Inspector Morse 13 The Remorseful Day

habit, as he now recognized; but one which had given him almost as much

pleasure as any other vice in life.  And he knew that were he privy to the

date and time of an early Judgement Day (the following Monday, say) he would

set off immediately to the nearest news agent to buy in a store of

cigarettes.  And he almost did so now, as if he could already hear the

trumpets sounding on the other side.

In the living room, he selected Bruno Walter's early recording of the

Walkiire, with Lauritz Melchior and Lotte Lehmann singing the roles of

Siegmund and Sieglinde.  Wonderful!  So Morse turned the volume-control to

maximum as he listened to the anagnorisis at the end of Act I, and heard

neither of the telephone calls made to his ex-directory number that

afternoon, conscious only that he was falling deliciously asleep as the

benighted brother and sister rushed off into the forest to beget Siegfried .

It was coming up to 2.  45 p.  m.  when Morse jerked abruptly awake,

disappointed that his semi-erotic dream was prematurely terminated: a dream

of a woman seated intimately close to him a dream of Debbie Richardson, with

legs provocatively crossed, the texture of the cheap black stockings tautly

stretched along her upper thighs.

Wonderful!

But even as she'd leaned towards him, he'd voiced his deep anxiety: "Aren't

you frightened someone will come in?"

"No one'll come in.  Harry won't be comin' back.  Ever.  I'll get you another

drink.  Just stay where you are."

So Morse had stayed where he was, awaiting her return with

^S

 impatience, and with an empty glass beside him.  And when he awoke, he was

still sitting there alone, awaiting her return with impatience, and with an

empty glass beside him.

Wagner had long since run his course, and finally Morse got to his feet and

turned off the CD player.  He felt tired, hot, thirsty and a sharp pain in

his chest betokened another bout of indigestion.  In the bathroom, he cleaned

his teeth and dropped three Alka-Seltzer tablets into a glass of water; then

he filled up the wash-basin and thrice dipped his head into the cold water.

The tablets had fizzed and dissolved and he downed the dosage at a single

draught.  Thence to his bed- room, where he took his blood-sugar level: 24.

8 - almost off the scale.  His own fault, since he'd forgotten to inject

himself at lunchtime ~ making up for it now, though, with an extra four units

ofActrapid insulin.  Just to be on the safe side.  Back in the bathroom, he

drank two further glasses of cold water, acknowledging how surprisingly

pleasing was its taste, since water had seldom figured prominently in his

drinking habits.  Finally he decided that a couple of Paracetamol would be

appropriate.  So he shook out the tablets on to his palm; shook out three in

fact and decided to take the three.  Just to be on the safe side.

Suddenly he was feeling much better, his faith in this curious combination of

assorted medicaments seemingly justified once more.

Suddenly, too, he decided to follow his consultant's somewhat despairing

exhortation to take a bit of exercise occasionally.  Why not?  It was a warm

and gentle summer's day.

In the small entrance hall, he noticed the figure '2' on the window of his

Ansafone.  Pressing

"Play' he listened to the first message: Morse?  Janet!  Ten-fast one

Saturday afternoon.  Good news!  I hope to be back in Oxford on the 14th.  So

you'll be able to take me somewhere?  To bed perhaps?  Give me a ring soon.

Bye!

Any semi-remembrance of Debbie Richardson was lingering no longer, and Morse

smiled happily to himself.  He would ring immediately.  But the second

message had followed with- out a pause, and he was destined not to ring

Sister McQueen that afternoon.

Instead he dialled HQ and finally got through to the young PC who had driven

him out to Bullingdon the previous morning in an unmarked police car.

"Get the same car, Kershaw - nice, comfy seats and pick me up from home quam

ceterrime."

"Pardon?"

"Smartish!"

"Sir, I was just going off duty when you rang and I've ' " Make it five

minutes!  "

Deeply puzzled.  Morse walked back into the sitting-room where he sat in the

black-leather armchair; and where his right hand reached for whisky once more

as mentally he rehearsed that second, quite extraordinary message on the

Ansafone: Sir?  Lewis here half-fast one, nearly I'm out at Sutton Courtenay.

Please come along as soon as you can -for my sake if nobody else's.  I think

you should get here before we move the body.  You see, sir, it isn't the body

of Harry Repp.

127

chapter twenty-eight Alas, poor Yorick!  I knew him, Horatio

(Shakespeare, HamUf) it was just after 4 p.  m.  that same Saturday afternoon

when Morse and Lewis finally sat down together in the requisitioned office of

the site manager.

"Straightaway I knew it wasn't him, sir, when I saw his arms.  Harry Repp had

this tattoo: all twisted chains and anchors, you know a sort of.  .  ."

Lewis undulated his hands vertically, as if tracing a woman's willowy figure.

"Convoluted involvement," suggested Morse gently.