Death Is Now My Neighbour Part 8

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Prosopagnoia (n.): the failure of any person to recognize the face of any other person, howsoever recently the aforementioned persons may have mingled in each other's company (Small's Enlarged English Dictionary, 13th 13th Edition, Edition, 1806) 1806) FROM O OXFORD RAILWAY station, at 10.20 a.m., Lewis had tried to ring Morse at HQ station, at 10.20 a.m., Lewis had tried to ring Morse at HQ. But to no avail. The dramatic news would have to wait awhile, and at least Lewis now had ample time to execute his second order of the day. But to no avail. The dramatic news would have to wait awhile, and at least Lewis now had ample time to execute his second order of the day.

There had been just the two of them at the Oxford Physiotherapy Centre - although 'Centre' seemed a rather grandiloquent description of the ground-floor premises of the large, detached red-brick house halfway down the Woodstock Road ('1901' showing on the black drainpipe): the small office, off the s.p.a.cious foyer; the single treatment room, to the right, its two beds separated by mobile wooden screens; and an inappropriately luxurious loo, to the left.

Rachel James's distressed partner, a plain-featured, muscular divorcee in her mid-forties, could apparently throw little or no light on the recent tragedy. Each of of them a fully qualified physiotherapist they had gone freelance after a difference them a fully qualified physiotherapist they had gone freelance after a difference of of opinion with the Hospital Trust, and two years earlier had decided to join forces and form their own private practice: women for the most part, troubled with ankles and knees and elbows and shoulders. The venture had been fairly successful, although they would have welcomed a few more clients - especially Rachel, perhaps, who (as Lewis learned for a second time) had been wading deeper and deeper into negative equity. opinion with the Hospital Trust, and two years earlier had decided to join forces and form their own private practice: women for the most part, troubled with ankles and knees and elbows and shoulders. The venture had been fairly successful, although they would have welcomed a few more clients - especially Rachel, perhaps, who (as Lewis learned for a second time) had been wading deeper and deeper into negative equity.

Boyfriends? - Lewis had ventured.

Well, she was attractive - face, figure - and doubtless there had been a good many admirers. But no specific beau; no one that Rachel spoke of of as anyone special; no incoming calls on the office phone, for example. as anyone special; no incoming calls on the office phone, for example.

"That hers?' Lewis had asked.

Yes.'

Lewis took down a white coat from its hook behind the door and looked at the oval badge: at the oval badge: CHARTERED SOCIETY OF PHYSIOTHERAPY CHARTERED SOCIETY OF PHYSIOTHERAPY printed printed round a yellow crest He felt inside the stiffly starched pockets round a yellow crest He felt inside the stiffly starched pockets.

Nothing.

Not even Morse (Lewis allowed the thought) could have made much of that that Each of the two women had a personal drawer in the office desk, and Lewis looked carefully through the items which Rachel had kept at hand during her own working hours: lip-stick; lip-salve; powder-compact; deodorant stick; a small packet of tissues; two Biros, blue and red; a yellow pencil; a pocket English dictionary (OUP); and a library book. Nothing else. No personal diary; no letters.

Again Lewis felt (though wrongly this time) that Morse would have shared his disappointment.

As for Morse, he had called in at his bachelor flat in North Oxford before returning to Police HQ. Always, after a haircut, he went through the ritual of washing his hair - and changing his shirt, upon which even a few stray hairs left clinging seemed able to effect an intense irritation on what, as he told himself (and others), was a particularly sensitive skin.

When he finally returned to HQ he found Lewis already back from his missions.

'You're looking younger, sir.'

'No, you're wrong. I reckon this case has put years on me already.'

'I meant the haircut.'

'Ah, yes. Rather nicely done, isn't it?'

'You had a good morning, sir - apart from the haircut?'

'Well, you know - er - satisfactory. What about you?' Lewis smiled happily.

'Do you want the good news first or the bad news?' 'The bad news.'

'Well, not "bad" - just not "news" at all, really. I don't think we're going to get many leads from her work-place. In fact I don't think we're going to get any.' And Lewis proceeded to give an account of his visit to the Oxford Physiotherapy Centrre.

