Inspector Morse 11 The Daughters of Cain

The previous afternoon, great activity at the Brookses' res idence had proved dramatically productive. At the back c,? the house, one of the small keys from Lewis's bunch had provided immediate, unforced access to the garden shed. No transparent plastic bags were found them; nor an! damning snippet of dark green garden-twine like that whic: had secured the bundle of the corpse. Yet something ha been found there: fibres of a brown material which looke: most suspiciously similar--which later proved to b identical--to the carpeting that had covered the body of Edward Brooks.

Brenda Brooks, therefore, had been taken in for questioning the previous evening, on two separate occasions being politely reminded that anything she said might be taken down in writing and used as evidence. But there seemed hardly any valid reason for even one such caution, since from the very start she had appeared too shocked to say anything at all. Later in the evening she had been released on police bail, having been formally charged with conspir-acy to murder. As Morse saw things the decision to grant bail had been wholly correct. There was surely little merit in pressing for custody, since it was difficult to envisage that gentle little lady, once freed, indulging in any orgy of murder in the area of the Thames Valley Police Authority. In any case, Morse liked Mrs. Brooks.

Just as he liked Mrs. Stevens--in whose garage earlier that same day a forensic team had made an equally dra-matic finding, when they had examined the ancient Volvo, in situ, and discovered, in the boot, fibres of a brown ma-terial which looked most suspiciously similar--which later proved to be identical to the carpeting that had covered the body of Edward Brooks....

Morse had nodded to himself with satisfaction on receiving each of these reports. So careful, so clever, they'd been---the two women! Yet even the cleverest of crimi-nals couldn't think of everything: they all made that one little mistake, sooner or later; and he should be glad of that.

He was glad.

He himself had taken temporary possession of the long~ overdue library book found in the Brookses' bedroom, no-ricing with some self-congratulation that the tops of two pages in the story entitled "The Broken Sword" had been dog-eared. By Brooks? Were the pages worth testing for fingerprints? No. Far too fanciful a notion. But Morse told himself that he would re-read the story once he got the chance; and indeed his eye had already caught some of the lines he remembered so vividly from his youth: Where does a man kick a pebble? On the beach.

Where does a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest...

Yes. Things were progressing well--and quickly.

There was that third search warrant, of course: one that had been granted, though not yet served.

The one to be served on Ms. Smith...

Of whom, as it happened, Morse had dreamed the previous night--most disturbingly. He had watched her closely (how on earth?) as semi-dressed in a plunging Versace cre-ation she had exhibited herself erotically to some lecherous Yuppie in the back of. a BMW. And when Morse had awoken, he had felt bitterly angry with her; and sick; and heartachingty jealous.

He had known better nights; known better dreams.

Yet life is a strange affair; and only ten minutes after Lewis had returned that Tuesday afternoon Morse received a call from Reception which quickened his heart-beat con-siderably.

Chapter Sixty-eight

She turned away, but with the autumn weather Compelled my imagination many days, Many days and many hours (T S. ELIOT, La Figlia Che Piange)

She closed the passenger-seat door, asking the man to wait there, in the slip-road, for ten minutes--no longer; then drive in and pick her up.

She walked quite briskly past the blue sign, with white lettering, "Thames Valley Police HQ"; then up the longish gradient to the brick-and-concrete building.

At Reception she quickly made her errand clear.

"Is he expecting you, Miss?" asked the man seated there. "No."

"Can I ask what it's in connection with?"

"A murder."

The grey-haired man looked up at her with some curios~ ity. He thought he might have sen her before; then decided that he hadn't. And rang Morse.

"Let her in, Bill. I'll be down to collect her in a couple of minutes."

After entering her name neatly in the Visitors' Log, Bill pressed the mechanism that opened the door to the main building. She was carrying a small package, some 5 inches by 3 inches, and he decided to keep a precautionary eye on her. Normally he would not have let her through without some sort of check. But he'd always been encouraged to use his discretion, and in troth she looked more like a po-tential traveller than a potential terrorist. And Chief Inspec-tor Morse had sounded happy enough.

He pointed the way. "If you just go and sit and wait there, Miss...?"