He was glad.
He himself had taken temporary possession of the long~ overdue library book found in the Brookses' bedroom, no-ricing with some self-congratulation that the tops of two pages in the story entitled 'The Broken Sword' had been dog-eared. By Brooks? Were the pages worth testing for fingerprints? No. Far too fanciful a notion. But Morse told himself that he would re-read the story once he got the chance; and indeed his eye had already caught some of the lines he remembered so vividly from his youth: Where does a man kick a pebble? On the beach.
Where does a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest...
Yes. Things were progressing well--and quickly.
There was that third search warrant, of course: one that had been granted, though not yet served.
The one to be served on Ms. Smith...
Of whom, as it happened, Morse had dreamed the previous night--most disturbingly. He had watched her closely (how on earth?) as semi-dressed in a plunging Versace cre-ation she had exhibited herself erotically to some lecherous Yuppie in the back of. a BMW. And when Morse had awoken, he had felt bitterly angry with her; and sick; and heartachingty jealous.
He had known better nights; known better dreams.
Yet life is a strange affair; and only ten minutes after Lewis had returned that Tuesday afternoon Morse received a call from Reception which quickened his heart-beat con-siderably.
Chapter Sixty-eight
She turned away, but with the autumn weather Compelled my imagination many days, Many days and many hours (T S. ELIOT, La Figlia Che Piange)
She closed the passenger-seat door, asking the man to wait there, in the slip-road, for ten minutes--no longer; then drive in and pick her up.
She walked quite briskly past the blue sign, with white lettering, 'Thames Valley Police HQ'; then up the longish gradient to the brick-and-concrete building.
At Reception she quickly made her errand clear.
'Is he expecting you, Miss?' asked the man seated there. 'No.'
'Can I ask what it's in connection with?'
'A murder.'
The grey-haired man looked up at her with some curios~ ity. He thought he might have sen her before; then decided that he hadn't. And rang Morse.
'Let her in, Bill. I'll be down to collect her in a couple of minutes.'
After entering her name neatly in the Visitors' Log, Bill pressed the mechanism that opened the door to the main building. She was carrying a small package, some 5 inches by 3 inches, and he decided to keep a precautionary eye on her. Normally he would not have let her through without some sort of check. But he'd always been encouraged to use his discretion, and in troth she looked more like a po-tential traveller than a potential terrorist. And Chief Inspec-tor Morse had sounded happy enough.
He pointed the way. 'If you just go and sit and wait there, Miss...?'
So Ellie Smith walked over the darkly marbled floor to a small, square waiting-area, carpeted in blue, with matching chairs set against the walls. She sat down and looked around her. Many notices were displayed there, of the 'Watch Out,'
'Burglars Beware' variety; and photographs of a police car splashing through floods, and a friendly bobby talking to a farmer's wife in a local village; and just opposite her a large map....
But her observations ceased there.
To her left was a flight of white-marbled stairs, down which the white-haired Morse was coming towards her. 'Good to see you. Come along up.'
'No, I can't stay. I've got a car waiting.'
'But we can take you home. I can take you home.'
'No. I'm... I'm sorry.'
'Why have you come?' asked Morse quietly, seating himself beside her.
'You've had Mum in. She told me all about it. She's on bail, isn't she? And I just wondered where it all leaves her--and me, for that matter?'
Morse spoke gently. 'Your mother has been charged in connection with the murder of your step-father. Please un-derstand that for the present--'
'She told. me you might be bringing me in--is that right?'
'Look! We can't really talk here. Please come up--'
She shook her head. 'Not unless you're arresting me.
Anyway, I don't trust myself in that office of yours. Re-member?'
'Look, about your mother. You'll have to face the fact--just like we have to--that... that it seems very likely at the minute that your mother was involved in some way in the murder of your step-father.' Morse had chosen his hes-itant words carefully.
'All right. If you're not going to tell me, never mind.' She stood up; and Morse stood up beside her. She held out the small parcel she had been carrying in her right hand and offered it to him.
