CHAPTER 17 -Something's attractive

Part 1

As DCI Thursday lit up his pipe and took a few exploratory puffs to get it going, he gazed across at Morse who was drinking his beer in silence and staring blankly off into the distance. He looked miles away, almost in another world or so it seemed to Thursday and the DCI wondered if something was troubling him.

'Are you alright, Morse? You seem very quiet tonight.'

Morse gave a little start and looked up with a slightly guilty expression. Could the DCI have been reading his thoughts? He sincerely hoped not since he had been pondering the situation with Fancy and Trewlove who appeared to be well on the way to becoming a couple which he suspected would not go down well with the station's top brass, particularly CS Bright.

'Oh, you know. Fine. Just a bit tired, I suppose,' he replied somewhat lamely and vaguely, as was his wont.

'You should have said. You should have gone home and got some rest. I wouldn't have minded.'

Morse shook his head and put his pint back down on the table. 'It's OK. It's peaceful here…. compared to home, anyway.' He rather regretted those words as soon as they had left his mouth, but it was too late to take them back and unsurprisingly Thursday seized on them immediately.

'Full house again, I take it?' He had heard that Trewlove had called on Fancy at lunchtime and guessed that she was planning to pop round again that evening. He too was beginning to get a little concerned at the amount of time the two young constables were spending together outside of work.

'I expect so,' said Morse, letting out a small sigh. 'It's not that I don't like them, you understand.' He looked up at Thursday quickly, alarmed momentarily that his boss might get the wrong end of the stick. 'Trewlove is an extremely capable officer and very pleasant and amusing company too.'

'And Fancy?' Thursday knew Morse liked Trewlove, but he wasn't so sure what he thought of Fancy. He doubted the adjectives 'amusing', 'pleasant' and 'capable' would come tumbling out of his mouth at a great rate.

Morse shrugged his shoulders and Thursday could see he was struggling to find the right words. 'He's Ok, I guess. I mean, I know he's young and he's only just started with us but…'

'A bit too full of himself, you think?'

'Well, yes, that's part of it, I guess. He's got an awful lot to learn and I just wonder sometimes if he fully appreciates how tough this job is and the demands it puts on you every day.'

'I would imagine he's got a better idea how tough the job is now compared to a couple of days ago,' said Thursday, raising his eyebrows and staring at Morse with a meaningful expression.

'That's true,' said Morse, acknowledging Thursday's point. 'I suppose I should give him the benefit of the doubt and wait and see if yesterday's events bring about a change in attitude.'

'I think that would only be fair, don't you, Morse? Give the poor lad a chance to learn from his mistakes,'

Morse was forced to agree with Thursday and nodded. Another one, Sir?' he asked, before draining the last few mouthfuls of beer from his glass.

'Just a half, Morse. Then I'll be on my way or else Win will be getting out the rolling pin if I'm late and the dinner's ruined.'

Morse smiled. He couldn't see Mrs Thursday ever being tempted to use the rolling pin on Fred, no matter how late he got back. Theirs was a marriage made in heaven, as far as he could see from the outside, and he couldn't imagine them ever having cross words for very long. When Morse returned with his pint and Thursday's half, they chatted idly and randomly for five minutes during which time Thursday sank his half pint in double quick time and told Morse he would have to go. Maybe mention of the dinner being ruined if he was late had prompted his unusually hurried drinking but Thursday put on his hat and took his leave of Morse, leaving his sergeant to finish off his pint, which was still more than half full, on his own. Not that that bothered Morse. He was always happy in his own company and often drank in the pub on his own. Unlike many people, he didn't feel the constant need to be surrounded by others to enjoy himself. It gave him the opportunity to think without being disturbed and thinking was never a waste of his time, not to his way of mind.

Part 2

While Morse and Thursday were supping their beer in the pub, Strange, Fancy and Trewlove were tucking into fish and chips back at the house, courtesy of Trewlove who had stopped off at the chip shop on the way over to call on George.

'That was a great idea of yours, Shirley,' mumbled Strange inarticulately as he struggled to speak with his mouth full of battered cod. The portions had been extremely generous and Strange had liberally applied tomato ketchup to his chips, so his plate was awash with colour. Small smears of ketchup had formed at the corners of his mouth which the other two had noticed and were trying very hard not to laugh at.

