Inspector Morse 13 The Remorseful Day

in the chapel, but whose thoughts were perhaps in tune during the service as

each of them must have mused on their imminent mortality, and the prospects

of encountering that great cribbage-player in the sky.

Including Frank Harrison.

Chief Superintendent Strange, who had been seated in the back row next to

Morse, was the last but one to leave.  His thoughts had roamed irreverently

throughout the short service, and the superannuated minister's apparent

confidence in the resurrection of the dead had filled him more with horror

than with hope.  He thought of his wife and of her death, and experienced

that familiar sense of the guilt that still remained to be expiated.  The

hymn was all right, although he'd gone himself for

"Praise My Soul, the King of Heaven' in the Instructions For My Funeral

stapled to his last will and testament

But on the whole he dreaded church services almost as much as did the man

seated beside him; and he could think of nothing more detestable than a

funeral.

Morse himself had been sickened by the latest version (Series Something) of

the Funeral Service.  Gone were those resonant cadences of the AV and the

Prayer Book: those passages about corruption putting on incorruptibility and

the rest of it, which as a youth he'd found so poignant and powerful.  They'd

even had a cheerful hymn, for heaven's sake!

Where was that wonderfully sad and sentimental hymn he'd chosen for his own

farewell: '0 Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go'?  Chosen, that is, before he'd

recently decided to leave his body for medical science, although that

decision itself was now in considerable doubt.  In particular that little

clause in sub- section 6 of Form Dl still stuck in his craw: "Should your

bequest be accepted .  .  ."

He pointedly avoided the priest who'd presided a man (in Morse's view)

excessively accoutred in ecclesiastical vestments, and wholly lacking in any

sensitivity to the English language.  But he did have a quick word of

sympathy with the widow, shaking her black-gloved hand firmly before turning

to her mother.

"Mrs Stokes?"  he asked quietly.

"Yes?"

Morse introduced himself.

"My sergeant called to see your daughter' " Oh yes.  "

' - when you were there looking after the children, I believe.  Very kind of

you.  Must be a bit wearisome .  I wouldn't know, though.  "

"It's a pleasure really."

"Who's looking after them today?"

"Oh they're, er .  .  .  you know, a friend, a neighbour.  Won't be for long

anyway."

"No."

Morse turned away, following in Strange's steps towards the car park.

She was lying, of course Morse knew that.  There was only one of the Barren

children at home that day; as there had been when Lewis had called.  The

elder of the two, Alice, was away somewhere.  That much, though very little

else, Lewis himself had been able to learn from the Barrens' GP the previous

day.  Morse thought he knew why, and another piece of the jigsaw had slipped

into place.

 "Hello!  Chief Inspector Morse, isn't it?  My daughter tells me she saw you

recently.  But perhaps you don't know me."

"Let's say we've never been officially introduced, Mr Harrison."

"Ah!  You do know me.  I know you, of course, and Sergeant Lewis has been to

see me.  You probably sent him."

"As a matter of fact I did."

"I realize you weren't yourself involved in my wife's murder case but, er .

.  ."

Harrison was by some three inches or so the taller of the two, and Morse felt

slightly uncomfortable as a pair of pale- grey eyes, hard and unsmiling,

looked slightly down on him.

'.  .  .  but I'd heard about you.  Yvonne spoke about you several times.

She'd looked after you once when you were in hospital.  Remember?  "

Morse nodded.

"Quite taken by you, she was.

"A sensitive soul" - I think that's what she called you; said you were

interesting to talk to and had a nice voice.  Told me she was going to invite

you out to one of her, er, soirees.  When I was away, of course.  "

"I should hope so.  Wouldn't have wanted any competition, would I?"

"Did you have any competition?"

"The only time I ever met Yvonne again was in the Maiden's Arms,"

said Morse gently, unblinking blue eyes now looking slightly upward into the

strong, clean-shaven face of Harrison senior.

As Strange struggled to squeeze his bulk between seat and steering wheel.

Morse looked back and saw that the funeral guests were almost all departed.

But Linda Barren stood there still, in close conversation with Frank Harrison

both of them now stepping aside a little as another black Daimler moved

smoothly into place outside the chapel, with another light

brown, lily-bedecked coffin lying length ways inside, the polished handles

glinting in the sun.

Morse found himself pondering on the funeral.

"I wonder why he put in an appearance."

"Who?  Frank Harrison?  Why shouldn't he?  Lived in the same village had him

in to do those house repairs " Knew his wife had been in bed with him.  " "

Fasten your seat-belt.  Morse!  " " Er, before we drive off, there's

something "Fasten your seat-belt!  Know what that's an anagram of, by the way?

"Truss neatly to be safe."  Clever, eh?