Death Is Now My Neighbour Part 32

The Manager of Lloyds (Headington Branch) had been fully co-operative but of only limited a.s.sistance. It was very unusual of course, but not in cases such as this unethical, unethical, for confidential material concerning clients to be disclosed. But Lewis would have to contact Lloyds Inspection Department in Bristol. for confidential material concerning clients to be disclosed. But Lewis would have to contact Lloyds Inspection Department in Bristol.

Which Lewis had promptly done, again receiving every co-operation; also, however, receiving the disappointing news that the information required was unlikely as yet to be fully ready. With credit-card facilities now almost universally available, the volume of transactions was ever growing; and with receipt-items sometimes irregularly forwarded from retail outlets, and with a few inevitable checks and delays in processing and clearance - well, it would take a little time.

'Later this afternoon?' Lewis had queried hopefully.

'No chance of that, I'm afraid.'

'Tomorrow morning?'

Lewis heard a deep sigh at the other end of the line. 'We don't usually ... It is very urgent, you say?'

The phone had been ringing in Morse's office (an office minus Morse) and Lewis had taken the brief call. The post-mortem on Sh.e.l.ly Cornford confirmed death from carbon-monoxide poisoning, and completely ruled out any suspicion of foul play.

A note on yellow paper was Sellotaped to the desk: Lewis!

-Just off to the Diab. Centre (3.45) Yr notes on Bath most helpful, but try to get Sarah Siddons right - two d's, please.

Good job we're getting a few facts straight before jumping too far ahead. Reculer pour mieux sauter!

We'll be jumping tomorrow a.m. tho' - to Bath. Royal Crescent informs me the Storrs - Herr und Frau - are staying there again!

-I need yr notes on Julian Storrs.

- Ring me at home - after the Archers. Ring me at home - after the Archers.

M.

And on the side of the desk, a letter from the Thame and District Diabetic a.s.sociation addressed to Det. Chief Inspector Morse: Dear sir, Welcome to the Club! Sorry to be so quick off the mark but news travels fast in diabetic circles.

We meet on the first Thursday of each month 7.30-9 p.m. in the Town Hall in Thame and we shall be delighted if you can come to speak to us. We can offer no fee but we can offer a warm-hearted and grateful audience.

During this last year we have been fortunate to welcome several very well-known people. For example our last six speakers have been Dr David Matthews, Lesley Hallett, Professor Harry Keane, Angela Storrs, Dr Robert Turner, and Willie Rushton.

Please try to support us if you can. For our 1996/7 programme we are still looking for speakers for October '96 and February '97. Any hope of you filling one of these slots?

I enclose SAE and thank you for your kind consideration. ..

But Lewis read only the first few lines, for never, except in the course of a criminal investigation, had he wittingly read a letter meant for the eyes of another person ...

From the pa.s.senger seat Morse had still said nothing until Lewis, after turning off the M4 at Junction 1 at Junction 18 on to the A on to the A46, was within a few miles of Bath. was within a few miles of Bath.

'Lewis! If you had a mistress - '

'Not the milk-lady, sir. She's far too fat for me.'

' - and, say, you were having a weekend away together and you told your missus that you were catching the train but in fact this woman was going to pick you up in her car somewhere - The Randolph, say Yes, sir?' (Was Morse getting lost) 'Would you still go go to the railway station? Would you make sure she picked you up to the railway station? Would you make sure she picked you up at at the railway station - not The Randolph?' the railway station - not The Randolph?'

'Dunno, sir. I've never-'

'I know you haven't,' snapped Morse. 'Just think, think, man!' So Lewis thought. And man!' So Lewis thought. And thought thought he saw what Morse was getting at. he saw what Morse was getting at.

You mean it might make you feel a bit better in your own mind - feel a bit less guilty, like - if you did what you said said you'd be doing - before you went?' (Was Lewis getting lost?) you'd be doing - before you went?' (Was Lewis getting lost?) 'Something like that,' said Morse unenthusiastically as a sign welcomed the two detectives to the Roman City of Bath.

As soon as Lewis had stopped outside the Royal Crescent Hotel, Morse rang through on the mobile phone to the Deputy Manager, as had been agreed. No problem, it appeared. The Storrs had gone off somewhere an hour or so earlier in the BMW. The coast was clear; and Morse got out of the car and walked round to the driver's window.

'Good luck in Bristol!'

Lewis raised two crossed fingers of his right hand, like the logo of the National Lottery, as Morse continued: 'If you find what I hope hope you're going to find, the battle's half won. And it's mostly thanks to you.' you're going to find, the battle's half won. And it's mostly thanks to you.'

'No! It was you who figured it all out'

'Wouldn't have done, though, without all those visits of yours to Soho.'

'Pardon, sir?'

To see the chorus line, Lewis! The chorus line at the Windmill.'

'But I've never-'

'"Legs right up to her armpits," you said, right? And that was the second second time you'd used those words, Lewis. Remember?' time you'd used those words, Lewis. Remember?'

