Inspector Morse 11 The Daughters of Cain

Whilst he stoutly maintained that the words them-selves were ambivalent in their implication, Dr. Mc Clure agreed with the Coroner that the most likely explanation of events was that Rodway had been driven to take his own life.

Pathological evidence substantiated the fact that Rodway had taken drugs, on a regular basis, yet there ap-peared no evidence to suggest that he was a suicidal type with some obsessive death-wish.

In his summing up, the Coroner stressed the evil na-ture of trafficking in drags, and pointed to the ready availability of such drugs as a major contributory factor in Rodway's death.

Taken in the fa'st place to alleviate anxiety, they had in all probability merely served to aggravate it, with the tragic consequences of which the court had heard.

Matthew's mother is reluctant to accept the Coroner's verdict. Speaking from her home in Leicester, Mrs. Mary Rodway wished only to recall a bright, caring son who had every prospect of success before him.

"He was so talented in many ways. He was very good at hockey and tennis. He had a great love of music, and played the viola in the National Youth Orchestra.

"I know I'm making him sound like a dream son. Well, that's what he was." (See Leader, p.8)

Morse turned to the second cutting, taken from the same issue: A DEGREE TOO FAR A recently commissioned study highlights the increasing percentage of Oxford graduates who fail to find suitable employment. Dr. Clive Hornsby, Senior Reader in Social Sciences at Lonsdale College, has endorsed the implications of these findings, and suggests that many students, fully aware of employment prospects, strive for higher-class degrees than they are competent to achieve. Others, as yet mercifully few, adopt the alternative course of abandoning hope, of seeking consolation in drink and THE DAUGHTERS OF CAIN drags, and sometimes of concluding that life is not worth the living of it. It may well be that Oxford University, through its various advisory agencies and help-lines, is fully aware of these and related problems, although we are not wholly convinced of this. The latest suicide in an Oxford College (see p. I) prompts renewed concern about the pressures on our undergraduate community here, and the ways in which additional advice and help can he pro-vided.

Morse now mined again to the third cutting, taken from the Oxford Times of Friday, June 18, 1993: a shorter article, flanked by a photograph of "Dr. F. F. Maclure,' a clean-shaven, rather mournful-looking man, pictured in full aca~ demic dress.

PASTORAL CARE DEFENDED

Following the latest in a disturbing sequence of Suicides, considerable criticism has been levelled against-the Uni-versity's counselling arrangements. But Dr. Felix Mc Lure, former Senior Lecturer in Ancient History at Wolsey Col-lege, has expressed his disappointment that so many have rushed into the arena with allegations of indifference and neglect. In fact, according to Dr. Mac Clure, the Univer-sity has been instrumental over the past year in promoting several initiatives, including the formation of Oxford Uni-versity Counselling and Help (OUCH) of which he was a founder-member. "More should be done," he told our re-porter.

"We all agree on that score. But there should also he some recognition of the University's present concern and commimaent."

"You'll soon know those things off by heart," ventured a well-pleased Lewis as he stopped in a leafy lane on the eastern side of the London Road and briefly consulted his street-map, before setting off again.

"It's not that. It's. just that I'm a slow reader."

"What if you'd been a quick reader, sir? Where would you be now.9"

"Probably been a proof-reader in a newspaper office.

They could certainly do with one," mumbled Morse as he considered "Maclure" and "Mc Lure" and "Mac Clure" in the last cutting, with still no sign of the genuine article, "former Senior Lecturer..."

Interesting, that extra little piece of the jigsaw--that "former"...

Lewis braked gently outside Number 14 Evington Road South; then decided to continue into the drive, where the low-profile tires of the Jaguar crunched into the deep gravel.

Chapter Thirteen

Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death (ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON, The Two Voices)

Mrs. Mary Rodway, a smartly dressed, slim-figured, pleas-antly featured woman in her late forties, seemed quite willing to talk about herself--at least for a start.

Four years previously (she told the detectives) her hus-band, a highly-salaried constructional engineer, had run off with his Personal Assistant. The only contact between her-self and her former marriage-partner was now effected via the agency of solicitors and banks. She lived on her own happily enough, she supposed--if anyone could ever live happily again after the death of an only child, especially a child who had died in such dubious circumstances.