Morse held up his right hand and got to his feet. 'Just a piece of gossip, like as not. But we've got to check out every lead, you know that.'
Owens remained silent
"You've always been a
journalist?'
‘
Yes.'
'Which papers
...
?'
‘I
started in London.' 'Whereabouts?' 'Soho - around there.' 'When was that
5
' 'Mid-seventies.'
'Wasn't that when Soho was full of sex clubs and striptease joints?'
'And
more. Gets a bit boring, all that stuff though, after a time.'
'Yes. So they tell me.'
‘I
read your piece today in the
Oxford Mail,'
said Morse as the two men walked towards reception. 'You write well.'
'Thank you.'
‘I
can't help remembering you said "comparatively" crime-free area.'
'That was in yesterday's.' 'Oh.'
'Well
...
we've only had one burglary this last year, and we've had no joy-riders around since the council put the sleeping-policemen in. We still get a bit of mindless vandalism, of course - you'll have seen the young trees we tried to plant round the back. And litter - litter's always a problem - and graffiti
...
And someone rece
ntly
unscrewed most of the latches on th
e back gates - you know, the th
ings that click as the gates shut.'
'I didn't know there was a market for those,' muttered Morse.
'And you're wasting your time if you put up
a name for your house, or someth
ing like that. I put a
little
notice on my front gate. Lasted
exa
ctly
eight days. Know what it was?'
Morse glanced back at the corporate work-force seated in front of VDU screens at desks cluttered with in-trays, out-trays, file-cases, handbooks, and copy being corrected and cosseted before inclusion in forthcoming editions of Oxford's own
Times, Mail, Journal, Star...
'"No Free Newspapers"?' he suggested
sotto voce.
Morse handed in his Visitor badge at reception.
You'll need to give me another thing to get out with.'
'No. The barrier lifts automatically when you leave.' 'So once you're in
...'
She smiled. You're in! It's just that we used to get quite a few cars from the Industrial Estate trying it on.'
Morse turned left into
the
Botl
ey Road and drove along to the Ring-Road junction where he took the northbound
A34,
coming off at the Pear Tree Roundabout, and thence driving rather too quickly up the last stretch to Kidlington HQ - where he looked at his wristwatch again.
Nine and a half minutes. Only nine and a half minutes.
It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data (Conan Doyle,
Scandal in Bohemia
)
As
Morse climbed
the stairs to Lewis's office he was experiencing a deep ache in each of his calves.
'Hardest work I've done today,
that
!' he admitted as, panti
ng sli
ghtly
, he flopped into a chair.
'Interview go OK, sir?'
'Owens? I wouldn't trust that fellow as far as I could kick him.'
'Which wouldn't be too far, in your present state of health.'
'Genuine journalist he may be - but he's a phoney witness, take it from me!'
'Before you go on, sir, we've got the preliminary post
-
mortem report here.'
You've read it through?'
'Tried to. Bullet-entry in the left sub-mandibular—' 'Lew-is! Spare me
the
details! She was shot through the window, through the blind, in the morning twilight. You mustn't expect much accuracy about the thing! You've been watching too many old cowboy
films where they mow down the baddies at hundreds of yards.'
'Distance of about eighteen inches to two feet, that's what it says, judging from—'
'What's it say about the
time?'
'She's not quite so specific there.'
'Why the hell not? We told her
exactly
when the woman was shot!'
'Dr Hobson says the temperature in the kitchen that morning wasn't much above zero.'
'Economizing everywhere, our Rachel,' said Morse rather sadly.
'And it seems you get this sort of "refrigeration factor"—'
'In which we are not particularly interested, Lewis, because we
know
—' Morse suddenly stopped. 'Unless
...
unless our distinguished pathologist is suggesting that Rachel may have been murdered just a
little
earlier than we've been assuming.'
'I don't think she's trying to suggest anything, sir. Just giving us the facts as far as she sees them.'
‘I
suppose so.'
'Do you want to read the report?'
‘I
shall have to, shan't I, if
you
can't understand it?'
‘I
didn't say that—'
But again Morse interrupted him, almost eagerly now recounting his interview with Owens
...
'...
So don't you see, Lewis?
He
could have done it Quarter of an hour it took me, to the newspaper offices via Banbury Road; ten minutes back via
the
Ring Road. So if he left home about ten to seven - clocked into the car park at seven, say - hardly anything on the roads -then drove straight
out
of the car park - there's no clocking out there -
that
's the system
they
have - drove hell for leather back to Bloxham Close - '
'Drive,
sir.'
' - parks his car up on the road behind
the
houses' (Morse switched now to the vivid present tense) ' - goes through the vandalized fence there - down the grass slope - taps on her window - the thin blinds
still
drawn' (Morse's eyes seemed almost mesmerized) ' - sees her profile more clearly as she gets nearer - for a second
or two scrutinizes the dark outl
ine at the gas-lit window - '
'It's electr
ic there.'
