Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

'Not quite sure, really. But if I'm right, if it was something like a contract-killing, it must have been arranged because Owens was threatening to expose somebody. And if he was-'

'Lot of "if s", sir.'

'If he was, Lewis, he must have some evidence tucked away somewhere: vital evidence, damning evidence. It could be in the form of newspaper-cuttings or letters or photographs - anything. And he must have been pretty sure about his facts if he's been trying to extort some money or some favours or whatever from any disclosures. Now, as I see it, he must have come across most of his evidence in the course of his career as a journalist. Wouldn't you think so? Sex scandals, that sort of thing.'

'Like as not, I suppose.'

'So the plan's this. I want you, once you get the chance, to go and see the big white chief at the newspaper offices and get a look at all the confidential stuff

on Owens. They're sure to have it in his appointment-file or somewhere: previous jobs, references, testimonials, CV, internal appraisals, comments-'

'Gossip?'

'Anything!'

'Is that what you mean by not bending the rules too much?'

'We're not bending the rules - not too much. We're on a murder case, Lewis, remember that! Every member of the public's got a duty to help us in our enquiries.'

'I just hope the editor agrees with you, that's all.'

'He does,' said Morse, a litde shamefacedly. 'I rang him while you went to the canteen. He just wants us to do it privately, that's all, and confidentially. Owens only works alternate Saturdays, and this is one of his days off.'

"You don't want to do it yourself?'

'It's not that I don't want to. But you're so much better at that sort of thing than I am.'

A semi-mollified Lewis elaborated: "Then, if anything sticks out as important ... just follow it up ... and let you know?'

'Except for one thing, Lewis. Owens told me he worked for quite a while in Soho when he started. And if diere's anydiing suspicious or interesting about that period of his life ..."

'You'd like to do that bit of research yourself.'

'Exacdy. I'm better at that sort of thing dian you are."

'What's your programme for today, dien?'

'Quite a few tilings, really.'

'Such as?' Lewis looked up quizzically.

'Well, there's one helluva lot of paperwork, for a start

And filing. So you'd better stay and give me a hand for a while - after you've fetched me another orange juice. And please tell the girl not to dilute it quite so much this time. And just a cube or two more ice perhaps.'

'And then?' persisted Lewis.

'And then I'm repairing to the local in Cutteslowe, where I shall be trying to thread a few further thoughts together over a pint, perhaps. And where I've arranged to meet an old friend of mine who may possibly be able to help us a little.'

'Who's that, sir?'

'It doesn't matter.' -

'Not-?'

'Where's my orange juice, Lewis?'

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

MARIA: No, I've just got the two O-levels - and the tortoise, of course. But I'm fairly well known for some other accomplishments.

JUDGE: Known to whom, may I ask?

MARIA: Well, to the police for a start.

(Diana Doherty, The Re-trial of Maria Macmillan)

AT TEN MINUTES to noon Morse was enjoying his pint of Brakspear's bitter. The Chief Inspector had many faults, but unpunctuality had never been one of them. He was ten minutes early.

JJ, a sparely built, nondescript-looking man in his mid-forties, walked into die Cherwell five minutes later.

When Morse had rung at 8.30 a.m., Malcolm 'JJ'Johnson had been seated on the floor, on a black cushion, only two feet away from die television screen, watching a hard-core porn video and drinking his regular breakfast of two cans of Beamish stout -just after the lady of die household had left for her job (mornings only) in one of die fruiterers' shops in Summertown.

Accepted wisdom has it that in such enlightened times as these most self-respecting burglars pursue their trade by day; but JJ had always been a night-man, relying firmly on local knowledge and reconnaissance. And often in the daylight hours, as now, he wondered why he didn't spend his leisure time in some more purposeful pursuits. But in truth he just couldn't think of any. At the same time, he did realize, yes, that sometimes he was getting a bit bored. Over the past two years or so, the snooker table had lost its former magnetism; infidelities and fornication were posing too many practical problems, as he grew older; and even darts and dominoes were beginning to pall. Only gambling, usually in Ladbrokes' premises in Summertown, had managed to retain his undivided attention over the years: for the one thing that never bored him was acquiring money.

Yet JJ had never been a miser. It was just that the acquisition of money was a necessary prerequisite to the spending of money; and the spending of money had always been, and still was, the greatest purpose of his life.