I shouldn't post things when I'm drowsy. It's a Saturday afternoon and all I'm thinking is; got to post this before Sunday

Morse didn't want to disrupt the calm scenery. Like when a bird watcher creeps towards a nest, he wanted to convey the moment of ignorance on the prey's part. He had done this on a few occasions, and this occasion certainly called for it. He viewed Joan through the rear view mirror, she was looking out through the window, so much tension in her face it was hard set. Her neck was at the ideal angle for her the lump in her throat to be visible, it bobbed as she swallowed. And Joan swallowed frequently during their journey. He tennised between looking over his steering wheel, to looking into the mirror at her. Her head was lolling towards the window, it had started to judder along with the bumps he was going over, so he knew she was losing consciousness. The constable was witnessing Joan's bedroom eyes, this might have been a bit intimate for him to spy on- but it was pointless contemplating this because he was going to look regardless, until they were no longer see able, apart from in his memory. Her head and hair pressed against the window, she was gone. Well it wasn't as final as that, she wasn't dead!

Morse made extra careful turns, so her head wouldn't move too harshly on the glass. Again, a pointless move since he was approaching the bank. He regrettably put the brakes on and the car halted, her head jarred but it wasn't enough to wake her. The DI turned when he didn't hear Joan make a move. "Aren't you-" His features softened at the blissful sight, he gave off a sheepish smile to his driver. "I thought it was a bit quiet."

The constable was unable to hold his tongue. "She must have had a rough night. Probably the robbery dwelling on her mind." He thought he would test the waters. "Unless it's something else…"

A vexed look garnered the inspector's still somewhat paternal face. "I hope not." It made room for doubt and worry for the both of them, that something other than the robbery could cause lack of sleep for the young lady. "I hope that something else isn't DS Jakes."

Was he actually asking him? -About the Jakes and Miss Thursday business? He hadn't thought of that, until now. Nothing could control the internal shudders. First off, he imagined Joan thinking and fretting over Jakes, while trying to sleep, and then there was the other image of Jakes fondling Joan while she trying to sleep.

Both Morse and DI Thursday had something in common, they both had an aversion to the Sergeant. Actually Strange wasn't overly fond of him either, so the three of them had something in common. Morse dropped his voice."Personally, I think it's the robbery. I've been in conference with her colleagues while investigating- and it's getting on everybody's wits. Or to quote Constable Strange; putting the willies up." It should have garnered just a tiny chuckle, but it did not- far from it.

"Well I hope- Sergeant Jakes hasn't put the willies up anybody, especially…" He thumbed in the direction of sleepy beauty. This also could have triggered a snigger, but it wasn't light-hearted, or something at all funny to consider; putting up willies. In fact it was rather disgusting. Luckily the inspector had his attention on his daughter, and was set on waking her up rather than teasing the constable over his blushes. "Joan?" He shook her. "Joan!" She woke after some considerable effort.

"Uhmm?" It escaped her lips like a moan of ecstasy. Or how Morse imagined a moan of ecstasy would sound.

Upon the awareness she was in the car, and with an audience- she sat bolt upright. "Wh-what?" She took in her surroundings. "Did I doze off in the car?"

"Yes." The men unintentionally said in unison.

And on that note, she made a hasty exit. "Got to go, bye." Taking her doe-like eyes with her.

"She hasn't said anything to you, has she?"

That was funny, Morse was just about to ask him the same thing. "Not directly, sir. She was concerned over my investigation with Miss Gibson. But I have eliminated her from the inquiry." He sounded certain with himself this time. "Indefinitely."

"Alright, you can inundate me."

Hadn't he already done so? "I suppose I could go as far as saying, it might not be an inside job. Just a very well planned… escapade." Though he had another word that sufficed, his name in fact. He restarted the engine and accelerated. "But I have this very nagging thought, about the periods of time in between the robberies…" On their approach to the station, they noticed a ruckus developing outside. "What the-?" Civilians were clamouring to get into the station, and a reporter; Ms Frazil to be exact, was milling through the swarm trying to get details. There was an excitable energy in the air. "World Cup fever?"

"Doesn't look too good." DI Thursday opened his door before the car had initially stopped, Morse had to yank down on the brake so his colleague didn't wipe-out on the cobbles.

They stood still looking upon the kafuffle with indifference. It would be suicide to call out to the horde 'what goes on here?'- they'd be swamped in frantic civilians.

A policeman emerged from an alleyway to beckon the two confused detectives over. From the looks of things they'd be using the side entrance.

