Lewis appeared slightly uneasy. 'I'm not quite sure about that'

'And if our ace-reporter Owens is privileged enough to have an answerphone in his office - which he is...' is...'

Ye-es. Perhaps Morse was on to something after all. Because if the two of them had, had, for some reason, been working together... Lewis put his thoughts into words: for some reason, been working together... Lewis put his thoughts into words: You mean he needn't have gone in to work at all ... Ye-es. You say that electronic gadget records the number on your card, and the time - but it doesn't record the car itself, right?'

Morse nodded encouragement. And Lewis, duly encouraged, continued: 'So if somebody else else had taken his card - and if stayed in the Drive all the time had taken his card - and if stayed in the Drive all the time Morse finished it off for him: 'He's got a key to Number 1 - he's in there when she drives off - he walks along the back of the terrace - shoots Rachel James - goes back to Number 1 - rings up his own office number - waits for the answerphone pips - probably doesn't say anything - just keeps the line open for a minute or two - and Bob's your father's brother.'

Lewis sighed. 'I'd better get on with a bit of fourth-grade clerical checking, sir - this parking business, the phone-call, any of his colleagues who might have seen him-'

'Or her.'

'It's worth checking, I can see that'

'Tomorrow, Lewis. We're doing nothing more today.'

'And this woman at Number 1 ?'

'Is she a nice-looking la.s.s?'

'Very much so.'

'You leave that side of things to me, then.'

Morse got to his feet and went to the door. But then returned, and sat down again.

'That "refrigeration factor" you mentioned, Lewis - time of death and all that. Interesting, isn't it? So far, we've been a.s.suming that the bullet went through the window and ended up in the corpse, haven't we? But if - just if - if - Rachel James had been murdered a bit Rachel James had been murdered a bit earlier, earlier, inside Number 17, and then someone had fired through the window inside Number 17, and then someone had fired through the window at some later stage ... at some later stage ... You see what I mean? Everybody's alibi is up the pole, isn't it?' You see what I mean? Everybody's alibi is up the pole, isn't it?'

'There'd be another bullet, though, wouldn't there?

We've got the one from Rachel's neck; but there'd be another one somewhere in the kitchen if someone fired-'

'Not necessarily the murderer, remember!'

'But if someone someone fired just through the window, without aiming at anything fired just through the window, without aiming at anything 'Did the SOCOs have a good look at the ceiling, the walls - the floorboards?'

"They did, yes.'

'Somebody might have picked it up and pocketed it.'

'Who on earth-'

'I've not the faintest idea.'

'Talking of bullets, sir, we've got another little report -from ballistics. Do you want to read it?' 'Not tonight.' 'Very short, sir.'

He handed Morse the single, neatly typed paragraph: Ballistics Report: Prelim.

17 Bloxham Drive, Kidlington, Oxon .577 heavy-calibre revolver. One of the Howdah pistols probably - perhaps the Lancaster Patent four-barrel. An old firing-piece but if reasonably well cared for could be in good working nick like as not in 1996.

Acc. to recent catalogues readily available in USA: $370 to $700. Tests progressing.

ASH.

22.11.96.

Morse handed the report back. 'I'm not at all sure I know what "calibre" means. Is it the diameter of the bullet or the diameter of the barrel?'

'Wouldn't they be the same, sir?'

Morse got up and walked wearily to the door once more.

'Perhaps so, Lewis. Perhaps so.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

A Conservative is one who is enamored of existing evils, as distinguished from the Liberal, who wishes to replace them with others (Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary) The Devil's Dictionary) MORSE DID NOT go straight home to his North Oxford flat that evening; nor, go straight home to his North Oxford flat that evening; nor, mirabile dictu, mirabile dictu, did he make for the nearest hostelry - at least not immediately. Instead, he drove to Bloxham Drive, pulling in behind the single police car parked outside Number 17, in which a uniformed officer sat reading the did he make for the nearest hostelry - at least not immediately. Instead, he drove to Bloxham Drive, pulling in behind the single police car parked outside Number 17, in which a uniformed officer sat reading the Oxford Mail. Oxford Mail.

'Constable Brogan, sir,' was the reply in answer to Morse's question.

'Happen to know if Number 1 's at home?'

'The one with the N-reg Rover, you mean?'

Morse nodded.

'No. But she keeps coming backwards and forwards all the time. She seems a very busy woman, that one.' 'Anything to report?'