CHAPTER S SIXTY-ONE.

Life, within doors, has few pleasanter prospects than a neatly arranged and well-provisioned breakfast table (Nathaniel Hawthorne, The House of the Seven Gables) The House of the Seven Gables) MORSE STOOD FOR some while on the huge slabs that form the wide pavement stretching along the whole extent of the great 500-foot curve of cinnamon-coloured stone, with its identical facades of double Ionic columns, which comprise Bath's Royal Crescent. It seemed to him a breathtaking architectural masterpiece, with the four-star hotel exactly at its centre: Number 16. some while on the huge slabs that form the wide pavement stretching along the whole extent of the great 500-foot curve of cinnamon-coloured stone, with its identical facades of double Ionic columns, which comprise Bath's Royal Crescent. It seemed to him a breathtaking architectural masterpiece, with the four-star hotel exactly at its centre: Number 16.

He walked between the black spiked railings, through the white double-doors, into the black-and-white floor-tiled, high-ceilinged entrance hall, and then to reception, where he was immediately ushered into the beige-carpeted, pine-furnished office of the Deputy Manager, just beyond.

Sara Hickman was from Leicestershire, a tall, slimly attractive woman in her mid-thirties, with green eyes (just like Sister McQueen) and dark curly hair. She was dressed in a business-like suit; she spoke in a business-like manner; and so very clearly was she part of an extremely business-like hotel, since manifold awards -RAC Blue Ribbons, AA Rosettes, Egon Ronay Stars - vied with each other for s.p.a.ce around the walls.

After hesitating, finally capitulating, over the offer of coffee, Morse soon found himself listening very carefully.

Sara had (she told him) been able to re-interview almost all of the service personnel who had been on duty the previous weekend, most of whom, as it happened, were performing similar duties that present weekend. But there seemed little to add, at least in general terms, to the details earlier communicated by the Manager himself to the Thames Valley Police. One minor correction: the room the Storrs had slept in was a Standard Twin, not a Standard Double; and in fact the couple had asked for the same room again, if it was available. Which, by some strange coincidence, it was: the only Standard Twin still available in the hotel that weekend. Registration? She pa.s.sed to Morse the card dated the previous Sat.u.r.day, 2.3.96: Guest's Name; Address; Telephone No.; Arrival Date; Departure Date; Nationality; Payment Type; Pa.s.sport No.; Signature; Car Reg. No. - and more. All filled in with a neat, feminine, slightly forward-leaning script, in black Biro; and signed 'Angela Storrs'. It would be comparatively easy to check, of course; but Morse had little or no doubt that the signature was genuine. Guest's Name; Address; Telephone No.; Arrival Date; Departure Date; Nationality; Payment Type; Pa.s.sport No.; Signature; Car Reg. No. - and more. All filled in with a neat, feminine, slightly forward-leaning script, in black Biro; and signed 'Angela Storrs'. It would be comparatively easy to check, of course; but Morse had little or no doubt that the signature was genuine.

'The Manager told my sergeant, when he rang about last weekend, that we might be able to see some itemized bills?'

Sara Hickman smiled.

'I thought somehow you might ask for them,' she said, and now read aloud from a small sheaf of bills in front of her.

'Last Sat.u.r.day night they ate at Table twenty-six, in the far corner of the restaurant. He had the Carpaccio of Beef, Truffled Noodles, and Parmesan, for his starter; for his main course, the Seaba.s.s served with Creamed Celeriac and Fennel Liqueur; Pa.s.sion Fruit Mousse for sweet. She She wasn't quite so adventurous, I'm afraid: Consomme; with Baked Plaice and Green Salad for her main course; and then cream-crackers and Edam - the waiter particularly remembers her asking for the Edam.' wasn't quite so adventurous, I'm afraid: Consomme; with Baked Plaice and Green Salad for her main course; and then cream-crackers and Edam - the waiter particularly remembers her asking for the Edam.'

'Good low-fat cheese they tell me,' mumbled Morse, recalling his own hard-nosed diet.i.tian's homily in the Geoffrey Harris Ward. And he was smiling vaguely to himself as the Deputy Manager continued: 'Now, Sunday morning. Mr Storrs had ordered breakfasts for the two of them over the phone the previous night - at about eleven, half past - can't be sure. He said he thought he was probably too late with the form, but he obviously had it in front of him - the night-porter remembers that. He said he'd have a Full English for himself, no kidney though, with the tomato well grilled, and two fried eggs. Said his wife would go for a Continental: said she'd like cereal, Ricicles, if we'd got some - Chief Inspector, we've got a bigger selection of cereals than Sainsbury's! - some brown toast and honey, the fresh-fruit compote, and orange juice. Oh, yes' (Sara checked the form again) 'and hot chocolate.'

'The time?' asked Morse.

'It would have been between seven-thirty and eight. We don't serve Full English until after seven-thirty - and both breakfasts went up together.'

'And last night for dinner?'

'They didn't eat here.'

'This morning?'

