shift and no one else to help. But he doubted whether her call was as important as the one he was about to make. News bulletins had always gripped his attention, however trivial the items reported; and the item he had watched on the BBC news at 9.00 p.m. had been far from trivial. He could remember verbatim the words the police inspector had used: 'We shall be very glad if any motorist. .' Yes, he could tell them something, for he had played his part in the terrifying and tragic train of events. But what was he going to say? He couldn't tell them the truth. Nor even half the truth. His fragile resolution began to crumble. He'd give that wretched woman another minute — one minute and no longer.
At 9.50 p.m. that same evening an excited Sergeant Lewis put through a call to Chief Inspector Morse. 'A break, sir. I think we've got a break.'
'Oh?'
'Yes. A witness, sir. A Mrs. Mabel Jarman. She saw the murdered girl. .'
'You mean,' interrupted Morse, 'she saw the girl who was later murdered, I suppose.'
'That's it. We can get a full statement as soon as we like.'
'You mean you haven't got one yet?'
'She only rang five minutes ago, sir. I'm going over straight away. She's local. I wondered if you wanted to come.'
'No,' said Morse.
'All right, sir. I'll have the whole thing typed up and ready for you in the morning.'
'Good.'
'Bit of luck, though, isn't it? We'll soon get on to this other girl.'
'What other girl?' said Morse quietly.
'Well, you see, sir. .'
'What's Mrs. Jarman's address?' Morse reluctantly took off his bedroom slippers, and reached for his shoes.
'Bit late on parade tonight, Bernard. What's it to be?'
Bernard was well liked at
' 'Nother one before you go, Bernard?'
'Thanks, no. I've had just about enough of that horse piss for one night.'
'You in the dog house again?'
'I'm always in the bloody dog house.'
He walked back slowly. He knew that if the bedroom light was on, his wife, Margaret, would be reading in bed, waiting only for her errant husband to return. If there was no light, she would probably be watching TV. He came to a decision as foolish as the ones he had made as a boy when he would race a car to the nearest lamppost. If she was in bed, he would go straight in, if she was still up, he would ring the police. He turned into the road, and saw immediately that the bedroom light was on.
Mrs. Jarman gave her testimony in a brisk, if excited, fashion. Her memory proved surprisingly clear, and Sergeant Lewis's notes grew fat with factual data. Morse left things to him. He wondered if Lewis had been right in thinking this was the big break, and considered, on reflection, that he was. He himself felt impatient and bored with the trained and thorough pedanticism with which his sergeant probed and queried the chronology of the bus stop encounter. But he knew it had to be done and he knew that Lewis was doing it well. For three-quarters of an hour he left them to it.
'Well, I want to thank you very much, Mrs. Jarman.' Lewis closed his note-book and looked, in a mildly satisfied manner, towards his chief.
'Perhaps,' said Morse, 'I could ask you to come to see us in the morning? Sergeant Lewis will have your statement typed out, and we'd like you to have a look through it to see that he's got it all right — just a formality, you know.'
Lewis stood up to go, but Morse's veiled glance told him to sit down again.
'I wonder, Mrs. Jarman,' he said, 'if you could do us one last favour. I'd just love a cup of tea. I know it's late but. .'
'Why, of course, Inspector. I wish you'd said so before.' She hurried off and the policemen heard a spurt of water and a clatter of cups.
'Well, Sergeant, you've done a good job.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'Now listen. That bus. Get on to it as soon as you can.'
'But you said you'd checked the buses, sir.'
'Well check 'em again.'
'All right.'
'And,' said Morse, 'there's that articulated lorry. With a bit of luck we can trace that.'
'You think we can?'
