anyone who finds the body first is usually going to be
number one in your book, I know that. But there's no doubt about Paddy Flynn
being on taxi-shift from 8 p. m. that night. He was seen on and off by his
fellow-drivers as well as being contacted at regular intervals from base. No
doubt either about him picking up Frank Harrison about eleven from Oxford
railway station. But that's not to say is it, sir? - that Harrison had just
got off a train at the railway station.
It would be the most natural thing in the world for anyone to think he had,
but . '
Morse smiled.
'Could hardly have put it better myself. But somebody paid Flynn for
something. So it was probably for something that happened after eleven
o'clock. And there was only one person with Flynn then: Frank Harrison. And
he's the only one of the whole bunch with the sort of money to buy Flynn off.'
'And buy Repp off, if we're right about him being there that night.
Harrison must be earning, well. . . '
'A little more than you are, Lewis, yes. In fact he got a bonus - a bonus of
85,000 last year. Seems he was sorting out his bank's involvement in the
Nazi confiscation of Jewish assets, and his bosses were more than pleased
with him.'
'How on earth do you know that?'
'Aren't we supposed to be detectives?'
Lewis pursued the matter no further.
'So, what do you think?'
'Waste of time as far as the children are concerned. But it might help to
look at their father again.'
'You think it was Harrison who murdered his wife?'
'I dunno.'
'You think he murdered Flynn and Repp?'
'He had enough reason to. He couldn't go on forking out indefinitely.'
'So we'd better have a careful check on wherever he was that Friday morning.'
'Well, wherever else he was he wasn't in his London office.'
'How on earth ?'
'What else can I tell you?' asked Morse wearily.
'I've just asked you. Do you think he murdered Flynn and Repp?'
'He could have done. But somehow I don't believe he did.'
'So who . . .?'
'I keep telling you, Lewis. My modest bet is still on Barron.'
'Shouldn't we be looking a bit more into their backgrounds? Repp's?
Flynn's? Barren's? '
'I don't think we're going to get anything more out of Debbie Richardson.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Just a feeling, Lewis. Just a feeling.'
'What about Flynn?'
Morse nodded.
'You're right. He was being paid for some- thing.
Exactly what, though . . . Yes. Leave that to me. '
'What about Barron? Shall I leave that to you, as well?'
'No, no! The less I have to do with the women in this case the better. You
go along. And if you can find out more about where he was or where he was
supposed to be on both those days . .. Yes, you do that!'
'All right. But don't you think we ought to widen the net, sir?
Haven't we got any other suspects? '
'Tom Biffen, perhaps?'
Lewis's eyebrows shot up.
'You mean ?'
'The landlord of the Maiden's Arms, no less. We'll go out and interview him
together once we get a chance. You'll be able to buy me a pint.'
'But wasn't it a Tuesday when Mrs Harrison was murdered?'
'You're right, yes.'
'Well, he always goes out fishing on Tuesdays, Biffen - dawn to dusk.'
'Really? How on earth do you know that?'
'Aren't we supposed to be detectives, sir?'
chapter fifty-one Once cheated, wife or husband feels the same; and where
there's marriage without love, there will be love without marriage (Benjamin
Franklin, Poor Richard's AlmamuK) at 9. 30 a. m. the following day, Mrs
Linda Barron stepped back from the threshold, nodding rather wearily as Lewis
produced his ID. In the kitchen, he accepted her offer of instant coffee.
She was a brunette of medium height, slightly overweight, with a small,
cupid-lipped mouth, wearing a blue-striped kitchen apron over skirt and
blouse.
Lewis decided she was coping with life, just about.
The smallish kitchen was cluttered with shelves and cupboards, the
floor-space additionally limited by the usual appliances: cooker, dishwasher,
fridge, micro-wave, washing machine. Lewis immediately noticed the damp
patch of crumbling ceiling over the cooker. Same old story! Husband a
plumber, and a tap-washer never gets fixed; husband a builder, and there's a
two-year wait before a bit of re-plastering gets done . . Difficult to say,
offhand, whether the Barrens were better or worse off than they appeared.
From experience, Lewis had learned never to try his hand at commiseration or
counselling; but when he questioned her, he did so in the kindly fashion that
was his wont. He asked her tactfully about the times and places relevant to
her husband's
