Inspector Morse 13 The Remorseful Day

officer who had communicated to him as much as anyone at Bullingdon was ever

likely to know about the man just released: aged 37; height 5' 10"; weight 13

stone 4 pounds; hair dark-brown, balding; complexion medium; tattoo (naval

design) covering left forearm; sentenced for the receipt and sale of stolen

goods; at the time of arrest cohabiting with Debbie Richardson, of 15 Chaucer

Lane, Burford.

After driving the unmarked police car from the crowded staff car park, Lewis

stopped on the main road, moving round the car as he slowly checked his tyre

pressures, all the while keeping watch on the bus stop, only fifty yards

away, where two men, Repp and a slimmer ferrety-looking fellow, stood

waiting; from where Lewis could hear so very clearly the frequently

vociferated plaints from the ferret: "Where the fuckin' 'ell's the fuckin'

bus got to?"

In fact, the fuckin' bus was well on its way; and a few minutes later the two

men boarded a virtually empty bus, and un communicatively took their separate

seats.

Lewis moved smoothly into gear and followed discreetly, not at all unhappy

when another (rather posh) car interposed itself between him and the bus.

(Another posh car behind him, for that matter.  ) Any minor worry that Repp

might unexpectedly get off at some stage between Bullingdon and Bicester was

taking care of itself very nicely, since the bus made no stop whatsoever

until reaching the Bure Place bus station in Bicester, where the ferret

straightaway alighted (and straightaway disappeared); and where Repp, the

immediate quarry, walked up the line of bus shelters to the 27 oxford

(Direct) bay, promptly boarding the bus already standing there.

Repp was not the only one who had done his homework on the Bicester-Oxford

timetable.  For Lewis, knowing there would be a full ten-minute wait before

departure, and leaving his car in the capacious car park opposite, walked

quickly through the short passageway to Sheep Street, passing the public

toilets on his left, where at Forbuoys Newsagent's he bought the Mirror.

Even if there was a bit of a queue, so what?  He would rather enjoy not

following but chasing the 27 to Oxford.  But the bus was still there, filling

up quite quickly, as he got back into his car.

After the implementation of the Beeching Report of the mid-sixties,

passengers between Oxford and Bicester had perforce to use their own cars.

But the former railway line had now been re-opened; and the deregulated bus

companies were trying their best, and sometimes succeeding, in tempting

passengers back to public transport.  There were no traffic jams on the rail;

and a newly designated bus lane from Kid- ling ton gave a comparatively

fast-track entry into Oxford.

So perhaps (Lewis pondered the matter) it was hardly surprising that Repp had

not been picked up at Bullingdon by a friend, or by a relative, or by his

common-law wife.  Yet it would surely have been so much easier, quicker, more

convenient that way?

At 10.  10 a.  m.  the 27 pulled out of the bus station and headed towards

Oxford, in due course crossing over the M40 junction and making appropriately

good speed along the A34, before turning off through Kidlington and then over

the A40 down towards Oxford City Centre.

And again Lewis was fortunate, for no one had got off the bus along the route

until the upper reaches of the Banbury Road.

Easy!

Driving at a safe and courteous distance behind the bus, 75

 Lewis had ample

opportunity for reflecting once more on the slightly disturbing developments

of the previous few days .  .  .

Morse had been as good as his word that Monday morning, when the latter part

of their audience with Strange had turned almost inexplicably bitter.  No,

Morse could not agree to any involvement in the re-opening of the Harrison

enquir- it's .  Yes, Morse realized ("Fully, sir!"  ) the possible

implications of his non-compliance with the decision of a superior officer.

Yet oddly enough, it had been Strange who had seemed the more unsure of

himself during those final exchanges; and Lewis had found himself puzzled,

and suspecting that there were certain aspects of the case of which he

himself was wholly unaware.

Could it be .  .  .  ?

Could it be perhaps .  .  ?

Could it be perhaps that Morse had some reason for keeping his head above the

turbid waters still swirling around the unsolved murder of Yvonne Harrison?

Some personal reason, say?  Some connection with the major participants in

the case?  Some connection (Lewis was thinking the unthinkable) with the

major participant: with the murdered woman herself?  For there must be some

reason .  .  .

Some reason, too, for Morse's (virtually unprecedented) absence from HQ on

those two following days, the Tuesday and the Wednesday?  To be fair, he had

rung Lewis (at home) early on the Tuesday morning, saying that he was feeling

unwell, and in truth sounding unwell.  He'd be grateful, he'd said, if Lewis

could apologize to all concerned; perhaps for the following day as well.

Lewis had rung Morse that Tuesday evening, but there was no answer; had rung