interrogation room 3 by 3.45 p.m. On Morse's instructions, Lewis spent an hour with her, making no mention whatever of the information he had been given earlier in the afternoon. Lewis mentioned quietly that, in spite of all their inquiries, they had not been able to trace the young lady, seen by two independent witnesses, who had been with Sylvia Kaye an hour or so before she was murdered.

'You must be patient, Sergeant.'

Lewis smiled weakly, like the gods. 'Oh, we're patient enough, miss, and I think with a little cooperation we shall get there.'

'Aren't you getting any co-operation?'

'Would you like a cup of tea, miss?'

'I'd prefer coffee.'

Policewoman Fuller hurried off; Jennifer moistened her lips and swallowed; Lewis brooded quietly. In the tug-of-war silence which ensued it was Lewis who finally won.

'You think I'm not co-operating, Sergeant?'

'Are you?'

'Look, I've told the Inspector what I know. Didn't he believe me?'

'Just what did you tell the Inspector, miss?'

'You want me to go over all that again?' Jennifer's face showed all the impatience of a schoolgirl asked to rewrite a tedious exercise.

'We shall have to have a signed statement in any case.'

Jennifer sighed. 'All right. You want me to account for my movements — I think that's the phrase, isn't it? — on Wednesday night.'

'That's right, miss.'

'On Wednesday night. .' Laboriously Lewis began to write. 'Shall I write it out for you?' asked Jennifer.

'I think I ought to get it down myself, miss, if you don't mind. I haven't got a degree in English, but I'll do my best.' A quick flash of caution gleamed in Jennifer's eyes. It was gone immediately, but it had been there and Lewis had seen it.

Half an hour later, Jennifer's statement was ready. She read it, asked if she could make one or two amendments—'only spelling, Sergeant'—and agreed that she could sign it.

'I'll just get it typed out, miss.'

'How long will that take?'

'Oh, only ten minutes.'

"Would you like me to do it? It'll only take me about two.'

'I think we ought to do it ourselves, miss, if you don't mind. We have our regulations, you know.'

'Just thought I might be able to help.' Jennifer felt more relaxed.

'Shall I get you another cup of coffee, miss?'

'That would be nice.' Lewis got up and left.

Policewoman Fuller seemed singularly uncommunicative, and for more than ten minutes Jennifer sat in silence. When the door finally opened it was Morse who entered carrying a neatly typed sheet of foolscap.

'Good afternoon, Miss Coleby.'

'Good afternoon.'

'We've met before.' The tide of relaxation which had reached high watermark with Lewis's departure quickly ebbed and exposed the grating shingle of her nerves. 'I walked down to the library after I left you yesterday,' continued Morse.

'You must enjoy walking.'

'They tell me walking is the secret of perpetual middle age.'

With an effort, Jennifer smiled. 'It's a pleasant walk, isn't it?'

'It depends which way you go,' said Morse.

Jennifer looked sharply at him and Morse, as Lewis earlier, noted the unexpected reaction. 'Well, I would like to stay and talk to you, but I hope you will let me sign that statement and get back home. There are several things I have to do before tomorrow.'

'I hope Sergeant Lewis mentioned that we have no authority to keep you against your will?'

'Oh yes. The sergeant told me.'

'But I shall be very grateful if you can agree to stay a little longer.'

The back of Jennifer's throat was dry. 'What for?' Her voice was suddenly a little harsher.

'Because,' said Morse quietly, 'I hope you will not be foolish enough to sign a statement which you know to be false" — Morse raised his voice—'and which I know to be false.' He gave her no chance to reply. 'This afternoon I gave instructions for you to be held for questioning since I suspected, and still suspect, that you are withholding information which may be of very great value in discovering the identity of Miss Kaye's murderer. That is a most serious offence, as you know. It now seems that you are foolish enough to compound such stupidity with the equally criminal and serious offence of supplying the police with information which is not only inaccurate but demonstrably false.' Morse's voice had risen in crescendo and he ended with a mighty thump with his fist upon the table between them.

Jennifer, however, did not appear quite so abashed as he had expected. 'You don't believe what I told you?'

'No.'

'Am I allowed to ask why not?' Morse was more than a little surprised. It was clear to him that the girl had recovered whatever nerve she may have lost. He clearly and patiently told her that she could not possibly have taken out her library books on Wednesday evening, and that this could be proved without any reasonable doubt. 'I see.' Morse waited for her to speak again. If he had been mildly surprised at her previous question, he was flabbergasted by her next. "What were you doing at the time of the murder last Wednesday evening, Inspector?"

What was he doing? He wasn't quite sure, but any such admission would hardly advance his present cause. He lied. 'I was listening to some Wagner.'

'Which Wagner.'

'Das Rheingold.'

'Is there anyone who could back up your story? Did anyone see you?'

Morse surrendered. 'No.' In spite of himself, he had to admire the girl. 'No,' he repeated, 'I live on my own. I seldom have the pleasure of visitors — of either sex.'