Death Is Now My Neighbour Part 17

She moved even closer to the Master. 'Come on! We haven't got all night. Julian's train gets in at ten past ten.'

Two of the College dons stood speaking together on the cobblestones outside Lonsdale as the clock on Saint Mary the Virgin struck ten o'clock; and a sole undergraduate pa.s.sing through the main gate thought he heard a brief s.n.a.t.c.h of their conversation: 'Having a woman like her her in the Lodge? The idea's unthinkable!' in the Lodge? The idea's unthinkable!'

But who the woman was, the pa.s.ser-by was not to know.

CHAPTER T THIRTY-TWO.

Monday, 26 February How shall I give thee up, O Ephraim? How shall I cast thee off, O Israel?

(Hosea, ch. II, v. 8) ch. II, v. 8) AT 8.45 A.M. THERE were just the two of them, Morse and Lewis, exchanging somewhat random thoughts about the case, when the young blonde girl (whom Strange had already noticed) came in with the morning post. She was a very recent addition to the typing pool, strongly recommended by the prestigious Marlborough College in the High, her secretarial skills corroborated by considerable evidence, including a Pitman Shorthand Certificate for 120 wpm. were just the two of them, Morse and Lewis, exchanging somewhat random thoughts about the case, when the young blonde girl (whom Strange had already noticed) came in with the morning post. She was a very recent addition to the typing pool, strongly recommended by the prestigious Marlborough College in the High, her secretarial skills corroborated by considerable evidence, including a Pitman Shorthand Certificate for 120 wpm.

Your mail, sir. I'm ...' (she looked frightened) 'I'm terribly sorry about the one on top. I just didn't notice.'

But Morse had already taken the letter from its white envelope, the latter marked, in the top left-hand corner, 'Strictly Private and Personal'.

Hullo Morse Tried you on the blower at Christmas but they said you were otherwise engaged probably in the boozer.

I'm getting spliced. No, don't worry! I'm not asking you for anything this time!! He's nice and he's got a decent job and he says he loves me and he's okay in bed so what the h.e.l.l. I don't really love him and you b.l.o.o.d.y well know why that is, don't you, you miserable stupid sod. Because I fell in love with you and I'm just as stupid as you are. St Anthony told me to tell you something but I'm not going to. I want to put my arms round you and hug you tight. G.o.d help me! Why didn't you look for me a bit harder Morse?

Ellie No address.

Of course, there was no address.

'Did you read this?' Morse spoke in level tones, looking up at his secretary with unblinking eyes. 'Only till... you know, I realized ...' 'You shouldn't have opened it.' 'No, sir,' she whispered. 'You 'You can type all right?' She nodded. can type all right?' She nodded.

'And you can take shorthand?' She nodded, despairingly. 'But you can't read?' 'As I said, sir ...' The tears were starting. 'I heard what you you said. Now just you listen to what said. Now just you listen to what I'm I'm saying. This sort of thing will never happen again!' 'I promise, sir, it'll-' saying. This sort of thing will never happen again!' 'I promise, sir, it'll-'

'Listen!' Morse's eyes suddenly widened with an almost manic gleam, his nostrils flaring with suppressed fury as he repeated in a slow, soft voice: 'It won't happen again - not if you want to work for me any longer. Is that clear? Never. Never. Now get out,' he hissed, 'and leave me, before I get angry with you.' Now get out,' he hissed, 'and leave me, before I get angry with you.'

After she had left, Lewis too felt almost afraid to speak.

'What was all that about?' he asked finally.

'Don't you start poking your b.l.o.o.d.y nose-' But the sentence went no further. Instead, Morse picked up the letter and pa.s.sed it over, his saddened eyes focused on the wainscoting.

After reading the letter, Lewis said nothing.

'I don't have much luck with the ladies, do I?'

'She's still obviously wearing the pendant'

'I hope so,' said Morse; who might have said rather more, but there was a knock on the door, and DC Learoyd was invited into the sanctum.

Morse handed over the newspaper cuttings concerning Lord Hardiman, together with the photograph, and explained Learoyd's a.s.signment: Your job's to find out all you can. It doesn't look all that promising, I know. Hardly blackmail stuff these days, is it? But Owens thinks it is. And that's the point. We're not really interested in how many times he's been knocking on the doors of the knocking-shops. It's finding the nature of his connection with Owens.' Owens.'

Learoyd nodded his understanding, albeit a little unhappily.

'Off you go, then.'

But Learoyd delayed. 'Whereabouts do you think would be a good place to start, sir?' Morse's eyeb.a.l.l.s turned ceilingward.

'What about looking up His Lordship in Debrett's Peerage, Debrett's Peerage, mm? It might just tell you where he lives, don't you think?' mm? It might just tell you where he lives, don't you think?'

'But where can I find a copy?'

'What about that big building in the centre of Oxford - in Bonn Square. You've heard of it? It's called the Central Library.'