They got into CID in one piece, it had been explained on the way by the PC, that a man had been apprehended in connection with the robberies. That certainly put a swagger in their step as they came in sight of the office. "Where is he?" They asked in unison.

Sergeant Jakes was on it already, he had taken the liberty of using the DI's office to do some much needed interrogating. They passed Chief Superintendent Bright, polishing his buttons. They knew what he was about to do.

The Inspector walked into his office, with the mind to take it back. "Is this him?" He rounded the desk, the Sergeant stood to attention.

"Yeah, I apprehended him after he made a deposit, followed him to a scout hut, he was shacked up with a scout leader. The hut had a load of maps of the local area, thought it was a bit suspicious along with a few other things. The scout leader is cooling off in a cell."

"Right."

Morse understood the inspector's tone, he was impressed but not enough to allow Sergeant to carry on, alone. "How big was the deposit?" Morse gathered this was what had raised the alarm. Well, the collection of maps possibly, but everyone had maps, surely?

"£500." Jakes drawled as if it was a case-closer.

Suppose that was a large sum to deposit? A little foolish to do it so soon with a robbery on their conscience.

The handcuffed man spoke up. "I've been saving it up, I used to keep it in a shoe box." The man gestured almost pleadingly towards the least intimidating man in the room. Who do you think?

Morse used this to his advantage. "What's your profession?" He tried to work it out via cold reading.

The sergeant wasn't happy his collar had been taken over by Morse. "He says he's an oddjobber. You know what I say; someone who's had their finger in too many tills."

The detective Constable pretended he had received that information from the suspect himself. "Do you pay tax?"

"Of course…" Morse knew the young man hadn't finished by the deterred speech. "-Most of the time, I don't have a regular… income."

The sergeant had become a tobacco chimney. "If that ain't a profile of a robber, I don't know what is."

"Please sergeant." Morse knew he was deliberately trying to stir trouble.

"Do you live in the scout hut?" The inspector asked curiously, but of course the Sergeant needed to hear his own voice yet again.

"-I say he does, and I bet it's where he conducts a little black market grocery flogging…."

Morse astutely shot over a look. What the hell was he harking on about? "Sergeant, what have you actually arrested him for?- If it's not this case, then why did you make it out to be?"

"It is to do with this case!-"

The accused raised his voice above the bickering. "He's on about the food supply for the scouts in the hut, we're planning a camping trip if you must know."

It made perfect sense.

Their DI stepped up. "Let's take this to the interview room, shall we, and clear this all up." This either meant the actual interview room, or the cell. One time they had to make do with the evidence room, things did get busy. The sergeant dragged the man up and frog marched him out of the main office. Morse hung back to give his verdict to the inspector. "Well?" Fred started.

"If you're a tax dodger, you wouldn't make a large deposit, unless maybe into a savers account, mind you- you still have to declare it. If you're a robber, you would have chosen a better time and place to make a deposit. I wonder if Jakes checked for marked notes?"

"Well, we'll see, won't we?- We have the figures written down."

"But he could have exchanged them, which was probably why he was fine with making a deposit." He stared hard at where the man had vacated. He recalled seeing some very shiny shoes tucked under the chair. "He might have more money, some could have been spent." He fingered some of his curls at the nape of his neck. "Luxury items. I don't really know if a food supply counts as a luxury item though."

"I take it you don't remember the war then?" The inspector had a point about the rationing, but did he have to be so sarcastic? "Since we finally have a suspect perhaps we could use him in a line-up." The DI left the office to make some arrangements.

For once Morse was a little confused and had to consult his notebook. Oh yes, one of the robbers' faces were exposed during the robbery. "Do you think we better advise Bright to have a media blackout? We don't want anyone doing a runner."

"Maybe it'll scare some out of the woodwork?"

"Huh." That was an idea, but he really didn't want anyone taking off.

His Inspector read him like a book. "You're right, media blackout."

After Endeavour had watched Fred leave, he brought his attention to Constable Strange, who had been milling about his desk. If he was going to talk personal, he needed to back off. He filled his lungs."Constable."

"Ms Frazil was at reception. Still is in fact."

"I saw her sniffing about, she can't have a story. I don't even know how those people could have found out." He tutted at the air, shrugging out of his trench coat.

"Well it was quite a big turn out when we collared the man, the scout hut was by a pub you see, full of people having a drink before going to work."

Morse gave a look reminiscent of somebody sniffing for a fart. "How did they come to a conclusion it was to do with the robbery?"

