murder and Harry Repp the latter sentenced to fifteen months' imprisonment,
and now released early on parole on grounds of exemplary behaviour. And in
any case, Strange's instructions (not Morse's) had been vague in the extreme:
'Keep an eye on him, see where he goes, who he meets, and, er, generally, you
know . . . well, no need to tell an experienced officer like you.'
And yet (Lewis considered the point afresh) had Strange's motivation been all
that fanciful? Repp was known to have been active in the vicinity at the
relevant period, and had in 73
fact been under limited police surveillance
for some time, although not of course on the night of the murder. And then
there was the letter to Strange a letter which, whilst pointing a finger only
vaguely at the general locality of Lower Swinstead, had quite specifically
pointed towards the man now being released from prison.
As Repp walked away Lewis got to his feet and shook hands with the prison
officer who had communicated to him as much as anyone at Bullingdon was ever
likely to know about the man just released: aged 37; height 5' 10'; weight 13
stone 4 pounds; hair dark-brown, balding; complexion medium; tattoo (naval
design) covering left forearm; sentenced for the receipt and sale of stolen
goods; at the time of arrest cohabiting with Debbie Richardson, of 15 Chaucer
Lane, Burford.
After driving the unmarked police car from the crowded staff car park, Lewis
stopped on the main road, moving round the car as he slowly checked his tyre
pressures, all the while keeping watch on the bus stop, only fifty yards
away, where two men, Repp and a slimmer ferrety-looking fellow, stood
waiting; from where Lewis could hear so very clearly the frequently
vociferated plaints from the ferret: 'Where the fuckin' 'ell's the fuckin'
bus got to?'
In fact, the fuckin' bus was well on its way; and a few minutes later the two
men boarded a virtually empty bus, and un communicatively took their separate
seats.
Lewis moved smoothly into gear and followed discreetly, not at all unhappy
when another (rather posh) car interposed itself between him and the bus.
(Another posh car behind him, for that matter. ) Any minor worry that Repp
might unexpectedly get off at some stage between Bullingdon and Bicester was
taking care of itself very nicely, since the bus made no stop whatsoever
until reaching the Bure Place bus station in Bicester, where the ferret
straightaway alighted (and straightaway disappeared); and where Repp, the
immediate quarry, walked up the line of bus shelters to the 27 oxford
(Direct) bay, promptly boarding the bus already standing there.
Repp was not the only one who had done his homework on the Bicester-Oxford
timetable. For Lewis, knowing there would be a full ten-minute wait before
departure, and leaving his car in the capacious car park opposite, walked
quickly through the short passageway to Sheep Street, passing the public
toilets on his left, where at Forbuoys Newsagent's he bought the Mirror.
Even if there was a bit of a queue, so what? He would rather enjoy not
following but chasing the 27 to Oxford. But the bus was still there, filling
up quite quickly, as he got back into his car.
After the implementation of the Beeching Report of the mid-sixties,
passengers between Oxford and Bicester had perforce to use their own cars.
But the former railway line had now been re-opened; and the deregulated bus
companies were trying their best, and sometimes succeeding, in tempting
passengers back to public transport. There were no traffic jams on the rail;
and a newly designated bus lane from Kid- ling ton gave a comparatively
fast-track entry into Oxford.
So perhaps (Lewis pondered the matter) it was hardly surprising that Repp had