Item 2 in the manila file, as Lewis had discovered earlier that morning, was OBE (Overtaken By Events, in Morse's shorthand). The Cheltenham firm of solicitors had been disbanded in 1992, its clientele dispersed, to all intents and purposes now permanently incommunicado.

Item 3 was to be entrusted into the huge hands of DC Elton, who now made his entrance; and almost immediately his exit, since he pa.s.sed no observations, and asked no questions, as he looked down at the paunchy paedophiliac from St Albans. 'Leave it to me, sir.'

'And while you're at it, see how the land lies here.' here.' Morse handed over the doc.u.mentation on Item Morse handed over the doc.u.mentation on Item 4 4 - the accounts-sheets from the surgical appliances company in Croydon. - the accounts-sheets from the surgical appliances company in Croydon.

'Good man, that,' commented Lewis, as the door closed behind the ma.s.sive frame of DC Elton.

'Give me Learoyd every time!' confided Morse. 'At least he's got the intelligence to ask a few half-witted questions.'

'I don't quite follow you.'

'Wouldn't you you need a bit of advice if you called in at some place selling surgical appliances? With Elton's great beer-gut they'll probably think he's called in for a temporary truss.' need a bit of advice if you called in at some place selling surgical appliances? With Elton's great beer-gut they'll probably think he's called in for a temporary truss.'

Lewis didn't argue.

He knew better.

Also OBE, as Lewis had already discovered, was Item 5. 5. The address Owens had written on the letter was - had been - that of a home for the mentally handicapped in Wimbledon. A Social Services inspection had uncovered gross and negligent malpractices; and the establishment had been closed down two years previously, its management and nursing staff redeployed or declared redundant Yet no prosecutions had ensued. The address Owens had written on the letter was - had been - that of a home for the mentally handicapped in Wimbledon. A Social Services inspection had uncovered gross and negligent malpractices; and the establishment had been closed down two years previously, its management and nursing staff redeployed or declared redundant Yet no prosecutions had ensued.

'Forlorn hope,' Lewis had ventured.

And Morse had agreed. 'Did you know that "forlorn hope" has got nothing to do with "forlorn" or "hope"? It's all Dutch: "Verloren hoop" - "lost troop".'

'Very useful to know, sir.'

Seemingly oblivious to such sarcasm, Morse contemplated once more the four sets of initials that comprised Item 6: / / /.

AM DC JS CB.

with those small ticks in red Biro set against the first three of them.

'Any ideas?' asked Lewis.

"Jonathan Swift", obviously, for "JS". I was only talking about him to the Super yesterday.' 'Julian Storrs?'

Morse grinned. 'Perhaps all all of 'em are dons at Lonsdale.' 'I'll check.' of 'em are dons at Lonsdale.' 'I'll check.'

'So that leaves Items seven and eight - both of which I leave in your capable hands, Lewis. And lastly my own little a.s.signment in Soho, Item nine.'

'Coffee, sir?'

'Gla.s.s of iced orange juice!'

After Lewis had gone, Morse re-read Ellie's letter, deeply hurt, and wondering whether people in the ancient past had found it quite so difficult to cope with disappointments deep as his. But at least things were over; and in the long run that might make things much easier. He tore the letter in two, in four, in eight, in sixteen, and then in thirty-two - would have torn it in sixty-four, had his fingers been strong enough - before dropping the little square pieces into his wastepaper basket.

'No ice in the canteen, sir. Machine's gone kaput.'

Morse shrugged indifferently and Lewis, sensing that the time might be opportune, decided to say something which had been on his mind: 'Just one thing I'd like to ask . ..'

Morse looked up sharply. 'You're not going to ask me where Lonsdale is, I hope!'

'No. I'd just like to ask you not to be too hard on that new secretary of yours, that's all.'

'And what the h.e.l.l's that got to do with you?'

'Nothing really, sir.'

'I agree. agree. And when I want your b.l.o.o.d.y advice on how to handle my secretarial staff, I'll come and ask for it. Clear?' And when I want your b.l.o.o.d.y advice on how to handle my secretarial staff, I'll come and ask for it. Clear?'

Morse's eyes were blazing anew. And Lewis, his own temperature now rising rapidly, left his superior's office without a further word.

Just before noon, Jane Edwards was finalizing an angry letter, spelling out her resignation, when she heard the message over the intercom: Morse wanted to see her in his office. 'Sit down!'

She sat down, noticing immediately that he seemed tired, the whites of his eyes lightly veined with blood.

'I'm sorry I got so cross, Jane. That's all I wanted to say.'

She remained where she was, almost mesmerized. Very quietly he continued: 'You will will try to forgive me - please?' try to forgive me - please?'

She nodded helplessly, for she had no choice. And Morse smiled at her sadly, almost gratefully, as she left.

