Inspector Morse 13 The Remorseful Day

she might have been a most attractive woman when she was younger; and I just

wondered .  I got Dixon to check up on her, that's all.  Seems she used to

live in Lower Swinstead before she moved to Burford and, well, look at things

for yourself.  "

Lewis read Dixon's notes: Elizabeth Jane Thomas (b.  7.  ".53) 1976 (Feb.)

Son b.  (Alan) il leg

1983 (March) Son b.  (Roy) il leg  1983 (Dec.  ) m.  Kenneth Holmes (Registry

Office) 1991 (Sept.  ) Husband killed in pile-up on A40 - same accident that

caused all her trouble "They don't call them " illegitimate" these days, and

it should be " Register" Office."

Morse nodded.

"You're missing the main point, though."

"I am?"

"Remember when we were in the village pub?  Remember Biffen greeting his

customers?"

Yes.  Lewis remembered that

"Evening, Mr Thomas': the young fellow forever playing the fruit machine, the

young fellow who had spoken to him in the car park.

"You mean they're half-brothers?  Roy Holmes and Alan Thomas?"

"Why not full brothers with the same father?  I knew there was something

familiar about young Holmes .  .  .  Anyway, there it is.

Elizabeth Thomas was an unmarried mum in the village; Alan was already seven

when his younger brother was born; and everybody knew him as Alan Thomas.  So

he kept the name when his mother married a few months later, and kept it when

he went along with the family to live in Burford.  "

"Interesting enough but is it important?"

"I don't know," said Morse slowly.  Tjust don't know.  But it throws up one

or two new ideas.  "

"If you say so, sir.  Aren't you going to offer me another Scotch, by the

way?"

What a strange day it had been!  Even stranger, perhaps, in that Morse now

left his own glass un replenished

"Shall I tell you something else, Lewis?  You'd never believe it, but I've

been watching the telly this afternoon.  I picked up one of those RSPB

videos."

"You mean you know how to work the machine?"

"It's Strange's fault.  Genuine bird-watcher, Strange!  He told roe the

sparrow population in North Oxford's down by fifty per cent these last few

years; and he told me the sparrow-hawks along Squitchey Lane are getting

fatter.  So I bought this video on birds of prey you know, eagles, falcons,

hobbies, merlins, red kites .  .  .  did you hear me, Lewis?  Red kites."

Lewis looked puzzled.

"I'm not with you."

"Your interview with Simon Harrison.  He's a phoney bird- watcher, that

fellow.  Said he'd been off to Llandudno to try to spot a red kite.

Llandudno!  He meant Llandovery, Lewis that was the only home of the red kite

.  in the UK until they introduced a few near Stokenchurch.  "

"I didn't know you were an expert ' " I'm not.  And nor is Simon Harrison.

His alibi for Monday

 morning's worthless.  He wouldn't know a red kite from

a red cabbage.  "

Unaccustomedly relaxed, Lewis sipped his Glenfiddich and involuntarily

repeated an earlier comment: "Interesting enough but is it importanfi' " I

just don't know," said Morse slowly, himself now involuntarily repeating an

earlier comment: " But it throws up one or two new ideas .  .

"Perhaps they've all been telling us a few lies, sir ... except Mrs Barren,

perhaps."

Morse smiled.

"Don't you mean especially Mrs Barron?"

272

chapter fifty-nine Wherever Cod erects a house of prayer, The Devil

always builds a chapel there; And 'twill he found, upon examination, The

latter has the largest congregation (Daniel Defoe, The True-horn Englishman)

mrs linda bar ron walked steadily up the aisle between the small assembly of

mourners, her arm linked through that of her mother, both women dutifully

dressed in bible-black suits .  .

On the whole, it hadn't been quite the ordeal she'd expected: in practical

terms, the shock of it all continued to cocoon a good half of her conscious

thoughts; whilst emotion- ally she had long since accepted that her love for

her husband was as dead as the man who had been lying there in the coffin -

until mercifully the curtains had closed, and the show was over.  He would

have enjoyed the hymn though, "He Who Would Valiant Be', for he had been

valiant enough (she'd learned that from his army friends) - as well as vain

and domineering and unfaithful.  Yes, she'd found herself moved by the hymn;

and the tears ought to have come.

But they hadn't.

Outside, in the clear sunshine, she whispered quickly into her mother's ear.

"Remember what I said.  The kids are fine, if anybody asks.  OK?"

 But the grandmother made no reply.  She was the very last person in the

world to let the little ones down, especially the one of them.  As for Linda,

she girded up her loins in readiness for the chorus of commiseration she

would have to cope with.

And indeed several of the family and friends of her late husband, J.  Ban-on,

Builder, had already emerged through the chapel doors, including Thomas

Biffen, Landlord, whose creased white shirt was so tight around the neck that

he had been forced to unfasten the top button beneath the black tie;

including the perennial opponents, Alf and Bert, who had exchanged no words