To Lewis it all seemed thin and wishy-washy. 'I've never cared much for psychology, sir.'
'You're not convinced?'
'Not with that, sir. No.'
'I don't blame you,' said Morse. 'I'm not very convinced myself. But you'll be glad to know that we don't have to depend on my abilities as a psychologist. Just think a minute, Lewis. She said she entered the yard, keeping close in — that is, to her left — and edged her way behind the cars. She saw Crowther at the far end of the yard, also on the left. Agreed?'
'Agreed.'
'But the tire-lever, if we can believe the evidence, and I can see no possible reason for not doing so, was either in, or beside, the tool-box at the farthest right-hand corner of the yard. The weapon with which Mrs. Crowther claims she killed Sylvia Kaye was at least twenty yards away from where she stood. She mentions in her statement that she was not only angry but frightened, too. And I can well believe her. Who wouldn't be frightened? Frightened of what was going on, frightened of the dark perhaps; but above all frightened of being seen. And yet you ask me to believe that she crossed the yard and picked up a tire-lever that was almost certainly no more than four or five yards from where Bernard stood with his bottled blonde? Rubbish! She read about the tire-lever in the papers.'
'Someone could have moved it, sir.'
'Yes. Someone could, certainly. Who do you suggest?'
Lewis felt that his arguing with Morse in this mood was almost as sacrilegious as Moses arguing with the Lord on Sinai. Anyway, he ought to have spotted that business about the spanner from the start. Very bad, really. But something else had bothered him about Margaret's statement. It had seemed so obvious from the start that this was a man's crime, not a woman's. He had himself looked down on Sylvia that first night and he had known perfectly well, without any pathologist's report, that she had been raped. Her clothes were torn and quite obviously someone had not been able to wait to get his hands on her body. It had been no surprise to him, or to Morse surely, that the report had mentioned the semen dribbling down her legs, and the bruising round her breasts. But all that didn't square with Margaret Crowther's evidence. She'd seen them in the back of the car, she said. But had she been right? The hair was found in the back of the car, but that didn't prove very much, did it? It could have got there in a hundred different ways. No. Things didn't add up either way. It beat him. He put his thoughts into words and Morse listened carefully.
'You're right. It's a problem that caused me a great deal of anxiety.'
'But it's not a problem now, sir?'
'Oh no. If that were our only problem we'd have some plain sailing ahead of us.'
'And you don't think we have?'
'I'm afraid we've got some very stormy seas to face.' Morse's face was drawn and grey, and his voice was strained as he continued. 'There's one more thing I should have told you, Lewis. After I left the Radcliffe this morning, I called to see Newlove. He'd been to see Bernard yesterday afternoon and was quite willing to talk about him.'
'Anything new, sir?'
'Yes, I suppose you can say there is, in a way. Newlove didn't want to talk about the personal side of things, but he told me that Crowther had spoken to him about the night of the murder. Very much what we already knew or what we've pieced together. Except one thing, Lewis. Crowther said he thought there was someone else in the yard that night.'
'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.