Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

'Well, in a way it's about that last bit of your text: the 'strife and envying' bit. You see, I know you're standing for the Mastership here ...'

Tes?'

Morse took a deep breath, took a further deepish draught, and then told Cornford of the murder that morning of Geoffrey Owens; told him that various documents from the Owens household pointed to a systematic campaign of blackmail on Owens' part; informed him that there was reason to believe that he, Cornford, might have been - almost certainly would have been - one of the potential victims.

Cornford nodded quietly. 'Are you sure of this?'

'No, not sure at all, sir. But-'

'But you've got your job to do.'

'You haven't received any blackmail letters yourself?'

'No.'

. Til be quite blunt, if I may, sir. Is there anything you can think of in the recent past, or distant past, that could have been used to compromise you in some way? Compromise your candidature, say?'

Cornford considered the question. 'I've done a few things I'm not very proud of - haven't we all? - but I'm fairly sure I got away with them. That was in another country, anyway...'

Morse finished the quotation for him: '... and, besides, the wench is dead.'

Cornford's pale grey eyes looked across at Morse with almost childlike innocence.

Yes.'

'Do you want to tell me about them?'

'No. But only because it would be an embarrassment for me and a waste of time for you.'

'You're a married man, I understand.'

'Yes. And before someone else tells you, my wife is American, about half my age, and extremely attractive.' The voice was still pleasantly relaxed, yet Morse sensed a tone of quiet, underlying strength.

'She hasn't been troubled by letters, anonymous letters, anything like that?'

'She hasn't told me of anydiing.'

'Would she tell you?'

Did Morse sense a hint of uneasy hesitation in Corn-ford's reply?

'She would, I think, yes. But you'd have to ask her.'

Morse nodded. 'I know it's a bit of a bodier - but I shall have to do that, I'm afraid. She's, er, she's not around?'

Cornford again looked at his wristwatch.

'She'll be coming over to Chapel very shortly.'

'Has there been much feeling - much tension -between you and the, er, other candidate?'

'The atmosphere on High Table has been a little, let's say, uncomfortable once or twice, yes. To be expected, though, isn't it?'

'But you don't throw insults at each other like those boxers before a big fight?'

'No, we just think them.'

'No whispers? No rumours?'

'Not as far as I'm aware, no.'

'And you get on reasonably well with Mr Storrs?'

Cornford got to his feet and smiled again, his head slightly to one side.

'I've never got to know Julian all that well, really.'

The Chapel bell had begun to ring - a series of monotonous notes, melancholy, ominous almost, like a curfew.

Ten minutes to go.

'Come ye to church, good people, Good people, come and pray,'

quoted Cornford.

Morse nodded, as he ventured one final question:

'Do you mind me asking you when you got up this morning, sir?'

'Early. I went out jogging -just before seven.'

'Just you?'

Cornford nodded vaguely.

You didn't go out after that - for a paper? In the car, perhaps?'