Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

And in any case, Morse seldom spoke to eidier of his immediate neighbours.

'You look awful, sir.'

'Oh, for Christ's sake, Lewis! Don't you know if somebody says you look awful, you feel awful?'

'Didn't you feel awful before I said it''

Morse nodded a miserable agreement

'Shall I get you a bit of breakfast?'

'No.'

'Well, I reckon we can eliminate the Storrs - bodi of

'em. I've checked with the hotel as far as possible. And unless they hired a helicopter...'

'We can cross off the Comfbrds, too - him, anyway. He's got four witnesses to testify he was running around Oxford pretending to be Roger Bannister.'

'What about her?'

'I can't really see why... or how.'

'Owens could have been blackmailing her?'

Morse fingered his stubbled chin. 'I don't think so somehow. But there's something there ... something Cornford didn't want to tell me about.'

'What d'you think?'

But Morse appeared unable to answer, as he swung his legs out of bed and sat for a while, alternately turning his torso to left and right.

'Just easing the lumbago, Lewis. Don't you ever get it?'

'No.'

'Just nip and get me a glass of orange juice from the fridge. The unsweetened orange juice.'

As he walked into the kitchen, Lewis heard the post slither through the letter-box.

So did Morse.

'Lewis! Did you find out what time dje postman usually calls in Polstead Road?'

'I've already told you. You were right.'

'About the only bloody thing I have been right about.'

'Arrghh! Cheer up, sir!'

'Just turn out those pockets, will you?' Morse pointed to the suit and shirt thrown carelessly over the only chair in the bedroom. 'Time I had a change of clothes - maybe bring me a change of luck.'

'Who's your new girlfriend?' Lewis held up the invitation card.' 'Make it, Morse! DC.''

'That card is wholly private and-'

But Morse got no further.

He felt the old familiar tingling across the shoulders, the hairs on his lower arms standing up, as if a conductor had invited his orchestra to arise after a concert.

'Christ!' whispered Morse irreverently. 'Do you know what, Lewis? I think you've done it again!'

CHAPTER FIFTY

Monday-Tuesday, 4-5 March

The four-barrelled Lancaster Howdah pistol is of .577 in calibre. Its name derived from the story that it was carried by tiger hunters who travelled by elephant and who kept the pistol as a defence against any tiger that might leap on to the elephant's back

(Encyclopedia of Rifles and Handguns, ed. SEAN CONNOLLY)

FOR THE RELATIVES, for the statement-takers and the form-fillers, for the boffins at ballistics and forensics, the murder of Geoffrey Owens would be a serious business. No less than for the detectives. Yet for Morse himself the remainder of that Monday had been unproductive and anti-climactic, with a morning of euphoria followed by an afternoon of blood-trouble.

Hospital instructions had been for him to take four daily readings of his blood sugar level, using a slim, pen-like appliance into which he inserted a test-strip duly smeared with a drop of his blood, with each result appearing, after only thirty seconds, in a small window on the side of the pen. Whilst the average blood sugar level of the healthy person is about 4.5, the pen is

calibrated from i to 25, since the levels of diabetic patients often vary very considerably. Any level higher than 25 is registered as 'HI'.

Now thus far readings had been roughly what Morse had been led to expect (the highest 15.5): it would take some little while - and then only if he promised to do as he was told - to achieve that 'balance' which is the aim of every diabetic. More than disappointing to him therefore had been the 'HI' registered at lunchtime that day. In fact, more of a surprise than a disappointment, since momentarily he was misled into believing that 'HI' was analogous to the greeting from a fruit-machine: 'Hello And Welcome!'

But it wasn't; and Morse was rather worried about himself; and returned to his flat, where he took two further