"Someone on the force must have let it slip who were out there. It weren't me though." He made that implicit, before plodding off.

Morse considered the possibility of members of the pub coming to their own conclusion because they were in fact in on the robbery. That was worthy of filing away into that sponge like brain of his.

Joan was spending her 2nd consecutive lunch break in the staff room. She didn't usually feel comfortable in that environment, but since the robbery, it had brought everybody closer, the staff room was fuller than ever. She adored coffee, but today she caught a whiff of the stuff and it made her feel nauseous. But she couldn't comment on anything like that, it sounded too much like pregnancy side effects. Very unlikely.

There were plenty of men, and a fair share of women utilizing the staff room. Well four to be exact. Gossiping and pouring each other tea. And coffee, blah. "I'm guessing I'm not the only woman who dislikes the staff room." Joan uttered from the side of her mouth.

"Some of the men hate it too." Gemma sparing a glance for a group of young gents, she casually waved at Ronnie observing them over a glass of water, though it could have been gin. "Our other clerk is still on sick leave, lucky her."

Joan screwed her face up. "But Sally's over there." She nudged her head in the woman's direction, from that angle Sally appeared to have lost a lot of weight.

"No, the other woman." Gemma was unfazed. "Oh…and I've seen David today. He hasn't died, some people are just so morbid." She added as an afterthought.

This didn't mean anything to Joan, she felt awful she felt so clueless. "I'm sorry, which clerk are you referring to? And who's David?"

"Piggy."

When she had said that, Miss Thursday vaguely remembered the nickname used in the bank, or 'Piggy bank-er'. "The supervisor, the man who devours the garibaldis? – I've only known him by Mr Nicks."

Gemma nodded confidently. "Well he's been off sick so long, there was a rumour going around the staff room that he had died- of a heart attack- he was so big. To be honest I forgot he worked here." Joan couldn't agree more. "Well I saw him alright, being wheeled about in a wheelchair." Her voice was low. "The clerk girl, whatshername, I'm sure she's applied for another job- but has just marked it as sick leave in case she didn't get it, well the bank has given up on her…"

"-I thought Ronnie was in charge of us?" Returning to the illusive David Nicks.

"It's always been David, silly Joanie, Ronnie's just the messenger boy."

This was a lot of information to take in during a single lunch break, and she was already full of angst as it is. "What about this other lady?" Trying to get her head around the missing colleagues.

"Why do you think both of us were stationed at the registers? If it had been just Sally off it would have been just one open till."

Guilt, thy name is Joan Thursday. Her fingers curled over her lips. "Is it completely ignorant to say, I wasn't aware of another female clerk. Everybody I'm aware of, is here." She gestured around her. "You realize her extended absence could be because she probably has been arrested. Now I am thinking; the robbery was an inside job." She didn't drop her voice for that part, so there was a sudden hush, and raised eyebrows around the staff room. "-Or as I was told by some rude customer." She added to improve her situation. She had had enough. She nudged her mate and gestured for them to sneak out. "I'm going to grab something to go. I know I don't feel like it, but a girl's got to eat. Then….we leave."

Joan stood when everybody had gone back to their usual volume of mindless chatter. She crossed the room and went into the cupboard, there was a new packet of garibaldis just opened. Which was silly because she could see a plate at the back with a few left on, probably from a previous packet.

They grabbed their belongings and left the staff room together to return early to their shift.

"See, you don't have to worry about taking the last garibaldis, cause I grabbed them." They walked with speed towards their usual office. Joan offered a biscuit to her friend and she took it. "Maybe it's my low food intake that's made me feel lethargic." She shrugged, using her skilled elbow to open her door, with the garibaldi clutched between her teeth.

"Or maybe you should live on more than just sandwiches and biscuits?"

"I've gone right off sandwiches, I love my mum's but, when you have them every day at lunchtime it's just so plain and british. Give me a Mediterranean salad any day."

"Is that like seaweed?" Gemma and Joan simultaneously clattered their handbags down, they took them with them everywhere around the bank ever since her friend her had told her about 'the incident.'

"No, it's olives and….Greek stuff." Sounding incredibly stupid, but kept her edge. "And slices of lemon and satsumas." They sat down to work and chat across desks. A sudden shadow moved across the glass outside, froze Joan in mid scribble. Ronnie rolled in from the hall, Joan still couldn't release the breath she had been holding.

The second in command spoke. "I don't know why you're back up here, one of you is a cashier today, still no Maureen."