'What time did she get there every morning?'

Lewis consulted his notes. 'Five past, ten past eight -about then. Bit early. But if she left it much later she'd hit the heavy Kidlington traffic down into Oxford, wouldn't she?'

'Mm ... The first treatments don't begin till quarter to nine, you say.'

'Or nine o'clock.'

'What did she do before the place opened?'

'Dunno.'

'Read, Lewis!' Lewis!'

'Well, like I said, there was a library book in her drawer.'

'What was it?'

'I didn't make a note.'

'Can't you remember?'

Ye-es, Lewis thought he could. Yes!

'Book called The Masters, The Masters, sir - by P. C. Snow.' sir - by P. C. Snow.'

Morse laughed and shook his head.

'He wasn't a b.l.o.o.d.y police constable, Lewis! You mean C. P. C. P. Snow.' Snow.'

'Sorry, sir.'

'Interesting, though.' 'In what way?'

But Morse ignored the question.

' When did she get it from the library?' did she get it from the library?'

'How do I know?'

You just,' said Morse slowly, sarcastically, 'take fourteen days from the date printed for the book's return, which you could have found, if you'd looked, by gently opening the front cover.'

'Perhaps they let you have three weeks - at the library she borrowed it from.'

'And which library was that?'

Somehow Lewis managed to maintain his good humour.

'Well, at least I can give you a very straight answer to that: I haven't the faintest idea.' 'And what's the good news?'

This time, it was Lewis's turn to make a slow, impressive p.r.o.nouncement: 'I know who the fellow is - the fellow in the photo.'

'You do?' Morse looked surprised. 'You mean he turned up at the station?'

'In a way, I suppose he did, yes. There was no one like him standing around waiting for his girlfriend. But I had a word with this ticket-collector - young chap who's only been on the job for a few weeks. And he recognized him straightaway. He'd asked to look at his rail pa.s.s and he remembered him because he got a bit shirty with him -and probably because of that he remembered his name as well.'

'A veritable plethora of p.r.o.nouns, Lewis! Do you know how many he's he's and and him's him's and and his's his's you've just used?' you've just used?'

'No. But I know one one thing - he told me his name!' replied Lewis, happily adding a further couple of potentially confusing p.r.o.nouns to his earlier tally. 'His name's thing - he told me his name!' replied Lewis, happily adding a further couple of potentially confusing p.r.o.nouns to his earlier tally. 'His name's Julian Storrs.' Julian Storrs.'

For many seconds Morse sat completely motionless, feeling the familiar tingling across his shoulders. He picked up his silver Parker pen and wrote some letters on the blotting pad in front of him. Then, in a whispered voice, he spoke: 'I know him, Lewis.' 'I know him, Lewis.'

'You didn't recognize him, though-?' didn't recognize him, though-?'

'Most people,' interrupted Morse, 'as they get older, can't remember names. For them "A name is troublesome" - anagram - seven letters - what's that?'

'"Amnesia"?'

'Well done! I'm all right on names, usually. But as I get older it's get older it's faces faces I I can't recall. And there's a splendid word for this business of not being able to recognize familiar faces-' can't recall. And there's a splendid word for this business of not being able to recognize familiar faces-'

' "Pro-sop-a-something", isn't it?'

Morse appeared almost sh.e.l.l-shocked as he looked across at his sergeant. 'How in heaven's name ... ?'

'Well, as you know, sir, I didn't do all that marvellously at school - as I didn't do all that marvellously at school - as I told you, we didn't even have a school tie - but I told you, we didn't even have a school tie - but I was ever so good at one thing' (a glance at the blotting pad) 'I was best in the cla.s.s at reading things upside-down.' was ever so good at one thing' (a glance at the blotting pad) 'I was best in the cla.s.s at reading things upside-down.'