'Not really, sir. We keep getting a few gawpers, but I just ask them to move along.' 'Gently, I trust'

'Very gently, sir.'

'How long are you on duty for?'

'Finish at midnight.'

Morse pointed to the front window. 'Why don't you nip in and watch the telly?' 'Bit cold in there.' You can put the gas-fire on.' 'It's electric, sir.' 'Please yourself!' 'Would that be official, sir?' 'Anything I 'Anything I say's official, lad.' 'My lucky night, then.' say's official, lad.' 'My lucky night, then.'

Mine, too, thought Morse as he looked over his shoulder to see an ash-blonde alighting from her car outside Number 1. 1.

He hastened along the pavement in what could be described as an arrested jog, or perhaps more accurately as an animated walk.

'Good evening.' evening.'

She turned towards him as she inserted her latchkey. Yes?'

'A brief word - if it's possible ... er ...' Morse fumbled for his ID card. But she forestalled the need.

'Another police sergeant, are you?' 'Police, yes.'

'I can't spare much time - not tonight. I've got a busy few hours ahead.'

'I shan't keep you long.'

She led the way through into a tastefully furbished and furnished front room, taking off her ankle-length white mackintosh, placing it over the back of the red-leather settee, and bidding Morse sit opposite her as she smoothed the pale blue dress over her hips and crossed her elegant, nylon-clad legs.

'Do you mind?' she asked, lifting a cigarette in the air.

'No, no,' muttered Morse, wishing only that she'd offered one to him.

'What can I do for you?' She had a slightly husky, upper-cla.s.s voice, and Morse guessed she'd probably attended one of the nation's more prestigious public schools.

'Just one or two questions.'

She smiled attractively: 'Go ahead.'

'I understand that my colleague, Sergeant Lewis, has spoken to you already.'

'Nice man - in a gentle, shy sort of way.'

'Really? I'd never quite thought of him 'Well, you're a bit older, aren't you?'

'What job do you do?'

She opened her handbag and gave Morse her card. 'I'm the local agent for the Conservative Party.' 'Oh dear! I am am sorry,' said Morse, looking down at the small oblong card: sorry,' said Morse, looking down at the small oblong card: Adele Beatrice Cecil Conservative Party Agent 1 Bloxham Drive Kidlington, Oxon, OX5 2NY For information please ring 01865 794768 'Was that supposed to be a sick joke?' There was an edge to her voice now.

'Not really. It's just that I've never had a friend who's a Tory, that's all.'

'You mean you didn't vote for us today?'

'I don't live in this ward.'

'If you give me your address, I'll make sure you get some literature, Sergeant'

'Chief Inspector, actually,' corrected Morse, oblivious of the redundant adverb.

She tugged her dress a centimetre down her thighs. 'How can I help?'

'Do you know Mr Owens well?'

'Well enough.'

'Well enough to hand him a newspaper scoop?' Yes.'

'Have you ever slept with him?'

'Not much finesse about you, is there?'

'Just a minute,' said Morse softly. 'I've got a terrible job to do - just up the street here. And part of it's to ask some awkward questions about what's going on in the Close-'

'Drive.'

'To find out who knows who - whom, whom, if you prefer it' 'They did teach us English grammar at Roedean, yes.' You haven't answered my question.' Adele breathed deeply, and her grey eyes stared across almost fiercely. 'Once, yes.' if you prefer it' 'They did teach us English grammar at Roedean, yes.' You haven't answered my question.' Adele breathed deeply, and her grey eyes stared across almost fiercely. 'Once, yes.'

'But you didn't repeat the experience?'

'I said "once" - didn't you hear me?' 'You still see him?'

'Occasionally. He's all right: intelligent, pretty well read, quite good fun, sometimes - and he promised he'd vote Conservative today.'

'He sounds quite compatible.'

'Are you married, Inspector?'

'Chief Inspector.' Inspector.'

'Are you?'

'No.'

'Do you wish you were?'

Perhaps Morse didn't hear the question.

'Did you know Rachel James fairly well?'

'We had a heart-to-heart once in a while.'

You weren't aware of any one particular boyfriend?'

She shook her head.

'Would you say she was attractive to men?'

'Wouldn't you?'

'I only saw her the once.'

'I'm sorry.' She said it quietly. 'Please, forgive me.'

'Do you know a man called Storrs? Julian Storrs?'