The Jewel That Was Ours

truth were told, Morse too.

'You see, Lewis,' began Morse, as the two strolled back to the front of the property, 'Kemp had grown tired of Sheila Williams and was starting out on a new conquest — the delectable Lucy Downes. Unfortunately for Kemp, however, Cedric Downes discovered the guilty pair in flagrante delicto, which as you will remember, Lewis, is the Latin for having your pants down. He's got to have a woman, has Kemp. His motto's amo amas amat it again. And he's at it again when Downes hits him with whatever's to hand; kills him; wonders where he's going to dump the corpse; can't dress him — far too difficult dressing a corpse—'

' 'Specially for a woman, sir.'

'What?'

'Don't you think it might have been a jealous woman? Not a jealous man?'

'No, no, Lewis! Not Sheila Williams.'

'She left the group, though — she went to the pub—'

'She hadn't got the time, Whoever killed Kemp had time: time to cart him off to the river, and dump him there—gently, Lewis — without even a splash to startle the cygnets. '

'But it couldn't have been like that. The times are all wrong.'

'Speak on, Lewis! Like the murderer, we've got plenty of time.'

We're waiting here, you mean?'

'Oh, yes! I'm very much looking forward to meeting Mr. and Mrs. Downes again.'

'And you think, in that suitcase of hers.?'

But as the two detectives stood beside the car, the radio crackled into life.

'Lewis here!'

'Bad news, Sarge. Mrs. Kemp died at the JR2—fifty minutes ago. We've only just heard.'

Morse stood where he was, listening, and staring up at the sky as if viewing the unsuspected behaviour of some distant galaxy. His shoulders were sagging, and his face looked sad, and very weary.

'You look all in, sir.'

'Me? Don't talk so daft!' Morse looked quickly at his watch.

'He's meeting her in seven minutes! Put your foot down!'

'I thought you said we were waiting here?'

'Get on with it Lewis — and turn the bloody siren on!'

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

No one came

On the bare platform

(Edward Thomas, Adlestrop)

THE POLICE CAR drove into the Bus and Taxi area in front of the railway station. Across on Platform 2, the train from Paddington was just pulling in; and passengers were already beginning to stream across the new pedestrian bridge as Morse and Lewis first ascended, then descended the steps, darting challenging looks around them as they dodged their way through the bustling contra-flow.

The train still stood at the platform; and a group of Post Office workers were lobbing a stack of bulging mail- bags into the guard's van. And there — yes, there right in front of them! — passing from one window to another, peering into each of the carriages, his face drawn and anxious, was Cedric Downes. Morse placed a restraining hand on Lewis's arm, and the two of them stood watching the man while two or three heavily luggaged travellers finally made their way along the platform. Soon Downes had reached the last carriage, in front of the diesel locomotive, staring quickly through the windows of the compartment as the few doors still remaining open were banged shut and a whistle blew, and with a slight chug and then with a mighty heave the long, north-bound train began slowly to move forward, gradually picking up a little speed, before moving out and away along the curving stretch of line that led to Banbury.

Downes looked down at his wristwatch, and at last turned away, walking back along the bare platform towards the foot-bridge — where he was confronted by the bulk of the broad-shouldered Lewis.

'Good evening, sir. We have met before.'

Downes seemed slightly surprised — but hardly more than that: 'It's about Theo, I suppose? Theo Kemp?'

'Er — yes.' Lewis hardly managed to climb up to any plateau of assertiveness.

'Well, I've nothing more to tell you, I'm afraid. Nothing I can add to the statement I've already—'

'Meeting your wife, Mr. Downes?' interrupted Morse.

'Pardon? Just a minute, Inspector! I. just a minute, please.' Downes fitted a hearing-aid taken from his pocket into his right ear, the aid promptly emitting a series of shrill whistles as he fiddled rather fecklessly with the controls.

'I was asking whether you were meeting—' bawled Morse — to no avail, as it appeared.

'If you'll just bear with me a few minutes, gentlemen, I'll just nip along to the car, if I may. I always keep a spare aid in the glove compartment.' The beseeching grin around the slightly lop-sided mouth gave his face an almost schoolboyish look.