Colin Dexter - Last Bus To Woodstock

Morse stopped, and there was utter silence in the room. 'Do you think that's how it happened, Miss Coleby?'

She nodded her head.

'We both know who murdered Sylvia, don't we?' Morse spoked so very softly that she could only just catch his words. Again she: nodded.

Morse rang Lewis and told him to come in. Take a few notes, Sergeant. Now, Miss Coleby. A few more questions, please. Who mended your puncture for you?'

'The man across the road. Mr. Thorogood.'

'How long did it take him?'

'Five, ten minutes. Not long. I helped him.'

'How long have you been the mistress of your employer, Mr. Palmer?' Lewis lifted his eyes in amazement.

'Nearly a year.'

'Didn't you think it a bit dangerous — telling someone else?'

'I suppose it was. But it meant we could have a room once a week.'

'Palmer told you this morning that I knew?'

'Yes." She had answered mildly enough thus far. But the old flash blazed in her eyes once more. 'How did you know?'

'I had to guess. But there had to be some reason. It was accidental, really. I checked the night-school register for Wednesday, 29 September, to see whether Mrs. Crowther had been present. She wasn't. But I noticed another name on the list, and she had been present, a Mrs. Josephine Palmer. Well. .'

'You've got a suspicious mind, Inspector.'

'And when did this business of the letters start?'

'In the summer. Stupid really. But it worked all right — so they said.'

'Can you give me your solemn word, Miss Coleby, that you will say nothing of this to anyone?'

'Yes, Inspector. I think I owe you that at least.'

Morse got up. 'Well, get someone to take her back to work, Lewis. We've taken up enough of Miss Coleby's time.' A flabbergasted Lewis gaped at them like a fish out of water, and Jennifer looked round and gave him a wan, sad smile.

'You're not being very fair to me are you, sir?' Lewis seemed downcast and annoyed.

'What do you mean?' asked Morse.

'You said the case was nearly over.'

'It is over,' said Morse.

'You know who murdered her?'

'A person has already been arrested and charged with the murder of Sylvia Kaye.'

'When was this?'

'This morning. Here!' Morse took out the letter which Lewis himself had brought from Jennifer Coleby, and passed it over. Lewis took out the sheet of paper and read with blind, blank, uncomprehending disbelief the one line answer that Miss Coleby had written to Morse's question.

'Yes,' said Morse softly. 'It's true.'

Lewis was full of questions, but he received no answers. "Look, Lewis, I want to be alone. You go home and look after your wife for a change. I'll talk to you on Monday.'

The two men left the office. Lewis got his coat and was soon away. But Morse walked slowly to the cells at the far end of the north wing.

'Want to go in, sir?' said the sergeant on duty.

Morse nodded. 'Leave us alone, will you?'

'Anything you say, sir. Cell number 1.'

Morse took the keys, unbolted the main door to the cells and walked along to cell number 1. He put his hands on the bars and stood staring sadly through.

'Hello, Sue,' he said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Monday, 25 October

THE DAY HAD BROKEN bright and clear, but by mid-morning a melancholy army of heavy grey cloud had massed overhead; and flurries of light rain were already sprinkling the window panes of Morse's office as, for the last time on the case of Sylvia Kaye, the two detectives faced each other across the desk.

