Morse is knocking on the Thursday's door, anxiety increasing the speed of his rapping knuckles. The crossword is in his pocket. When he touches it, a chain reaction of anger and fear makes him feel toxic.
"Bugger it all, Morse. What are you doing?"
"Joan. Where is she?"
"In bed, by God."
"Have you checked?" Morse says as he pushes his way into the house.
"What?" Thursday responds, truly not certain of what it going on.
"Is she in bed?"
"What is the about, Morse?"
"Crossword at the scene. Joan completed it. Perhaps a threat against her. Please, go. Check."
Thursday bounds up the stairs as Morse follows. He opens Joan's bedroom door, and there, in Joan's bed is a note. Only a note.
Choose.