CHAPTER 32 -Something's antagonistic

Part 1

When Morse woke up the next morning, it took him a few minutes to realise where the hell he was. He opened his eyes, blinked a couple of times as the bright sunlight streamed in through a crack in the curtains and, on lifting his head, immediately saw that he was in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. His momentary panic was somewhat becalmed when he realised that he wasn't lying next to an unfamiliar woman. Veronica was still asleep next to him, her head lightly resting on his shoulder which had become slightly numb as a result. He gently extricated himself from his cramped position without waking the slumbering young woman beside him and sat up in bed and took a good look around. He glanced at his watch which said seven o'clock and he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he tried to focus on his new surroundings.

He didn't remember taking in much about Veronica's flat last night. He recalled the pair of them almost immediately making a beeline for her bedroom as soon as they got inside and, once inside, clothes were removed without much ado and they jumped into bed eagerly without her bothering to ask him if he wanted a guided tour of her flat as a courtesy gesture. He seemed to recall he was far more interested in the sex that was on offer more than any other form of hospitality. They had fallen asleep not long after the sex was over and so this was his first opportunity to have a good look at the place where he had spent the night, a very rare night away from his familiar room back at the house he shared with Strange.

He got out of bed and quickly dressed, taking great care not to wake up Veronica who was still sleeping peacefully and breathing rhythmically, seemingly dead to the world. He had a brief look around the bedroom before he left it but there was nothing remarkable about it, not that he had spent the night in many young women's bedrooms to be capable of making much of a comparison. There were cupboards, wardrobes and drawers dotted around the room which he presumed contained Veronica's clothes. An average sized dressing table was to be found underneath the bedroom window where all manner of female beauty products, accessories and accoutrements were laid out meticulously in what Morse assumed was a logical disposition for your normal twenty-something young woman. There was the odd picture arranged on the walls, though nothing of any great value or artistic merit as far as Morse could tell from a swift glance. One or two little ornaments and trinkets had been placed on some of the shelves of the solitary bookcase in the room, alongside a dozen or so books which included a couple of Charles Dickens novels, a few Agatha Christie murders and a large book called 'How to look after your Cat'. The tragedies of Jean Racine and the novels of Jane Austen were noticeably conspicuous by their absence, he noted in passing and it occurred to him that perhaps he and Thursday should take a closer look at the contents of some of their suspects' bookcases to see what books they owned. It was a thought.

He opened the bedroom door softly and passed through the doorway and out into the living room area through which he vaguely remembered they had sped the previous evening in their haste to get to the bedroom. He nosed around a little further and found the kitchen where he picked up an empty glass that had obviously been left on the draining-board at some point in time, filled it with water from the cold tap and returned to the living room whereupon he sat down on the single sofa in the room and quenched his thirst with a long sip from his glass. He had a look around the room and was struck by its impersonal nature. It was utterly devoid of character, more like a man's room than a woman's, he thought, with a complete lack of warmth, style and, above all, a woman's touch.

A few magazines lay strewn around the room, one or two cups had been left on a nest of tables next to the sofa, and a Radio Times lay open on a small pouffe next to the television set. The room was adequately furnished, that much was true with an armchair, cushions, a sideboard and another bookshelf but it exuded no sense of a personal stamp of Veronica's own unique tastes and preferences. It could have been lived in by anyone, thought Morse. Indeed it could almost have been his own living room, he judged, perhaps a little harshly. He had little or no regard for style and décor when it came to home furnishings and it would appear that Veronica was of like mind in that regard.

He closed his eyes for a moment as he drained the remains of his glass of water and was in danger of drifting back off to sleep in the soporific silence that enveloped the room when he was brusquely awakened by the arrival on his lap of a black cat that had seemingly appeared from nowhere. Morse gave a start and looked down at the creature who wasted no time in settling herself comfortably on his lap and digging her claws into his trousers as she sought the optimal position to balance herself safely in his lap. He was just about to attempt to extricate himself from his precarious position when a voice from across the room distracted him from his plan.

'I see you've found Molly, then,' said Veronica with a hint of amusement in her voice as she stood in the doorway in her dressing gown and surveyed the scene.

'I think it was more a case of her finding me, actually,' replied Morse with a wry grin which attempted to hide the slight pain he was feeling as Molly dug her claws into his thighs a little deeper and purred away loudly to demonstrate her contentment at having found such an accommodating visitor to her flat. 'She seems to have made herself rather comfortable.'

'Come on, Molly,' cried Veronica encouragingly and Molly obligingly jumped down from Morse's lap and trotted over to her mistress in anticipation of an early breakfast.

