Death Is Now My Neighbour Part 30

CHAPTER F FIFTY-SIX.

Thursday, 7 March Is it sin To rush into the secret house of death Ere death dare come to us?

(Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra) Antony and Cleopatra) 'TELL ME ABOUT it,' said Morse. it,' said Morse.

Seated opposite him, in the first-floor office in St Aldates Police Station, Detective Chief Inspector Peter Warner told the story sadly and economically.

Mrs Sh.e.l.ly Cornford had been found in the driving-seat of her own car, reclining back, with a hosepipe through the window. The garage had been bolted on the inside. There could be little doubt that the immediate cause of death was carbon-monoxide poisoning from exhaust fumes. A brief handwritten note had been left on the pa.s.senger seat: 'I'm so sorry, Denis, I can't forgive myself for what I did. I never loved anyone else but you, my darling - S.' No marks of violence; 97 97 mg blood alcohol - the equivalent (Warner suggested) of two or three stiffish gins. Still a few unanswered questions, of course: about her previous whereabouts that day; about the purchase of the green hosepipe and the connector, both new. But suspicion of foul play? None. mg blood alcohol - the equivalent (Warner suggested) of two or three stiffish gins. Still a few unanswered questions, of course: about her previous whereabouts that day; about the purchase of the green hosepipe and the connector, both new. But suspicion of foul play? None.

'I wonder where she had a drink?' asked Morse.

'Well, if she'd walked up from Holywell Street, there'd be the King's Arms, the White Horse, The Randolph ... But you're the expert.'

Morse asked no more questions; but sat thinking of the questionnaire he had set for the Police Gazette Police Gazette (it seemed so long ago): 'If you could gladden your final days with one of the following.. .'Yes, without a doubt, if he'd been honest, Morse would have applauded Sh.e.l.ly Cornford's choice. And what the h.e.l.l did it matter (it seemed so long ago): 'If you could gladden your final days with one of the following.. .'Yes, without a doubt, if he'd been honest, Morse would have applauded Sh.e.l.ly Cornford's choice. And what the h.e.l.l did it matter where where she'd had those few last gla.s.ses of alcohol - few last 'units' rather -the measurements into which the diet.i.tian had advised him to convert his old familiar gills and pints and quarts. she'd had those few last gla.s.ses of alcohol - few last 'units' rather -the measurements into which the diet.i.tian had advised him to convert his old familiar gills and pints and quarts.

'Do you want to see her?'

Morse shook his head.

You'd better see him, him, though.' though.'

Morse nodded wearily. 'Is he all right?'

'We-ell. His GP's been in - but he refuses to take any medication. He's in the canteen with one of the sergeants. We've finished with him, really.'

'Tell me about it,' urged Morse.

Denis Cornford's voice was flat, almost mechanical, as he replied: 'On Sunday just before I met you in the pub she told me she'd been to bed with another man that morning. I hardly spoke to her after that. I slept in the spare room the last three nights.'

"The note?' asked Morse gently. Ts that what she was referring to?' Yes.'

'Nothing to do with anything else?' 'No.'

'She was there, in your rooms, just before Chapel on Sunday, wasn't she?'

Cornford evinced no surprise.

'We'd had a few harsh words. She didn't want to see you.'

'Do you know who the other man was?' 'Yes. Clixby Bream.' 'She 'She told you that, sir?' 'Yes.' told you that, sir?' 'Yes.'

'So - so she couldn't have had anything to do with the Owens murder?'

'No. Nor could the Master.'

'Did you you have anything to do with it?' have anything to do with it?'

'No.'

'Why did you go to see Owens last Thursday?'

'I knew Owens a bit through various things I did for his newspaper. That night I had to go to Kidlington - I went on the bus - the Kidlington History Society - held at the school - "Effects of the Enclosure Acts in Oxfords.h.i.+re" - seven o'clock to eight. He lived fairly near - five minutes' walk away. I'd done a three-part article for him on Mediaeval Oxford - Owens said it needed shortening a bit - we discussed some changes - no problems. I got a bus back to Oxford - about nine.'

'Why didn't you tell me you knew Owens?'

'I didn't want to get involved.'

'What will you do now?'

'I left a note for the Master about the election.' The voice was still monotonous; the mouth dry. 'I've withdrawn my nomination.'

'I'm so sorry about everything,' said Morse very quietly.

Yes, I think you are, aren't you?'

