Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

'He'll have to take things more easily now.'

'Would you care to tell him that?'

'No.'

'Just one thing more, sir - about Owens. I really think we ought to consider the possibility that he's in a bit of danger. There must be quite a few people who'd gladly see him join Rachel in the mortuary.'

'What do you suggest, Sergeant?'

'That's the trouble, isn't it' We can't just give him a bodyguard.'

'There's only one way of keeping an eye on him all the time.'

'Bring him in, you mean, sir? But we can't do that - not yet.'

'No. No good bringing him in and then having to let him go. We shall need something to charge him with. I don't suppose ...' Blair hesitated. 'I don't suppose there's any chance that he murdered Rachel James?'

T don't think so, myself, no.'

'What's Morse think?'

'He did think so for a start, but ... Which reminds me, sir. I'd better make another trip to the newspaper offices tomorrow.'

'Don't go and do everything yourself, Sergeant'

'Will you promise to tell the Chief Inspector that?'

'No,' replied Blair as he prepared to leave; but hesitantly so, since he was feeling rather worried himself now about what Lewis had said.

'What did Morse think about the possibility of Owens getting himself murdered?'

'Said he could look after himself; said he was a streetwise kid from the start; said he was a survivor.' 'Let's hope he's right.' 'Sometimes he is, sir,' said Lewis.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

We forget ourselves and our destinies in health; and the chief use of temporary sickness is to remind us of these concerns

(Ralph Waldo Emerson, Journals)

SISTER JANET McQuEEN - an amply bosomed woman now in her early forties, single and darkly attractive to the vast majority of men - had been considerably concerned about her new patient: one E. Morse. Patently, in spite of his superficial patter, the man knew nothing whatsoever of medicine, and appeared unaware, and strangely unconcerned, about his physical well-being; ill-being, rather.

On several occasions during the following days she'd spent some time with him, apologizing for the two-hourly check on his blood sugar levels (even during the night); explaining the vital role of the pancreas in the metabolic processes; acquainting him with the range, colour, purpose, and possible efficacy, of the medication and equipment now prescribed - single-use insulin syringes, Human Ultratard, Human Actrapid, Unilet Lancets,

Exactech Reagent Strips, Enalapril Tablets, Frusemide Tablets, Nifedipine Capsules ...

He'd seemed to understand most of it, she thought And from their first meeting she'd realized that the prematurely white-haired man was most unusual.

'Glad about the pills,' he'd said.

·You are?'

'Different colours, aren't they? White, pink, brown-and-orange. Good, that is. Gives a man a bit of psychological confidence. In the past, I've always thought that confidence was a bit overrated. Not so sure now, diough, Sister.'

She made no answer. But his words were to remain in her mind; and she knew that she would look forward to talking with this man again.

By Tuesday evening, Morse's blood sugar level had fallen dramatically. And at coffee-time on Wednesday morning, Sister McQueen came to his bedside, the fingers of her right hand almost automatically feeling his pulse as she flicked the watch from the starched white lapel of her uniform.

'Shall I survive till the weekend?'

'You hardly deserve to.'

'I'm OK now, you mean?'

She snorted in derision; but winsomely so.

'You know why we didn't want you to have any visitors?'

'You wanted me all to yourself?' suggested Morse.

She shook her head slowly, her sensitive, slim lips widening into a saddened smile.

'No. Dr Matdiews thought you were probably far too

worried about life - about your work - about other things, perhaps. And he didn't want to take any chances. Visitors are always a bit of a stress.'

'He needn't have worried too much about that'