Last Seen Wearing

'Good enough, I suppose.'

'Good enough to remember what you were doing on Tuesday 2nd September this year?'

Phillipson cheated and consulted his diary. 'I was at a headmasters' conference in London.'

'Whereabouts in London?'

'It was at the Cafe Royal. And if you must know the conference started at. .'

'All right. All right.' Morse held up his right hand like a priest pronouncing the benediction, as a flush of anger rose in the headmaster's cheeks.

'Why did you ask me that?'

Morse smiled benignly. 'That was the day Valerie wrote to her parents.'

'What the hell are you getting at, Inspector?'

'I shall be asking a lot of people the same question before I've finished, sir. And some of them will get terribly cross, I know that. But I'd rather hoped that you would understand.'

Phillipson calmed down. 'Yes, I see. You mean. .'

'I don't mean anything, sir. All I know is that I have to ask a lot of awkward questions; it's what they pay me for. I suppose it's the same in your job.'

'I'm sorry. Go ahead and ask what you like. I shan't mind.'

'I shouldn't be too sure of that, sir.' Phillipson looked at him sharply. 'You see,' continued Morse, 'I want you to tell me, if you can, exactly what you were doing on the afternoon that Valerie Taylor disappeared.'

Mrs. Phillipson brought in the coffee, and after she had retired once more to the kitchen the answer was neatly wrapped and tied.

'I had lunch at school that day, drove down into Oxford, and browsed around in Blackwells. Then I came home.'

'Do you remember what time you got home?'

'About three.'

'You seem to remember that afternoon pretty well, sir?'

'It was rather an important afternoon, wasn't it, Inspector?'

'Did you buy any books?'

'I don't remember that much, I'm afraid.'

'Do you have an account with Blackwells?'

Momentarily Phillipson hesitated. 'Yes. But. . but if I'd just bought a paperback or something I would have paid in cash.'

'But you might have bought something more expensive?' Morse looked along the impressive rows of historical works that covered two walls of the lounge from floor to ceiling, and thought of Johnny Maguire's pathetic little collection.

'You could check up, I suppose,' said Phillipson curtly.

'Yes. I suppose we shall.' Morse felt suddenly very tired.

At half-past midnight Sheila Phillipson tiptoed quietly down the stairs and found the codeine bottle. It kept coming back to her mind and she couldn't seem to push it away from her — that terrible night when Donald had been making love to her, and called her Valerie. She'd never mentioned it, of course. She just couldn't.

Suddenly she jumped, a look of blind terror in her eyes, before subsiding with relief upon a kitchen stool.

'Oh, it's only you, Donald. You frightened me.'

'Couldn't you sleep either, darling?'

CHAPTER TEN

Not a line of her writing have I,

Not a thread of her hair.

(Thomas Hardy, Thoughts of Phena)

MORSE SEEMED RELUCTANT to begin any work when he arrived, late, in his office on Thursday morning. He handed Lewis the report on Valerie's letter and started on The Times crossword puzzle. He looked at his watch, marked the time exactly in the margin of the newspaper and was soon scribbling in letters at full speed. Ten minutes later he stopped. He allowed himself only ten minutes, and almost always completed it. But this morning one clue remained unsolved.

'What's this, Lewis? Six letters. Blank A — Blank S — Blank N. Eyes had I — and saw not?'

Lewis jotted down the letters and pretended to think. He just hadn't a crossword mind. 'Could it be 'parson', sir?'

'Why on earth should it be 'parson'?'

'Well, it fits.'

'So do a hundred and one other words.'