Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

'Oxford Times.'

The living-room door opened, and there entered a darkly elegant woman, incongruously wearing a pair of

sunglasses, and dressed in a black trouser-suit - 'Legs right up to the armpits', as Lewis was later to report.

Mrs Angela Storrs briefly introduced herself, and picked up the empty cups.

'Another coffee, Sergeant?'

Her voice was Home Counties, rather deep, rather pleasing.

'No thanks. That was lovely.'

Her eyes smiled behind the sunglasses - or Lewis thought they smiled. And as she closed the living-room door softly behind her, he wondered where she'd been throughout the interview. Outside the door, perhaps, listening? Had she heard what her husband had said? Or had she known it all along?

Then the door quietly opened again.

'You won't forget you're out this evening, darling? You haven't all that much time, you know.'

Lewis accepted the cue and hurried on his questioning apace:

'Do you mind telling me exactly what you were doing between seven a.m. and eight a.m. last Monday, sir?'

'Last Monday morning? Ah!' Lewis sensed that Julian Storrs had suddenly relaxed - as if the tricky part of the examination was now over - as if he could safely resume his wonted donnish idiom.

'How I wish every question my students asked were susceptible to such an unequivocal answer! You see, I was in bed with my wife and we were having sex togedier. And why do I recall this so readily, Sergeant? Because such an occurrence has not been quite so common these

past few years; nor, if I'm honest with you, quite so enjoyable as once it was.'

'Between, er, between seven and eight?' Lewis's voice was hesitant.

'Sounds a long time, you mean? Huh! You're right More like twenty past to twenty-five past seven. What I do remember is Angela - Mrs Storrs - wanting the news on at half past. She's a great Today fan, and she likes to know what's going on. We just caught the tail-end of the sports news - then the main headlines on the half-hour.'

'Oh!'

'Do you believe me?'

'Would Mrs Storrs remember ... as clearly as you, sir?'

Storrs gave a slightly bitter-sounding laugh. 'Why don't you ask her? Shall I tell her to come through? I'll leave you alone.'

'Yes, I think that would be helpful.'

Storrs got to his feet and walked towards the door.

'Just one more question, sir.' Lewis too rose to his feet. 'Don't you think you were awfully naive to send off that money? I think anyone could have told you you weren't going to get anything back - except another blackmail note.'

Storrs walked back into the room.

'Are you a married man, Sergeant?'

'Yes.'

'How would you explain - well, say a photograph like the one you showed me?'

Lewis took out the passport photo again.

'Not too difficult, surely? You're a well-known man, sir - quite a distinguished-looking man, perhaps? So let's just say one of your admiring undergraduettes sees you at a railway station and says she'd like to have a picture taken with you. You know, one of those 'Four colour photos in approximately four minutes' places. Then she could carry the pair of you around with her, like some girls carry pictures of pop stars around.'

Storrs nodded. 'Clever idea! I wish I'd thought of it Er... can I ask you a question?'

·Yes?'

'Why are you still only a sergeant?'

Lewis made no comment on the matter, but asked a final question:

*You're standing for the Mastership at Lonsdale, I understand, sir?'

Te-es. So you can see, can't you, why all this business, you know... ?'

'Of course.'

Storrs' face now suddenly cleared.

'There are just the two of us: Dr Cornford - Denis Cornford - and myself. And may the better man win!'

He said it lightly, as if the pair of them were destined to cross swords in a mighty game of Scrabble - and called through to Angela, his wife.