'I'd better be making a move,' he said a touch apologetically, rising to his feet. He wasn't a practiced performer in the art of taking a woman to bed at night and then making a swift exit early the following morning so he still felt an element of shame in his actions but he knew he couldn't turn up at work looking the way he did right then. He would have to go home, wash and change first otherwise word would get all round the station that he hadn't been back home and was wearing the same clothes as the day before.

'Okay,' nodded Veronica, sympathetically. 'Will I see you later on?'

'Maybe,' said Morse as he crossed the room and followed her into the kitchen. 'It depends if anything turns up and I have to work late. You just never know with this job.'

Veronica smiled and held out her arms, encouraging Morse to give her a big hug and a kiss before leaving which he did. 'Be off with you, Mr Detective and go solve some crimes.'

Morse gave Veronica a sheepish grin and promised to ring her later if he could. He let himself out of the flat without any fuss, leaving Veronica to attend to her hungry cat who hadn't taken kindly to being made to wait for her breakfast while her mistress sorted out her love life first.

Part 2

Almost as soon as Thursday and Morse arrived at Cowley police station later that morning, DS Strange motioned to the pair of them to congregate in Thursday's office for a quick chat. It was fairly unusual for Strange to request a private conversation like that so they knew that something was up. Once the door was closed, Strange was ready to tell them what he had just found out.

'I've been doing a bit of digging around on our suspects, like you told me to, Sir and I've found out one or two interesting facts.'

'Go on, Sergeant,' said Thursday, greatly encouraged. 'We could do with a bit of good news.'

'Well, first of all, Catherine Jarvis told you her father was still alive and living in Dorset, didn't she?'

'That's right,' confirmed Morse, nodding at Strange.

'That's not strictly true, it would seem,' said Strange. 'Catherine Jarvis is adopted. I've seen a copy of the adoption papers. Her adopted mother and father were divorced several years ago but she still keeps in touch with him. The mother that Morse went to see to get her alibi confirmed was her adopted mother.'

'The lying little minx,' said Thursday with an expression like thunder etched all over his face. 'She's been lying through her teeth every single time we've spoken to her.'

'Do we know what happened to her real parents?' asked Morse.

'Father did a bunk not long after she was born. Mother was devastated, turned to drink in a bad way and was unable to control her daughter in the end. Little Catherine was taken into care for her own safety and welfare when she was eight years old and then put out for adoption when she was twelve. Mr and Mrs Jarvis adopted her on her thirteenth birthday.'

'Could the father have been Ronald Fraser?' Morse turned an enquiring eye towards Thursday who leaned back in his chair and considered the proposition.

'Possibly,' he suggested after a brief pause. 'The numbers might just add up. She could still be Carla. She could have changed her name when she was taken into care, I suppose. Hoping for a change of luck, maybe. She hadn't had much luck as Carla, after all.'

'What's the second thing you've discovered?' Morse turned his head towards Strange who immediately glanced down at the note he was holding in his right hand.

'I tracked down Mrs Fraser's GP and spoke to him about any problems she and Fraser may have had conceiving a child. Turns out the problems were all on her side, not his. He could still be a father but she could never be a mother.'

'Vera Cooper was deliberately sending us down the wrong path there,' said Thursday with a grimace. 'Suggesting that the problems were all her nephew's when she knew damned well they weren't.'

'Looks like the world and his wife have been lying to us right from the start, Sir.' Thursday and Morse were forced to agree with Strange in that regard. It was hard to find anyone who had consistently told them the truth throughout their investigations.

'Right!' said Thursday, getting to his feet with an expression of grim determination. It was time for the lying to stop and for the truth to come out, he decided. 'Strange, you go and pick up Catherine Jarvis from the Oxford Mail and bring her here. Let's see if she's quite so confident lying to us when she's banged up in an interview room in the nick for a couple of hours and made to sweat it out.'

'Will do, Sir,' said Strange, turning to go. 'Oh, one other thing, Sir. Moira Stewart's alibi hasn't turned out to be quite as watertight as it first appeared.'

'How come?' asked Thursday with a heavy sigh.

'Well, she said she and her friends didn't leave the pub on the night Fraser was killed until gone half past eleven and she got home at midnight. But I spoke with her friends and they all swore blind the whole lot of them left the pub well before eleven-fifteen.'

'Looks like lying's a way of life for the women working at the Mail,' commented Morse with a shake of the head. He could never understand why so many suspects lied so pointlessly and stupidly when questioned by the police. Did they seriously believe the police weren't going to do their basic homework and check up on the details of every statement that was made to them? Oh, yes, so what if it was a lie? They're never going to find out, are they? Who's going to tell them?' How about every law-abiding citizen who doesn't want to be charged with obstructing the police in their enquiries or perverting the course of justice or any number of similar charges that the police could throw at some poor sod who thought they were doing someone a favour covering for them in the course of a murder investigation.

