Last Seen Wearing

'What are you talking about? Ainly? Who's he? I've. . Oh, what's the good!' Her voice had grown shrill and harsh, but suddenly she subsided almost helplessly against the back of the divan. 'All right, Inspector! Have it your way. You tell me what happened.'

'You wrote home then,' continued Morse. 'You hadn't realized what a terrible fuss you'd caused until Inspector Ainley saw you. But Ainley was killed. He was killed in a road accident on his way back to Oxford on the very same day he saw you.'

'I'm sorry to interrupt, Inspector. But I thought I was Yvonne Baker. When did I suddenly change to Valerie Taylor?' Her voice was quite calm now.

'You met Yvonne in the abortion clinic. You were fed up with home, fed up with school; and Yvonne. . well, probably, she put the idea into your head. For argument's sake, let's say she was a girl with lots of money, rich parents — probably going off to Switzerland or somewhere for a year's holiday after it was all over. Why not take her name? Start a new life? You've nothing to lose, have you? You'd decided not to go back home, whatever happened. You hardly saw your mother anyway, except at lunchtimes, and her only real interests in life were booze and Bingo — and men, of course. And then there's your step-father: not very bright, perhaps, but likeable enough, in an odd sort of way. That is until he started getting a bit too fond of his beautiful step-daughter. And your mother got to know about that, I think, and when you got yourself pregnant, she suspected a terrible thing. She suspected that he might well be the father, didn't she? And she flew into an almighty rage about it, and for you this was the last straw. You just had to go; and you did go. But fortunately you had someone to help you; your headmaster. There's no need to go into all that — but you know all about it as well as I do. You could count on him — always. He fixed up the clinic, and he gave you some money. You'd probably packed a case the night before and arranged to meet him somewhere to stow it away safely in the boot of his car. And then on the Tuesday he picked you up just after school had started for the afternoon and took you to the railway station. You only had a bag with you — no doubt with your clothes in it — and you changed on the train and arrived at the clinic. Shall I go on?'

'Yes please. It's quite fascinating!'

'You just interrupt me if I go wrong, that's all.'

'But. .' She gave it up and sat there silently shaking her head.

'I'm guessing now,' continued Morse, 'but I should think Yvonne put you on to a job — let's say a job in a West End store. The school-leavers hadn't crowded the market yet, and it was fairly easy for you. You'd need a testimonial or a reference, I realize that. But you rang Phillipson and told him the position, and he took care of that. It was your first job. No bother. No employment cards, or stamps or anything. So that was that.'

Morse turned and looked again at the chic, sophisticated creature beside him. They wouldn't recognize her back in Kidlington now, would they? They'd remember only the young schoolgirl in her red socks and her white blouse. They would always attract the men, these two — mother and daughter alike. Somehow they shared the same intangible yet pervasive sensuality, and the Lord had fashioned them so very fair.

'Is that the finish?' she asked quietly.

Morse's reply was brusque. 'No, it's not. Where were you last Monday night?'

'Last Monday night? What's that got to do with you?'

'What train did you catch the night that Baines was killed?'

She looked at him in utter astonishment now. 'What train are you talking about? I haven't—'

'Didn't you go there that night?'

'Go where?'

'You know where. You probably caught the 8.15 from Paddington and arrived in Oxford at about 9.30.'

'You must be mad! I was in Hammersmith last Monday night.'

'Were you?'

'Yes, I was. I always go to Hammersmith on Monday nights.'

'Go on.'

'You really want to know?' Her eyes grew softer again, and she shook her head sadly. 'If you must know there's a sort of. . sort of party we have there every Monday.'

'What time?'

'Starts about nine.'

'And you were there last Monday?'

She nodded, almost fiercely.

'You go every Monday, you say?'

'Yes.'

'Why aren't you there tonight?'

'I. . well, I just thought. . when you rang. .' She looked at him with doleful eyes. 'I didn't think it was going to be like this.'

'What time do these parties finish?'

'They don't.'

'You stay all night, you mean.'

She nodded.

'Sex parties?'