Inspector Morse 13 The Remorseful Day Read online

  Inspector Morse 13 The Remorseful Day

  Colin Dexter

  THE REMORSEFUL DAY [070-3.9]

  By: Colin Dexter

  synopsis:

  Dexter (Death is Now My Neighbor, 1997, etc.) draws a brilliantly

  realized series to a close by relying on the irascible Morses

  extraordinary capacity of thinking laterally, vertically, and

  diagonally. This time, though, Morse seems reluctant to get involved

  in the unsolved year-old murder of 50-ish promiscuous nurse Yvonne

  Hamilton. Is it because hes weary and ailing, or because he has a

  secret vested interest in the naked, handcuffed, gagged victim? When

  two anonymous phone calls come into the Thames Valley Police station,

  corpulent Chief Superintendent Strange pulls Morse back from a

  furlough, along with faithful Sergeant Lewis. Circuitous routes keep

  Lewis one step behind the curmudgeonly, miserly, oddly vulnerable

  Morse, but not far enough behind to prevent him from wondering why

  Morse seems unwilling to take a more active involvement in the case. A

  bountiful cast of prime suspects is joined by the usual cast of

  colorful locals, all of them dancing with nervous energy, before guilt

  brings its own moral retribution. Astute readers who think they have

  outwitted Morse should wait till the last two pages before

  congratulating themselves. Morse is laid to rest gracefully, though

  many a reader will join Lewis in his tearful farewell to one of the

  most original, endearing, and consistently rewarding detective series.

  By the same author

  LAST BUS TO WOOD STOCK LAST SEEN WEARING

  THE SILENT WORLD OF NICHOLAS QUINN SERVICE OF ALL THE DEAD THE DEAD

  OF JERICHO THE RIDDLE OF THE THIRD MILE THE SECRET OF ANNEXE 3 THE

  WENCH IS DEAD THE JEWEL THAT WAS OURS THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS THE

  DAUGHTERS OF CAIN DEATH IS NOW MY NEIGHBOUR MORSE'S GREATEST MYSTERY

  AND OTHER STORIES

  THE

  REMORSEFUL DAY

  BCA1

  LONDON NEW YORK SYDNEY TORONTO

  This edition published 1999 byBCA By arrangement with Macmillan an imprint

  of MacMillan Publishers Ltd CN 6321 Copyright Colin Dexter 1999 The right of

  Colin Dexter to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by

  him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored

  in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by

  any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise)

  without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does

  any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to

  criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chatham pie, Chatham, Kent

  For George, Hilary, Maria, and Beverley (Please note the Oxford comma)

  Acknowledgements My special thanks are due, imprimis to Terry Benczik from

  New Jersey, for sending me so many apposite quotations; to Cyndi Cook from

  Hawaii, for singing to me as I wrote these chapters; to Allison Dexter, for

  sharing with me her expertise on coronary care; to Eddie Andrews, one of my

  former pupils, for initiating me (at last! ) into some of the mysteries of

  the SO COs and to Chris Burt, producer of so many Morse episodes on TV, for

  his constant support and encouragment.

  The author and publishers wish to thank the following who have kindly given

  permission for use of copyright materials: Extracts from More Poems XLI, More

  Poems XVI and A Shropshire Lad by A. E. Housman are reproduced by

  permission of The Society of Authors as the literary representative of the

  Estate of A. E. Housman.

  Extract from On the Dole in Darlington by David Mackenzie reproduced by

  permission of the author. Extract from translation of An Die Musik by Basil

  Swift reproduced by permission of the author. Extract from I'm a Stranger

  Here Myself by Ogden Nash (from the collection Candy is Dandy, Andre Deutsch

  Ltd, Copyright 1938 by Ogden Nash, Renewed) is reprinted by permission of

  Curtis Brown Ltd, Andre Deutsch Ltd and Little, Brown and Company, Inc.

  Extract from Catch-22 by Joseph Heller is reproduced by permission of the

  author.

  Extract from The Fiddler ofDooney by W. B. Yeats is reproduced by

  permission of A. P. Watt Ltd on behalf of Michael B. Yeats, and Simon &

  Schuster Inc. Extract from Come to Think of It by G. K. Chesterton is

  reproduced by kind permission of A. P. Watt Limited on behalf of the Royal

  Literary Fund.

  Extract from Oxford by Jan Morris is reproduced by permission of Oxford

  University Press.

