Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

'I didn't say that. I deliberately said parked the car, if you'd been listening. It could have been his - it could have been hers: it's the card number that's recorded there, not the car number. She could have driven his car - he could have driven hers - and at any point they could have swapped. Not much risk. Very few people around there at seven. Or eight, for that matter.'

'Is it my turn now?' asked Lewis quietly.

'Go on!'

'I'm talking about Owens' car, all right? That was parked in Bloxham Drive - 'Drive' please, sir - when Owens was there that morning. The street was cordoned off, but the lads let him in - because he told them he lived diere. And I saw the car myself.'

'So? He could have left it - or she could have left it -in a nearby street. Anywhere. Up on the main road behind the terrace, say. That's where JJ-'

But Morse broke off.

'It still couldn't have happened like you say, sir!'

'No?'

'No! He was seen in his office, Owens was, remember? Just at the time when Rachel was being murdered! Seen by the Personnel Manager there.'

'We haven't got a statement from him yel, though.'

'He's been away, you know that'

Yes, I do know dial, Lewis. But you spoke to him.'

Lewis nodded.

'On the phone?'

'On die phone.'

You did it through the operator, I suppose?'

Lewis nodded again.

'Do you know who she probably put you through to?' asked Morse slowly.

The light dawned in Lewis's eyes. 'You mean ... she could have put me through to Owens himself?'

Morse shrugged his shoulders. 'That's what we've got to find out, isn't it? Owens was deputy Personnel Manager, we know that. He was on a management course only last weekend.'

'Do you really think that's what happened?'

'I dunno. I know one thing, though: it could have happened that way.'

'But it's all so - so airy-fairy, isn't it? And you said we were going to get some facts straight first.'

'Exacdy.'

Lewis gave up die struggle. Til tell you somediing diat would be useful: some idea where the gun is.'

'The 'pistol', do you mean?'

'Sorry. But if only we knew where thatvtas ...'

'Oh, I think I know where we're likely to find the pistol, Lewis.'

PART FIVE

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Wednesday, 6 March

A good working definition of Hell on Earth is a forced attendance for a couple of days or even a couple of hours at a Young Conservatives' Convention

(Cassandra, in the Daily Mirror, June 1952)

Miss ADELE CECIL (she much preferred 'Miss' to 'Ms' and 'Adele' to 'Delia') had spent the previous evening and night in London, where she had attended, and addressed, a meeting of the chairmen, chairwomen and chairpersons of the Essex Young Conservative Association. Thirty-eight such personages had assembled at Durrants, in George Street, a traditional English hotel just behind Oxford Street, with good facilities, tasteful cuisine, and comfortable beds. Proceedings had been businesslike, and the majority of delegates (it appeared) had ended up in the rooms originally allocated to them.

It was at a comparatively early breakfast in the restaurant that over her fresh grapefruit, with Full English to follow, the head-waiter had informed Adele of the telephone message, which she had taken in one of the hooded booths just outside the breakfast-room.

'How did you know I was here?'

'Don't you remember me? I'm a detective.'

Yes, she remembered him - the white-haired, supercilious, sarcastic police officer she didn't want to meet again.

'I shan't be back in Oxford till lunchtime.'

'The Trout? Half past twelve?'