Back in the typing pool Ms Jane Edwards surrept.i.tiously dabbed away the last of the slow-dropping tears, tore up her letter (so carefully composed) into sixty-four pieces; and suddenly felt, as if by some miracle of St Anthony, most inexplicably happy.

CHAPTER T THIRTY-THREE.

A recent survey has revealed that 80.5% of Oxford dons seek out the likely p.o.r.nographic potential on the Internet before making use of that facility for purposes connected with their own disciplines or research. The figure for students, in the same university, is 2% lower (Terence Benczik, A Possible Future for Computer Technology) A Possible Future for Computer Technology) UNTIL THE AGE OF twelve, Morse's reading had comprised little beyond a weekly diet of the twelve, Morse's reading had comprised little beyond a weekly diet of the Dandy Dandy comic, and a monthly diet of the comic, and a monthly diet of the Meccano Magazine Meccano Magazine - the legacy of the latter proving considerably the richer, in that Morse had retained a lifelong delight in model train-sets and in the railways themselves. Thus it was that as he stood on Platform One at Oxford Station, he was much looking forward to his journey. Usually, he promised himself a decent read of a decent book on a trip like this. But such potential pleasures seldom materialized; hadn't materialized that afternoon either, when the punctual 2.15 p.m. from Oxford arrived fifty-nine minutes later at Paddington, where Morse immediately took a taxi to New Scotland Yard. - the legacy of the latter proving considerably the richer, in that Morse had retained a lifelong delight in model train-sets and in the railways themselves. Thus it was that as he stood on Platform One at Oxford Station, he was much looking forward to his journey. Usually, he promised himself a decent read of a decent book on a trip like this. But such potential pleasures seldom materialized; hadn't materialized that afternoon either, when the punctual 2.15 p.m. from Oxford arrived fifty-nine minutes later at Paddington, where Morse immediately took a taxi to New Scotland Yard.

Although matters there had been prearranged, it was purely by chance that Morse happened to meet Paul Condon, the Metropolitan Commissioner, in the main entrance foyer.

'They're ready for you, Morse. Can't stay myself, I'm afraid. Press conference. It's not just the ethnic minor-ides I've upset this time - it's the ethnic majorities, too. All because I've published a few more official crime-statistics.'

Morse nodded. He wanted to say something to his old friend: something about never climbing in vain when you're going up the Mountain of Truth. But he only recalled the quotation after stepping out of the lift at the fourth floor, where Sergeant Rogers of the p.o.r.n Squad was awaiting him.

Once in Rogers' office, Morse produced the photograph of the strip-club. And immediately, with the speed of an experienced ornithologist recognizing a picture of a parrot, Rogers had identified the premises.

'Just off Brewer Street.' He unfolded a detailed map of Soho. 'Here - let me show you.'

The early evening was overcast, drizzly and dank, when like some latter-day Orpheus Morse emerged from the depths of Piccadilly Circus Underground; whence, after briefly consulting his A-Z, he proceeded by a reasonably direct route to a narrow, seedy-looking thoroughfare, where a succession of establishments promised x.x.xX videos and magazines (imported), s.e.x shows (live), striptease (continuous) - and a selection of freshly made sandwiches (various).

And there it was! he Club s.e.xy. he Club s.e.xy. Unmistakably so, but prosaically and repet.i.tively now rechristened Unmistakably so, but prosaically and repet.i.tively now rechristened Girls Girls Girls. Girls Girls Girls. It made the former proprietors appear comparatively imaginative. It made the former proprietors appear comparatively imaginative.

Something - some aspiration to the higher things in life, perhaps - prompted Morse to raise his eyes from the ground-floor level of the gaudily lurid fronts there to the architecture, some of it rather splendid, above.

Yet not for long.

'Come in out of the drizzle, sir! Lovely girls here.' Morse showed his ID card, and moved into the shelter of the tiny entrance foyer. 'Do you know her?' her?'

The young woman, black stockings and black miniskirt meeting at the top of her thighs, barely glanced at the photograph thrust under her eyes.

'No.'

'Who runs this place? I want to see him.'

'Her. But she ain't 'ere now, is she? Why don't you call back later, handsome?' But she ain't 'ere now, is she? Why don't you call back later, handsome?'

A helmeted policeman was ambling along the opposite pavement, and Morse called him over.

'OK,' the girl said quickly. 'You bin 'ere before, right?'

'Er - one of my officers, yes.'

'Me mum used to know her, like I told the other fellah. Just a minute.'

She disappeared down the dingy stairs.

'How can I help you, sir?'

Morse showed his ID to the constable.

'Just keep your eyes on me for a few minutes.'

But there was no need.

Three minutes later, Morse had an address in Praed Street, no more than a hundred yards from Paddington Stadon where earlier, at the entrance to the Underground, he had admired the bronze statue of one of his heroes, Isambard Kingdom Brunei.

So Morse now took the Tube back. It had been a roundabout sort of journey.

She was in.