Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

She knew Storrs (she claimed) only as a patient; she'd known Turnbull (she claimed) only as a consultant; she knew Owens (she claimed) not at all.

Lewis produced the letter stating Julian Storrs' prognosis.

'Do you think this photocopy was made at the clinic?'

'I didn't copy it'

'Someone must have done.'

'I didn't copy it'

'Any idea who might have done?'

'/didn't copy it'

It was hardly a convincing performance, and she was aware that both men knew she was lying. And quiedy - amid a few tears, certainly, but with no hysteria - the truth came out

Owens she had met when the Press had come along for die clinic's 25th anniversary - he must have seen somediing, heard something dial night, about Mr Storrs. After Mr Tumbull had died, Owens had telephoned her - diey'd met in the Bird and Baby in St Giles' - he'd asked her if she could copy a letter for him - yes, that letter - he'd offered her ?500 - and she'd agreed -copied die letter - been paid in cash. That was it - dial was all - a complete betrayal of trust, she knew that -somediing she'd never done before - would never have

done in the normal course of events. It was just the money - nothing else - she'd desperately needed the money...

Morse had been silent throughout die interrogation, his attention focused, it seemed, on the long, black- stockinged legs.

'Where does dial leave me - leave us?' she asked miserably.

'We shall have to ask you to come in to make an official statement,' said Lewis.

'Now, you mean?'

'That'll be best, yes.'

'Perhaps not,' intervened Morse. 'It's not all dial urgent, Miss Charles. We'll be in touch fairly soon.'

At the door, Morse thanked her for the coffee: 'Not the best homecoming, I'm afraid.'

'Only myself to blame,' she said, her voice tight as she looked across at die Visitors' parking lots, where the Jaguar stood.

'Where did you go?' asked Morse.

'I didn't go anywhere.'

'You stayed here - in your flat?'

'I didn't go anywhere.'

'What was that about?' asked Lewis as he drove back along die A$4 to Oxford. 'About her statement?'

'I want you to be widi me when we see Storrs diis afternoon.'

'What did you think of her?'

'Not a very good liar.'

'Lovely figure, though. Legs right up to her armpits! She'd have got a job in the chorus line at the Windmill.'

Morse was silent, his eyes gleaming again as Lewis continued:

'I read somewhere that they all had to be the same height and the same build - in the chorus line there.'

'Perhaps I'll take you along when the case is over.'

'No good, sir. It's been shut for ages.'

Dawn Charles closed the door behind her and walked thoughtfully back to the lounge, the suspicion of a smile about her lips.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Everything in life is somewhere else, and you get there in a car

(E. B. White, One Man's Meat)

LEWIS HAD BACKED into the first available space in Polstead Road, the tree-lined thoroughfare that leads westward from Woodstock Road into Jericho; and now stood waiting whilst Morse arose laboriously from the low passenger seat of the Jaguar.

'Seen that before, sir?' Lewis pointed to the circular blue plaque on the wall opposite: 'This house was the home of T. E. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia) from 1896-1921.'

Morse grunted as he straightened up his aching back, mumbling of lumbago.

'What about a plaque for Mr Storrs, sir? 'This was the home of Julian Something Storrs, Master of Lonsdale, 199610... 1997?''

Morse shrugged indifferently: