certainly it was fish. Someone had brought some fish home from somewhere.
Morse was conscious of many eyes upon him as he edged his way through the little crowd conversing quietly with one another about the excitement of the night. He turned right to retrace his steps and spotted the telephone kiosk — empty. For no apparent reason he pulled open the stiff door and stepped inside. The floor was littered with waste paper and cigarette stubs, but the instrument itself appeared unvandalised. Picking up the receiver, he heard the buzzing tone, and was quietly replacing it when he noticed that the blue telephone directory was lying open on the little shelf to his right. His eyes were no longer as keen as they once had been, and the light was poor; but the bold black print stood out clearly along the top of the pages: Plumeridge — Pollard — Pollard — Popper. And then — he saw the big capitals in the middle of the right-hand page: POLICE. And under the Police entries he could just make out the familiar details, including one that caught and held his eye: Oxford Central, St Aldates, Oxford 49881. And there was something else, too — or was he imagining it? He sniffed closely at the open pages, and again the blood was tingling across his shoulders. He was right — he knew it! There was the smell of fish.
Morse walked away from Jericho then, across Walton Street, across Woodstock Road, and thence into Banbury Road and up to his bachelor apartment in North Oxford, where he slumped into an armchair and sat unmoving for almost an hour. He then selected the Barenboim recording of the Mozart Piano Concerto number 21, switched on the gramophone to 'play', and sought to switch his mind away from all terrestrial troubles as the etherial Andante opened. Sometimes, this way, he almost managed to forget.
But not tonight.
Chapter Three
We saw a knotted pendulum, a noose: and a strangled woman swinging there
Sophocles , Oedipus Rex
When Constable Walters closed the door, his eyes were puzzled, and the slight frown on his forehead was perpetuated for several minutes as he recalled the strange things that Morse had asked him. He'd heard of Morse many times, of course, albeit Morse worked up at the Thames Valley HQ in Kidlington whilst he himself was attached to the City force in St Aldates. Indeed, that very morning he'd heard Morse giving a lecture: just a little disappointing that had been, though. People said what an eccentric, irascible old sod he could be; they also said that he'd solved more murders than anyone else for many leagues around, and that the gods had blessed him with a brain that worked as swiftly and as cleanly as the lightning.
'Chief Inspector Morse was here a few minutes ago.'
Bell, a tall, black-haired man, looked across at Walters with a mixture of suspicion and distaste. 'What the 'ell did he want?'
'Nothing really, sir. He just asked— '
'What the 'ell was he doing here?'
'Said he'd been to some do at the Oarendon Institute or something. I suppose he must have heard about it.'
Bell's somewhat dour features relaxed into a hint of a grin, but he said nothing.
'Do you know him well, sir?'
'Morse? Ye-es, I suppose you could say that. We've worked together once or twice.'
'They say he's an odd sort of chap.'
'Bloody odd!' Bell shook his head slowly from side to side.
'They say he's clever, though.'
'Clever?' The tone of voice suggested that Bell was not firmly convinced of the allegation; but he was an honest man. 'Cleverest bugger I've ever met. I'm not saying he's always right, though — God, no! But he usually seems to be able to see things, I don't know, half a dozen moves ahead of most of us.'
'Perhaps he's a good chess player.'
'Morse? He's never pushed a pawn in his life! Spends most of his free time in the pubs — or listening to his beloved Wagner.'
'He never got married, did he?'
'Too lazy and selfish to be a family man, I reckon. But— ' Bell stopped and his eyes suddenly looked
Morse was conscious of many eyes upon him as he edged his way through the little crowd conversing quietly with one another about the excitement of the night. He turned right to retrace his steps and spotted the telephone kiosk — empty. For no apparent reason he pulled open the stiff door and stepped inside. The floor was littered with waste paper and cigarette stubs, but the instrument itself appeared unvandalised. Picking up the receiver, he heard the buzzing tone, and was quietly replacing it when he noticed that the blue telephone directory was lying open on the little shelf to his right. His eyes were no longer as keen as they once had been, and the light was poor; but the bold black print stood out clearly along the top of the pages: Plumeridge — Pollard — Pollard — Popper. And then — he saw the big capitals in the middle of the right-hand page: POLICE. And under the Police entries he could just make out the familiar details, including one that caught and held his eye: Oxford Central, St Aldates, Oxford 49881. And there was something else, too — or was he imagining it? He sniffed closely at the open pages, and again the blood was tingling across his shoulders. He was right — he knew it! There was the smell of fish.
Morse walked away from Jericho then, across Walton Street, across Woodstock Road, and thence into Banbury Road and up to his bachelor apartment in North Oxford, where he slumped into an armchair and sat unmoving for almost an hour. He then selected the Barenboim recording of the Mozart Piano Concerto number 21, switched on the gramophone to 'play', and sought to switch his mind away from all terrestrial troubles as the etherial Andante opened. Sometimes, this way, he almost managed to forget.
But not tonight.
Chapter Three
We saw a knotted pendulum, a noose: and a strangled woman swinging there
Sophocles , Oedipus Rex
When Constable Walters closed the door, his eyes were puzzled, and the slight frown on his forehead was perpetuated for several minutes as he recalled the strange things that Morse had asked him. He'd heard of Morse many times, of course, albeit Morse worked up at the Thames Valley HQ in Kidlington whilst he himself was attached to the City force in St Aldates. Indeed, that very morning he'd heard Morse giving a lecture: just a little disappointing that had been, though. People said what an eccentric, irascible old sod he could be; they also said that he'd solved more murders than anyone else for many leagues around, and that the gods had blessed him with a brain that worked as swiftly and as cleanly as the lightning.
'Chief Inspector Morse was here a few minutes ago.'
Bell, a tall, black-haired man, looked across at Walters with a mixture of suspicion and distaste. 'What the 'ell did he want?'
'Nothing really, sir. He just asked— '
'What the 'ell was he doing here?'
'Said he'd been to some do at the Oarendon Institute or something. I suppose he must have heard about it.'
Bell's somewhat dour features relaxed into a hint of a grin, but he said nothing.
'Do you know him well, sir?'
'Morse? Ye-es, I suppose you could say that. We've worked together once or twice.'
'They say he's an odd sort of chap.'
'Bloody odd!' Bell shook his head slowly from side to side.
'They say he's clever, though.'
'Clever?' The tone of voice suggested that Bell was not firmly convinced of the allegation; but he was an honest man. 'Cleverest bugger I've ever met. I'm not saying he's always right, though — God, no! But he usually seems to be able to see things, I don't know, half a dozen moves ahead of most of us.'
'Perhaps he's a good chess player.'
'Morse? He's never pushed a pawn in his life! Spends most of his free time in the pubs — or listening to his beloved Wagner.'
'He never got married, did he?'
'Too lazy and selfish to be a family man, I reckon. But— ' Bell stopped and his eyes suddenly looked
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