Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

Nurofen Plus for his persisting headache, sat back in his armchair, decided he lacked the energy to do The Times crossword or even to turn on the CD player - and fairly soon fell fast asleep.

At six o'clock he rang Lewis to say he would be doing nothing more that day. Just before seven o'clock he measured his blood sugar once again; and finding it somewhat dramatically reduced, to 14.3, had decided to celebrate with a small glass of Glenfiddich before he listened to The Archers.

The following morning, feeling much refreshed, feeling eager to get on with things, Morse had been at his desk in Police HQ for half an hour before Lewis entered, holding a report.

'Ballistics, sir. Came in last night'

Morse could no more follow the technical terminology of ballistics reports than he could understand a paragraph of Structural Linguistics or recall the configuration of the most recent map of Bosnia. To be sure he had a few vague notions about 'barrels' and 'grooves' and 'cylinders' and 'calibres'; but his knowledge went no further, and his interest not quite so far as that Cursorily glancing therefore through the complex data assembled in the first five pages, he acquainted himself with the short, simply written summary on page six:

Rachel James was fatally shot by a single bullet fired from a range of c. 45 cms; Geoffrey Owens was fatally shot by two bullets fired from a range of c. 100 cms. The pistol used in each case, of .577 in. calibre, was of the type frequently used by HM Forces. Quite certainly the same pistol was used in each killing.

ASH: 4.iii.g6

Morse sat back in the black-leather armchair and looked mildly satisfied with life.

Te-es. I think I'm beginning to wake up at last in this case, Lewis. You know, it's high time we got together, you and me. We've been doing our own little things so far, haven't we? You've gone off to see somebody - I've gone off to see somebody - and we've not got very far,

have we? It's the same as always, Lewis. We need to do things together from now on.'

'No time like the present.'

'Pardon?'

Lewis pointed to the ballistics report 'What do you think?'

'Very interesting. Same revolver.'

'Pistol, sir.'

'Same difference.'

'I think most of us had assumed it was the same, anyway.'

'Really?'

'Well, it's what most of the lads think.'

Morse's smile was irritatingly benign. 'Same revolver - same murderer. Is that what, er, most of the lads think as well?'

'I suppose so.'

'Do you?'

Lewis considered the question. It either was - or it wasn't. Fifty-fifty chance of getting it right, Lewis. Go for it!

'Yes!'

'Fair enough. Now let's consider a few possibilities. Rachel was shot through the kitchen window when she was standing at the sink. The blind was old and made of thinnish material and the silhouette was pretty clear, perhaps; but the murderer was taking a risk. Revolvers' (Lewis had given up) 'are notoriously inaccurate even at close range, and the bullet's got to penetrate a reasonably substantial pane of glass - enough perhaps to knock the aim off course a bit and hit her in the neck instead of the head. Agreed?'

Lewis nodded at what he saw as an analysis not particularly profound. And Morse continued:

'Now the shooting of Owens took place inside the house - from a bit further away; but no glass this time, and a very clear target to aim at. And Owens is shot in the chest, not in the head. A modus operandi quite different from die first'

Lewis smiled. 'So we've got two moduses operandi.'

'Modi, Lewis! So it could be that we've two murderers. But that would seem on the face of it highly improbable, because it's not difficult to guess the reason for the difference... Is it?'

'Well, as I see things, sir, Owens was probably murdered by somebody he knew. He probably invited whoever it was in. Perhaps they'd arranged to meet anyway. Owens was dressed and-' Lewis stopped a moment 'He hadn't shaved though, had he?'

'He was the sort of fellow who always looked as if he needed a shave.'

'Perhaps we should have checked more closely.'

'You don't expect me to check diat sort of thing, do you? I'm a necrophobe - you've known me long enough, surely.'

'Well, that's it then, really. But Packet probably didn't know him.'

'Or her.'

'She must have been really scared if she heard a tap on the window that morning and went to open the blind-'

You're still assuming diat bodi murders were committed by the same person, Lewis.'