The Jewel That Was Ours (23 page)

Oh!

'We've still only got
his
word for it,' said Lewis, after Ashenden had gone. 'Like we said, sir, if it
wasn’t
Kemp, we'd have a different time-scale altogether, wouldn't we? A whole lot of alibis that wouldn't wash at all.'

Morse nodded thoughtfully. 'Yes, I agree. If Kemp was already dead at twelve-thirty . . .'

'There was somebody else who heard him, sir.'

'Was there?'

'The woman on the switchboard who put the call through.' 'She wouldn't have known the voice, Lewis! She gets thousands of calls every day—' 'She'd be a very busy girl if she got a
hundred,
sir.' Morse conceded another trick. 'Fetch her in!'

* * *

Celia Freeman was of far greater help than either Morse or Lewis could have wished. Especially Morse. For just as he had begun to survey the picture from a wholly different angle, just as he thought he espied a gap in the clouds that hitherto had masked the shafts of sunlight -the switchboard-operator dashed any hope of such a breakthrough with the simple statement that she'd known Theodore Kemp very well indeed. For five years she had worked at the Ashmolean before moving across the street to The Randolph; and for the latter part of that time she had actually
worked
for Dr Kemp, amongst others. In fact, it had been Dr Kemp who had written a reference for her when she'd changed jobs.

'Oh yes, Inspector! It was Dr Kemp who rang - please believe that! He said, "Celia? That you?" or some such thing.'

'Mr Ashenden said that the line was a bit faint and crackly.'

'Did he? You
do
surprise me. It may be a little faint on one or two of the extensions, but I've never heard anyone say it was crackly. Not since we've had the new system.'

'He never said it
was
"crackly",' said Lewis after she had gone.

'Do you think I don't know that?' snapped Morse.

'I really think we ought to be following up one or two of those other leads, sir. I mean, for a start there's . . .'

But Morse was no longer listening. One of the most extraordinary things about the man's mind was that any check, any set-back, to some sweet hypothesis, far from dismaying him, seemed immediately to prompt some second hypothesis that soon appeared even sweeter than the first.

'. . . this man Brown, isn't there?'

'Brown?'

'The continental-seven man.'

'Oh yes, we shall have to see Brown, and hear whatever cock-and-bull story he's cooked up for us.' 'Shall I go and get him, sir?'

'Not for the minute. He's on the walkabout with Mr Downes.'

'Perhaps he's not,' said Lewis quietly.

Morse shrugged his shoulders, as if Brown's present whereabouts were a matter of indifference. 'At least
Mr
Downes
is on the walkabout, though? So maybe we should take the opportunity . . . What's Downes's address again, Lewis?'

There is much virtue in a window. It is to a human being as a frame is to a painting, as a proscenium to a play

(Max
Beerbohm,
Mainly on the Air)

It was just before mid-day when Lewis braked sedately outside the Downes's residence at the furthest end of Lonsdale Road.

'Worth a few pennies, sir?' suggested Lewis as they crunched their way to the front door.

'Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's house, Lewis. Just ring the bell!'

Lucy Downes was in, and soon stood at the door: an attractive, slim, fair-haired woman in her early thirties, dressed in a summerish cotton suit of pale green, with a light-beige mackintosh over her left arm. Her eyes held Morse's for a few seconds - eyes that seemed rather timid, yet potentially mischievous, too - until her mouth managed a nervous little 'Hullo'.

'Good morning, madam!' Lewis showed his ID card. 'Is Mr Downes in, please? Mr Cedric Downes?'

Lucy looked momentarily startled: 'Oh! Good Lord! He's not here, I'm afraid, no! He's been showing some Americans round Oxford this morning - and he's got a lecture this afternoon, so . . . Er, sorry! Can I help? I'm his wife.'

'Perhaps you can, Mrs Downes,' interposed Morse. 'We spoke earlier on the phone, if you remember? May we, er, come in for a little while?'