'Definitely,' added Fancy with a nod of approval. 'I love fish and chips.'

'Me too,' said Trewlove as she beamed in delight at the boys' approval. 'I wonder where Morse is. Did he say anything to you, Jim, about not coming straight home after work?'

Strange shook his head and this time wisely waited until he had finished eating before he spoke. 'No, he didn't mention anything. I expect he's gone for a pint or two with the old man.' He didn't mention he had his suspicions that Morse might have been keen to shy away from another evening at home with the rest of them. He didn't want to upset George and Shirley by implying that Morse might have become a little resentful that their home had been turned into a kind of boarding house or refuge for battered policemen or sundry waifs and strays.

'The enigma strikes again,' said Trewlove and the others chuckled. 'He's always done his own thing, hasn't he?' she asked, more as an observation than a question.

'Ever since I've known him,' said Strange. 'He's an odd sort and no mistake.'

'He can't be the easiest person to live with, I shouldn't think,' said Fancy, looking up at Strange.

'Oh, we get on OK,' said Strange, as he took a large gulp of water from his glass before continuing. 'He keeps himself to himself most of the time. Some days we only meet up and talk when we're having breakfast or dinner.'

'What does he do the rest of the time he's here?' Fancy was intrigued by what passed for home entertainment in Morse's mysterious world whose depths he had hitherto been unable to fathom.

'Well, he likes listening to his opera and his classical music, of course. It's not often that I don't hear some terrible screeching racket blaring from his room in the evening or at the weekend.'

'Doesn't that get on your nerves?' It would mine. I'd be shouting at him all the time to turn the noise down,' said Fancy, grimacing at the image of constant opera filling the airwaves and permeating every nook and cranny of the house.

'Oh, you get used to it after a while.' Strange was determined not to do a complete hatchet job on his housemate. 'Besides, it's not all bad, you know. I actually quite like a bit of Wagner from time to time.'

'Morse says Wagner calms the soul and opens up the mind to all of life's possibilities,' Trewlove said with a wistful smile, repeating something she recalled Morse telling her once.

'Yeah, that sounds like Morse,' said Strange. 'He says opera helps him think. He does an awful lot of thinking in his room.'

'Too much, I'd say,' said Fancy. 'Why doesn't he get out more? Meet a few people. Live a little bit.'

'He's shy, George!' Trewlove was quick to rush to Morse's defence in the absence of the man himself. 'I suspect he doesn't find it easy to make friends. He's too…. guarded and private. He doesn't find it easy to open up.'

'That's why you call him the enigma, Shirl.' Strange winked at Trewlove who smiled back at him.

'I reckon he does it deliberately,' suggested Fancy who wasn't completely buying this shy, reticent, private, tortured soul act. 'I think he loves the mystery that surrounds him, the attention he gets for being so different to everyone else. I think it could be just one massive ego trip.'

'No way,' said Strange, shaking his head forcibly and Trewlove also murmured her opposition to Fancy's interesting, if possibly half-baked theory. 'With Morse, what you see is what you get. There's no deception or play-acting with him. He is what he is and you either accept him the way he is, or you don't.'

'And I doubt he cares very much either way,' concluded Trewlove with a knowing look at Fancy.

'Changing the subject,' said Strange, who reckoned Morse's ears must be burning down at the pub and now wanted to move matters on, 'Who fancies a game of scrabble?' He turned enquiring eyes on the other two who looked at each other, trying not to make each other smile or laugh. They had heard that Strange liked his board games but he seemed to be obsessed with them.

Fancy groaned and said, 'Not scrabble, please! I'm useless at word games.'

'What about Monopoly, then? You don't have to be good at words to play that.'

'I can always help you read out the Chance and Community cards if you're struggling, George,' said Trewlove with a huge grin and Strange burst out laughing, much to Fancy's embarrassment.

'I can read, you know!' Fancy protested indignantly. 'I just don't know any big words, that's all.'

'Monopoly it is, then,' said Strange and the three of them proceeded to clear away the dinner table in preparation for a hard fought game of Monopoly at the end of which Strange would invariably win.

