If she persisted in her present lies (for Morse was con-vinced that such they were) it was going to be extremely difficult to discredit her testimony, appearing, as she did, to possess that formidable combination of nervousness and in-nocence. Any jury would strongly sympathise.
Morse changed tack completely.
'Do you know, I'm beginning to feel a bit thirsty, M: Brooks- Does that offer of a cuppa still stand?'
After Mrs. Brooks had put the kettle on and taken t china cups from the dresser, she stood close to the kitch door. Her hearing was still good. It was the white-hair one who was speaking....
'Have you got a car, sir?'
'Not 'ad one for ten year or more.'
'How do you get to work?'
'Still go on the bus, mostly.'
'You don't bike?'
'Why d'you ask that?'
'I saw your cycling helmet in the hall, that's ali.'
'SOT'
'Didn't mind me asking, did you T'
'Why the 'ell should I?'
'Well, Dr. Mc Clure was knifed to death, as you knc, and there was an awful lot of blood ail over the place--a: all over the murderer, like as not. So if he'd driven off a car, well... these clever lads in the labs, they can tra the tiniest speck of blood '
'As I said, though, I 'aven't got a car.'
'I still think we'd quite like to have a look at your bt What do you think, Sergeant Lewis.'?'
'Not a question of 'liking,' sir. I'm afraid we shall ht to take it away.'
'Well, that's where you're wrong, 'cos I 'aven't got bike no longer, 'ave I2 Bloody stolen, wasn't it? Sat'c lunchtime, that were--week yesterday. Just went to t Club for a pint and when I got out--there it was, got Lock 'n' all on the back wheel. Ten bloody quid, that faa] lock cost me.'
'Did you report the theft, sir?'
'Wha'? Report a stolen bike? In Oxford? You must jokin'.'
Mrs. Brooks came in with a tray.
'I must ask you to report the theft of your bike, sir,' s Lewis quietly. 'To St. Aldate's.'
'Milk and sugar, Inspector?'
For the first time her eyes looked unflinchingly straight into his, and suddenly Morse knew that behind the ner- vousness, behind the fear, there lay a look of good companionship.
He smiled at her; and she, fleetingly, smiled back at him.
And he felt touched.
And he felt poorly again.
And he felt convinced that he was sitting Opposite the man who had murdered Felix Mc Clure; felt it in his bones and in his brains; would have felt it in his soul, had he known what such a thing was and where it was located.
When ten minutes later Mrs. Brooks was about to show them out, Morse asked about the two photographs hanging on the wail of the entrance-hall.
'Well, that one' she pointed to a dark, broody-looking girl in her mid-teens or so---'that's my daughter. That's Ellie. Her first name was Kay, really, but she likes to be called Ellie.'
Phew!
With an effort, Lewis managed not to exchange glances with Morse.
'That one'--she pointed to a photograph of herself arm-in-ann, in front of a coach, with a younger, taller, strikingly attractive wommv--'that's me and Mrs. Stevens, when we went on a school-party to Stratford last year. Lovely, it was. And with a bit of luck I'll be going with her again this next week. She teaches at the Proctor Memorial School. I clean for her.... Well, as I say... I clean for her.'
It seemed for a few seconds that she was going to add a gloss to that last repeated statement. But her husband had shouted from within, and Morse managed not to look down at that disfigured palm again as Brenda Brooks's hands in-dulged in a further spasm of fioccillation.
Chapter Thirty-one
There is nothing which has yet been contrived by man by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern (SAMUEL JOHNSON, Obiter Dictum, March 21, 1776)
'Well, well! What do you made of all that?
The Jaguar was gently negotiating half a dozen traffi calming humps, before reaching the T-junction at the Cot ley Road.
'Not now, Lewis!'
