protagonist, in the Harrison case: he was exhausted mentally, physically,
emotionally; and, well . . he just begged for a rest.
And Strange had granted his request.
'I'm going to put someone in charge who's considerably more competent than
you and Morse ever were.'
'Yourself, sir?'
'That's it,' smiled Strange sadly.
'You have two or three days off from tomorrow. You could take the missus to
South Wales.'
'I said I needed a rest, sir! And there are one of two things that Morse ...'
'Make a few calls you mean yes. And go through his diary and see what dates
...'
'I don't think there'll be many of those.'
'You don't?' asked Strange quietly.
'And I haven't got much of a clue how he was going to tackle Frank Harrison.'
Strange lumbered round the table and placed a vast hand on Lewis's shoulder.
'You've got a key?'
Lewis nodded.
'Just bring Harrison Senior straight to me. Then . . .'
Lewis nodded. He was full up to the eyes; and left without a further word.
On journeys concerned with potential criminals or criminal activity, CID
personnel were never advised, and were seldom permitted, to travel alone.
And the following morning Lewis was not wholly unhappy to be travelling
alongside a familiar colleague, albeit alongside Sergeant Dixon. After the
first few obligatory words, the pair of them had lapsed into silence.
There was never likely to be any risk of missing the returning couple at the
Arrivals exit. Nor was there. And it was Lewis who read from his prepared
notes, as unostentatiously as he could: 'Mr Frank Harrison, it is my duty as
a police officer to inform you that I am authorized to remand you into
temporary custody on two counts: first, on suspicion of the murder of Mr John
Barron of Lower Swinstead on the 3rd of August, 1998; second, on suspicion of
the murder of your wife, Yvonne Harrison, on the 8th July 1997. It is also
my duty to tell you ' ' Forget it. Sergeant. You told me what to expect.
Just a couple of favours though, if that's all right? Won't take long. '
'What have you got in mind?' In truth, Lewis had neither the energy nor the
enthusiasm to initiate any determined pursuit had Frank Harrison and partner
decided to make a dash for it and vault the exit-barriers. But that was
never going to happen. Nor did it.
'Well, it's the car, first of all. I left it ' ' All taken care of, sir. Or
it will be. '
'Thank you. Second thing, then. You know the one thing I really missed in
Paris? A pint of real ale, preferably brewed in Burton-on-Trent. The bars
are open here and ...'
'OK.'
Dixon stood beside him as Harrison ordered a pint of Bass and a large gin and
tonic (and, of course, nothing else) whilst Lewis sat at a nearby table,
momentarily alone with Maxine Ridgway.
'You know,' she said very firmly, 'you're quite wrong about one thing. I
don't know too much about Frank's life, but it does just so happen I was with
him the night that his wife was murdered. We were together in his London
flat! I was there when the phone rang and when he ordered a taxi to Padding-
ton ' Frank Harrison was standing by the table now: 'Why don't you learn to
keep your mouth shut, woman!' But his voice was resigned rather than
angered, and if he had contemplated throwing the gin and tonic in her face,
it was only for a second or two.
He sat down and drank his beer.
The damage had been done.
In the back of the police car as it returned to Oxford, Lewis realized, with
an added sadness, that Morse had been wholly wrong, as it now transpired, in
his final analysis of the Harrison murder.
Frank Harrison, if his lady-friend were to be believed, just could not have
murdered his wife that night; and the police must have been right, in the
original enquiry, to cross him off their suspect list.
It had all happened before, of course - many a time! - when Morse, after the
revelation of some fatal flaw in his earlier reasoning, would find his mind
leaping forward, suddenly, with inexplicable insight, towards the ultimate
solution.
But those days had now gone.
It was not until the car was passing through the cutting in the Chiltems by
