Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

'Who'd go quite a long way to keep the, er, cupboard firmly locked.'

'Observed openly masturbating on the M4O, you mean? Weekend away with the PA? By the way, you've got

a pretty little lass for a secretary, I see. Don't you ever lust after her?'

'I seem to have lost most of my lust recently, sir.'

'We all do. It's called getting old.'

Strange lifted his large head, and eyed Morse over his half-lenses.

'Now about the case. It won't be easy, will it? You've no reason to think he's got a lot of stuff stashed under his mattress?'

'No ... no, I haven't'

'You'd no real reason for thinking he'd killed Rachel?'

'No ... no, I hadn't'

'So he's definitely out of the frame?*

Morse considered the question awhile. 'Fraid so, yes. I wish he weren't'

'So?'

'So I'll - we'll think of some way of approaching things.'

'Nothing irregular! You promise me that! We're just about getting over one or two unsavoury incidents in the Force, aren't we? And we're not going to start anything here. Is that clear, Morse?'

'To be fair, sir, I usually do go by the book.'

Strange pointed a thick finger.

'Well, usually's not bloody good enough for me! You - go - by - the book, matey! Understood?'

Morse walked heavily back to his office, where a refreshed-looking Lewis awaited him.

'Everything all right with the Super?'

'Oh, yes. I just told him about our latest thinking-'

' Your latest thinking.'

'He understands the difficulties. He just doesn't want us to bend the rules of engagement too far, that's all.'

'So what's the plan?'

'Just nip and get me a drink first, will you?'

'Coffee?'

Morse pondered. 'I think I'll have a pint of natural, lead-free orange juice. Iced.'

'So what's the plan?' repeated Lewis, five minutes later.

'Not quite sure, really. But if I'm right, if it was something like a contract-killing, it must have been arranged because Owens was threatening to expose somebody. And if he was-'

'Lot of 'if s', sir.'

'If he was, Lewis, he must have some evidence tucked away somewhere: vital evidence, damning evidence. It could be in the form of newspaper-cuttings or letters or photographs - anything. And he must have been pretty sure about his facts if he's been trying to extort some money or some favours or whatever from any disclosures. Now, as I see it, he must have come across most of his evidence in the course of his career as a journalist. Wouldn't you think so? Sex scandals, that sort of thing.'

'Like as not, I suppose.'

'So the plan's this. I want you, once you get the chance, to go and see the big white chief at the newspaper offices and get a look at all the confidential stuff

on Owens. They're sure to have it in his appointment-file or somewhere: previous jobs, references, testimonials, CV, internal appraisals, comments-'

'Gossip?'

'Anything!'

'Is that what you mean by not bending the rules too much?'

'We're not bending the rules - not too much. We're on a murder case, Lewis, remember that! Every member of the public's got a duty to help us in our enquiries.'

'I just hope the editor agrees with you, that's all.'

'He does,' said Morse, a litde shamefacedly. 'I rang him while you went to the canteen. He just wants us to do it privately, that's all, and confidentially. Owens only works alternate Saturdays, and this is one of his days off.'

'You don't want to do it yourself?'

'It's not that I don't want to. But you're so much better at that sort of thing than I am.'