I keep six honest serving-men
(They taught me all I knew):
Their names are What and Why
and When
And How and Where and Who.
(RUDYARD KIPLING)
THE MOST OBVIOUS improvements effected by those who had bought their own red-brick houses had been to the doors and the windows: several of the old doors were replaced completely by stout oaken affairs — or at the very least painted some colour other than the former regulation light blue: and most of the old windows, with their former small oblong panes, were now replaced by large horizontal sheets of glass set in stainless-steel frames. In general, it seemed fairly clear, the tone of the neighbourhood was on the 'up'; and number 17 Diamond Close was no exception to this pattern of improved properties. A storm door (behind which no light was visible) had been built across the small front porch; and the front fence and garden had been redesigned to accommodate a medium-sized car — like the light-green Maestro which stood there now. Under the orange glare of the street-lamps, the close was strangely still.
The two police cars had moved slowly along St. Peter's Road and then stopped at the junction with Diamond Close. Morse, Lewis and Phillips were in the first car; two uniformed constables and a plain-clothes detective in the second. Both Phillips and the plain-clothes man had been issued with regulation revolvers; and these two (as prearranged) got out of their cars and without slamming the doors behind them walked silently along the thirty or so yards to the front of number 17, where, with the plain-clothes man rather melodramatically pointing his revolver to the stars, Sergeant Phillips pushed the white button of the front-door bell. After a few seconds, a dull light appeared from somewhere at the back of the house, and then a fuller light and the silhouette of a figure seen through the glass of the outer door. At that moment the watching faces of Morse and Lewis betrayed a high degree of tension: yet, in retrospect, there had been nothing whatsoever to occasion such emotion.
From the outset the man in the thick green sweater had proved surprisingly co-operative. He had requested to be allowed to finish his baked beans (refused), to collect a packet of cigarettes (granted), to drive to Police HQ in his own car (refused), and to take his scarf and duffel coat (granted). At no stage had he mentioned writs, warrants, lawyers, solicitors, civil rights, unlawful arrest or Lord Longford, and Morse himself was beginning to feel a little shamed-faced about the death-or-glory scenario of the arrest. But one never knew.
In the interview room it was Lewis who began the questioning.
'Your full name is Edward Wilkins?'
'Edward James Wilkins.'
'Your date of birth?'
'Twentieth September, 1951.'
'Place of birth?'
'17 Diamond Close.'
'The house you live in now?'
'Yes. My mother lived there.'
'Which school did you go to?'
'Hobson Road Primary — for a start.'
'And after that?'
'Oxford Boys' School.'
'You passed the eleven plus to go there?'
'Yes.'
'When did you leave?'
'In 1967.'
'You took your O levels?'
'Yes. I passed in Maths, Physics and Engineering Drawing.'
'You didn't take English Literature?'
'Yes, I did. But I failed.'
'Did you read any Milton?' interrupted Morse.
'Yes, we read
'What did you do after you left school?' (Lewis had taken up the questioning once more.)
'I got an apprenticeship at Lucy's Ironworks in Jericho.'
'And then?'
'I didn't finish it. I stuck it for eighteen months and then I got offered a much better job with Mackenzie Construction.'
'You still work for them?'
'Yes.'
'What's your job, exactly?'
