Last Seen Wearing

'Yes, I will,' lied Morse.

'I really would love to see you again.'

'Same here.'

'You've got my address, haven't you?'

'Yes, I've got it.'

'And you'll make a note of the phone number?'

'Er, yes. Yes, I'll do that.'

'Goodbye, then, till we see each other again.' From the tone of her voice Morse guessed she must be lying there, her hands sensuously sliding along those beautiful limbs; and all he had to do was to say, yes, he'd be there! London wasn't very far away, and the night was still so young. He pictured her as she had been on the night that he had met her, the top button of the pyjama jacket already undone; and in his mind's eye his fingers gently unfastened the other buttons, one by one, and slowly drew the sides apart.

'Goodbye,' he said sadly.

He walked to the canteen and ordered black coffee.

'I thought you were taking the day off,' said a voice behind him.

'You must love this bloody place, Lewis!'

'I rang up. They said you were here.'

'Couldn't you stick it at home?'

'No. The missus says I get under her feet.'

They sat down together, and it was Lewis who put their thoughts into words. 'Where do we go from here, sir?'

Morse shook his head dubiously. 'I don't know.'

'Will you tell me one thing?'

'If I can.'

'Have you any idea at all about who killed Baines?'

Idly Morse stirred the strong black coffee. 'Have you?'

'The real trouble is we seem to be eliminating all the suspects. Not many left, are there?'

'We're not beaten yet,' said Morse with a sudden and unexpected lift of spirits. 'We got a bit lost in the winding mazes, and we still can't see the end of the road, but. .' He broke off and stared through the window. In a sudden gust of wind a shower of leaves rained down from the thinning trees.

'But what, sir?'

'Somebody once said that the end is the beginning, Lewis.'

'Not a particularly helpful thing to say, was it?'

'Ah, but I think it was. You see, we know what the beginning was.'

'Do we?'

'Oh yes. We know that Phillipson met Valerie Taylor one night, and we know that when he was appointed headmaster he discovered that she was one of his own pupils. That was where it all began, and that's where we've got to look now. There's nowhere else to look.'

'You mean. . Phillipson?'

'Or Mrs. Phillipson.'

'You don't think—'

'I don't think it matters much which of them you go for. They had the same motive; they had the same opportunity.'

'How do we set about it?'

'How do you set about it, you mean. I'm leaving it to you, Lewis.'

'Oh.'

'Want a bit of advice?' Morse smiled weakly. 'Bit of a cheek, isn't it, me giving you advice?'

'Of course I want your advice,' said Lewis quietly. 'We both know that.'

'All right. Here's a riddle for you. You look for a leaf in the forest, and you look for a corpse on the battle-field. Right? Where do you look for a knife?'

'An ironmonger's shop?'

'No, not a new knife. A knife that's been used — used continuously; used so much that the blade is wearing away.'

'A butcher's shop?'

'Warmer. But we haven't got a butcher in the case, have we?'

'A kitchen?'

'Ah! Which kitchen?'

'Phillipson's kitchen?'

'They'd only have one knife. It would be missed, wouldn't it?'

'Perhaps it was missed.'

'I don't think so, somehow, though you'll have to check. No, we need to find a place where knives are in daily use; a lot of knives; a place where no one would notice the loss of a single knife; a place at the very heart of the case. Come on, Lewis! Lots of people cutting up spuds and carrots and meat and everything. .'

'The canteen at the Roger Bacon School,' said Lewis slowly.

Morse nodded. 'It's an idea, isn't it?'

'Ye-es.' Lewis pondered for a while and nodded his agreement. 'But you say you want me to look into all this? What about you?'

'I'm going to look into the only other angle we've got left.'

'What's that?'

'I've told you. The secret of this case is locked away in the beginning: Phillipson and Valerie Taylor. You've got one half; I've got the other.'

'You mean. .?' Lewis had no idea what he meant.

Morse stood up. 'Yep. You have a go at the Phillipsons. I shall have to find Valerie.' He looked down at Lewis and grinned disarmingly. 'Where do you suggest I ought to start looking?'

Lewis stood up, too. 'I've always thought she was in London, sir. You know that. I think she just. .'

But Morse was no longer listening. He felt the icy fingers running along his spine, and there was a sudden wild elation in the pale-grey eyes. 'Why not, Lewis? Why not?'

He walked back to his office, and dialled the number immediately. After all, she had invited him, hadn't she?

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The only way of catching a train I ever discovered is to miss the one before.

(G. K. Chesterton)

'MUMMY?' ALISON MANAGED a very important frown upon her pretty little face as her mother tucked her early into bed at 8 p.m.

'Yes, darling?'

'Will the policemen be coming to see Daddy again when he gets back?'

'I don't think so, darling. Don't start worrying your little head about that.'

'He's not gone away to prison or anything like that, has he?'

'Of course he hasn't, you silly little thing! He'll be back tonight, you know that, and I'll tell him to come in and give you a big kiss — I promise.'

Alison was silent for a few moments. 'Mummy, he's not done anything wrong, has he?'

'No, you silly little thing. Of course he hasn't.'

Alison frowned again as she looked up into her mother's eyes. 'Even if he did do something wrong, he'd still be my daddy, wouldn't he?'

'Yes. He'd still be your daddy, whatever happened.'

'And we'd forgive him, wouldn't we?'

'Yes, my darling. . And you'd forgive Mummy, too, wouldn't you, if she did something wrong? Especially if. .'

'Don't worry, Mummy. God forgives everybody, doesn't he? And my teacher says that we must all try to be like him.'

Mrs. Phillipson walked slowly down the stairs, and her eyes were glazed with tears.

Morse left the Lancia at home and walked down from North Oxford to the railway station. It took him almost an hour and he wasn't at all sure why he'd decided to do it; but his head felt clear now and the unaccustomed exercise had done him good. At twenty past eight he stood outside the station buffet and looked around him. It was dark, but just across the way the street lights shone on the first few houses in Kempis Street. So close! He hadn't quite realized just how close to the railway station it was. A hundred yards? No more, certainly. Get off the train on Platform 2, cross over by the subway, hand your ticket in. . For a second or two he stood stock-still and felt the old familiar thrill that coursed along his nerves. He was catching the 8.35 train — the same train that Phillipson could have caught that fateful night so long ago. . Paddington about 9.40. Taxi. Let's see. . Yes, with a bit of luck he'd be there about 10.15.