Colin Dexter - Last Bus To Woodstock

But she was not to be allowed to forget him. As she reached the house she saw the Lancia outside. Her heart pounded against her ribs and a wave of involuntary joy coursed through her blood. She let herself in and went straight to the living-room. There he was, sitting talking to Mary. He stood up as she came in.

'Hullo.'

'Hullo,' she said weakly.

'I really called to see Miss Coleby, but I gather she may not be back yet for a while. So I've been having a delightful little chat with Mary here.'

Mary indeed! Dumpy, freckled, little man-eater! Why don't you go, Mary? Mary, why don't you leave us alone — just for a few minutes? Please! She felt viciously jealous. But Mary seemed very taken with the charming Inspector and showed no signs of imminent surrender. Sue, still wearing her summer coat, sat on the arm of a chair, trying to resist the wave of desperation that threatened to engulf her.

She heard herself say: 'She'll catch the 8.15 from Paddington, I should think. Probably get here about ten.' That was two hours. Two whole hours. If only Mary would go! He might ask her out for a drink and they could talk. But the wave swept her over, and she left the room and rushed upstairs. Morse got up as she left and thanked Mary for her hospitality. As he opened the front door he turned to Mary. Would she ask Sue to come down for a second? He would like to have a quick word with her. Mary, too, disappeared upstairs and blessedly faded from the scene. Morse stepped out into the concrete drive and Sue appeared, framed in the doorway. She stopped there.

'You wanted a word with me, Inspector?'

'Which room do you sleep in, Sue?' She stepped out and stood next to him. Her arm brushed his as she pointed to the window immediately above the front door, and Morse felt a jagged ache between his temples. He wasn't a tall man and she was almost his own height in the very high wedge-heeled shoes she wore. She dropped her arm and their hands met in an accidental, beautiful way. Leave your hand there, Sue. Leave it there, my darling. He felt the electric thrill of the contact and gently, softly he ran his finger tips along her wrist.

'Why do you want to know that?' Her voice sounded hoarse and breathless.

'I don't know. I suppose if I drive past and see a light on in your window I shall know it's you in there.'

Sue could bear it no longer. She took her hand from his and turned away. 'You came to see Jennifer, then?'

'Yes.'

'Ill tell her, of course — when she comes in.' Morse nodded.

'You think she's got something to do with the Woodstock business, don't you?"

'Something, perhaps.'

They stood in silence for a minute. Sue was wearing a sleeveless dress and she was trying not to shiver.

'Well, I'd better be off.'

'Goodnight, then.'

'Goodnight.' He turned towards the gate and had almost reached it when he turned round. 'Sue?' She stood in the doorway.

'Yes?'

He walked back. 'Sue, would you like to come out with me for a little while?'

'Oh. .' Sue got no further. She flung her arms around him and cried joyfully on his shoulder, and neither heard the front gate open.

'If you'll excuse me, please?' said a cool, well-spoken voice, and Jennifer Coleby edged past them into the house.

The other wanderers, too, were just returning. Bernard Crowther had returned from London on the same train as Jennifer Coleby; but they had travelled in separate parts of the train, and no one watching them alight at platform number 2 could have formed the slightest suspicion that either was aware of the other's existence.

About this time, too, Peter Newlove was taking his leave of a red-headed, radiant girl in Church Street, Woodstock. They kissed again with eagerness and seeming insatiability.

'I'll be in touch, Gaye.'

'Make sure you do — and thanks again.'

It had been an expensive weekend; very expensive, in fact. But it was, in Peter's view, worth almost every penny.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Monday, 18 October

ON MONDAY MORNING, Morse decided that however embarrassing it would be he had his job to do. How he dreaded it, though! Here was the big moment, the denouement of the case (of that he felt quite confident) and yet he felt as if he himself were the guilty party. Lewis collected Jennifer Coleby in his own car; Morse felt he could just about spare her the official trappings. Bernard Crowther said he would make his own way, if that was all right. It was. Morse had tried to think out the likeliest approaches, but his concentration had been lapsing sadly. He decided to let things take their course.

At 10.25 a.m. Crowther arrived, five minutes early, and Morse poured him coffee and asked him a few casual questions about the 'conference'.

'Oh. The usual thing, you know. One long yawn,' said Crowther.

'What was it about exactly?'

'University admissions. Arguing the toss about A-level requirements. We're not very popular with the Schools Council, you know. They think Oxford is the last bastion of academic elitism. Still, I suppose it is really. .' He had no chance to develop his theme. Lewis came in with Jennifer Coleby, and Crowther got to his feet.

'You two know each other?' asked Morse. There was not a hint of cynicism in his voice. Strangely, or so it seemed to Morse, Jennifer and Crowther shook hands. 'Good mornings' were exchanged, and Morse, a trifle nonplussed, poured two more coffees.

'You do know each other?' He sounded rather unsure of himself.

'We live fairly near each other, don't we, Mr. Crowther?'

'We do, yes. I've often seen you on the bus. It's Miss Coleby, I think, isn't it? You come round for the SPCC.'

Jennifer nodded.

Morse got up and passed the sugar basin round. He felt he couldn't sit still.

During the next few minutes Lewis was forced to wonder if the Inspector had lost his grip completely. He um'd and ah'd and said 'to be honest with you' and 'we have some reason to suppose' and finally managed to suggest to his pair of prime suspects, almost apologetically, that they might be having an affair with each other.

Jennifer laughed almost aloud and Bernard smiled shyly. It was Bernard who spoke first. 'I'm sure I feel very flattered, Inspector, and I very much wish perhaps that I was having some secret affair with Miss Coleby. But I'm afraid the answer's no. What else can I say?'

'Miss Coleby?'

'I think I have spoken to Mr. Crowther twice in my life — to ask him for a donation to the SPCC. I sometimes see him on the bus going into town — we get on and off at the same stops. But I think he always goes upstairs and I never do. I hate the smell of cigarettes.'

Morse, who was smoking his third cigarette, felt once more that he was getting the worst of things with Jennifer Coleby. He turned to Crowther.

'I must ask you this, sir. Please think very carefully before you answer, and remember that you are here in connection with a murder, the murder of the girl who was travelling in your car.' Morse saw a look of surprise on Jennifer's face. 'Was Miss Coleby here the other passenger you picked up that night?'

Bernard replied with an immediacy and conviction that sorely troubled Morse. 'No, Inspector, she wasn't. Of that you can be completely assured.'

'And you, Miss Coleby. Do you deny that you were the other passenger in Mr. Crowther's car?'

'Yes. I do deny it. Absolutely.'

Morse drained his coffee.

'Do you want us to sign anything, Inspector?' There was a deep cynicism in Jennifer's voice.

Morse shook his head. 'No. Sergeant Lewis has made notes on what you've both said. One more question though, Miss Coleby, if you don't mind. Can you give me the address of the friends you stayed with in London this weekend?'

Jennifer took a plain envelope from her handbag and wrote down an address in Lancaster Gardens. As an afterthought she added the telephone number, and handed the envelope to Morse.