they've put me on.'
The light slowly dawned; and Sergeant Lewis suddenly looked a happy man.
'The thermos, sir? Three cups of coffee in that, say?'
Morse nodded. Not a happy man.
'So when you got to Bicester bus station you were dying for a leak and you
saw the Gents' loo there, and when you came out the car was gone. Right?'
Reluctantly Morse nodded once more.
'And we followed you, you and the bus, back to Oxford.'
A gleeful Lewis looked as if he'd won the Lottery.
'You really should have kept your eyes on that car, sir!'
89
'You mean the black R-reg Peugeot, Lewis? You were right, by the way:
19,950 licensed and on the road, so they inform me. Not far off, were you?'
'And the owner?'
'Some insurance-broker in Gerrard's Cross reported it missing two days ago.'
chapter twenty-one BURMA (Be Undressed Ready My Angel) (An acronym
frequently printed on the backs of envelopes posted to sweethearts by
servicemen about to go on leave, or by prisoners about to be released) unlike
the (equally unknown) man who had called upon her the previous evening, he
held up his ID for several seconds in front of her face, like a conjurer
holding up a playing card towards an audience.
But she didn't really look at it; didn't even notice his name. He seemed a
decent, honest-looking sort of fellow not one of those spooky pseuds who
occasionally sought her company. And she was hardly too bothered if he
wasn't one of those decent, honest-looking sort of fellows.
'Deborah Richardson?' (He sounded rather shy. ) 'Yes.'
'Sergeant Lewis, Thames Valley CID.'
'He's not here, yet. It was Harry you wanted?'
'Can I come in?'
'Be my guest!'
As she sat opposite him at the Formica-topped table, Lewis saw a woman in her
mid-thirties, of medium build, with short blonde hair, and wearing a white
dress, polka-dotted in a gaudy green, that reached halfway down (or was it
halfway up? ) a pair of thighs now comfortably crossed in that uncomfortable
kitchen. She was not by any standards a beautiful woman; 91
certainly not
a pretty one. Yet Lewis had little doubt that many men, including Morse
perhaps, would have called her quietly (or loudly) attractive.
She lit a cigarette and smiled rather nervously, the pleasingly regular teeth
un pleasingly coated with nicotine.
'He's OK, isn't he?'
'I'm sure he is, yes.'
'It's just well, I was expectin' him a bit before now.'
'You didn't arrange to meet him at the prison?'
'No. We've got a car, in the garage, but I never got on too well with
drivin'.'
'Perhaps one of his mates . . .?'
'Dunno, really. Expect so. He just said he'd be here as soon as he could.'
'He might have rung you.'
'Havin' a few beers, I should think. Only natural, in nit The champagne's
back in the fridge anyway.'
Lewis looked at his watch, surprised how quickly the latter part of the
morning had sped by.
'Only half-past one.'
'So? So why have you called then, Sergeant?'
Lewis played his less than promising hand with some care. 'It's just that
we've received some . .. information, unconfirmed information, that Harry
might have . . . well, there might be some slight connection between him
and the murder of Mrs Harrison.'
'Harry never had nothin' to do with that murder!'
'You obviously remember the case.'
'Course I do! Everybody does. Biggest thing ever happened round here.'
'So as far as you know Harry had nothing ' ' You reckon I'd be tellin' you if
he had? '
'But you say he hadn't?'
'Course he hadn't!'
'you see, all I'm saying is that Harry's a burglar ' 'Was a burglar.'
'and there was some evidence that there could have been a burglary that
night that might have gone a bit wrong perhaps. '
'What? Her lyin' on the bed there with her legs wide open? Funny bloody
burglary!'
'How did you know that? How she was found?'
'Come off it! How the hell do any of us know anythin'? Common knowledge,
wasn't it? Common gossip, anyway.'
'Where did you hear it?'
'Pub, I should think.'
'Maiden's Arms?'
'Shouldn't be surprised. Everybody talks about everythin' there. The
landlord, 'specially. Still, that's what landlords ' ' Is he still there? '
'Tom? Oh, yes. Tom Biffen. Keeps about the best pint of bitter in
Oxfordshire, so Harry said.' (Lewis made a mental note, for Morse would be
interested. ) 'You know him fairly well, the landlord?'
She lit another cigarette, her eyes widening as she leaned forward a little.
'Fairly well, yes. Sergeant.'
Lewis changed tack.
'You saw Harry pretty regularly while he was inside?'
'Once a week, usually.'
'How did you get
