Part 11 (2/2)

'What about you?'

'To be truthful, it's a great relief. I'm not a very accomplished Casanova and I hated all the lying.'

'You realize, of course, that it would help a great deal if this young lady - is she young, by the way?'

For the first time Bernard hesitated. 'Fairly young.'

'If this young lady,' continued Morse, ”would come forward and corroborate your evidence?'

'Yes. I know it would.'

'But you don't want that.'

'I'd rather you disbelieved my story than dragged her into it.'

'You're not going to tell me who she is? I can promise you that I will handle the business myself.'

Bernard shook his head. 'I'm sorry. I can't do that.'

'I could try to find her, you know,' said Morse.

'I couldn't stop that.'

'No, you couldn't.' Morse moved his foot carefully back to the cus.h.i.+on strategically placed under his desk. 'You could be withholding vital evidence, Mr Crowther.' Bernard said nothing. 'Is she married?' persisted Morse.

'I'm not going to talk about her,' he said quietly, and Morse sensed a steely resolve in the man.

'Do you think I could find her?' His foot shot with pain, and he picked it up again. Oh, what the h.e.l.l, he thought; if this bit of stuff likes him to tickle her t.i.ts under the trees, what's that got to do with me? Bernard had not answered and Morse changed his tack. 'You realize, I'm sure, that this other girl, the one who sat in the back seat, she's the one who might be able to give us a line?' Crowther nodded.

'Why do you think we haven't heard from her?

'I don't know.'

'Can't you think of any reason?'

Bernard could, that was clear, but he did not put his thoughts into words.

'You can, can't you, Mr Crowther? Because it could be exactly the same reason which accounted for your reluctance to come forward.' Bernard nodded again. 'She could tell us, perhaps, who Sylvia Kaye's boy friend was, where she was going to meet him, what they were going to do - she might be able to tell us such a lot, don't you think?'

'I didn't get the idea they knew each other very well.'

'Why do you say that?' asked Morse sharply.

'Well, they didn't chatter much together. You know how young girls do: pop music, dances, discos, boy friends - they just didn't talk much - that's all.'

'You didn't catch her name?'

'No.'

'Have you tried to think if Sylvia used her name?'

'I've tried to tell you all I can remember. I can't do any more.'

'Betty, Carole, Diana, Evelyn ... no?' Bernard remained impa.s.sive. 'Gaye, Heather, Iris, Jennifer ...'

Morse could not make out the mildest nicker of response in Bernard's eyes. 'Had she got nice legs?'

'Not so nice as the other's, I don't think.'

'You noticed those?'

'What do you think? She was sitting next to me.' '

'Any erotic day-dreams?'

'Yes,' said Crowther, with a fierce burst of honesty.

'It's a good job it's not a criminal offence,' sighed Morse, 'otherwise we'd all be inside.' He noticed a light smile play for a brief second on Crowther's worried face. I can see him being attractive to some women, thought Morse. 'What time did you get home that night?'

'About a quarter to nine.'

'Was that the usual time, you know, because of er your er wife and so on?'

'Yes.'

'An hour a week, was that it?'

'Not much longer.'

'Was it worth it?'

'It seemed so - at the time.'

'You didn't call at the Black Prince that evening?”

'I've never been in the Black Prince.' It sounded very definite. Morse looked down at the statement again and noticed the beautifully formed handwriting; it seemed a pity to type it out. He questioned Crowther for a further half an hour, and gave it up soon after 4.00 p.m.

'We shall have to keep your car here a while, I'm afraid.'

'You will?' Crowther sounded disappointed.

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