'Right, then. Strange, take a female officer with you. Trewlove would be a good choice. Pick up both the girls and bring them here and put them in separate interview rooms. Morse and I will have a crack at them when we're ready.'

'Yes, Sir,' nodded Strange.

'And if anyone else brazenly lies to you while you're there, you can pick them up as well. I don't care if we have them queuing round the block.'

Strange was tempted to let out a small chuckle but he held back as he could see that Thursday might have been making a joke but he was in no laughing mood. He scooted off without further ado, leaving an irritable Thursday and a bemused Morse to talk strategy for the forthcoming interviews with the Oxford Mail Call My Bluffers.

Part 3

'Hey Shirl!' cried Strange as he spied WPC Trewlove on her way out of the station at a decent trot to get to her beat on time. 'Steady on, girl. I've got a job for you.'

Trewlove stopped dead in her tracks and spun round to face Strange, her face flushed with curiosity and excitement at the prospect of something a little out of the ordinary to kick start her working day.

'Yes, Sergeant,' she replied, moving towards Strange. 'How can I help?'

'You're with me for now. We've got two suspects to pick up from the Oxford Mail so I'm going to need a hand. I don't want to have to keep my eyes on both of them at the same time.'

'Pleased to lend a hand,' said Trewlove excitedly. 'Is it likely to turn nasty?'

'I wouldn't have thought so,' said Strange as they made their way out of the building. 'But you can never tell. Sometimes the most unlikely people cut up rough when you least expect it.'

'Who are we picking up?'

'Two of the women who work there. Catherine Jarvis and Moira Stewart. I can't see them putting up much of a fight but it's best to be prepared. Have you got everything you might need?'

Trewlove nodded. 'Handcuffs at the ready, Sarge,' she said with a smile. She'd had cause to use handcuffs to restrain a suspect on a few occasions before so they held no fear or curiosity for her. They were merely part of the standard police equipment that she would routinely take to the streets with, along with her police whistle, personal radio, truncheon and torch. She considered herself more than capable of looking after herself in a fight, if it came to it, having excelled in the self-defence classes as part of her standard training. She had supplemented that basic police training with some private judo lessons of her own and many a suspect had underestimated her physical capabilities to their cost and detriment. Her seemingly slight and slender frame concealed a well-toned body with a degree of musculature that had caught out many an arrogant opponent who thought that she would be no match for them.

'I think we've got everything covered, then,' said Strange with a mischievous wink. 'My brawn and your brains should be more than a match for these two young ladies!'

Trewlove exchanged a gratified, knowing look with Strange as they moved towards his car parked outside in the car park and jumped in. Ten minutes later they had pulled up outside the Oxford Mail and were bounding up the steps of the building and heading inside to invite the two young women to join them down at Cowley nick for a guided tour of the station, with particular emphasis on the interview rooms.

When they reported to Ms Frazil and told her they had been instructed to take Catherine Jarvis and Moira Stewart down to the police station for further questioning, Dorothea Frazil looked horrified but had no choice but to accede to their request. She led Trewlove over to the area where Moira Stewart was working which was just around the corner from her editor's office and then took DS Strange over to another part of the building where Catherine Jarvis was sitting at her desk, concentrating furiously on a piece of copy she was busy writing.

'I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come down to the station with me, Miss Jarvis,' said Strange solemnly. 'DCI Thursday has a few more questions to ask you.'

'What? More questions? This is becoming ridiculous,' said Catherine, her voice rising to fever pitch and her face turning red with anger. 'This is beginning to feel like police harassment. I'm going to make an official complaint, you just see if I don't. I've not done anything wrong!'

'I'm sure the Chief Inspector will explain everything down at the station, Miss,' said Strange, who was well used to horrified reactions and protestations of innocence such as this. It was all water off a duck's back to him. 'Now, let's not kick up a fuss and make a scene in front of everyone, shall we? I'm sure you don't want that. Let's just go quietly without any bother and I'm sure we can get all this cleared up once and for all down at the station.'

Strange's words of wisdom, mixed with a degree of comfort and composure, appeared to calm Catherine Jarvis down a little. She looked across at Dorothea Frazil for guidance and the Mail's editor, who had been standing quietly at Strange's side, nodded silently at her employee to convey her advice to do as the sergeant was asking. Reluctantly Catherine stood up, took a cursory sip of water from the glass on her desk, picked up her handbag and followed Ms Frazil out of the room, with DS Strange in close attendance behind her.

