Colin Dexter - Death Is Now My Neighbor

“You’ve read it through?”

“Tried to. Bullet entry in the left submandibular—”

“Lew-is! Spare me the details! She was shot through the window, through the blind, in the morning twilight. You mustn’t expect much accuracy about the thing! You’ve been watching too many old cowboy films where they mow down the baddies at hundreds of yards.”

“Distance of about eighteen inches to two feet, that’s what it says, judging from—”

“What’s it say about the time ?”

“She’s not quite so specific there.”

“Why the hell not? We told her exactly when the woman was shot!”

“Dr. Hobson says the temperature in the kitchen that morning wasn’t much above zero.”

“Economizing everywhere, our Rachel,” said Morse rather sadly.

“And it seems you get this sort of ‘refrigeration factor’—”

“In which we are not particularly interested, Lewis, because we know —” Morse suddenly stopped. “Unless... unless our distinguished pathologist is suggesting that Rachel may have been murdered just a little earlier than we’ve been assuming.”

“I don’t think she’s trying to suggest anything, sir. Just giving us the facts as far as she sees them.”

“I suppose so.”

“Do you want to read the report?”

“I shall have to, shan’t I, if you can’t understand it?”

“I didn’t say that—”

But again Morse interrupted him, almost eagerly now recounting his interview with Owens...

“… So don’t you see, Lewis? He could have done it. Quarter of an hour it took me, to the newspaper offices via Banbury Road; ten minutes back via the Ring Road. So if he left home about ten to seven — clocked into the car park at seven, say — hardly anything on the roads — then drove straight out of the car park — there’s no clocking out there — that’s the system they have — drove hell for leather back to Bloxham Close—”

“ Drive , sir.”

“—parks his car up on the road behind the houses,” Morse switched now to the vivid present tense, “—goes through the vandalized fence there — down the grass slope — taps on her window — the thin blinds still drawn,” Morse’s eyes seemed almost mesmerized, “—sees her profile more clearly as she gets nearer — for a second or two scrutinizes the dark outline at the gas-lit window—”

“It’s electric there.”

“—then he fires through the window into her face — and hits her just below the jaw.”

Lewis nodded this time. “The submandibular bit, you’re right about that.”

“Then he goes up the bank again — gets in his car — back to Osney Mead. But he daren’t go into the car park again — of course not! So he leaves his car somewhere near, and goes into the office from the rear of the car park. Nobody much there to observe his comings and goings — most of the people get in there about eightish, so I learn. Quod erat demonstrandum! I know you’re going to ask me what his motive was, and I don’t know. But this time we’ve found the murderer before we’ve found the motive. Not grumbling too much about that, are you?”

“Yes! It just won’t hold water.”

“And why’s that?”

“There’s this woman from Number 1, for a start. Miss Cecil—”

“Della — Owens called her Della.”

“She saw him leave, didn’t she? About seven o’clock? That’s why she knew he’d be at his desk when she rang him as soon as she saw the police arrive — just after eight.”

“One hour — one whole hour! You can do a lot in an hour.”

“You still can’t put a quart into a pint pot.”

“We’ve now gone metric, by the way, Lewis. Look, what if they’re in it together — have you thought of that? Owens is carrying a torch for that Miss Cecil, believe me! When I happened to mention Julian Storrs—”

“You didn’t do that, surely?”

“—and when I said he’d been seen knocking at one of the other doors there—”

“But nobody—”

“—he was jealous, Lewis! And there are only two houses in the Close,” Lewis gave up the struggle, “occupied by nubile young women: Number 17 and Number 1, Miss James and Miss Cecil, agreed?”

“I thought you just said they were in it together. ”

“I said they might be, that’s all. I’m just thinking aloud, for Christ’s sake! One of us has got to think. And I’m a bit weary and I’m much underbeered. So give me a chance!”

Lewis waited a few seconds. Then:

“Is it my turn to speak, sir?”

Morse nodded weakly, contemplating the threadbare state of Lewis’s carpet.

“I don’t know whether you’ve been down the Botley Road in the morning recently — even in the fairly early morning — but it’s one of the worst bottlenecks in Oxford. You drove there and back in midafternoon, didn’t you? But you want Owens to do three journeys between Kidlington and Osney Mead. First he drives to work — perhaps fairly quickly, agreed. Twenty minutes, say? He drives back — a bit quicker? Quarter of an hour, say. He parks his car somewhere — it’s not going to be on Bloxham Drive, though. He murders his next-door neighbor. Drives back into Oxford after that — another twenty, twenty-five minutes at least now. Finds a parking space — and this time it’s not going to be in the car park, as you say. Walks or runs to his office, not going in the front door, either — for obvious reasons. Gets into his office and is sitting there at his desk when his girlfriend — if you’re right about that — rings him up and tells him he’ll be in for a bit of a scoop if he gets out again to Bloxham Drive. It’s just about possible, sir, if all the lights are with him every time, if almost everybody’s decided to walk to work that morning. But it’s very improbable even then. And remember it’s Monday morning — the busiest morning of the week in Oxford.”

Morse looked hurt.

“You still think it’s just about possible?”

Lewis considered the question again.

“No, sir. I know you always like to think that most murders are committed by next-door neighbors or husbands or wives—”

“But what if this woman at Number 1 isn’t telling us the truth?” queried Morse. “What if she never made that phone call at all? What if she’s in it with him? What if she’s more than willing to provide him with a nice little alibi? You see, you’re probably right about the timescale of things. He probably wouldn’t have had time to get back here to Kidlington, commit the murder, and then return to the office and be sitting quietly at his desk when she rang him.”

“So?”

“So she’s lying. Just like he is! He got back here — easy! — murdered Rachel James — and stayed here, duly putting in an appearance as the very first reporter on the scene!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but she isn’t lying, not about this. I don’t know what you think the rest of us have been doing since Monday morning but we’ve done quite a bit of checking up already. And she’s not lying about the phone call to Owens’ office. One of the lads went along to BT and confirmed it. The call was monitored and it’ll be listed on the itemized telephone bill of the subscriber — Number 1 Bloxham Drive!”

“Does it give the time ?”

Lewis appeared slightly uneasy. “I’m not quite sure about that.”

“And if our ace reporter Owens is privileged enough to have an answer phone in his office — which he is ...”

Ye-es. Perhaps Morse was on to something after all. Because if the two of them had , for some reason, been working together... Lewis put his thoughts into words: