Inspector Morse 13 The Remorseful Day

saw this note on the kitchen table: " Off back to London.  Didn't want to

wake you.  Love Dad" - something like that."

"Any time on the note?"

"Don't think so."

"Have you kept it?"

"Course I've not kept it!  Hardly a specimen of purple prose, was it?"

"Don't be cross with me," said Morse gently as he got to his feet, and left

the consulting room with two blue cards for more immediate and urgent blood

tests, and with instructions to fix up a further appointment for eight weeks'

time.

After the door had closed behind him, Sarah dialled 9 for an outside line on

the phone there; then called a number.

"Hullo?  Hullo?  Could you put me through to Simon Ham- son, please?"

168

FR1;chapter thirty-six Dr Franklin shewed me that the flames of two

candles joined give a much stronger light than both of them separate; as is

made very evident by a person holding the two candles near his face, first

separate, and then joined in one (Joseph Priestley, Optiks) As he sat

awaiting his turn outside the cubicle reserved for blood-testing, Morse found

himself wondering whether, wondering how, if at all, Sarah Harrison could

have had any role to play in the appalling events of the weekend just passed.

There were possibilities, of course (there were always possibilities in

Morse's mind) and for a few minutes his brain accelerated sweetly and swiftly

into diat extra fifth gear.  But stop a while!  Strange had surely been right

to remind him that the easiest answer was more often than not the correct

one.  What was the easiest answer, though?  Lewis would know, of course; and

it was at times like these that Morse needed Lewis's cautious 30 mph approach

to life, if not to any stretch of road in front of him.  Two heads were

better than one, even though one of them was Lewis's.  Yet what a cruel

thought that was!  And so unworthy .  .  .

"Mr Morse?"

A nurse led him behind the blood-letting curtain; and as she wiped the inside

of his right arm with a sterilizing swab of cotton wool before inserting a

needle.  Morse found himself

 thinking of Dr Sarah Harrison .  .  .

wondering exactly what she was thinking (doing?  ) at that very moment.

"Hullo?  Simon Harrison here."

"Simon?  Sarah!  Are you hearing OK?"

"Where else?  Course I'm here in the UK."

"Are you hearing me all right?"

"Oh, sorry!  Yes.  Fantastic this new phone-system.  You know that."

"Are you on your own, Simon?"  She was speaking softly.

"Yes.  But you can never count on it, sis.  You know that."

"Now listen!  I've only got a minute or so.  I've just been talking to Chief

Inspector Morse ' " Who?  "

"Morse!  He's with the Thames Valley Police and he's just become one of my

patients."

"He wasn't on Mum's case."

"Well, he's on this one."

"So?"

"So we've got to be careful, Simon."

"You told him Dad was here?"

"Had to!  He'd have soon found out."

"What's wrong, sis?"

"Nothings wrong.  But I'm a bit frightened of him, and when he sees you ' "

Seizure?  What?  Say it again.  "

"If he sees you, Simon, you did not come round last Wednes- day.  You did not

come ' " I heard you!  I stayed at home and watched the telly.  What was on,

by the way?  "

"Look it up in the Radio Times!  And stop being !"

A knock on the consulting-room door caused Sarah to replace the receiver

hurriedly, almost hoping that another out- patient had passed out in

Reception.  But the knock was only a

polite reminder that Dr Harrison's a.  m.  schedule was now running over half

an hour late.

Yet even as the next out-patient was ushered in, Dr Sarah Harrison found

herself wondering exactly what Chief Inspector Morse was thinking (doing?  )

at that very moment.

Turning right from the front entrance of the Radcliffe Infirmary Morse began

walking slowly down towards St Giles', noting that the time was 10.  40 -

twenty minutes before the pubs were due to open.  Yet since drink was now

definitely out for the duration, such an observation was of little moment.

The Oratory was on his right, a building he'd seldom paid attention to

before, although he must have walked past it so many, many times.

But apart from that wonderful line of cathedrals down the eastern side of

England Durham, York, Lincoln, Peterborough, Ely - the architecture of

ecclesiastical edifices had never meant as much as they should have done to

Morse; and the reason why he now checked his step remains inexplicable.

He entered and looked around him: all surprisingly large and imposing, with a

faint, seductive smell of incense, and statues of assorted saints around him,

with tiers of candles lit beside their sandal led holy feet.

A youngish woman had come in behind him, a Marks and Spencer carrier bag in

her left hand.  She dipped her right hand into the little font of blessed

water there, then crossed herself and knelt in one of the rear pews.  Morse

envied her, for she looked so much at home there: looked as if she knew

herself and her Lord so well, and was wholly familiar with all the trappings

of prayer and the promises of forgiveness.  She didn't stay long, and Morse