see it, there is one simple and overwhelmingly convincing answer to that question. Someone wants us to believe Valerie is still alive because he or she sees a very real danger that further police investigation in the Taylor girl affair is likely to uncover the truth, Lewis—which is that Valerie is dead and that someone murdered her. I think that for some reason this someone began to get very scared, and wrote that letter to put us off the scent. Or more specifically, perhaps, to put Ainley off the scent.'
Lewis felt he could make no worthwhile contribution to such a weird hypothesis, and Morse continued.
'There is another possibility, though, and we mustn't discount it. The letter could have been written by someone for precisely the opposite reason —to put the police back on the scent. And if you think about it, that's precisely what has happened. Ainley was still working on the case—but unofficially. And when he was killed, if it hadn't been for the letter, the case would have been left where it was—unsolved and gradually forgotten. But once the letter arrived, what happened? Strange called me in and told me to take over, to reinvestigate the case officially. Precisely what we're doing now. Now let's follow this line of reasoning a bit further. Who would want the police to reopen the case? Not the murderer—that's for sure. Who then? It could be the parents, of course. They might think that the police weren't really doing much about things . . .'
Lewis looked stupefied. 'You don't honestly think the Taylors wrote the letter, do you?'
'Had the possibility not occurred to you?' asked Morse quietly.
'No.'
'Well it should have done. After all, they're as likely as anyone to make a good job of forging a letter in their daughter's handwriting. But there's a much more interesting possibility, I think. The letter could have been sent by someone who knew that Valerie had been murdered, who had a jolly good idea of who murdered her, and who wanted the murderer brought to justice.'
'But why . . .'
'Just a minute. Let's assume that such a person knew that Ainley was getting perilously close to the truth, had perhaps even helped Ainley towards the truth. What happens then? Tragedy. Ainley is killed and everything is back at square one. Look at it this way. Let's assume that Ainley went to London on the Monday and actually found Valerie Taylor alive. You with me? All right—the cat's out of the bag; she's been found. The next day she writes to her parents. There's no point in covering up any longer. If she doesn't tell them, Ainley will.'
'That seems to fit, sir.'
'Ah. But there's another interpretation, isn't there? Let's now assume that Ainley didn't find Valerie—and I don't think he did. Let's suppose he found something rather more sinister than Valerie Taylor alive and well. Because remember, Lewis, something took Ainley to London that day. We shall perhaps never know what, but he was getting nearer and nearer the truth all the time. And when he was killed someone, Lewis, someone desperately wanted his work to be followed up. And so the day after Ainley's death, a letter is written. It was written precisely because Valerie Taylor was dead —not alive, and it had exactly the effect it was intended to have. The case was reopened.'
The convolutions of Morse's theories were beginning to defeat Lewis's powers of logical analysis. 'I don't quite follow some of that, sir, but . . . you're still basing it all on the assumption that she didn't write the letter, aren't you? I mean if what Peters says is . . .'
The pretty office girl came in again and handed to Morse a buff-coloured file.
'Superintendent Strange says you may be interested in this, sir. It's been tested for fingerprints—no good, he says.'
Morse opened the file. Inside was a cheap brown envelope, already opened, posted the previous day in central London, and addressed to the Thames Valley Police.
Lewis felt he could make no worthwhile contribution to such a weird hypothesis, and Morse continued.
'There is another possibility, though, and we mustn't discount it. The letter could have been written by someone for precisely the opposite reason —to put the police back on the scent. And if you think about it, that's precisely what has happened. Ainley was still working on the case—but unofficially. And when he was killed, if it hadn't been for the letter, the case would have been left where it was—unsolved and gradually forgotten. But once the letter arrived, what happened? Strange called me in and told me to take over, to reinvestigate the case officially. Precisely what we're doing now. Now let's follow this line of reasoning a bit further. Who would want the police to reopen the case? Not the murderer—that's for sure. Who then? It could be the parents, of course. They might think that the police weren't really doing much about things . . .'
Lewis looked stupefied. 'You don't honestly think the Taylors wrote the letter, do you?'
'Had the possibility not occurred to you?' asked Morse quietly.
'No.'
'Well it should have done. After all, they're as likely as anyone to make a good job of forging a letter in their daughter's handwriting. But there's a much more interesting possibility, I think. The letter could have been sent by someone who knew that Valerie had been murdered, who had a jolly good idea of who murdered her, and who wanted the murderer brought to justice.'
'But why . . .'
'Just a minute. Let's assume that such a person knew that Ainley was getting perilously close to the truth, had perhaps even helped Ainley towards the truth. What happens then? Tragedy. Ainley is killed and everything is back at square one. Look at it this way. Let's assume that Ainley went to London on the Monday and actually found Valerie Taylor alive. You with me? All right—the cat's out of the bag; she's been found. The next day she writes to her parents. There's no point in covering up any longer. If she doesn't tell them, Ainley will.'
'That seems to fit, sir.'
'Ah. But there's another interpretation, isn't there? Let's now assume that Ainley didn't find Valerie—and I don't think he did. Let's suppose he found something rather more sinister than Valerie Taylor alive and well. Because remember, Lewis, something took Ainley to London that day. We shall perhaps never know what, but he was getting nearer and nearer the truth all the time. And when he was killed someone, Lewis, someone desperately wanted his work to be followed up. And so the day after Ainley's death, a letter is written. It was written precisely because Valerie Taylor was dead —not alive, and it had exactly the effect it was intended to have. The case was reopened.'
The convolutions of Morse's theories were beginning to defeat Lewis's powers of logical analysis. 'I don't quite follow some of that, sir, but . . . you're still basing it all on the assumption that she didn't write the letter, aren't you? I mean if what Peters says is . . .'
The pretty office girl came in again and handed to Morse a buff-coloured file.
'Superintendent Strange says you may be interested in this, sir. It's been tested for fingerprints—no good, he says.'
Morse opened the file. Inside was a cheap brown envelope, already opened, posted the previous day in central London, and addressed to the Thames Valley Police.
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