Last Bus To Woodstock

Margaret had brought him a cup of hot black coffee at a quarter to nine; she always knew — and usually said so. She had been up since half-past six, cooked the children's breakfast, washed some shirts and blouses, made the beds, hoovered the bedrooms and she was now putting on her coat in the hall. She put her head round the door. 'You all right?' How Bernard hated the reminder!

'Fine.'

'Do you want anything from town — Milk of Magnesia tablets?' They seemed perpetually in a state of eruptive belligerence, staring at each other over a long-disputed frontier. Margaret! Margaret! He wished he could talk to her.

'No. No thanks. Look, Margaret, I've got to go down myself pretty soon. Can you wait a few minutes?'

'No. Must be off. You home for lunch?'

What was the point? 'No. I'll have a bite to eat in college.' He heard the front door bang and watched her as she walked quickly to the end of the road and round the corner and out of sight. He went to the kitchen, filled a glass with cold water and dropped in two tablets of soluble Disprin.

Morse and Lewis conferred from nine to ten that morning. There were several loose ends to tie up and several interesting trails to follow. At least, that's how Morse explained things to Lewis. After Lewis had left him, he had a call from a young reporter on The Oxford Mail, as a result of which a brief paragraph would appear in the evening edition. Routine answers. He couldn't tell anyone much, but he tried to sound as confident as he could. It was good for morale.

He got the Kaye file and spent the next hour rereading the documents in the case. At 11.00 a.m. he put the file away, reached for the Oxford and District telephone directory, looked under the Cs for the number he wanted, and rang the manager of Chalkley and Sons, Botley Road. He was unlucky. John Sanders had not come in that morning; his mother had phoned — bad cold or something.

'What's your opinion of him?' asked Morse.

'He's all right. Quiet, little bit surly, perhaps. But most of them are these days. Works well enough, I think.'

'Well, I'm sorry to have bothered you. I wanted a quick word with him, that's all.'

'About this murder at Woodstock?'

'Yes. He found the girl, you know.'

'Yes. I read about it and of course everyone tried to talk to him about it.'

'Did he have much to say?'

'Not really. Didn't seem to want to talk. Understandable, I suppose.'

'Yes. Well, thanks once again.'

'You're very welcome. Do you want his home address?'

'No thanks. I've got it here.'

Lewis was rather more fortunate. Mrs. Jarman was at home, dusting the stairs.

'But I don't understand, Sergeant. I'm sure they were both girls.'

Lewis nodded. 'Just checking up on one or two things.'

'But I spoke to one of them, as you know, and the other poor girl — well, you know. . And I thought they were about the same height; but it's ever so difficult to remember you know. .' Yes, Lewis knew. He left her to dust the stairs.

He found the bus conductor drinking coffee in the canteen at Gloucester Green.

'One girl getting on the bus? But you said two before.'

'Yes, I know. But we've got an idea that perhaps only one got on.'

'Sorry. I can't remember. I am sorry, honest — but it's a long time ago now.'

'Yes. Don't worry. As I said — just an idea. If you do happen to think of anything. .'

'Of course.'

George Baker was digging his garden.' 'Allo mate. I seen you before.'

'Sergeant Lewis Thames Valley Police.'

'Ah. Course. Wha' can a do forya?'

Lewis explained his visit but George's answer was only marginally less discouraging than those of the others.

'We-ell, I s'pose it could a been a fella, bu' swipe me mate, I could a swore as both of 'em was women.'

Memories were fading and the case was growing stale. Lewis went home for lunch.

At 2.00 p.m. he was ushered into the office of the car service manager of Barkers Garage on the Banbury Road, where he spent more than an hour working his way methodically through hundreds of carbon copies of work- sheets, customers' invoices, booking-ledgers and other sundry records of car repairs for the weeks beginning September 22 and 27. He found nothing. He spent a further hour going back to the beginning of September, increasingly conscious that his task was futile. Miss Jennifer Coleby, although she had an account with Barkers, had not brought in her car for any repairs or service since July. She had bought the car new from the garage over three years ago; HP nearly finished; no trouble with payments; no serious mechanical faults. 6,000 service on 14 July, with a few oddments put right. ?13.55. Bill paid July 30.

Lewis was disappointed if not surprised. Morse seemed to have a bee in his bonnet about this Coleby woman.