Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

Later, from his mid-twenties onwards, his need to know had transferred itself to the field of crossword puzzles, where he had so often awaited with almost paranoiac impatience the following day's answer to any clue he'd been unable to solve the day before. And now, as he sat in Bloxham Drive on that overcast, chilly Sunday afternoon in early March, he was aware that there was an answer to this present puzzle: probably a fairly simple answer to the question of what exactly had taken place earlier that morning. For a sequence of events had taken place, perhaps about 7.30. Someone had knocked on the door; had gained entry; had shot G*wens twice; had gone upstairs to try to find something; had left via the kitchen door; had gone away, on foot, on a bike, in a car.

Who?

Who, Morse? For it was someone - someone with a human face and with a human motive. If only he could

put together all the clues, he would know. And even as he sat there some pattern would begin to clarify itself in his mind, presenting a logical sequence of events, a causative chain of reactions. But then that same pattern would begin to blur and fade, since there was destined to be no flash of genuine insight on that afternoon.

Furthermore, Morse was beginning to feel increasingly worried about his present failure - like some hitherto highly acclaimed novelist with a score of bestsellers behind him who is suddenly assailed by a nightmarish doubt about his ability to write that one further winner; by a fear that he has come to the end of his creative output, and must face the possibility of defeat.

Lewis came back into the kitchen once more.

Dr Cornford would be happy to meet Morse whenever it suited. Five o'clock that afternoon? Before Chapel? In his rooms in Lonsdale?

Morse nodded. . ,.,

'And I rang the Storrs again, sir. They're back hi Oxford. Seems they had a bit of lunch in Burford on die way. Do you want me to go round?'

Morse looked up hi some puzzlement.

'What the hell for, Lewis?'

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

The bells would ring to call her

In valleys miks away: 'Come all to church, good people;

Good people, come and pray.' But here my love would stay

(A. E. Housman, A Shropshire Lad XXI)

MORSE ENQUIRED AT the Lodge, then turned left and walked along the side of the quad to the Old Staircase, where on the first floor he saw, above the door to his right, the Gothic-style white lettering on its black background: DR D. J. CORNFORD.

'I suppose it's a bit early to offer you a drink, Chief Inspector?'

Morse looked at his wristwatch.

'Is it?'

'Scotch? Gin? Vodka?'

'Scotch, please.'

Cornford began to pour an ever increasingly liberal tot of Glenmorangie into a tumbler.

'Say 'when'!'

It seemed that the Chief Inspector may have had some difficulty in enunciating the monosyllable, for Cornford paused when the tumbler was half filled with the pale-golden malt.

'When!' said Morse.

'No ice here, I'm afraid. But I'm sure you wouldn't want to adulterate it, anyway.'

'Yes, I would, if you don't mind. Same amount of water, please. We've all got to look after our livers.'

Two doors led off the high-ceilinged, oak-panelled, book-lined room; and Cornford opened the one diat led to a small kitchen, coming back with a jug of cold water.

'I would have joined you normally - without the waterl - but I'm reading die Second Lesson in Chapel tonight' (it was Cornford's turn to consult his wristwatch) 'so we mustn't be all that long. It's diat bit from the Episde to the Romans, Chapter thirteen - the bit about drunkenness. Do you know it?'

'Er, just remind me, sir.'

Clearly Cornford needed no copy of die text in front of him, for he immediately recited the key verse, widi appropriately ecclesiastical intonation:

Let us walk honestly, as in the day; not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying...

You'll be reading from die Kingjames version, dien?' 'Absolutely! I'm an agnostic myself; but what a tragedy diat so many of our Christian brethren have opted for

these new-fongled versions! 'Boozing and Bonking', I should think they translate it'

Morse sat sipping his Scotch contentedly. He could have suggested 'Fux and Sux'; but decided against it

Cornford smiled. 'What do you want to see me about?'