Part 4 (1/2)

But Palmer countenanced such mild abuse of his establishment with philosophic quietude, whilst at the same time keeping a hawk-like eye on the office telephone accounts. It seemed to him a fair arrangement.

Each girl in her own way had been a little overawed by Morse, and his quietly spoken requests were conceded with no audible murmur of dissent. Of course they all wanted to help. In any case he was only going to get copies of the mail and everything would be treated with the utmost confidentiality.

Nevertheless Ruth had given an audible sigh of relief on discovering that this was a morning when Bob had temporarily exhausted his supply of lecherous suggestions. However broadminded they were, well...

'I think we all ought to help them find out about poor old Sylvia,' said Sandra. For all her low- geared intellect she was a girl of ready sensitivity and had been deeply saddened, and a little frightened, by Sylvia's death. She wished in her own innocent way that she could contribute something to the inquiry, and she sensed disappointment, though little surprise, that no one had written to her.

There were seven personal letters and two postcards for Morse to study, and as he cursorily cast his eye over each before, placing it in the copying machine, he felt it was all rather foolish. Still, there was the ident.i.ty parade, of which he had high hopes, although here again in the sobering light of morning the expectancy index had already fallen several points.

'Have you been on an ident.i.ty parade before?' said Sandra.

'Of course not,' replied Judith. 'People don't get involved in murders every week, do they?'

'Just wondered.'

'What do we do?' asked Ruth.

'We do what we're told.' Judith believed pa.s.sionately in the virtues of authority, and she sometimes wished that Mr Palmer, though he was very nice of course, would be just a little firmer and not quite so friendly with one or two of his employees.

'I saw one once at the pictures,' said Sandra.

'I saw one on the telly,' said Ruth. 'Will it be like that?'

Afterwards they decided it was like that. Disappointing really. A nondescript woman walked along and looked at each of them as they spoke the words, 'Do you know when the next bus is?' You couldn't really be frightened of her. Wouldn't it have been awful, though, if she'd put her hand on your shoulder? But she didn't. She'd walked past all the girls and then walked back and then walked off.

That Inspector - he'd been hoping, hadn't he? And that was a bit funny at the end, wasn't it? Running to the door at the far end of the yard. What was that all about?

”They got the crook in the picture,' said Sandra.

'And on the telly,' said Ruth.

'You shouldn't believe all you see,' said Judith.

Morse was sitting in his office at midday, when Lewis came in. Well, sir? Any good?' Morse shook his head.

'No good at all?'

'She thought two or three of them might be her.'

'Well, that narrows it down a bit, sir.'

'Not really. I've heard defending counsels make powdered mincemeat out of witnesses who swore on their grandfathers' graves that they were absolutely positive about an identification. No, Lewis. It doesn't help us much, I'm afraid.'

'What about your other idea, sir? You know, the girl had a funny splayed sort of run.'

'Oh, we got them to run all right.'

Lewis sensed he had landed on a sore point. 'No good, sir.' It was a statement, not a question.

'That's right, Lewis. No good. And it might have occurred, it might just have occurred, Lewis, to members of the crime squad, to me, Lewis, and to you, that all girls run in the same ham-footed b.l.o.o.d.y way.' He blasted the last few words at his sergeant, who waited for the hurricane to subside.

'You could do with a pint of beer, sir.'

Morse looked a little happier. 'You may be right.'

'I've got a bit of news, sir.'

'Let's have it.'

Well, the bus - that's out. I got the driver and conductor of the 6.30 p.m. 4E from Carfax. There were only a dozen or so on the bus anyway, most of them regulars. Our two girls pretty certainly didn't get to Woodstock by bus.'

'We don't know for certain that both of them got to Woodstock anyway,' said Morse.

'But Sylvia got there, didn't she, sir, and the other girl asked for the bus there?'

'I'm beginning to wonder if Mrs Jarman is such a helpful witness, after all.'

'I think she is, because that's only the bad news.'

'You've got some good news?' Morse tried to sound a bit , more cheerful.

'Well, it's that lorry the old girl told us about. Quite easy really to trace it. You see at Cowley there's this system with car-bodies. When they ...'

”Yes, I know. You did a sharp job, Lewis. But cut the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs.'

'He remembers them. A Mr George Baker - lives in Oxford. And listen to this, sir. He saw the two girls getting into a car. A red car - he was sure of that. Chap driving - not a woman. He remembered because he often picks up hitchers, especially if they're girls; and he saw these two just beyond the roundabout about fifty yards ahead. He would have given them a lift, he said, but this other car pulls up, and he has to pull out to get past. He saw the blonde all right.'

”We're a despicable lot, aren't we?' said Morse. ”Would you have picked them up?'

'I don't usually, sir. Only if they're in uniform. I was glad of a few lifts myself when I was in the Forces.'

Morse reflected carefully on the new evidence. Things were certainly moving.

'What did you say about a pint?'

They sat silently in the White Horse at Kidlington and Morse decided that the beer was drinkable.

Finally he broke the silence. 'A red car, eh?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Interesting piece of research for you. How many men in Oxford own red cars?'