not been picked up at Bullingdon by a friend, or by a relative, or by his
common-law wife. Yet it would surely have been so much easier, quicker, more
convenient that way?
At 10. 10 a. m. the 27 pulled out of the bus station and headed towards
Oxford, in due course crossing over the M40 junction and making appropriately
good speed along the A34, before turning off through Kidlington and then over
the A40 down towards Oxford City Centre.
And again Lewis was fortunate, for no one had got off the bus along the route
until the upper reaches of the Banbury Road.
Easy!
Driving at a safe and courteous distance behind the bus, 75
Lewis had ample
opportunity for reflecting once more on the slightly disturbing developments
of the previous few days . . .
Morse had been as good as his word that Monday morning, when the latter part
of their audience with Strange had turned almost inexplicably bitter. No,
Morse could not agree to any involvement in the re-opening of the Harrison
enquir- it's . Yes, Morse realized ('Fully, sir!' ) the possible
implications of his non-compliance with the decision of a superior officer.
Yet oddly enough, it had been Strange who had seemed the more unsure of
himself during those final exchanges; and Lewis had found himself puzzled,
and suspecting that there were certain aspects of the case of which he
himself was wholly unaware.
Could it be . . . ?
Could it be perhaps . . ?
Could it be perhaps that Morse had some reason for keeping his head above the
turbid waters still swirling around the unsolved murder of Yvonne Harrison?
Some personal reason, say? Some connection with the major participants in
the case? Some connection (Lewis was thinking the unthinkable) with the
major participant: with the murdered woman herself? For there must be some
reason . . .
Some reason, too, for Morse's (virtually unprecedented) absence from HQ on
those two following days, the Tuesday and the Wednesday? To be fair, he had
rung Lewis (at home) early on the Tuesday morning, saying that he was feeling
unwell, and in truth sounding unwell. He'd be grateful, he'd said, if Lewis
could apologize to all concerned; perhaps for the following day as well.
Lewis had rung Morse that Tuesday evening, but there was no answer; had rung
again on the Wednesday evening again with no answer.
Was Morse ill?
Not all that ill, anyway, because he'd appeared on the Thursday morning at
his usual, comparatively early hour. And said nothing about his absence. Or
about his row with Strange.
Or about his health, for that matter. But Morse seldom mentioned his health
. .
Just below the Cutteslowe roundabout, the bus stopped and four passengers
alighted but not Repp.
At the Martyrs' Memorial, the majority of the passengers alighted but not
Repp.
At the Gloucester Green terminus, the last few passengers alighted but not
Repp.
The 27 bus was now empty.
77
chapter eighteen Any fool can tell the truth; but it requires a man of
some sense to know how to lie well (Samuel Butler) lewis knew what he must do
as soon as he saw Morse's maroon Jaguar parked in its wonted place.
'Still feeling better, sir?'
'Better than what?'
'Can you spare a minute?'
'Si' down!'
Seated opposite, in his own wonted place, Lewis said his piece.
'You're in a bit of a mess,' said Morse, at the end of the sorry story.
'That's not much help, is it?'
'Remember the Sherlock Holmes story. Case a/Identity:' A fellow gets in one
side of a hansom cab, and gets out through the opposite side.'
'Doors on buses are always on the same side.'
Really? '
'You never go on a bus.'
'But you weren't watching either side. You were queuing for coffee.'
'Buying a paper.'
'Listen!' Morse looked and sounded strained and weary.
'I thought you were asking for my advice. Do you want to hear it?'
There was a brief silence before Morse continued: 'It's not really a question
of your own competence or incompetence probably the latter, I'm afraid. The
main concern is what's happened to your man.
Repp. Agreed? '
