Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

When, ten minutes later, it slowly began to move forward again, the Senior Conductor decided to introduce himself over the intercom.

DEATH IS NOW MY NEIGHBOUR

'Ladies and Gentlemen. Due to a signalling failure at Slough, this train will now arrive at Paddington approximately fifteen minutes late. We apologize to customers for this delay.'

The man and the woman, seated now more closely together, turned to each other - and smiled.

'What are you thinking?' she asked.

You often ask me that, you know. Sometimes I'm not diinking of anything.'

'Well?'

'I was only thinking that our Senior Conductor doesn't seem to know the difference between "due to" and "owing to".'

'Not sure /do. Does it matter?'

'Of course it matters.'

'But you won't let it come between us?'

'I won't let anything come between us,' he whispered into her ear.

For a few seconds they looked lovingly at each other. Then he lowered his eyes, removed a splayed left hand from her stockinged thigh, and drank his last mouthful of beer.

'Just before we get into Paddington, Rachel, there's something important I ought to tell you.'

She turned to him - her eyes suddenly alarmed.

He wanted to put a stop to the affair?

He wanted to get rid of her?

He'd found another woman? (Apart from his wife, of course.)

'Tickets, please!'

He looked as if he might be making his maiden

COLIN DEXTER

voyage, the young ticket-collector, for he was scrutinizing each ticket proffered to him with preternatural concentration.

The man took both his own and the young woman's ticket from his wallet: cheap-day returns.

'This yours, sir?'

·Yes.'

·You an GAP?'

'As a matter of fact I am not, no.' (The tone of his voice was quiedy arrogant.) 'To draw a seniorcitizen pension in the United Kingdom a man has to be sixty-five years of age. But a Senior Railcard is available to a man who has passed his sixtieth birthday - as doubdess you know.'

'Could I see your Railcard, sir?'

With a sigh of resignation, the man produced his card. And the slightly flustered, spotty-faced youdi duly studied the details.

Valid: until 07 MAY 96; Issued to: Mr J. C. Storrs.

'How the hell does he think I got my ticket at Oxford without showing that?' asked the Senior Fellow of Lonsdale.

'He's only doing his duty, poor lad. And he's got awful acne.'

'You're right, yes.'

She took his hand in hers, moving more closely again. And within a few minutes the PADDINGTON sign passed by as the train drew slowly into the long platform. In a

DEATH IS NOW MY NEIGHBOUR

rather sad voice, the Senior Conductor now made his second announcement: 'All change, please! All change! This train has now terminated.'

They waited until their fellow-passengers had alighted; and happily, just as at Oxford, there seemed to be no one on the train whom either of them knew.

In the Brunei Bar of the Station Hotel, Storrs ordered a large brandy (two pieces of ice) for his young companion, and half a pint of Smith's bitter for himself. Then, leaving his own drink temporarily untouched, he walked out into Praed Street, thence making his way down to the cluster of small hotels in and around Sussex Gardens, several of them displaying VACANCIES signs. He had 'used' (was that the word?) two of them previously, but this time he decided to explore new territory.

'Double room?'

'One left, yeah. Just the one night, is it?'

'How much?'

'Seventy-five pounds for the two -with breakfast'

'How much without breakfast?'

Storrs sensed that the middle-aged peroxide blonde was attuned to his intentions, for her eyes hardened knowingly behind the cigarette-stained reception counter.

'Seventy-five pounds.'

One experienced campaigner nodded to another experienced campaigner. 'Well, thank you, madam. I promise I'll call back and take the room - after I've had a look at it-if I can't find anything a little less expensive.'

He turned to go.

'Just a minute!... No breakfast, you say?'

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'No. We're catching the sleeper to Inverness, and we just want a room for the day - you know? - a sort of habitation and a place.'

She squinted up at him through her cigarette smoke.

'Sixty-five?'

'Sixty.'

'OK.'

He counted out six ten-pound notes as, pushing the register forward, she reached behind her for Key Number 10.

It was, one may say, a satisfactory transaction.

Her glass was empty, and without seating himself he drained his own beer at a draught.

'Same again?'

'Please!' She pushed over the globed glass in which the semi-melted ice-cubes still remained.

Feeling most pleasandy relaxed, she looked around the thinly populated bar, and noticed (again!) die eyes of die middle-aged man seated across die room. But she gave no sign diat she was aware of his interest, switching her glance instead to die balding, grey-white head of die man leaning nonchalandy at the bar as he ordered dieir drinks.

Beside her once more, he clinked dieir glasses, feeling (just as she did) most pleasantly relaxed.

'Quite a while since we sat here,' he volunteered.

'Couple o' mondis?'

34

DEATH IS NOW MY NEIGHBOUR