profoundly grateful to Morse.
Most usually (Lewis knew it well) a murder investigation revolved around
corroborated suspicion, A clue was pursued; a suspect targeted; an alibi
checked; a motive weighed in the balances; a response to questioning
interpreted as surly, cocky, devious, frightened . It was all cumulative
that was the word! - a series of pieces in the jigsaw that seemed to form a
coherent pattern sufficiently convincing for a formal charge to 57
be
brought; for a dossier to be sent to the DPP; for a period of remand, further
questioning, sometimes further evidence, with nothing cropping up in the
interim to vitiate the central police hypothesis: that in all probability the
arrested suspect was guilty as hell.
That was the usual pattern.
Not with Morse though.
For some reason Morse often shunned the standard heap- of-evidence approach.
In fact Lewis had seldom if ever observed him, through distaste or idleness
perhaps, riffle through any heap of dutifully transcribed statements,
claiming (as Morse did) that since he could seldom remember what he'd been
doing himself the previous evening, he found it difficult to give much
credence to people who claimed to recall anything from a week last Wednesday
unless, of course, it was watching Coronation Street or listening to The
Archers, or some similar regularly time tabled ritual.
No, Morse seldom worked that way.
The opposite, more often than not.
With most prime suspects, if female, youngish, and even moderately
attractive. Morse normally managed to fall in love, sometimes only for a
brief term, yet sometimes throughout Michaelmas and Hilary and Trinity.
Towards some other prime suspects, if men. Morse occasionally appeared
surprisingly sympathetic, especially if he suspected that the quality of
their lives had hardly been enhanced by getting hitched to some potential
tart who had temporarily managed to camouflage her basic bitchiness . . .
Lewis had a quick look at the Mirror, drained his coffee, and looked at his
watch: 8. 25 a. m. Time he got moving.
As he walked out of the canteen, he (literally) bumped into the stout figure
of Sergeant Dixon 'Dixon-delighting-in- doughnuts' as Homer would have dubbed
him.
'You see the thing on the Lower Swinstead thing?' (Variety was not a feature
of Dixon's vocabulary. )
Lewis nodded, and Dixon continued: 'I was with him on that for a while. Poor
of' Strange. He thought he knew who done it, but he couldn't prove it, could
he? Poor of' Strange. Like I say, I was with him on that thing.'
Lewis nodded again; then climbed the stairs, wondering how that Monday
morning would turn out knowing how Morse hated holidays; how little he
normally enjoyed the company of others; how very much he enjoyed a very
regular allotment of alcohol; how he avoided almost all forms of physical
exercise. And knowing such things, Lewis realized that in all probability he
would fairly soon be driving Morse out to the Muzac-free pub at Thrupp where
a couple of pints of real ale would leave the Chief marginally mellower and
where a couple of orange juices would leave the chauffeur (him! )
un excitedly unintoxicated.
59
chapter fourteen The man who says to one, go, and he goeth, and to
another, come, and he come th has, in most cases, more sense of restraint and
difficulty than the man who obeys him (John Ruskin, The Stones of Venice)
lewis knocked deferentially on Morse's door before entering.
'Welcome home, sir! Nice break?'
No! '
'You don't sound very ' Sh!'
So Lewis sat down obediently in the chair opposite, as his chief contemplated
the last clue: 'Stiff examination (7)' A T P Y; then immediately wrote in the
answer, and consulted his wristwatch.
'Not bad, Lewis. Ten and a half minutes. Still it's usually a bit easier on