Part 3

Morse downed the remains of his pint, sat back in his seat, looked at his watch and wondered if he should drag himself off home to face the welcoming committee or stay a little while longer and have another pint. The beer was particularly good that evening so the temptation to stay and have another one was strong. He also doubted that Fancy, Trewlove and Strange would have finished their board games session just yet so there remained the danger of him being coerced into a final game with them all if he returned too early. It was a tricky decision, one which normally would have prompted him to consider it over another pint, ironically.

But before he could make his mind up, fate intervened and played its hand. A tall young woman was making her way over to the table next to his in the corner of the pub, carrying two drinks, a glass of wine in one hand and a half pint of beer in the other. She must have taken her eye off where she was going for a brief instant as she suddenly lost her footing and fell over on to the floor right in front of Morse. She let out a scream as she fell to her knees and the glasses slipped out of her hands and crashed to the floor, splintering and breaking up into dozens of little pieces. Morse immediately leapt to his feet and rushed over to help her as the rest of the people in that section of the pub turned round to see what the commotion was. Instinctively he asked her 'Are you OK, Miss?' and he held out a hand to help her back up to her feet.

Fortunately, the young woman did not appear to have been unduly hurt. Probably her pride had taken more of a battering than her body and she picked herself up with Morse's guiding hands and stood in front of him, swaying just a little unsteadily from the sudden shock she had had.

'Are you OK?' Morse repeated his question again and this time the young woman answered.

'I'm fine, I think,' she said with a nervous laugh. 'I must have lost my footing.' She took a few deep breaths at Morse's suggestion and looked around with an embarrassed expression to see several concerned pairs of eyes all turned towards her but nobody else had thought to rush over to help her. Presumably, the sight of Morse taking control and going to her assistance so quickly made them all feel that more people crowding around her and making a fuss of her was neither required nor desirable.

'Here, come and sit down while you get your breath back,' said Morse and he gently led her over to his table and sat her down in the seat opposite where he had been sitting when the accident occurred. Meanwhile a member of the bar staff had already emerged from behind the bar with a dustpan and brush, intent on clearing up the broken glass which had spread far and wide on impact with the floor and would have been a safety hazard if it had not been immediately dealt with.

'Let me get you another drink,' said Morse, warmly smiling at the young woman who seemed to be gradually recovering her composure and was breathing more normally now and not shaking anymore.

'Oh, I couldn't possibly,' she said in polite protest, despite returning Morse's friendly smile but Morse was too much of a gentleman to take no for an answer.

'Please, I insist,' he said, getting up from his bench. 'What was it?' As he looked at the tall, attractive young woman with big, brown eyes and lovely, long blonde hair, she seemed strangely familiar to him. He couldn't quite place where he had seen her before but he was almost certain that they had met quite recently.

'Well, I ordered a glass of dry white wine,' she said softly.

'And the other drink?' asked Morse who had spotted that she had been carrying two drinks when she fell.

'That was half a pint of bitter,' she said. 'For my boss, but he's obviously running late so I wouldn't worry about that.' She smiled shyly and Morse nodded and went over to the bar. When he returned a couple of minutes later, the young woman was checking her face in a small compact mirror to see if she had suffered any visible facial damage from her dramatic fall.

'You look absolutely fine,' Morse said reassuringly as he handed her the glass of wine and the woman blushed at the compliment.

'Thank you,' she beamed as she quickly snapped the compact shut and picked up her glass.

'Cheers,' said Morse, lifting his pint glass and gesturing towards her in traditional fashion.

'Cheers,' she replied, and she took a sizeable mouthful of wine and let out a gasp after swallowing the cool, refreshing liquid. 'Ooh, that's better,' she said with a giggle and both of them laughed.

'Excuse me for asking,' said Morse with a quizzical look on his face, 'but I'm sure I've met you somewhere quite recently, but I can't recall where and when.'

'Indeed, you have,' she said. 'You're one of the policemen who came to speak to my boss a couple of days ago at the Town Hall. I recognised you almost straight away.'

'Of course,' exclaimed Morse with much relief. 'You're Mr Carmichael's PA, aren't you?'

