not make out the mildest nicker of response in Bernard's eyes. 'Had she got nice legs?'
'Not so nice as the other's, I don't think.'
'You noticed those?'
'What do you think? She was sitting next to me.' '
'Any erotic day-dreams?'
'Yes,' said Crowther, with a fierce burst of honesty.
'It's a good job it's not a criminal offence,' sighed Morse, 'otherwise we'd all be inside.' He noticed a light smile play for a brief second on Crowther's worried face. I can see him being attractive to some women, thought Morse. 'What time did you get home that night?'
'About a quarter to nine.'
'Was that the usual time, you know, because of er your er wife and so on?'
'Yes.'
'An hour a week, was that it?'
'Not much longer.'
'Was it worth it?'
'It seemed so — at the time.'
'You didn't call at The Black Prince that evening?'
'I've never been in The Black Prince.' It sounded very definite. Morse looked down at the statement again and noticed the beautifully formed handwriting; it seemed a pity to type it out. He questioned Crowther for a further half an hour, and gave it up soon after 4.00 p.m.
'We shall have to keep your car here a while, I'm afraid.'
'You will?' Crowther sounded disappointed.
'Yes, we might just find something, you know — hair, that sort of thing. They can do wonderful things these days, our forensic boys.' He got up from his chair and asked Crowther for his crutches. 'Ill promise you one thing,' said Morse. 'We'll keep your wife out of it. I'm sure you can make up something to tell her. After all, you're used to that sort of thing, aren't you, sir?'
Morse limped out behind Crowther and ordered the desk sergeant to get some transport. 'Leave your car keys with me please, sir,' said Morse. 'You should have the car back early next week.' The two men shook hands and Crowther was to wait only a few minutes before he was ushered into a police car. Morse watched him go with mixed feelings. He felt he'd handled things satisfactorily. He needed to think now, not to talk. Funny, though, that about the other girl's legs; Mrs. Jarman said she was almost to himself.
He summoned assistance and was helped across to Crowther's car. The doors were open. He struggled his way into the nearside front seat and sat back, manoeuvring his foot as carefully as he could, and stretching his legs as far as possible in front of him. He closed his eyes and pictured the legs of Sylvia Kaye, long, tanned, finely formed, rising up to her brief skirt. He thought she might have leaned back, too. 'Hot pants!' he said, almost to himself.
'Pardon, sir?' said the sergeant who had helped him into the car.
By an odd coincidence (or was it?) Studio 2 in Walton Street was presenting a double sexploitation bill whose titles were calculated to titillate even the most jaded appetite. The first, 2.00-3.05 p.m., was
At 5.00 p.m. the earlier addicts were leaving, and a small group of men stood inside the foyer waiting for admission. One of these would normally have joined the early brigade, for this was for him a weekly occurrence. But he had been needed by Messrs Chalkley and Sons for two hours' overtime in the formica shop. He would not, this week, be able to stay round and see the programme twice; but the films seldom met his inflated expectations or the infinite promise of the coming-shortly trailers. On these occasions he seldom looked about him, and it was just as well in the late afternoon of Saturday, 9 October, that once again he averted his eyes from his fellow voyeurs. For standing no more than four feet away from him, ostensibly checking the times of the next programme, but keeping himself carefully and unobtrusively out of the limelight, was the sergeant seconded to Detective Chief Inspector Morse for the inquiry into the murder of Sylvia Kaye. Lewis thought that this was one of Morse's more rewarding assignments, and he suspected that, but for his accident, his chief might well have undertaken it himself.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Monday, 11 October
THE WEEKEND DRIFTED by, and the leaves continued to fall. Morse was feeling more cheerful; he could now put a good deal of weight on to his foot, and on Monday morning, deciding that he could exchange his crutches for a pair of sticks, he arranged for McPherson to drive him down to the Radcliffe Infirmary Outpatients' (Accident) Department.
He questioned McPherson closely as they drove. What impression had he formed of Crowther? What had been Crowther's immediate reactions? What was he like at home did he think? What had he been doing when McPherson called? Morse found the young constable surprisingly intelligent and observant, and told him so. Furthermore he found a good deal in the information he had been given that interested him and aroused his curiosity.
'What had he been reading — did you manage to see?'
'No, sir. But books on literature, I think. You know, poetry.' Morse let it pass.
'He had a writing-desk, you say?'
'Yes, sir. You know, papers all over it.'
