Last Seen Wearing

'I spoke to him on the phone this morning and he said he was interviewing some new pupils.'

'Perhaps he was,' suggested the honest Lewis.

'I had the feeling he didn't want to talk just then, and I was right.' Lewis looked at him quizzically. 'I heard a click on the line while we were talking. You can guess who was listening in.'

'Mrs. Webb?'

'Mrs. Webb. I rang again later and asked her why she'd been eavesdropping. She denied it, of course; but I told her I'd forget all about it if she told me the truth about who had been in the headmaster's study. She was scared — for her job, I suppose. Anyway, she said that nobody had been in with Phillipson when I rang.'

Lewis opened his mouth to say something but Morse was already pouncing on the piles of textbooks.

'Ah, Keats. Fine poet, Keats. You should read him, Lewis. . Well, well, well. Travels with a Donkey.' He picked up a copy and began to read under the cob-webbed central light bulb.

Lewis made for the far wall of the room, where whole stacks of exercise books, used and unused, mauve, green, blue and orange, were heaped upon the shelves, some bundled neatly, but the majority in loose disarray. Lewis, as always, tackled his task with systematic thoroughness, although he doubted whether he would find anything. Fortunately, it was a good deal easier going than he had thought.

Half an hour later he found them. A pile of loose books, eight of them, each with the name Valerie Taylor inscribed in capitals on the front cover. He blew the dust off the edges and savoured his brief moment of triumph.

'I've found them, sir.'

'Well done. Leave them where they are — don't touch them.'

'I already have, I'm afraid, sir.'

'Was there any dust on the top book?'

The sweet taste of success had already turned sour. 'I don't know.'

'Give 'em here.' Morse was clearly very cross and muttered angrily under his breath.

'Pardon, sir?'

'I said I think someone else may well have been looking at these books recently. That's what I said!'

'I don't think the top book was dusty, sir. Just the edges.'

'And where's the dust on the edges?'

'I blew it off.'

You blew it off! Christ, man. We've got a murder on our hands here, and we're supposed to be investigating it — not blowing all the bloody clues away!'

He gradually calmed down, and with a silent Lewis returned to Phillipson's study. It was now 4.30 and apart from the headmaster and Mrs. Webb the school was empty.

'I see you found the books.'

Morse nodded curtly, and the three men sat down once more. 'Bit of luck, really,' continued Phillipson. 'It's a wonder they weren't thrown away.'

'Where do you throw old books away?' It seemed an odd question.

'Funnily enough they get buried — down on the rubbish dump. It's a difficult job burning a whole lot of books, you know.'

'Unless you've got a fiery furnace,' said Morse slowly.

'Well, yes. But even. .'

'You've got a furnace here?'

'Yes, we have. But. .'

'And that would burn just about anything, would it?'

'Yes. But as I was going. .' Again Morse cut him short.

'Would it burn a body all right?' His words hung in the air, and Lewis shivered involuntarily. Phillipson's eyes were steady as he looked directly at Morse.

'Yes. It would burn a body, and it wouldn't leave much trace, either.'

Morse appeared to accept the remark without the slightest surprise or interest. 'Let's get back to these books a minute, sir, if we may. Are there any missing?'

Phillipson hadn't the remotest idea and breathed an inner sigh of relief as Baines (answering an earlier urgent summons) knocked on the study door, was ushered in and introduced.

It was immediately clear that the second master was a mine of information on all curricular queries, and I within ten minutes Morse had copies of the information he required: Valerie's timetable for the summer term in which she disappeared, her homework schedule for the same period, and a list of her subject teachers. No books, it seemed, were missing. He made some complimentary remarks on Baines's efficiency, and the second master's shrewd eyes blinked with gratification.

After they had all gone Phillipson sat behind his desk and groaned inwardly. In the space of one short afternoon the cloud on the horizon had grown to menacing proportions. What a bloody fool he had been!

As a husband and a father, Sergeant Lewis experienced the delights and despondencies, the difficulties and