Morse left the pale, bespectacled historian staring vaguely into a cup of cold tea, like a man who is temporarily anaesthetized against some overwhelming pain.

'It's a terrible business - terrible!'

The Master poured himself a single-malt Scotch. 'Drink, Chief Inspector?' Morse shook his head. 'Won't you sit down?'

'No. I've only called to say that Dr Cornford has just told me everything - about you and his wife.' 'Mmm.'

'We shall have to get a statement from you.' 'Why is that?'

'The time time chiefly, I suppose.' 'Is it really necessary?' chiefly, I suppose.' 'Is it really necessary?'

'There was was a murder on that Sunday morning.' a murder on that Sunday morning.'

'Mmm. Was she one of your suspects?'

Morse made no direct answer. 'She couldn't have been making love to you and murdering someone else at the same time.'

'No.' The bland features betrayed no emotion; yet Morse was distastefully aware that the Master was hardly displeased with such a succinct, such an unequivocal a.s.sertion of Sh.e.l.ly Cornford's innocence, since by implication it was an a.s.sertion of his own.

'I understand that Dr Cornford has written to you, sir.'

'Exited from the lists, poor Denis, yes. That just leaves Julian Storrs. Good man though, Julian!'

Morse slowly walked to the door.

'What do you think about suicide, Sir Clixby?'

'In general?' The Master drained his tumbler, and thoughtfully considered the question. 'Aristotle, you know, thought suicide a form of cowardice - running away from troubles oneself and leaving all the heartache to everybody else. What do you you think?' think?'

Morse was conscious of a deep loathing for this smooth and odious man.

'I don't know what your particular heartache is, sir. You see I never met Mrs Cornford myself. But I'd be surprised if she was a coward. In fact, I've got the feeling she was a bit of a gutsy girl.' Morse stood beside the study door, his face drawn, his nostrils distended. 'And I'll tell you something else. She probably had far more guts in her little finger than you've ever had in the whole of your body!'

Lewis was waiting in the Jaguar outside the Porters' Lodge; and Morse quickly climbed into the pa.s.senger seat His voice was still vicious: 'Get - me - out - of - here, Lewis!'

CHAPTER F FIFTY-SEVEN.

Friday, 8 March Those who are absent, by its means become present: correspondence is the consolation of life (Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionary) Philosophical Dictionary) SERGEANT L LEWIS had himself only just entered Morse's office when Jane came through with the post: six official-looking letters, opened, with appropriate previous correspondence paper-clipped behind them; one square white envelope, unopened, marked 'Private', and postmarked Oxford; and an airmail letter, also unopened, marked 'Personal', and postmarked 'Was.h.i.+ngton'. had himself only just entered Morse's office when Jane came through with the post: six official-looking letters, opened, with appropriate previous correspondence paper-clipped behind them; one square white envelope, unopened, marked 'Private', and postmarked Oxford; and an airmail letter, also unopened, marked 'Personal', and postmarked 'Was.h.i.+ngton'.

Jane smiled radiantly at her boss.

'Why are you looking so cheerful?' queried Morse.

Just nice to have you back, sir, that's all.'

Inside the white envelope was a card, the front showing an auburn-haired woman, in a white dress, reading a book; and Morse read the brief message inside: Geoffrey Harris Ward Radcliffe Infirmary 7 March 96 We all miss your miserable presence in the ward. If you haven't finished smoking, we shall never meet for that G&T you promised me. Look after yourself!

Affectionately Janet (McQueen) P.S. I looked through your old hospital records from many years ago. Know something? I found your Christian name!

'Why are you you looking so cheerful?' asked Lewis. looking so cheerful?' asked Lewis.

But Morse made no answer, and indeed appeared to be reading the message again and again. Then he opened the letter from America.

Was.h.i.+ngton 4 March Dear Morse, Just read your thing in the Police Gazette. How did I know it was yours? Ah, I too was a detective! I'd have had the champagne myself. And I think the Faure Requiem's a bit lightweight compared with the Verdi -in spite of the imprimatur of the Papacy. I know you've always wept to Wagner but I've always kept to Verdi myself- and the best Xmas present I had was the Karajan recording of Don Carlos.

I know you're frightened of flying, but a visit here -especially in the spring, they say - is something not to be missed in life. We'll get together again for a jar on my return (April) and don't leave it too long before you take your pension.