  Extract from Lovelace Bkeding by Roy Dean reproduced by permission of the

  author.

  Extract from Night-wood by Djuna Barnes is reproduced by permission of the

  author and Faber and Faber Ltd.

  Every effort has been made to trace all copyright holders but if any has been

  inadvertently overlooked, the author and publishers will be pleased to make

  the necessary arrangement at the first opportunity.

  Ensanguining the skies How heavily it dies Into the west away; Past touch

  and sight and sound Not further to be found How hopeless under ground Falls

  the remorseful day, (A. E. Housman, More Poems, XVI) When I wrote my 1997

  letter I thought I had little to look forward to in 1998, but it turns out

  that I was stupidly optimistic (David Mackenzie, On the Dole in Darlington)

  prolegomenon As o'cr me now them lean' st thy breast, With larder'd bodice

  crisply pressed, Lief I'd prolong my grievous ill Wert thou my guardian angel

  still (Edmund Raikes, 1537-65, The Nurse) "So I often hook my foot over the

  side of the mattress."

  "You what?"

  "Sort of anchors me to my side of the bed."

  "Double bed?"

  "Not unknown is it, for a married couple? People can share the same bed but

  not the same thoughts old Chinese saying."

  "Still makes me jealous."

  "Idiot!"

  "Everybody gets a bit jealous sometimes."

  "Not everybody."

  "Not you, nurse?"

  "I've just learned not to show it, that's all. And it's none of your

  business in any case."

  "Sorry."

  "How I hate men who say " sorry"!"

  "I promise not to say it again, miss."

  "And will you promise me something else? To be a bit more honest with

  yourself- and with me?"

  "Scout's honour!"

  "I can't believe you were ever in the Scouts."

  "Well, no, but. . ."

  "Shall I test you?"

  "Test me?"

  "Would you like me to jump into bed with you now?"

  "Yes!"

  "You're quick on the buzzer."

  "Next question?"

  "Do you think I'd like to jump into bed with you?"

  "I'd like to think so."

  "What about the other patients?"


  "You could draw the curtains."

  "What excuse . . . ?"

  "You could always take my blood pressure."

  "Again?

  "Why not?"

  "We know all about your blood pressure. High very high especially when I'm

  around."

  "It's those black stockings of yours."

  "You're a stocking-tops man!"

  "Nice word, isn't it stocking-tops?"

  "If only you weren't stuck in this bloody ward!"

  "I can always discharge myself."

  "Not a wise move, good sir not in your case."

  "What time are you off duty?"

  "Half-eight."

  "What'll you do then?"

  "Off home. I'm expecting a phone call."

  "You're trying to make me jealous again."

  "After that, I suppose I'll just poke the thin gummy you know, around the

  four channels."

  "Five, now."

  "We don't get the new one."

  "What about Sky?"

  "In our village, satellite dishes are most definitely discouraged."

  "You could always take a video home."

  "No need. We've got lots of videos. You should see some of them you know,

  the sex ones."

  "You watch that sort of thing?"

  "When I'm in the mood."

  "When's that?"

  "Most of the time."

  "And even if you aren't in the mood?"

  "Oh yes! They soon turn anybody on. Haven't you seen some of these

  Amsterdam videos? All sorts of bizarre things they get up to."

  "I haven't seen them, no."

  "Would you like to?"

  "I'm not quite sure I would, no."

  "Not even if you watched them with me?"

  "Please, nurse, am I allowed to change my mind?"

  "We could arrange a joint viewing."

  "How how bizarre's bizarre?"

  "Well, in one of 'em there's this woman about my age lovely figure wrists

  tied to the top of the four-poster bed ankles ded to the bottom .. ."

  "Go on."

  "Well, there's these two young studs one black, one white' " No racial

  discrimination, then? "

  ' - and they just take turns, you know. "

  "Raping her .. ."

  "You're so naive, aren't you? She wouldn't have been in the bloody video,

  would she, if she didn't want to be? There are some people like her, you

  know. The only real sexual thrill they get is from some sort of submission

  you know, that sort of thing."

  "Odd sort of women!"

  "Odd? Unusual, perhaps, but. . ."

  "How come you know so much about this?"

  "When we were in Amsterdam, they invited me to do some porno-filming.

  Frank didn't mind. They made a pretty good offer. "

  "So you negotiated a fee?"