'They had breakfast in their room again. This time they filled in the form early, and left it on the door-k.n.o.b outside the room. Same as before for Mr Storrs-'

'How do you know it wasn't for her?' her?'

'Well, it's exactly what he ordered before. Here, look for yourself.'

She pa.s.sed the room-service order across the desk; and Morse saw the instructions: 'Well grilled' against 'Tomato'; no tick against 'Kidney'; the figure '2' against 'Eggs (fried)'.

'I see what you mean,' admitted Morse. 'Not even married couples have exactly the same tastes, I suppose.'

'Especially married couples,' said Sara Hickman quietly. married couples,' said Sara Hickman quietly.

Morse's eyes continued down the form, to the Continental section, and saw the ticks against 'Weetabix' ('semi-skimmed milk' written beside it), 'Natural Yoghurt', 'Toast (brown)', 'Coffee (decaffeinated)'. The black-Biro'd writing was the same as that on the registration form. Angela Storrs' writing. Certainly.

'I shall have to have copies of these forms,' said Morse.

'Of course.' Sara got to her feet. 'I'll see that's done straightaway. Shall we go over to the bar?'

The day was brightening.

But for Morse the day had already been wonderfully bright; had been for the past hour or so, ever since the Deputy Manager had been speaking with him.

And indeed was very shortly to be brighter still.

CHAPTER S SIXTY-TWO.

Queen Elizabeth the First Slept Here (Notice which according to the British Tourist Board is to be observed in approximately 2400 residences in the United Kingdom) THEY WALKED ACROSS the splendidly tended garden area behind the main complex to the Dower House, an elegant annexe wherein were situated most of the hotel's suites and bedrooms, as well as the restaurant, the main lounge - and the bar. the splendidly tended garden area behind the main complex to the Dower House, an elegant annexe wherein were situated most of the hotel's suites and bedrooms, as well as the restaurant, the main lounge - and the bar.

Immediately inside the entrance, Morse saw the plaque (virtually a statutory requirement in Bath) commemorating a particularly eminent royal personage: George IV 1820-1830 Resided here 1799 as Prince of Wales In the lounge, Morse sat down amid the unashamedly luxurious surroundings of elaborate wall-lights, marble busts - and courteously prompt service, for a uniformed waitress was already standing beside them.

'What would you like to drink, sir?'

Lovely question.

As he waited for his beer, Morse looked around him; and in particular at the portrait above the fireplace there: 'Lord Ellmore, 1765-1817', the inscription read, a fat-cheeked, smooth-faced man, with a protruding lower lip, who reminded Morse unhappily of Sir Clixby Bream.

Then he walked through to the Gents in the corridor just off the lounge where the two loos stood side by side, the Men's and the Ladies' logos quite unequivocally distinct on their adjacent doors.

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It would have been difficult even for the myopic Mrs Adams to confuse the two, thought Morse, as he smiled and mouthed a few silent words to himself: 'Thank you! Thank you, Mrs Arabella Adams!'

It wasn't that she could have been certain - from some little distance? with her failing eyesight? - that the person she had seen was a man or a woman. Certainly not so far as the recognition of any facial features was concerned. Faces were notoriously difficult to distinguish, appearing so different when seen in profile, perhaps, or in the shadows, or wearing gla.s.ses. No! It was just that old Mrs Adams had always known what men looked like, and what women looked like, since habitually the men wore trousers and the women wore skirts. But of course if someone wore trousers, that certainly didn't prove that the wearer was a man, now did it, Morse? In fact it proved one thing and one thing only: only: that the person in question was wearing trousers! that the person in question was wearing trousers!

Ten minutes later, as he worked his way with diminishing enthusiasm through an over-generous plateful of smoked-salmon sandwiches, Morse saw Sergeant Lewis appear in the doorway - a Lewis looking almost as self-satisfied as the oily Lord Ellmore himself - and raise his right thumb, before being introduced to Sara Hickman.

'Something to drink, Sergeant?'

'Thank you. Orange juice, please.'

'Something to eat?'

'What have you got?'

She smiled happily. 'Anything. Anything you like. Our Head Chef is at your command.'

'Can he rustle up some eggs and chips?'

She said she was sure - well, almost sure - that he could, and departed to investigate.

'Lew-is! This is a cordon bleu establishment.'

'Should taste good then, sir.'

The buoyant Lewis pa.s.sed a note to Morse, simultaneously (and much to Morse's relief) helping himself to a couple of sandwiches.

You don't mind, sir? I'm half starving.'

At 2.30 p.m. Marilyn Hudson, a small, fair-complexioned young woman, was called into Sara's office. Marilyn had been a chamber-c.u.m-kitchenmaid at the hotel for almost three years; and it was soon clear that she knew as much as anyone was likely to know about the day-to-day - and night-by-night - activities there.

Morse now questioned her closely about the morning of the previous Sunday, 3 March.

You took them breakfast?'

Yes, sir. About quarter to eight.'

You knocked on the door?'

'Like I always do, yes. I heard somebody say "Come in" so I-'