As aye, Peter (Imbert) Morse handed the letter across to Lewis. 'The old Metropolitan Commissioner!' Morse nodded, rather proudly. 'Was.h.i.+ngton DC, that'll be, sir.' 'Where else?'

'Was.h.i.+ngton CD - County Durham, near enough.' 'Oh.'

'What's your programme today, sir?' 'Well, we've done most of the spadework-' 'Except the Harvey Clinic side of things.' 'And that's in hand, you say?'

'Seeing the woman this morning. She's just back from a few day's holiday.'

'Who's she again? Remind me.'

'I told you about her: Dawn Charles.'

'Mrs or Miss or Ms?'

'Not sure. But she's the main receptionist there. They say if anybody's likely to know what's going on, she is.' 'What time are you seeing her?'

'Ten o'clock. She's got a little flat out at Bicester on the Charles Church Estate. You joining me?'

'No, I don't think so. Something tells me I ought to see Storrs again.'

Lovingly Morse put the 'Girl Reading' (Perugini,1878) back into her envelope, then looked through Sir Peter's letter once again. Don Carlos.

The two words stood out and stared at him, at the beginning of a line as they were, at the end of a paragraph. Not an opera Morse knew well, Don Carlos. Don Carlos. Another 'DC, though. It was amazing how many DCs had cropped up in their enquiries - and still another one just now in the District of Columbia. And suddenly in Morse's mind the name of the Verdi opera merged with a name he'd just heard: the 'Don' chiming in with the 'Dawn', and the 'Carlos' with the 'Charles'. Another 'DC, though. It was amazing how many DCs had cropped up in their enquiries - and still another one just now in the District of Columbia. And suddenly in Morse's mind the name of the Verdi opera merged with a name he'd just heard: the 'Don' chiming in with the 'Dawn', and the 'Carlos' with the 'Charles'.

Was it Dawn Charles Dawn Charles (Mrs or Miss or Ms) who held the key to the mystery? Did they belong to (Mrs or Miss or Ms) who held the key to the mystery? Did they belong to her, her, that pair of initials in the manila file? that pair of initials in the manila file?

Morse's eyes gleamed with excitement.

'I think,' he said slowly, 'Mr Julian Storrs will have to wait a little while. I shall be coming with you, Lewis - to Bicester.'

PART SIX.

CHAPTER F FIFTY-EIGHT.

The best liar is he who makes the smallest amount of lying go the longest way (Samuel Butler, Truth and Convenience) Truth and Convenience) DAWN C CHARLES looked nervous when she opened the door of her flat in Woodp.e.c.k.e.r Way and let the two detectives through into the grey-carpeted lounge, where the elder of the two, the white-haired one, was already complimenting her on such an attractive residence. looked nervous when she opened the door of her flat in Woodp.e.c.k.e.r Way and let the two detectives through into the grey-carpeted lounge, where the elder of the two, the white-haired one, was already complimenting her on such an attractive residence.

'Bit unlucky though, really. I bought it at the top of the property boom for fifty-eight thousand. Only worth thirty-four now.'

'Oh dear!'

The man made her feel uneasy. And her mind went back to the previous summer when on returning from France she'd put the Green Channel sticker on the windscreen - only to be diverted into the Red Channel; where pleasantly, far too pleasantly, she'd been questioned about her time abroad, about the weather, about anything and everything - except those extra thousand cigarettes in the back of the boot. It had been as if they were just stringing her along; knowing the truth all the time.

But these men couldn't possibly know the truth, that's what she was telling herself now; and she thought she could handle things. On Radio Oxford just before Christmas she'd heard P. D. James's advice to criminal suspects: 'Keep it short! Keep it simple! Don't change a single word unless you have to!'

'Please sit down. Coffee? I've only got instant, I'm afraid.'

'We both prefer instant, don't we, Sergeant?' 'Lovely,' said Lewis, who would much have preferred tea.

Two minutes later, Dawn held a jug suspended over the steaming cups. 'Milk?'

'Please,' from Lewis. 'Thank you,' from Morse. 'Sugar?'

'Just the one teaspoonful,' from Lewis.

But a shake of the head from Morse; a slight raising of the eyebrows as she stirred two heaped teaspoonfuls into her own coffee; and an obsequious comment which caused Lewis to squirm inwardly: 'How on earth do you manage to keep such a beautiful figure - with all that sugar?'

She coloured slightly. 'Something to do with the metabolic rate, so they tell me at the clinic'