"Maureen!" Gemma exclaimed as if hit by a bolt of lightning. "Thank you, couldn't remember the name."

Even though she had suddenly remembered Maureen herself, Joan was still hung up on what he had requested. "I know I normally jump at the opportunity, but can't you ask somebody else?" Ronnie made an attempt to ask Gemma, but Joan continued relentless. "-Somebody not in this office, you can't separate a pair."

"Tough luck sweetheart, you can't stop me assigning duties so you can have a gossip buddy." Ronnie forcefully directed Gemma to the door. She gave a mock sorrowful little wave before she disappeared with 'the boy' to get to her assigned till.

It's odd how once she had rubbed shoulders with maturer men, the others that came before seemed so childish. Ronnie was a fair example, a boy in a suit, in comparison to…. Joan quickly remembered why she didn't want to be on her own, not just to help her forget her worries, or keep her focused. She just felt a little safer when there was someone else there, as back –up, in case someone came in demanding answers. The cashier job was looking quite appealing now, but she would be out in the open, easily spotted, and vulnerable to robbers, and detectives. Joan lay her head down on her desk, the air she expelled lifted a few cheques.

Endeavour waltzed out of the station, the entrance had since been cleared and he was free to come and go without any hassle. It had been a warm afternoon, so he carried his coat under his arm. A policeman had been stationed at the bottom of the steps. They acknowledged each other stiffly, merely with a flickering glance. Morse was on his way when a woman came out of the shadows.

"Detective Constable Morse." Ms Frazil almost purred. "A word if you please."

"Or an article." Morse snipped. "Sorry to disappoint you again, Ms Frazil, I have no comment."

She fiddled with something in her bag, most likely a sound recording device. "But you finally have a suspect for these atrocious robberies, which makes you a hero."

"-Nice try. Despite what you've heard, we aren't currently detaining any suspects." He smiled like he was holding back bile. The journalist rolled her eyes, she had obviously had that drilled into her all day. "An incident you may be referring to was just a mundane inquiry, in connection with another incident, a petty crime."

"Can I quote you on that?" Taking a liking to the word 'Petty'.

"Please don't." Endeavour seemed to enunciate this.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

He hadn't expected this in the 'non-interview' "No." He very much wanted to retire home, he had done quite a lot of paperwork and dashing about the office. "Good evening."

There was a further click from her handbag . It was a careless action to do in front of policeman, but it was unlikely for Dorothea to carry firearm, let alone use it on him. "Would this other inquiry be to do with the mysterious sickness going about?"

He didn't like to be out of the loop, but this situation called for a gormless expression. "Erm, no, shouldn't you be… speaking to the health department about something like that?"

Dorothea grinned, her sudden intake of breath suggested she was about to let out a bark of laughter. "I thought something important as that wouldn't slip by you, if you had made a more thorough inquiry you would have seen it for yourself, quite significant if you asked me."

Why, is this some trick to try and get him to part with actual information? Or was this legitimate information for a case he was doing? He turned his head away to conceal his perplexed expression. Morse sifted through random details, including stuff he hadn't realized he had filed away in his head. "Sickness, you mean people going on sick leave have the same condition?" That was the only thing he had pieced together that could connect to his case.

"So there is a connection? You saw it too. I knew it!" She was rummaging through her handbag. Women did that a lot. He inched closer to her, expecting to be handed some evidence or records. She pulled out a tape, sneered at it and settled for a good old fashioned notebook. "How about you give me what you know, and I'll tell you what I know?"

He didn't relinquish. "How about you stop delaying a police investigation and tell me what you are referring to, or I will be forced to detain you for withholding information."

"I bet the girls love it when you police them." She uttered in an inappropriate manner, settling on parting with her well documented information. She opened the book under his nose. "Anyway, the biggest thing to hit this city was a robbery ring, naturally I want a scoop."

"So you do have information on the robbery?" He inquired, taking the small book between his thumb and index finger.

"I just told you." Ms Frazil sounded final, until she caught that dim expression on the constable's face. "The robbers needed a weak link, every bank that has been robbed has had at least one person on sick leave."

This was crucial, but logically every business was bound to have at least a person off sick. Morse continued for her. "So you believe the robbers either got lucky that people were on sick leave, that's if they were actually sick." He said this with not a trace of conviction. "Or you believe every one of these staff members had been made sick, by those involved to create the weak link." As it rolled out of his mouth-he didn't believe it, but glancing down at all of Ms Frazil's notes- that were written in shorthand, he saw an actual genuine factor that could be true. "Poison, food poisoning."

