Last Seen Wearing

'If you want to talk about money, my gal, what about your Bingo. Every bloody night nearly.'

'You just leave my Bingo out of it. It's about the one pleasure I've got in life, and don't you forget it. And some people win at Bingo; you know that, don't you? Don't tell me you're so ignorant you don't know that.'

'Have you won recently?' His tone was softer and he hoped very much that she had.

'I've told you. You keep your nose out of it. I spend my own money, thank you, not yours; and if I win that's my business, isn't it?'

'You were lashing out a bit with your money tonight, weren't you? Bit free with your favours all round, if you ask me.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Her voice was very nasty.

'Well, you—'

'Look, if I want to treat some of my friends to a drink, that's my lookout, isn't it? It's my money, too!'

'I only meant—'

They were at the front gate now and she turned on him, her eyes flashing. 'And don't you ever dare to say anything again about my favours! Christ! You're a one to talk, aren't you — you— bastard.'

Their holiday together, the first for seven years, was due to begin at the weekend. The omens seemed hardly favourable.

It was half-past eleven when Morse finally laid his head upon the pillows. He shouldn't have had so much beer really, but he felt he'd deserved it. It would mean shuffling along for a pee or two before the night was out. But what the hell! He felt at peace with himself and with the world in general. Beer was probably the cheapest drug on the market, and he only wished that his GP would prescribe it for him on the National Healdi. Ah, this was good! He turned into the pillows. Old Lewis would be in bed, too. He would see Lewis first thing in the morning; and he was quite sure that however groggy his faithful sergeant was feeling he would sit up in his sick bed and blink with a pained, incredulous surprise. For tomorrow morning he would be able to reveal the identity of the murderer of Valerie Taylor and that of the murderer of Reginald Baines, to boot. Or, to be slightly more accurate, just the one identity; for it had been the same hand which had murdered them both, and Morse now knew whose hand it was.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

An ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own.

(Shakespeare, As You Like It)

'HOW'RE YOU DOING then, my old friend?'

'Much better, thanks. Should be fit again any day now.'

'Now you're not to rush things, remember that. There's nothing spoiling.'

'Isn't there, sir?' The tone of the voice caught the inspector slightly unawares, and he looked at Lewis curiously.

'What's on your mind?'

'I tried to get hold of you yesterday, sir.' He sat up in bed and reached to the bedside table. 'I thought I had a bright idea. I may be wrong, but. . Well, here it is anyway, for what it's worth.' He handed over several sheets of notepaper, and Morse shelved his own pronouncements and sat down beside the bed. His head ached and he stared reluctandy at his sergeant's carefully written notes.

'You want me to read all this?'

'I just hope it's worth reading, that's all.'

And Morse read; and as he read a wan smile crept across his mouth, and here and there he nodded with rigorous approbation, and Lewis sank back into his pillows with the air of a pupil whose essay is receiving the alpha accolade. When he had finished, Morse took out his pen.

'Don't mind if I make one or two slight alterations, do you?' For the next ten minutes he went mediodically through the draft, correcting the more heinous spelling errors, inserting an assortment of full-stops and commas, and shuffling several of the sentences into a more comprehensible sequence. 'That's better,' said Morse finally, handing back to a rueful-looking Lewis his amended masterpiece. It was an improvement, though. Anyone could see that

To begin with, the evidence seemed to point to the fact that Valerie Taylor was alive. After all, her parents received a letter from her. But we then discovered that the letter was almost certainly not written by Valerie at all. So. Instead of assuming that she's alive, we must face the probability that she's dead, and we must ask ourselves the old question: who was the last person to see her alive? The answer is Joe Godberry, a short-sighted old fellow who ought never to have been in charge of a Belisha crossing in the first place. Could he have been wrong? He could, and in my view he was wrong: that is, he didn't see Valerie Taylor at all on the afternoon she disappeared. He says quite firmly that he did see her, but might he not have been mistaken? Might he just have seen someone who looked like Valerie? Well? Who looked like Valerie? Chief Inspector Morse himself thought that a photograph of Mrs. Taylor was one of her daughter Valerie, and this raises an interesting possibility. Could the person seen by Godberry have been not Valerie but Valerie's mother? [Lewis had underlined the words thickly, and it was at this point on his first reading that Morse had nodded his approval.] If it was Valerie's mother there are two important implications. First, that the last person to see Valerie alive was none other than her own mother at lunchtime that same day. Second, that this person — Valerie's mother — had gone to a great deal of trouble to establish the fact that her daughter had left the house and returned to afternoon school. On this second point we know that mother and daughter were very similar in build and figure generally, and Mrs. Taylor is still fairly slim and attractive. [It was at this point that Morse nodded again.] What was the best way of convincing anyone who might notice, the neighbours, say, or the Belisha man or the shop assistants, that Valerie had left home after lunch that day? The answer is fairly obvious. The uniform of the school which Valerie attended was quite distinctive, especially the red socks and the white blouse. Mrs. Taylor could dress up in the uniform herself, run quickly down the road, keep on the far side of the crossing, and with a bit of luck there would be no trouble in persuading anyone, even the police, that her daughter had left home. We learned that on the particular Tuesday afternoon in question, Valerie would be most unlikely to be missed anyway. Games afternoon — and a real