Colin Dexter - Last Bus To Woodstock

'Well we knew that, didn't we, sir?'

'Just a minute, Lewis. Let's just picture the scene, if we can. Crowther gets out of the front seat and into the back, right? Sylvia Kaye does the same. Now there was precious little room where the car was, and this was certainly not the place or the occasion for old-world gallantry; and I reckon it's odds-on that she got out the front nearside and into the back nearside and that he did the same on his side. In other words they sat on the same sides in the back of the car as they did in the front — he on the right, she on the left. Now whatever peculiar posture Crowther got himself into, I think that for most of the time he had his back to where his wife was standing — in other words she was almost directly behind him. But Bernard hadn't got eyes in the back of his head, and Margaret, as we've said, was probably scared stiff of being seen. And it tends to lead to one conclusion, as I see it, and one conclusion only: Crowther did not see his wife that night. I'm sure she was there, but I don't think he saw her. But he did see somebody else. In other words there was yet another person in the yard that night , another person much nearer to him than Margaret ever got; someone standing very near to the tool-kit, and someone Crowther caught a shadowy glimpse of, as he sat in the back of his car. And I think it may have been that person, Lewis, who murdered Sylvia Kaye.'

'You don't think it was Bernard either, then?'

For the first time Morse seemed oddly hesitant. 'He could have done it, of course.'

'But I just don't see a motive, do you sir?'

'No,' said Morse flatly, 'I don't.' He looked around the room dejectedly.

'Did you get anything else from Mr. Newlove, sir?'

'Yes. Crowther told him he'd used his typewriter.'

'Newlove's typewriter, you mean?'

'You sound surprised.'

'You mean Crowther did write that letter after all?'

Morse gave him a look of pained disappointment. 'You've never doubted that, surely?'

He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a sealed white envelope which he handed across to Lewis. It was addressed to Jennifer Coleby. 'I want you to go to see her, Lewis, and give her this, and stay with her while she opens it. Inside there's one sheet of paper and a return envelope addressed to me. Tell her to answer the question I've asked and then to seal up her answer in the return envelope. Is that clear?'

'Wouldn't it be easier to ring her up, sir?'

Morse's eyes suddenly blazed with anger, although when he spoke his words were quiet and controlled. 'As I was saying, Lewis, you will stay with her and when she has written her answer you will make sure that the envelope is sealed tight. You see, I don't want you to see the question I've asked, nor the answer that she gives.' The voice was icy now, and Lewis quickly nodded his understanding. He had never realized quite how frightening the Inspector could be, and he was glad to get away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Friday, 22 October, p.m.

AFTER LEWIS HAD gone, Morse sat and thought of Sue. So much had happened since Monday, but Sue had remained uppermost in his thoughts for almost all the time. He had to see her again. He looked at his watch. Midday. He wondered what she was doing, and suddenly spurred himself into action.

'Is that the Radcliffe?'

'Yes.'

'Accident department, please.'

'I'm putting you through, sir.'

'Hallo. Accident department.' It wasn't Sue.

'I want to have a quick word with Miss Widdowson, please.'

'You mean Staff Nurse Widdowson.' He hadn't known that.

'Susan, I think her Christian name is.'

'I'm sorry, sir. We're not allowed to take outside telephone calls except. .'

'It might be an emergency,' interrupted Morse hopefully.

'Is it an emergency, sir?'

'Not really, no.'

I'm sorry, sir.'

'Look, this is the police.'

'I'm sorry, sir.' Obviously she had heard that one before.

Slowly Morse was getting angry again. 'Is the Matron there?'

'You want me to put you through to Matron?'

'Yes, I do.'

He had to wait a good two minutes. 'Hullo. Matron here.'

'Matron, I'm speaking from Thames Valley Police Station. Chief Inspector Morse. I want to speak to Staff Nurse Widdowson. I understand you have your rules about this, and of course I wouldn't in the normal way wish to break them. .'

'Is it urgent?' Vox auctaritatis .

'Well, let's say it's important.'

For the next few minutes Matron coolly and lucidly explained the regulations governing the delivery of personal mail to, and the acceptance of incoming telephone calls by, members of 'my' nursing staff. She spelled out the rules and the reasons for the rules, and Morse fidgeted at his table, the fingers of his left hand drumming the top of his desk in characteristic fashion.

'You see, you have no idea of the volume of official letters and telephone calls that all my departments receive every day. And if we had the additional complication of all personal letters and calls, where would it all end? I have tried and I think I have succeeded. .'

Morse heard her out. As she had been talking a wildly improbable thought had taken root in his mind. He almost wanted to hear her repeat the tedious catalogue of constraints. 'I'm most grateful to you, Matron. I do want to apologize. .'

'Oh, not at all. I've enjoyed talking to you. Now, please let me help in any way I can.' She would do anything for him now, he knew that. But the situation had changed. There was just the wildest, slimmest chance now, where before there had been none at all. He rang off as soon as he could, the Matron almost begging for the chance of doing him some favour. But he wanted none: his course was now clear.

Sue was having lunch while Morse was finishing his lengthy call to her immediate superior. She was thinking of him, too. Would she had known him earlier! She knew with a passionate certainty that he could have changed her life. Was it too late even now? Dr Eyres sat next to her, taking every opportunity he decently could of effecting the closest physical contact with the lovely staff nurse; but Sue loathed his proximity and his insinuations and, not worrying about a sweet, she left the table as quickly as she could. Oh Morse! Why didn't I meet you before? She walked back to the outpatients' room at the casualty clinic and sat down on one of the hard benches. Absently she picked up a long-outdated copy of Punch and flicked mechanically through the faded pages. . What was she to do? He hadn't been anywhere near since that wretched night when Jennifer had come home. Jennifer! And she had been fool enough to confide in Jennifer. David? She would have to write to David. He would be so upset; but to live with someone, to sleep with someone, forty even fifty years — someone you didn't really and truly love. .

Then she saw him. He stood there, an anxious, vulnerable look in his grey eyes. The tears started in her eyes and she felt an incredible joy. He came and sat beside her. He didn't even try to hold her hand — there was no need of that. They talked, she didn't know what about. It didn't matter.

'I shall have to go,' she said. Try to see me soon, won't you?' It was after half-past one.

Morse felt desperately sick at heart. He looked at Sue long and hard, and he knew that he loved her so dearly.

'Sue?'

'Yes?'

'Have you got a photograph of yourself?'

Sue rummaged in her handbag and found something. 'Not all that good, is it, really?'

Morse looked at the photograph. She was right. It didn't really do her justice, but it was his Sue all right. He put it carefully into his wallet, and got up to go. Patients were already waiting: patients with bulky plasters over legs and arms; patients with bandages round their heads and wrists; a road casualty with blood around the mouth, the face an ashen white. It was time to go. He touched her hand lightly and their fingers met in a tender, sweet farewell. Sue watched him go, limping slightly, through the flappy, celluloid doors.