'That's right,' she said. 'Veronica Roberts.' Morse looked at her in silence for a few seconds, a smile still hovering over his lips before he woke up and realised that he was only half way through formal introductions.

'I'm sorry, Miss Roberts. Do forgive me. My name's Morse. Detective Sergeant Morse.'

'Yes, I seem to remember that name. Oh, and please do call me Veronica. I hate formality, especially outside of work.'

Morse nodded and took a sip from his glass of beer while his mind started to run away with itself.

'Well, since you've so gallantly come to my rescue and bought me a new drink, I can't just call you Sergeant. What do I call you?'

Despite having been asked this excruciatingly awkward question hundreds of times in his life to date, he was amazed to see that it still retained the capacity to embarrass him and make him tongue-tied.

'Oh, just…Morse,' he replied. Never before had his answer to that question seemed so woefully inadequate and unsatisfactory but he was not going to break the rule of a lifetime, not even for someone as pretty and delightful as this young woman.

Veronica Roberts looked at Morse puzzled and with a certain amount of disbelief.

'You must have a first name, surely?'

'Oh, yes, of course I do,' he replied, trying to conceal his embarrassment which wasn't coming as easily to him today as it normally would. 'Just… not one that I'm in the habit of revealing, that's all.'

Miss Roberts smiled broadly at him with eyes that hinted at a mischievousness that he found extremely appealing. 'Very well, Morse. I'll let it go for now, but I won't give up easily, I warn you.'

Nobody ever did, thought Morse, gloomily but he smiled nonetheless and was relieved when Miss Roberts changed the subject back to their visit to the Town Hall.

'Was Mr Carmichael able to help you with your enquiries?' she asked innocently enough.

'He was able to confirm his movements for the evening in question,' said Morse somewhat guardedly. No matter how nice Miss Roberts seemed, she still had to be treated like anyone else and viewed, if not with outright suspicion, then at least with caution.

'Last Friday, was it? she asked. Morse nodded and she continued. 'Well the two of us worked late until gone ten o'clock and then he gave me a lift home on the way. Well, most of the way, at least.'

'That's more or less what he said,' said Morse, recalling Carmichael's account of his movements.

'I see,' she said. 'Well, you and your colleague certainly managed to rattle his cage, Sergeant Morse. He was in a really foul mood for the rest of the day. I've rarely seen him like that.'

That was interesting, thought Morse. He remembered Carmichael losing it on a couple of occasions during the interview, but he was surprised to hear that he appeared to be badly affected by their questions long after they had gone. Even without much of an alibi, if he hadn't killed Ronald Fraser, why would he be so obviously rattled? Perhaps he had something else to hide about that night, Morse wondered.

They continued to talk about her job at the Town Hall until their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the barman calling out 'telephone call for a Miss Veronica Roberts!' and Miss Roberts got up from her seat and, with an apologetic smile, said to Morse, 'I bet that's Mr Carmichael,' before trotting over to the bar and taking the telephone offered to her by the barman. Morse watched her speak on the phone for a minute or so before she hung up and returned back to Morse and their table.

'Something's cropped up,' she explained. 'He won't be able to join me after all.'

'Oh, I'm sorry,' said Morse instinctively out of politeness, without having any good reason for apologising.

'Don't be. I'm not. I'm having a lovely time talking to you, as it happens. I'm quite glad he's not going to come over and break up our evening. Now, you must let me buy you a drink.'

Morse tried to refuse but Veronica was having none of it. 'I absolutely insist,' she said, ignoring his protestations. 'One good turn and all that. Besides, you haven't told me anything about you yet. I think you're an intriguing man, Mr no first name Morse. I want to know more about you.'

Part 4

It was around ten o'clock when Trewlove finally took her leave of Strange and Fancy. Fancy naturally would have loved her to have stayed over for the night and share his bed but didn't dare make the suggestion for fear of having his head bitten off and told in no uncertain terms to back off.

'Cheerio, guys,' she said as she opened the front door.

'See you tomorrow, Shirley,' said Strange and Fancy thought it might be worth risking one innocent question.

'Will I see you tomorrow, Shirley?' he asked, trying to be casual and not sound too desperate.

Trewlove looked at Fancy with a playful expression. 'Maybe. I'll see. Or I might stay in and do my hair tomorrow night, though.'

