Last Bus To Woodstock

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.

Slowly Morse was getting angry again. 'Is the Matron there?'

'You want me to put you through to Matron?'

'Yes, I do.'

He had to wait a good two minutes. 'Hullo. Matron here.'

'Matron, I'm speaking from Thames Valley Police Station. Chief Inspector Morse. I want to speak to Staff Nurse Widdowson. I understand you have your rules about this, and of course I wouldn't in the normal way wish to break them. .'

'Is it urgent?' Vox auctaritatis.

'Well, let's say it's important.'

For the next few minutes Matron coolly and lucidly explained the regulations governing the delivery of personal mail to, and the acceptance of incoming telephone calls by, members of 'my' nursing staff. She spelled out the rules and the reasons for the rules, and Morse fidgeted at his table, the fingers of his left hand drumming the top of his desk in characteristic fashion.

'You see, you have no idea of the volume of official letters and telephone calls that all my departments receive every day. And if we had the additional complication of all personal letters and calls, where would it all end? I have tried and I think I have succeeded. .'