Last Seen Wearing

Lewis began to wish he could have a few days on his own in London; use his own initiative. He might find something. After all, Ainley probably had — well, according to Morse he had. But there again the chief was only guessing. There was no evidence for it. Wasn't it far more likely that Ainley hadn't found anything? If he was killed on the very day that he'd actually found some vital clue — after well over two years of finding nothing — it would be a huge coincidence. Too big. But no. Morse himself took such coincidences blithely in his stride.

He went to the canteen for a cup of tea and sat down by Constable Dickson.

'Solved the murder yet, sarge?'

'What murder?'

Dickson grinned. 'Now don't tell me they've put old Morse on a missing persons case, 'cause I shan't believe you. Come on, sarge, spill the beans.'

'No beans to spill,' said Lewis.

'Come off it! I was on the Taylor business, too, you know. Searched everywhere we did — even dragged the reservoir.'

'Well, you didn't find the body. And if you don't have the body, Dickson boy, you don't have a murder, do you?'

'Ainley thought she was bumped off, though, didn't he?'

'Well, there's always the possibility, but. . Look here, Dickson.' He swivelled round in his chair and faced the constable. 'You kill somebody, right? And you've got a body on your hands, right? How do you get rid of it? Come on, tell me.'

'Well, there's a hundred and one ways.'

'Such as?'

'Well, for a start, there's the reservoir.'

'But that was dragged, you say.'

Dickson looked mildly contemptuous. 'Yes, but I mean. A bloody great reservoir like that. You'd need a bit of luck, wouldn't you, sarge.'

'What else?'

'There was that furnace in the school boiler room. Christ, you wouldn't find much trace if they stuck you in there.'

'The boiler room was kept locked.'

'Come off it! S'posed to have been, you mean. Anyway, somebody's got keys.'

'You're not much help, are you, Dickson?'

'Could have been buried easy enough, couldn't she? It's what usually happens to dead bodies, eh, sarge?' He was inordinately amused by his own joke, and Lewis left him alone in his glory.

He returned to the office and sat down opposite the empty chair. Whatever he thought about Morse it wasn't much fun without him. .

He thought about Ainley. He hadn't known about the letters. If he had. . Lewis was puzzled. Why hadn't Morse worried more about the letters? Surely the two of them should be in London, not sitting on their backsides here in Kidlington. Morse was always saying they were a team, the two of them. But they didn't function as a team at all. Sometimes he got a pat on the back, but mostly he just did what the chief told him to. Quite right and proper, too. But he would dearly love to try the London angle. He could always suggest it, of course. Why not? Why indeed not? And if he found Valerie and proved Morse wrong? Not that he wanted to prove him wrong really, but Morse was such an obstinate blighter. In Lewis's garden ambition was not a weed that sprouted freely.

He noted that Morse had obviously read the notes he had made, and felt mildly gratified. Morse must have come back to the office after seeing the Taylors; and Lewis wondered what wonderful edifice his superior officer had managed to erect on the basis of those two interviews.

The phone rang and he answered it. It was Peters.

'Tell Inspector Morse it's the same as before. Different pen, different paper, different envelope, different postmark. But the verdict's the same as before.'

'Valerie Taylor wrote it, you mean?'

Peters paused. 'I didn't say that, did I? I said the verdict's the same as before.'

'Same odds as before, then?'

He paused. 'The degree of probability is just about the same.'

Lewis thanked him and decided to communicate the information immediately. Morse had told him that if anything important came up, a message would always get through to him. Surely this was important enough? And while he was on the phone he would mention that idea of his. Sometimes it was easier on the phone.

He learned that Morse was in the witness box, but that he should be finished soon. Morse would ring back, and did so an hour later.

'What do you want, Lewis? Have you found the corpse?'

'No, sir. But Peters rang.'

'Did he now?' A note of sudden interest crept into Morse's voice. 'And what did the old twerp have to say, this time?' Lewis told him and felt surprised at the mild reception given to this latest intelligence. 'Thanks for letting me know. Look, Lewis, I've finished here now and I'm thinking of taking the afternoon off. I had a bloody awful