'Oh, right,' said Fancy, hiding his disappointment with his most impassive expression.

'I can't keep coming over night after night, George. This is Jim's and Morse's place, after all.'

'Oh, don't worry about me,' said Strange with a smile. 'It's nice to have regular company in the evenings. I don't get much when Morse is at home. He's not the chatty, gossipy type, after all.'

'Hardly,' laughed Trewlove and even Fancy forced a weak smile. 'See you tomorrow,' she said, and she disappeared through the open door and closed it shut behind her.

The two boys returned to the kitchen and started to clear things away from the table where the three of them had been playing their game of Monopoly which Jim had won in the end after having been given a run for his money by Trewlove.

'Cup of cocoa, George?' Strange enquired as she switched the kettle on.

'Why not?' replied Fancy. 'Let's live dangerously, shall we?'

Strange laughed and got the cups out while Fancy packed away the Monopoly game pieces, houses, hotels, cards and money. Fancy leaned back in his chair and puffed out his cheeks, a faraway expression in his eyes as he gazed off into thin air, seemingly deep in thought.

'Penny for them,' said Strange as he put a mug of hot steaming cocoa in front of Fancy and joined him at the table, cupping his own mug in his hands. 'Wouldn't be thinking about Shirley, by any chance, would you?'

Fancy almost blushed but couldn't prevent a telling smile from forming at the corner of his mouth. 'Was it that obvious?' he asked.

'Well, I am a detective, George. I'm supposed to notice these things, you know.'

Fancy nodded but remained silent, choosing not to add to his embarrassment by saying anything more.

'Just be careful, that's my advice,' said Strange as he stirred his cocoa with a spoon. 'Don't get too involved.'

'What do you mean?' Fancy frowned and looked at Strange with an air of bewilderment. He didn't understand what his mate was getting at.

'Trewlove's priority right now is her career. All she's thinking about is getting on in the force, making a name for herself. Which is absolutely fine. She's a smart girl and she could go far.'

'I've no intention of stopping her doing all of that,' said Fancy with just the merest hint of indignation that anyone might imply that he didn't have her best interests at heart.

'I'm sure you haven't, George. But you've got to realise Trewlove isn't going to let a bloke get in the way of her career ambitions. Not even a decent sort like you. But if you think she's going to invite you into her bed on the back of some casual relationship, I'd think again, if I were you.'

'So, you're saying she's bound to dump me at some point? It's just a question of when?'

Strange nodded silently and drained the rest of his cocoa. 'It won't be your fault, George. It won't be because of you or anything you've said or done. She would do the same to anybody. She's a career girl and she has plans and ambitions. Having a steady fella, never mind getting married and having kids…. well, that's a long way off, trust me.'

Fancy stared hard at Strange in silence as he pondered his words of advice, given in friendship and with genuine concern for his future well-being. Strange got up from the table, picked up both mugs and rinsed them under the tap. Suddenly they heard a key in the door and in came Morse who made his way over to the kitchen to greet them.

'What happened to you, then?' asked Strange, raising an eyebrow. 'I didn't think you were going to be this late.'

'I got…waylaid,' said Morse in typically vague fashion.

'Oh, yeah? Anyone we know?' He guessed Morse might have unexpectedly run into Joan Thursday which would explain why he was being so secretive about their encounter, quite apart from his customary reticence to reveal any details of his private life, particularly any romantic dalliances.

'No, no-one you know,' said Morse as he opened the fridge, took out some bottled water and poured himself a glass without once looking at the two coppers.

'I bet it was a woman,' said Strange, surreptitiously winking at Fancy who didn't respond, so lost in thought was he still. 'It's always a woman with you. Was it?'

Morse contented himself with nodding before turning to make his exit from the kitchen, heading for the peaceful sanctuary of his room where he could escape further excruciating interrogation.

'I see you didn't bring her back with you,' Strange added superfluously, almost as if he was deliberately goading Morse into revealing more than he wanted to.

'I've only just met her,' said Morse as he left the room, without turning round to look Strange in the eyes. That's never stopped you before, thought Strange with some justification as he watched Morse calmly walk away and leave the pair of them to their idle speculations and fertile imaginations.