' - then he fires through
the
window into her face -and hits her just below the jaw.'
Lewis nodded this time. 'The sub-mandibular bit, you're right about
that
.'
'Then he goes up the bank again - gets in his car -back to Osney Mead. But he daren't go into the car park again - of course not! So he leaves his car somewhere near, and goes into the office from the rear of the car park. Nobody much
there
to observe his comings and goings - most of the people get in
there
about eightish, so I learn.
Quod erat demonstrandum!
I know you're going to ask me what his motive was, and I don't know. But this time we've found
the
murderer before we've found
the
motive. Not grumbling too much about
that
, are you?'
‘Y
es! It just won't hold water.'
'And why's that?'
"There's this woman from Number
1
, for a start. Miss Cecil—'
'Delia - Owens called her Delia.'
'She saw him leave, didn't she? About seven o'clock? That's why she knew he'd be at his desk when she rang him as soon as she saw the police arrive -
just after eight.'
'One hour - one whole hour! You can do a lot in an hour.'
‘
You still can't put a quart into a pint pot.'
'We've now gone metric, by
the
way, Lewis. Look, what if they're in it
together -
have you thought of that? Owens is carrying a torch for that Miss Cecil, believe me! When I happened to mention Julian Storrs - '
‘
You didn't do that, surely?'
‘
- and when I said he'd been seen knocking at one of the other doors there
-'
'But nobody—'
' - he was jealous, Lewis! And there are only two houses in the Close' (Lewis gave up the struggle) 'occupied by nubile young women: Number
17
and Number
1,
Miss James and Miss Cecil, agreed?'
‘I
thought you just said they were in it
together.'
‘I
said they might be, that's all. I'm just thinking aloud, for Christ's sake! One of us has got to think. And I'm a bit weary and I'm much underbeered. So give me a chance!'
Lewis waited a few seconds. Then:
'Is it my turn to speak, sir?'
Morse nodded weakly, contemplating the threadbare state of Lewis's carpet.
‘I
don't know
whether you've been down the Botley
Road in
the
morning rece
ntly
- even in the fairly early morning
- but it's one of the worst bottl
enecks in Oxford. You drove there and back in mid-afternoon, didn't you? But you want Owens to do three journeys between Kidlington and Osney Mead. First he drives to work - perhaps fairly quickly, agreed. Twenty minutes, say? He drives back - a bit quicker? Quarter of an hour, say. He parks his car somewhere - it's not going to be in Bloxham Drive, though. He murders his next-door neighbour. Drives back into Oxford after that - another twenty, twenty-five minutes
at least
now. Finds a parking space - and this
time
it's not going to be in the car park, as you say. Walks or runs to his office, not going in the front door, either - for obvious reasons.
Gets into his office and is sitti
ng there at his desk when his girlfriend - if you're right about
that
- rings him up and tells him he'll be in for a bit of a scoop if he gets out again to Bloxham Drive. It's just about possible, sir, if
all
the lights are with him
every
time
, if almost everybody's decided to walk to work that morning. But it's very improbable even then. And remember it's
Monday
morning - the busiest morning of the week in Oxford.'
Morse looked hurt.
"You still think it's just
about
possible?'
Lewis considered the question again.
'No, sir. I know you always like to think that most murders are committed by next-door neighbours or husbands or wives—'
'But what if this woman at Number
1
isn't telling us the truth?' queried Morse. 'What if she never made that phone-call at all? What if she's in it with him? What if she's more than willing to provide him with a nice
little
alibi? You see, you're probably right about the
time
-scale of things. He probably
w
ouldn't
have had time to get back here to Kidlington, commit the murder, and then return to the office and be sitting qui
etly
at his desk when she rang him.' 'So?
’
'So she's lying. Just like
he
is! He got back here - easy! -murdered Rachel James - and
stayed
here, duly putting in an appearance as the very first reporter on the scene!'
'I'm sorry, sir, but she
isn't
lying, not about this. I don't know what you think the rest of us have been doing since Monday morning but we've done quite a bit of checking up already. And she's
not
lying about the phone-call to Owens' office. One of the lads went along to BT and confirmed it. The call was monitored and it'll be listed on the itemized telephone bill of the subscriber - Number
1
Bloxham Drive!'
'Does it give the
time?'
Lewis appeared sli
ghtly
uneasy. 'I'm not quite sure about that'
'And if our ace-reporter Owens is privileged enough to have an answerphone in his office - which he
is...'
Ye-es. Perhaps Morse was on to something after all. Because if the two of them
had,
for some reason, been working together
...
Lewis put his thoughts into words: