nodded this time. 'The sub-mandibular bit, you're right about that .'
'Then he goes up the bank again - gets in his car -back to Osney Mead. But he daren't go into the car park again - of course not! So he leaves his car somewhere near, and goes into the office from the rear of the car park. Nobody much there to observe his comings and goings - most of the people get in there about eightish, so I learn. Quod erat demonstrandum! I know you're going to ask me what his motive was, and I don't know. But this time we've found the murderer before we've found the motive. Not grumbling too much about that , are you?'
‘Y es! It just won't hold water.'
'And why's that?'
"There's this woman from Number 1 , for a start. Miss Cecil—'
'Delia - Owens called her Delia.'
'She saw him leave, didn't she? About seven o'clock? That's why she knew he'd be at his desk when she rang him as soon as she saw the police arrive - just after eight.'
'One hour - one whole hour! You can do a lot in an hour.'
‘ You still can't put a quart into a pint pot.'
'We've now gone metric, by the way, Lewis. Look, what if they're in it together - have you thought of that? Owens is carrying a torch for that Miss Cecil, believe me! When I happened to mention Julian Storrs - '
‘ You didn't do that, surely?'
‘ - and when I said he'd been seen knocking at one of the other doors there -' 'But nobody—'
' - he was jealous, Lewis! And there are only two houses in the Close' (Lewis gave up the struggle) 'occupied by nubile young women: Number 17 and Number 1, Miss James and Miss Cecil, agreed?'
‘I thought you just said they were in it together.'
‘I said they might be, that's all. I'm just thinking aloud, for Christ's sake! One of us has got to think. And I'm a bit weary and I'm much underbeered. So give me a chance!'
Lewis waited a few seconds. Then:
'Is it my turn to speak, sir?'
Morse nodded weakly, contemplating the threadbare state of Lewis's carpet.
‘I don't know whether you've been down the Botley Road in the morning rece ntly - even in the fairly early morning - but it's one of the worst bottl enecks in Oxford. You drove there and back in mid-afternoon, didn't you? But you want Owens to do three journeys between Kidlington and Osney Mead. First he drives to work - perhaps fairly quickly, agreed. Twenty minutes, say? He drives back - a bit quicker? Quarter of an hour, say. He parks his car somewhere - it's not going to be in Bloxham Drive, though. He murders his next-door neighbour. Drives back into Oxford after that - another twenty, twenty-five minutes at least now. Finds a parking space - and this time it's not going to be in the car park, as you say. Walks or runs to his office, not going in the front door, either - for obvious reasons. Gets into his office and is sitti ng there at his desk when his girlfriend - if you're right about that - rings him up and tells him he'll be in for a bit of a scoop if he gets out again to Bloxham Drive. It's just about possible, sir, if all the lights are with him every time , if almost everybody's decided to walk to work that morning. But it's very improbable even then. And remember it's Monday morning - the busiest morning of the week in Oxford.'
Morse looked hurt.
"You still think it's just about possible?'
Lewis considered the question again.
'No, sir. I know you always like to think that most murders are committed by next-door neighbours or husbands or wives—'
'But what if this woman at Number 1 isn't telling us the truth?' queried Morse. 'What if she never made that phone-call at all? What if she's in it with him? What if she's more than willing to provide him with a nice little alibi? You see, you're probably right about the time -scale of things. He probably w ouldn't have had time to get back here to Kidlington, commit the murder, and then return to the office and be sitting qui etly at his desk when she rang him.' 'So? ’
'So she's lying. Just like he is! He got back here - easy!
'Then he goes up the bank again - gets in his car -back to Osney Mead. But he daren't go into the car park again - of course not! So he leaves his car somewhere near, and goes into the office from the rear of the car park. Nobody much there to observe his comings and goings - most of the people get in there about eightish, so I learn. Quod erat demonstrandum! I know you're going to ask me what his motive was, and I don't know. But this time we've found the murderer before we've found the motive. Not grumbling too much about that , are you?'
‘Y es! It just won't hold water.'
'And why's that?'
"There's this woman from Number 1 , for a start. Miss Cecil—'
'Delia - Owens called her Delia.'
'She saw him leave, didn't she? About seven o'clock? That's why she knew he'd be at his desk when she rang him as soon as she saw the police arrive - just after eight.'
'One hour - one whole hour! You can do a lot in an hour.'
‘ You still can't put a quart into a pint pot.'
'We've now gone metric, by the way, Lewis. Look, what if they're in it together - have you thought of that? Owens is carrying a torch for that Miss Cecil, believe me! When I happened to mention Julian Storrs - '
‘ You didn't do that, surely?'
‘ - and when I said he'd been seen knocking at one of the other doors there -' 'But nobody—'
' - he was jealous, Lewis! And there are only two houses in the Close' (Lewis gave up the struggle) 'occupied by nubile young women: Number 17 and Number 1, Miss James and Miss Cecil, agreed?'
‘I thought you just said they were in it together.'
‘I said they might be, that's all. I'm just thinking aloud, for Christ's sake! One of us has got to think. And I'm a bit weary and I'm much underbeered. So give me a chance!'
Lewis waited a few seconds. Then:
'Is it my turn to speak, sir?'
Morse nodded weakly, contemplating the threadbare state of Lewis's carpet.
‘I don't know whether you've been down the Botley Road in the morning rece ntly - even in the fairly early morning - but it's one of the worst bottl enecks in Oxford. You drove there and back in mid-afternoon, didn't you? But you want Owens to do three journeys between Kidlington and Osney Mead. First he drives to work - perhaps fairly quickly, agreed. Twenty minutes, say? He drives back - a bit quicker? Quarter of an hour, say. He parks his car somewhere - it's not going to be in Bloxham Drive, though. He murders his next-door neighbour. Drives back into Oxford after that - another twenty, twenty-five minutes at least now. Finds a parking space - and this time it's not going to be in the car park, as you say. Walks or runs to his office, not going in the front door, either - for obvious reasons. Gets into his office and is sitti ng there at his desk when his girlfriend - if you're right about that - rings him up and tells him he'll be in for a bit of a scoop if he gets out again to Bloxham Drive. It's just about possible, sir, if all the lights are with him every time , if almost everybody's decided to walk to work that morning. But it's very improbable even then. And remember it's Monday morning - the busiest morning of the week in Oxford.'
Morse looked hurt.
"You still think it's just about possible?'
Lewis considered the question again.
'No, sir. I know you always like to think that most murders are committed by next-door neighbours or husbands or wives—'
'But what if this woman at Number 1 isn't telling us the truth?' queried Morse. 'What if she never made that phone-call at all? What if she's in it with him? What if she's more than willing to provide him with a nice little alibi? You see, you're probably right about the time -scale of things. He probably w ouldn't have had time to get back here to Kidlington, commit the murder, and then return to the office and be sitting qui etly at his desk when she rang him.' 'So? ’
'So she's lying. Just like he is! He got back here - easy!
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