"Yes." Now that was conviction, her eyes were so bright with faith in her own idea. "Only one was hospitalized, but the others were housebound, their families attended to them. Similar symptoms, but whatever had caused it had come on over a couple of days, giving the robbers time to prepare for that window of opportunity."

The last two facts took him off the idea. "If it was gradual it could have been a bug, a cold, or virus of some sort. I bet if you asked around people in different lines of work have probably had it. But the robbers wouldn't have had a guarantee it would have taken people out of work, or even made a weak link for them." He craftily took the book off her in the hopes of flicking through it for more, later. "I suppose you spoke to every sick banker?"

"And you didn't?" She shot off, seizing her book back. He pulled a face at the violent snatch. "Didn't you hear me?- They were too sick for work, the robbers knew- they went in."

Silence consumed them outside the station. Morse was actually believing it, you could read it on his face, he could see himself typing this in the case notes. And yet he couldn't claim the glory- even though he remembered writing notes down about sick leave, he had filed it away and didn't expand upon it, he had neglected looking up the illness of each person off, to find a connection. He had really failed to close an easy case, he could have worked it out for himself, instead of some nosy journalist. Don't be bitter. He rubbed a hand across his face to sooth himself. "Food poisoning, or doping. I need to find out who, how, and what with?" He made to turn back to the station, and then suddenly reversed. "I need to go to the scenes of crime, locate the contamination."

"The banks are closed." Dorothea had to go spoil things.

"Yes, but not for long. I'll be the first person in, with the bank manager." He would probably have to use the station to inform the man in charge of the case. "I'll need back up, to lock down every bank once I can access them, so no evidence is taken away, I can't let on what I'm doing to the staff or civilians." MS Frazil scribbled away carelessly. "- There is a possibility this was an inside job, back to my previous theory. But surely there would be more staff sick if the contamination was at the bank, unless they targeted the staff individually. Minimal victims to prevent suspicion." He dearly noted Dorothea was there, writing things down. "Please don't minute what I say, you'll hinder the investigation."

Her book snapped shut. "It was my hunch, my story, you're just a character playing a part in it." She sounded like her article had already been written. "Besides, a striking face like yours sells papers."

"Um…thank y- I thought you were going to say; we make a good team." Don't encourage her, she'll want in on every aspect of his work. "Journalists do make good detectives, as long as they don't taddle before anything's certain or finalised. It should be the plain unvarnished truth."

"Can I quote you on that?"

"No."

"Joan?"

What did Ronnie want now? Couldn't he see she was working? She glanced up at the somewhat fuzzy interior of the room. What the-? All the staff were standing in the room wearing trench coats, watching her, she didn't even hear them filter in. "What's going on?" Trying her best to see the funny side- something she had to do all the time nowadays. Ronnie was at the front, also wearing a trench coat, and like the rest of them -all remained deadpan. "This isn't funny!" She didn't need another man making fun of her.

"Joan!" Ronnie snapped, and she felt her whole body shake violently.

The room dissolved, and their faces melted into the gloom. There was a second of unintelligible greyness before she became aware she needed to open her eyes. A slanted view of her office appeared to her, her head was down on the desk where she had left it. She had been dreaming.

"Joan." Ronnie was actually there, bleating in her ear hole. She sat up straight and grimaced at the ridicule he would inflict upon her for nodding off. "I can see why you wanted company, to keep you alive."

"I'm so sorry, I must have dozed off." She looked at her watch. 4 o'clock, really? "That won't happen again." She felt an impression mark on her cheek, and rubbed at it frivolously. "Where was I?" She reached for one of the cheques. "Right…err…this." She made a start to what she should have been doing, well she would- if her hands weren't shaking.

He gripped her shoulders tightly, halting whatever she was trying to do. "I think I better take you home, it's time anyway."

By 'time' he meant; she needed to go, and not to the labour exchange. "This is preposterous, I only put my head down for a little while." She gathered her coat up in her arm and unsteadily pulled herself out of the chair.

"Well that 'little while' turned into 3 hours, luckily I'm the only one who came by here."

Joan frowned at him. "You mean Gemma didn't pop down?" She was incredulous, her friend's coat and bag had gone, and she had made no attempt to wake her.

Ronnie dithered by her, clutching at her arm like she was an invalid. "Some bloke picked her up, she did say bye apparently- you were comatose." He gestured for her to follow, and she did once she had seized her bag and corrected her up-do which had become a side-do.

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