for recasting the frequently ill-constructed paragraphs of his junior colleagues, and for correcting the heinous errors in orthography which blighted not a few of their offerings; and, in addition to these new tasks, to stand in as required when the Personnel Manager was called away on conferences.
As a result of these changes, Owens himself, nominally the group's senior reporter, had become more and more desk-bound, venturing out only for the big stories. Like now. For as he stood hi Bloxham Drive that morning, he was never in doubt that this would be one of those 'big stories' - not just for himself but also for the steadily increasing number of media colleagues who were already joining him.
All of them waiting...
Waiting, in fact, until 11.30 a.m. - well before which time, as if by some sort of collective instinct, each was aware that something grotesque and gruesome had occurred in the house there numbered 17.
CHAPTER NINE
Instead of being arrested, as we stated, for kicking his wife down a flight of stairs and hurling a lighted kerosene lamp after her, the Revd James P. Wellman died unmarried four years ago
(Correction in a US journal, quoted by Burne-Jones in a letter to Lady Horner)
AT 11.15 A.M. LEWIS suggested that someone perhaps ought to say something.
For the past hour and a half a group of police officers had been knocking on neighbourhood doors, speaking to residents, taking brief preliminary statements. But as yet nothing official had been released to the representatives of the media assembled in a street now increasingly crowded with curious onlookers.
'Go ahead!'said Morse.
'Shall I tell them all we know?'
'That won't take you long, will it?'
'No need to keep anything back?'
'For Chrissake, Lewis! You sound as if we've
'Just wondered.'
59
COLIN DEXTER
Morse's tone softened. 'It won't matter much what you tell 'em, will it?'
'All right'
'Just one thing, though. You can remind 'em that we'd all welcome a bit of accuracy for a change. Tell 'em to stick an 'h' in the middle of Bloxham Close - that sort of thing.'
'Bloxham
'Thank you, Lewis.'
With which, a morose-looking Morse eased himself back in the armchair in the front sitting-room, and continued his cursory examination of the papers, letters, documents, photographs, taken from the drawers of a Queen-Anne- style escritoire - a rather tasteful piece, thought Morse. Family heirloom, perhaps.
Family...
Oh dear!
That was always one of the worst aspects of suicides and murders: the family. This time with Mum and Dad and younger sister already on their way up from Torquay. Still, Lewis was wonderfully good at that sort of thing. Come to think of it, Lewis was quite good at several things, really - including dealing with the Press. And as Morse flicked his way somewhat fecklessly through a few more papers, he firmly resolved (although in fact he forgot) to tell his faithful sergeant exactly that before the day was through.
Immediately on confronting his interlocutors, Lewis was invited by the TV crew to go some way along the street
60
DEATH IS NOW MY NEIGHBOUR
so that he -could be filmed walking before appearing in front of the camera talking. Normal TV routine, it was explained: always see a man striding along somewhere before seeing his face on the screen. So, would Sergeant Lewis please oblige with a short perambulation?
No, Sergeant Lewis wouldn't.
What he would do, though, was try to tell them what they wanted to know. Which, for the next few minutes, he did.
A murder had occurred in the kitchen of Number 17 Bloxham Drive: &-L-O-X-H-A-M -
One of the neighbours (unspecified) had earlier alerted the police to suspicious circumstances at that address -
A patrol car had been on the scene promptly; forced open the front door; discovered the body of a young woman-
The woman had been shot dead through the rear kitchen window-
The body had not as yet been officially identified -
The property appeared to show no sign - no
