Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

earnestly sought was readily available from any Marks & Spencer's store, priced ?6.99.

'We shall have to see this fellow Storrs soon, sir.'

'I'm sure we shall, yes. But we've got nothing against him, have we? It's not a criminal offence to get photographed with some attractive woman ... Interesting, though, that she was reading The Masters.'

'I've never read it, sir.'

'It's about the internal shenanigans in a Cambridge College when the Master dies. And recently I read in the

University Gazette that the present Master of Lonsdale is about to hang up his mortar-board - see what I mean?'

'I think I do,' lied Lewis.

'Storrs is a Fellow at Lonsdale - the Senior Fellow, I think. So if he suggested she might be interested in reading that book...'

'Doesn't add up to much, though, does it? It's motive we've got to look for. Bottom of everything - motive is.'

Morse nodded. 'But perhaps it does add up a bit,' he added quietly. 'If he wants the top job badly enough -and if she reminded him she could go and queer his pitch...'

'Kiss-and-tell sort of thing?'

'Kiss-and-wot-tell, if the price was right.'

'Blackmail?' suggested Lewis.

'She'd have letters.'

'The postcard.'

'Photographs.' '

' One photograph.'

'Hotel records. Somebody would use a credit card, and it wouldn't be her.'

'He'd probably pay by cash.'

You're not trying to help me by any chance, are you, Lewis?'

'All I'm trying to do is be honest about what we've got - which isn't much. I agree with you, though: it wouldn't have been her money. Not exactly rolling in it, that's for sure. Must have been a biggish lay-out - setting up the practice, equipment, rent, and everything. And she'd got a mortgage on her own place, and a car to run.'

Yes, a car. Morse, who never took the slightest interest

in any car except his own, visualized again the -white Mini which had been parked outside Number 17.

'Perhaps you ought to look a bit more carefully at that car, Lewis.'

'Already have. Log-book in the glove-compartment, road atlas under the passenger seat, fire-extinguisher under the back seat-'

'No drugs or pornography in the boot?'

'No. Just a wheel-brace and a Labour Party poster.'

Lewis looked at his watch: 8.35 p.m. It had been a long day, and he felt very tired. And so, by the look of him, did his chief. He got to his feet

'Oh, and two cassettes: Ella Fitzgerald and a Mozart thing.'

'Thing?

'Clarinet thing, yes.'

'Concerto or Quintet, was it?'

Blessedly, before Lewis could answer (for he had no answer), the phone rang.

Chief Superintendent Strange.

'Morse? In your office? I almost rang the Red Lion.'

'How can I help, sir?' asked Morse wearily.

'TV - that's how you can help. BBC want you for the Nine O'clock News and ITV for News at Ten. One of the crews is here now.'

'I've already told 'em all we know.'

'Well, you'd better think of something else, hadn't you? This isn't just a murder, Morse. This is a PR exercise.'

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Thursday, 22 February

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