Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

'Ah! 'Slim-line tonic',' repeated Morse. 'Cuts out the sugar, I believe.'

Storrs made no comment, and Morse continued:

'I know your wife's diabetic, sir. We checked up. We even checked up on what you both had to eat last weekend.'

'Well done!'

'Only one thing puzzles me really: your wife's breakfast on Sunday morning.' He gestured to Lewis, the latter now reading from his notebook:

'Ricicles - that's sort of sugar-frosted toasted rice - my kids used to love 'em, sir - toast and honey, a fruit cocktail, orange juice, and then some hot chocolate.'

'Not, perhaps,' added Morse, 'the kind of breakfast a diabetic would normally order, is it? All that sugar? Everything else she ate here was out of the latest diabetic cook-book.'

'Do you know anything about diabetes, Chief Inspector?'

It was a new voice, sharp and rather harsh - for Angela Storrs, dressed in the inevitable trouser-suit (lime- green, this time), but most unusually minus the

dark glasses, had obviously caught some (most5) of the previous conversation:

'Not much,' admitted Morse as he sought to rise from his deep, low chair. 'I've only been diagnosed a week.'

'Please don't get up!' It sounded more an order tfian a request.

She took a seat next to her husband on the sofa. 'I've had diabetes for ten years myself. But you'll learn soon enough. You see, one of the biggest dangers for insulin-dependent diabetics is not, as you might expect, excessively high levels of blood sugar, but excessively low levels: hypoglycaemia, it's called. Are you on insulin yourself?'

'Yes, and tfiey did try to tell me something about-'

'You're asking about last weekend. Let me tell you. On Saturday evening my blood sugar was low - very low; and when Julian asked me about breakfast I decided to play things safe. I did have some glucose with me; but I was still low on Sunday morning. And if it's of any interest, I thoroughly enjoyed my sugary breakfast. A rare treat!'

The drinks had arrived.

'Look!' she continued, once the waiter had asked for her husband's signature on die bill. 'Let me be honest widi you. Julian has just told me why you're here. He'd already told me about everything else anyway: about his ridiculous affair with that young Rachel woman; about that slimy specimen Owens.'

'Did you hate him enough to murder him?'

'/ did,' interrupted Storrs vehemently. 'God rot his soul!'

'And about this Mastership business?' Morse looked from one to the other. *You were in that together?'

It was Julian Storrs who answered. 'Yes, we were. I told Angela the truth immediately, about my illness, and we agreed to cover it all up. You see' (suddenly he was looking very tired) 'I wanted it so much. I wanted it more than anything - didn't I, Angela?'

She smiled, and gently laid her own hand over his. 'And /did too, Julian.'

Morse drained his whisky, and thirsted for another.

'Mrs Storrs, I'm going to ask you a very blunt question - and you must forgive me, because that's my job. What would you say if I told you that you didn't sleep with your husband last Saturday night - that you slept with another man?'

She smiled again; and for a few moments the angularity of her face had softened into the lineaments of a much younger woman.

'I'd just hope he was a good lover.'

'But you'd deny it?'

'A childish accusation like that? It's hardly worth denying!'

Morse turned to Storrs. 'And you, sir? What would you say if I told you that you didn't sleep with your wife last Saturday night - that you slept with another woman?'

'I'd just hope shevfas a good lover, I suppose.'

'But you'd deny it, too?'

'Of course.'

'Anything elseyou want to check?' asked Angela Storrs.

'Well, just the one thing really, because I'm still not quite sure that I've got it right.' Morse took a deep

breath, and exhaled rather noisily. You say you came here with your husband in his BMW, latish last Saturday afternoon - stayed here together overnight - then drove straight back to Oxford together the next morning. Is that right, Mrs Storrs?'

'Not quite, no. We drove back via Cirencester and Burford. In fact, we had a bite of lunch at a pub in Burford and we had a look in two or three antiques shops there. I nearly bought a silver toast-rack, but Julian thought it was grossly overpriced.'

'I see ... I see ... In that case, it's about time we told you something else,' said Morse slowly. 'Don't you think so, Sergeant Lewis?'