'What did we know about Miss X?' asked Morse, and proceeded to answer the question himself. 'We knew roughly what she looked like, we knew roughly what she was wearing, and we knew roughly what age she was. It was a start, but it could never have got us very far. But we also knew that the two girls waiting at the bus stop not only knew each other but that they would be seeing each other again the following morning . Now this, without a doubt, was by far the most important single piece of evidence we ever got, and we acted upon it immediately. Naturally we assumed that we could narrow down the field of our inquiries, and quite properly we concentrated our attentions on the office girls who worked with Sylvia Kaye. Of course, it could have been a friend of Sylvia's, someone she would be meeting at lunchtime perhaps, or someone she would be meeting on the bus. It could have been a hundred and one things. But we didn't think so. And we didn't think so because our suspicions were very soon aroused, and with every justification, by the peculiar behaviour of one of the girls who worked in the same office as Sylvia — Miss Jennifer Coleby. But although we didn't know it at the time, there was someone else Sylvia would be meeting that next morning, and if we'd been a fraction brighter earlier on, Lewis, we might have got on to it more quickly. Sylvia was undergoing physiotherapy treatment at the Radcliffe Infirmary for her broken arm, and she was going for this treatment regularly on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. That is, she would be reporting for physiotherapy to the staff nurse in charge of the Accident Outpatients' Department on the morning of Thursday, 30 September . In other words, she would be reporting to Staff Nurse Widdowson.' Lewis got up to close the windows upon which the rain was splattering more heavily now. 'This, of course,' continued Morse, 'meant nothing very much by itself. But we learned that Sylvia didn't have many close girl friends, didn't we? It was interesting. Yes, at the very least it was interesting.' Morse's attention wandered momentarily, and he stared as Lewis had done through the windows to the concrete yard outside, now gleaming under the lowering sky. 'But let's return to Jennifer Coleby. Crowther wrote to her — that's established now beyond any question of doubt. But Crowther didn't write the note for Jennifer: she was merely the messenger boy. She's admitted that, and she had no option really. When I wrote to her I didn't ask her to accuse anyone of murder; but I did ask her if the letter was meant for Sue Widdowson, and she confirmed that it was. You'll never know, Lewis, how much I dreaded the truth of all this. .'

The rain plashed across the yard, and the room was sombre and dark. Electric lights flashed on in several adjoining rooms, but not in Morse's office. 'Just consider a minute, Lewis. Jennifer had a car . That was a central fact in the case. And in spite of the temporary trouble she had with a puncture, she used her car on the night of the 29th . She said she did, remember? And she did. I didn't believe her at the time, but I was wrong. She met someone that night who saw her car and saw Jennifer Coleby in it. Someone who had nothing whatsoever to do with Sylvia's murder. And that was someone with whom Jennifer was having an affair — her employer, Mr. Palmer. So, although the evidence had pointed at almost every stage to Jennifer Coleby, she suddenly acquired for herself a wholly incontrovertible alibi. Up to that point I had felt utterly convinced that the other girl in this affair was Jennifer; but I now had to face the undoubted, unchallengeable fact that whoever it was who sat behind Sylvia Kaye that night in Bernard Crowther's car, it was not, quite definitely not , Jennifer Coleby. Who was it, then? Although I was forced to abandon Jennifer as suspect number one — indeed, forced to abandon her as a suspect at all — I stuck stubbornly to my original idea that whoever the girl was, she was Crowther's mistress, and that it was to her that Crowther had sent his message. So let us look at things from Crowther's angle for a few minutes. I think that without a shadow of doubt he must have been a very frightened man. Just put yourself in his shoes, Lewis. He had left Sylvia Kaye alive and well — he knew that — on the Wednesday night. And the next day — what does he discover? He reads in the press that this same girl has been found murdered. But not murdered anywhere . Murdered on the very spot where he had last seen her — in the courtyard of The Black Prince. Who knew that he'd been there? Just himself and Sylvia — and she could never again say anything to anyone. But Sue Widdowson would have guessed , because Sylvia would have told her where she was going. He must have been worried out of his wits, and certainly for an intelligent man he doesn't seem to have been very sensible in what he did. Again and again the thought must have flashed across his mind: would Sue realize how dangerous it would be to say one single word to a living soul? He must have thought she would surely realize this. But still the doubts must have nagged away at his mind. She was the one person who could upset the whole apple-cart — not only bring him under suspicion for Sylvia's murder but throw the whole of his family life into a turmoil he felt he couldn't face. He just had to make sure, or at least he had to do something . He daren't see her. So he wrote.' Lewis showed the familiar signs of unease and Morse nodded his understanding. 'I know, Lewis. Why does he write to Jennifer? '