Inspector Morse 13 The Remorseful Day

"I know a lot of things, Lewis far more than you think."

"You've still not told me what I'm supposed to say to the Super."

"Cut your losses and tell him the truth."

"He'll tear me apart."

"You may well be surprised."

But, as he rose to his feet, Lewis appeared far from convinced.

"Well, I suppose I'd better ' " Hold your horses!  " (Morse looked at his

wristwatch.) " It may just be that I can help you.  "

Lewis's eyebrows lifted a little as Morse continued: ' You promise to buy roe

a couple of drinks, and I'll promise to give you a big, fat juicy clue.  "

"If you say so, sir."

"Off we go then."

"What's this big, fat ?"

"I'll give you the Registration Number of the car that you followed from

Bullingdon to Bicester!  Bargain, is it?"

Lewis's eyebrows lifted a lot.

"No kidding?"

Morse rechecked his wristwatch.

"First things first, though.  They've already been open five minutes."

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chapter nineteen It's good to hope; it's the waiting that spoils it

(Yiddish proverb) with increasing impatience and with incipient disquiet,

lighting one cigarette from another, drinking cup after cup of instant

coffee, Deborah Richardson had been watching from the front-room window, on

and off from 10.  30 a.  m.  " on and off from 11.30 a.m."  and virtually on

and on from midday and thereafter at first with that curiously pleasing

expectation of happy events which Jane Austen would have swopped for

happiness itself.  Not that Debbie had ever read Jane Austen.  Heard of her,

though, most recently from that elderly Oxford don (well, wasn't fifty-eight

elderly?  ) with whom she'd spent the night at the Cotswold Hotel in Burford

.  .  .

It wasn't that she was keenly anticipating any renewal of sexual congress

with her newly liberated partner.  Although she felt gratified that

physically he'd always been so demanding of her, it had often occurred to her

that he was probably enjoying the sex more for its own sake than because he

was having it with her.  And perhaps that was why only occasionally did she

experience that inter crural effusion' of which she'd read in one of the

women's magazines .  .

Nor was she looking forward to the regular resumption of cooking and washing

and ironing that had monopolized her time in the years prior to his arrest.

.  .

Nor she ought to be honest with herself!  - was she at all

anxious to witness his eating habits again, especially at break- fast, when

he would regularly offer some trite and ill-informed commentary on whatever

article he was reading in the Sun, and openly displaying thereby a

semi-masticated mouthful of whatever .  .  .

And oh, most definitely!  - she would never never ever tolerate again the

demands his erstwhile criminal dealings had made upon the space, her space,

in the quite unpleasantly appointed little semi he'd bought three years

earlier at rock- bottom price during the slump in the housing market.  After

which, at almost any given time, every conceivable square foot of space had

been jam-packed with crates of gin and whisky, cartons of cigarettes, car

radios, video recorders, cameras, computers, and Hi-Fi equipment.  No!

There'd have to be an end to all that stolen-property lark; and surely (now!

) there'd be little further risk of Harry himself taking part in any of the

actual burglaries.  For he had taken part occasionally, Debbie knew that,

although the police hadn't seemed to know, or perhaps just couldn't find

sufficient evidence to prosecute.  Certainly Harry had never asked for any

further of fences to be taken into consideration.  He'd made only the one

plea in mitigation of his sentence: he might have known the possible

provenance of the miscellaneous merchandise he'd acquired; might have known,

if only he'd asked but he'd just never asked.  He was in business, that was

all.  He knew a few clients who wanted to buy things at less than market

price.  Who didn't?

"Just like your duty-frees, in nit Everybody's always looking round for a

bargain, officer' .  .  .

So?

So why was she still standing uiere at the window, staring up and down the

quiet road?  The answer was simple: she just wanted a man around the place.

Without Harry she felt isolated, lonely, unshared.

She'd lost her man; and there was no man there to talk to, to talk to others

about, to grumble at, to argue with, even to walk out on because you couldn't

83

 walk out on a man who wasn't there to start with, now could you?

Where was he?  What had happened?  .  .  .

Not that her grass-widowhood had been entirely minus men.  There'd been that

nice little affair with the young plasterer who'd come in to patch up a crack

in the kitchen wall.  And that civilized little liaison with the Oxford don

(so undemanding, so appreciative) she'd met in a Burford pub.  But in each

case, and on every occasion, she'd been so very, very careful.  .

Only once had she had that dreadful worry, after buying a Home Pregnancy Kit

from Boots, when she'd just had to tell Harry, and when he'd been

surprisingly sympathetic.  If they did have a kid, it'd be good for him (him!