Lucy glanced at her watch. 'Yes! Yes, of course! It's just' - she held the door open for them - 'I'm just off to - whoops!'

Morse had knocked his shin against a large suitcase standing just inside the door, and for a moment he squeezed his eyes tight, the whiles giving quiet voice to a blasphemous imprecation.

'Sorry! I should have - that wretched case! It's bitten
me
twice this morning already. Sorry!'

She had a pleasing voice, and Morse guessed that her gushy manner was merely a cover for her nervousness.

Yet nervousness of what?

'I'm just on my way,' continued Lucy. 'London. Got to change some curtains. A friend recommended a reasonably priced shop near King's Cross. But you really can't trust any of the stores these days, can you? I quite specifically ordered French pleats, and then - oh, sorry! Please sit down!'

Morse looked around him in the front living room, slightly puzzled to find the carpet, the decoration, the furniture, all that little bit on the shabby side, with only the curtains looking bright and new, and (in Morse's opinion) classy and tasteful. Clearly, in any projected refurbishment of the Downes's household, Lucy was starting with the curtains.

'I'd offer you both coffee but the taxi'll be here any time now. Cedric usually takes me to the station - ' she giggled slightly, 'I've never learned to drive, I'm afraid.'

'It's purely routine, madam,' began Morse, sitting down and sinking far too far into an antiquated, unsprung settee. 'We just have to check up everything about yesterday.'

'Of course! It's awful, isn't it, about Theo? I just couldn't believe it was true for a start—’

'When exactly
was
that?' Morse asked his question in a level tone, his eyes, unblinking, never leaving hers.

She breathed in deeply, stared intently at the intricate pattern on the carpet, then looked up again. 'Cedric rang up from The Randolph just before he came home. He said - he said he shouldn't know himself really, but one of the people there, the tour leader, told him and told him not to say anything, and Cedric' - she breathed deeply again - 'told me, and told
me
not to say anything.'

'Bloody Ashenden!' muttered Morse silendy.

'His poor wife! How on earth—?'

'How many other people did you tell?'

'Me? I didn't tell anyone. I haven't been out of the house.'

Morse glanced at the phone on the table beside the settee, but let the matter rest. 'Dr Kemp tried to talk to your husband yesterday lunchtime.'

'I know. Cedric told me. He came back here.'

‘What time was that?'

'One-ish? Quarter-past one - half-past?'

'He came back for his spare hearing-aid?'

Lucy was nodding. 'Not only that, though. He picked up some notes as well. I forget what they were for. Well, I don't really
forget.
I never knew in the first place!' She smiled nervously, and (for Lewis) bewitchingly, and (for Morse) hearteatingly. 'Anyway he just grabbed some papers - and he was off again.'

'With his spare hearing-aid, too?'

She looked up at Morse with her elfin grin. 'Presumably.'

'I thought the NHS only issued one aid at a time.'

'That's right. But Cedric's got a spare - two spares in fact. Private ones. But he always votes Labour. Well, he
says
he does.'

'He's not all that deaf, is he, Mrs Downes?'

'He pretends he's not. But no, you're right, he's not
that
bad. It's just that when he talks to people he gets a bit frightened. Not frightened about not knowing the answers but frightened about not hearing the questions in the first place.'

'That's very nicely put, Mrs Downes.' 'Thank you! But mat's what
he
says. I'm only copying him.'

'What time did he get home last night?' 'Elevenish? Just after? But he'll be able to tell you better than me.'

The door bell rang; and in any case the three of them had already heard the steps on the gravel.

'Shall I tell
him
to wait a few minutes, Inspector? He's a bit early.'

Morse rose to his feet. 'No. I think that's all. I -unless Sergeant Lewis here has any questions?' ‘What are French pleats?'

She laughed, her teeth showing white and regular. 'Like that!' She pointed up to the curtains on the front window. 'It's the way they're gathered in at the top, Sergeant.'

'Oh! Only the missus keeps on to me about getting some new curtains—'