'Oh, I don't think there's much difficulty about that,' said Morse.
Lewis looked at him incredulously. 'You mean you know?'
Morse nodded slowly, and locked away the file on Sylvia Kaye.
PART THREE
Search for a killer
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sunday, 17 October
SUE SAW DAVID off on the Birmingham train at 7.13 on Sunday evening. She told him what a marvellous weekend it had been — and so it had. On Saturday they had gone to the cinema, had a delicious Chinese meal and generally luxuriated in being together. Most of Sunday they had spent in Headington at the home of David's parents, pleasant, warm-hearted people, sensible enough to leave the two young love-birds alone for the greater part of the day. They hoped to marry some time next autumn, after David had finished his post-graduate year of research in metallurgy at the University of Warwick. He was hopeful (for he had taken a 'first') of getting a lectureship somewhere, and Sue encouraged him: she would rather be married to a lecturer than to an industrial chemist, or whatever metallurgists became. She thought that was the only thing about David of which she couldn't wholeheartedly approve — his choice of metallurgy. It had something to do with her own schooldays and the distaste she'd always felt amid the smells and silver slivers of the metalwork shop. There was something, too, about the hands of people who worked with metal: a sort of ingrained griminess, however patiently they were scrubbed.
The train lingered at Oxford station for several minutes and Sue kissed David fully and freely as he leaned from the window of an empty carriage.
'It's been lovely seeing you again, darling,' said David.
'Super.'
'You enjoyed it, didn't you?'
'Of course I did.' She laughed gaily. "Why on earth did you ask that?'
David smiled. ''It's just nice to know, that's all.' They kissed again, and Sue walked along with him for a few yards as the train pulled out.
'See you in a fortnight. Don't forget to write.'
'I won't,' said Sue. 'Bye.' She waved until the train had left the platform and she watched it curving its way towards the north, the red light on the rear coach bobbing and winking in the gathering darkness.
She walked slowly back down the platform, along the subway and up to the barrier on the other side. She gave in her platform ticket and made her way to Carfax. Here she had to wait for half an hour before a number 2 bus came along, and it was eight o'clock before she got off in North Oxford. She crossed the road and with her head down walked along Charlton Road and thought about the last two days. She could never have told David about Wednesday night. There was nothing to tell anyway, was there? Just a minor peccadillo. She supposed most people had their foolish moments — even engaged people — and there were some things that just could not be told. Not that David would have been jealous; he wasn't that sort, at all — mild, equable, balanced David. Perhaps she wouldn't mind if he were a bit jealous. But she knew, or thought she knew, that he wasn't; she could spot jealousy a mile off. She thought of Morse. She really had been very naughty at The Sheridan with Doctor Eyres, and Morse had been jealous — rabidly, furiously jealous. She'd secretly enjoyed making him jealous until. . Well, she wasn't going to think of him any more. . But she'd never cried over David. . She wondered if Morse believed her when she said she would be crying herself to sleep on Wednesday night. She hoped he had, for it was true. There she went again, starting with David and finishing with him. He'd probably not given her another thought. . David! He was her man. Married to David she would be happy at last. Marriage. A big step, they all said. But she was twenty-three now. . She hoped Morse had given her another thought. . Forget him!
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'.