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Facing the media is more difficult than bathing a leper (Mother Teresa of Calcutta) THERE HAD BEEN little difficulty in finding out information on Julian Charles Storrs - a man to whom Morse (as he now remembered) had been introduced only a few months previously at an exhibition of Thesiger's desert photography in the Pitt Rivers Museum. But Morse said nothing of this to Lewis as the pair of them sat together that same evening in Kidlington HQ little difficulty in finding out information on Julian Charles Storrs - a man to whom Morse (as he now remembered) had been introduced only a few months previously at an exhibition of Thesiger's desert photography in the Pitt Rivers Museum. But Morse said nothing of this to Lewis as the pair of them sat together that same evening in Kidlington HQ; said nothing either of his discovery that the tie whose provenance he had so earnestly sought was readily available from any Marks & Spencer's store, priced 6.99. said nothing either of his discovery that the tie whose provenance he had so earnestly sought was readily available from any Marks & Spencer's store, priced 6.99.

'We shall have to see this fellow Storrs soon, sir.'

'I'm sure we shall, yes. But we've got nothing against him, have we? It's not a criminal offence to get photographed with some attractive woman ... Interesting, though, that she was reading The Masters.' The Masters.'

'I've never read it, sir.'

'It's about the internal shenanigans in a Cambridge College when the Master dies. And recently I read in the University Gazette that the present Master of Lonsdale is about to hang up his mortar-board - see what I mean?' that the present Master of Lonsdale is about to hang up his mortar-board - see what I mean?'

'I think I do,' lied Lewis.

'Storrs is a Fellow at Lonsdale - the Senior Fellow, I think. So if he suggested she might be interested in reading that book 'Doesn't add up to much, though, does it? It's motive motive we've got to look for. Bottom of everything - motive is.' we've got to look for. Bottom of everything - motive is.'

Morse nodded. 'But perhaps it does add up a bit,' he added quietly. 'If he wants the top job badly enough -and if she reminded him she could go and queer his pitch ...'

'Kiss-and-tell sort of thing?'

'Kiss-and-not-tell, if the price was right.'

'Blackmail?' suggested Lewis.

'She'd have letters.'

'The postcard.'

'Photographs.'

' One photograph.' photograph.'

'Hotel records. Somebody would use a credit card, and it wouldn't be her.' her.'

'He'd probably pay by cash.'

You're not trying to help help me by any chance, are you, Lewis?' me by any chance, are you, Lewis?'

'All I'm trying to do is be honest about what we've got - which isn't much. I agree with you, though: it wouldn't have been her her money. Not exactly rolling in it, that's for sure. Must have been a biggish lay-out - setting up the practice, equipment, rent, and everything. And she'd got a mortgage on her own place, and a car to run.' money. Not exactly rolling in it, that's for sure. Must have been a biggish lay-out - setting up the practice, equipment, rent, and everything. And she'd got a mortgage on her own place, and a car to run.'

Yes, a car. Morse, who never took the slightest interest in any car except his own, visualized again the white Mini which had been parked outside Number 17. 17.

'Perhaps you ought to look a bit more carefully at that car, Lewis.'

'Already have. Log-book in the glove-compartment, road atlas under the pa.s.senger seat, fire-extinguisher under the back seat-'

'No drugs or p.o.r.nography in the boot?'

'No. Just a wheel-brace and a Labour Party poster.'

Lewis looked at his watch: 8.35 p.m. It had been a long day, and he felt very tired. And so, by the look of him, did his chief. He got to his feet.

'Oh, and two ca.s.settes: Ella Fitzigerald and a Mozart thing.'

' Thing?'

'Clarinet thing, yes.' 'Concerto or Quintet, was it?'

Blessedly, before Lewis could answer (for he had no answer), the phone rang.

Chief Superintendent Strange.

'Morse? In your office? I almost rang the Red Lion.'

'How can I help, sir?' asked Morse wearily.

"TV - that's how you can help. BBC want you for the Nine O'clock News Nine O'clock News and ITV for and ITV for News at Ten. News at Ten. One of the crews is here now.' One of the crews is here now.'

'I've already told 'em all we know.'

'Well, you'd better think of something else, hadn't you? This isn't just a murder, Morse. This is a PR exercise.' PR exercise.'