Disclaimer: The appearing characters belong to Colin Dexter and or ITV. I merely borrow them for this story which is making me no money.

A postcard was waiting on his desk when Detective Inspector Lewis arrived at work on Tuesday morning. He picked it up with a frown, going through the short list of people close enough to him to send him postcards. His frown deepened when he realized none of them was on holiday. He looked at the card – Verona, Italy.

He flipped the card over to check if it was actually meant for him. It was indeed addressed to D.I. Robert Lewis at the Kidlington HQ.

The text was short, but then, most postcards were. 'Arriving home Wednesday. M.'

M? Who was M? He read the line again. Whom did he know with the initial M? His gaze went into the distance as he went over his few friends and acquaintances again.

"Morning, Sir," Detective Sergeant James Hathaway greeted him as he entered their shared office.

Lewis blinked and his eyes focused on Hathaway. "Morning, Jim."

Hathaway had noticed the far away look in the Inspector's eyes. "Bad news?"

Lewis looked at the postcard again. "No. At least I don't think so."

Hathaway bent his knees to look at the postcard Lewis was still holding. "Verona. Must be beautiful. Who sent it?"

Lewis sighed. "I have no idea. It's signed 'M.' and I can't come up with anyone."

"Morse," Hathaway prompted immediately.

"Don't be daft man, it's a postcard from Verona, not the Garden of Eden." But he looked at the writing again. Could his Sergeant be right? It could after all be an old postcard. If he could make out the postmark... he squinted at it, turning the card in his hands to look at it from different angles. He could just about make out the letters 'eron', but no date.

"What does it say? Or is my asking against the secrecy of the post?"

Lewis looked at him for a moment as if he was contemplating whether to tell Hathaway or not. He decided not to, but just held out the card to his Sergeant who curiously took it from his hands.

"'Arriving home Wednesday'," Hathaway read. "Not even a line about the weather?"

"Can you make out the postmark?"

Hathaway did his best to decipher it, but had to admit defeat. "Sorry, no. Too smeared to be legible." He handed back the postcard. "You don't know the handwriting?"

Lewis considered it. It did look familiar. But it couldn't be, could it? "You know, you might actually be right. It could be Morse's hand."

"Which leaves me wondering whether it was the Italian or the British mail that had lost it for years."

Lewis snorted. "Seems I'll never be able to shake his ghost off. Though I can't remember him ever sending postcards from holidays. At least not to me." He dropped the card onto his desk and looked at their current case-file. "So, history class is over for today, time to get some work done. Have you checked out the alibis?"

All throughout Wednesday, Lewis was slightly waiting for something special to happen. But the day came and went. When he finally got home late, the thought crept up on his mind that he might just have missed something as the day had been busy. They had made a lot of progress on their case and it had kept them on their toes.

He scolded himself for the thought. What stupid tricks an old postcard could play with one's mind. He went into his kitchen to finally find something to eat. Approaching his fridge, his eyes fell on the postcard again. What had made him pin it to his fridge door? He took it off and read it one last time. "Time to put you to rest, Sir," he said as he dumped it into the bin.