  "Hold on! I only said this particular woman was about my age-' ' - and had a

  lovely figure."

  "Would you like to see if it was me?"

  "One condition."

  What's that? "

  "If I come, you mustn't hook your foot over the side of the mattress."

  "Not much danger of that."

  "Stay with me a bit longer!"

  "No. You're not my only patient, and some of these poor devils'll be here

  long after you've gone."

  "Will you come and give me a chaste little kiss before you go off duty?"

  "No. I'm shooting straight back to Lower Swinstead. I told you: I'm

  expecting a phone call."

  "From . . . your husband?"

  "You must be kidding! Frank's in Switzerland for a few days. He's far too

  mean to call me from there even on the cheap rates."

  "Another man in your life?"

  "Jesus! You don't take me for a dyke, do you?"

  "You're an amazing girl."

  "Girl? I'll be forty-eight this Thursday."

  "Can I take you out? Make a birthday fuss of you?"

  "No chance. According to your notes, you're going to be in at least till the

  end of the week."

  "You know, in a way, I wish I could stay in. Indefinitely."

  "Well, I promise one thing: as soon as you're out, I'll be in touch."

  "Please! If you can."

  "And you'll come and see me?"

  "If you invite me."

  "I'm inviting you now."

  FR1;chapter one You holy Art, when all my hope is shaken, And through life's

  raging tempest I am drawn, You make my heart with wannest love to waken, As

  if into a tetter world reborn (From An Die Musik, translated by Basil Swift)

  apart (of course) from Wagner, apart from Mozart's compositions for the

  clarinet, Schubert was one of the select composers who could occasionally

  transport him to the from- tier of tears. And it was Schubert's turn in the

  early evening of Wednesday, 15 July 1998, when - The Archers over a bedroom-

  slippered Chief Inspector Morse was to be found in his North Oxford bachelor

  flat, sitting at his ease in Zion and listening to a Lieder recital on Radio

  3, an amply filled tumbler of pale Glenfiddich beside him. And why not? He

  was on a few days' furlough that had so far proved quite unexpectedly

  pleasurable.

  Morse had never enrolled in the itchy-footed regiment of truly adventurous

  souls, feeling (as he did) little temptation to explore the remoter corners

  even of his native land; and this, principally, because he could now imagine

  few if any places closer to his heart than Oxford the city which, though not

  his natural mother, had for so many years performed the duties of a loving

  foster-parent. As for foreign travel, long

  faded were his boyhood dreams

  that roamed the sands round Samarkand; and a lifelong pterophobia still

  precluded any airline bookings to Bayreuth, Salzburg, Vienna the trio of

  cities he sometimes thought he ought to see.

  Vienna . . .

  The city Schubert had so rarely left; the city in which he'd gained so little

  recognition; where he'd died of typhoid fever - only thirty-one.

  Not much of an innings, was it thirty-one?

  Morse leaned back, listened, and looked semi-contentedly through the french

  window. In The Ballad of Heading Gaol, Oscar Wilde had spoken of that little

  patch of blue that prisoners call the sky; and Morse now contemplated that

  little patch of green that owners of North Oxford flats are wont to call the

  garden. Flowers had always meant something to Morse, even from his school

  days Yet in truth it was more the nomenclature of the several species, and

  their context in the works of the great poets, that had compelled his

  imagination: fast- fading violets, the globed peonies, the fields of asphodel

  . .

  Indeed Morse was fully aware of the etymology and the mythological

  associations of the asphodel, although quite certainly he would never have

  recognized one of its kind had it flashed across a Technicolor screen.

  It was still true though: as men grew older (so Morse told himself) the

  delights of the natural world grew ever more important. Not just the

  flowers, either. What about the birds?

  Morse had reached the conclusion that if he were to be reincarnated (a

  prospect which seemed to him most blessedly remote) he would register as a

  part-time Quaker, and devote a sizeable quota of his leisure hours to

  ornithology. This latter decision was consequent upon his realization,

  however late in the day, that life would be significantly
impoverished should

  the birds no longer sing. And it was for this reason that, the previous

  week, he had taken out a year's subscription to Birdwatching; taken out a

  copy of the RSPB's Birdwatchers'Guide

  from the Summertown Library; and purchased a second-hand pair of 152/lOOOm

  binoculars ( 9. 90) that he'd spotted in the window of the Oxfam Shop just

  down the Banbury Road. And to complete his programme he had called in at the