When the three of them got back to Ms Frazil's office, it was clear that Trewlove had met with some very stern resistance from Moira Stewart while Strange had been preoccupied with Catherine Jarvis. Ms Stewart was screaming 'Get off me, you cow!' and struggling to wriggle free from Trewlove's clutches. Despite Moira's persistent and frantic attempts to evade the WPC, Trewlove had the young woman pretty much in a stranglehold and was waiting for the right moment to apply the handcuffs to her hands which she had succeeded in forcing behind the girl's back. Strange took a few steps forward, ready to intervene and assist if necessary but Trewlove was aware of the sergeant's presence and sought to reassure him that she had everything under control.

'it's OK, Sarge,' she cried confidently. 'Miss Stewart's just a little disorientated, that's all. There you are, Miss. Everything's sorted out now.' Trewlove timed her moment perfectly, taking advantage of Moira Stewart being momentarily distracted by the presence of Strange and clicked the handcuffs shut behind Moira's back. Realising that further resistance was futile, Moira Stewart let out a low moan of frustration and anger that she had been outwitted and overpowered by the woman police constable.

What neither Strange nor Trewlove could have foreseen, however, was the immediate reaction of Moira Stewart to the sight of Catherine Jarvis standing just a few feet away from her, looking across at Moira with the most smug and self-satisfied of expressions. Before Trewlove could do anything about it, Moira Stewart launched herself at Catherine Jarvis, kicking out at her colleague with both feet in turn for a good few seconds before Trewlove managed to pull Moira back and Strange had grabbed hold of Catherine and pulled her away from the furious young woman who was giving Catherine the most fearsome volley of foul-mouthed abuse.

'Knock it off you two!' shouted Strange authoritatively, as he briefly struggled to maintain control over this most awkward of situations. 'Any more of that, the pair of you, and I'll arrest you right now for grievous bodily harm.'

The two women fell silent yet still glared at each other like two lionesses who had happened to come across each other out in the wild and were measuring each other up as a prelude to a sudden strike for supremacy and territory. Strange apologised to a plainly horrified Dorothea Frazil for the disturbance before he and Trewlove marched the two women out of her office and towards the exit. The shocked faces of the other employees told a picture of utter astonishment and disbelief at the events which had just unfolded which would no doubt be making the front page of the Mail the next morning. Such an incident like that was too good a story to ignore, even it had taken place right on their own doorstep and had embarrassingly involved members of their own journalistic family.

Part 4

When Strange and Trewlove arrived back at the nick, they took the two women straight to the interview rooms and put each woman into a separate room, awaiting Thursday and Morse's arrival to interview them. A uniformed police constable was posted in each room to ensure that neither girl tried to escape or, which was an even likelier threat, that neither of the women tried to attack each other again. There was clearly very little love lost between the two women, a point which Strange and Trewlove discussed briefly on their way back to the main CID office.

'Blimey! That was a bit of a to do, wasn't it, Shirl?' said Strange with a smile at his junior colleague.

'I'll say,' said Trewlove returning his grin and raising her eyebrows at the same time. 'Had they been at each other's throats before, do you know?'

'Not as far as I'm aware. But there's certainly no love lost there, is there?'

'Well, we have got a supply of strait jackets kicking around in the office somewhere, if you need them, Jim,' said Trewlove with a giggle.

'God help us if it should come to that!' Strange shook his head in amazement before he left Trewlove and went to inform Thursday and Morse that their interviewees had arrived and were awaiting their pleasure.

'What did you make to all that, then?' Thursday asked Strange when he and Morse had been given an account of the catfight at the Oxford Mail.

'Hard to say, Sir,' said Strange. 'But you did say it was Ms Jarvis who put you on to Ms Stewart, didn't you?'

Morse nodded. 'So you think Moira Stewart had it in for Catherine Jarvis for pointing the finger of suspicion back at her, then?'

'It looks like it,' replied Strange. 'Neither of them were happy about being made to come over to the station but it was Moira Stewart who really kicked up a fuss. WPC Trewlove really had no option but to put the handcuffs on her to restrain her. Not that it stopped her from trying to kick out at Catherine Jarvis.'

'Well, I think we'll give them both some time to cool down a little before we talk to them,' said Thursday, with a sideways glance at Morse who silently nodded his agreement. 'Maybe a short spell in an unwelcoming, cold, drab interview room, with only a silent police constable for company will bring them back down to earth and make them realise just how much trouble they are potentially in.'

Thursday thanked Jim Strange for his efforts in bringing the women in and Strange took his leave, returning to the outer main office to join the rest of the team.

'So, what do you make to all this, Morse?' he asked, leaning back in his armchair and folding his arms.

'They've both lied to us. Catherine Jarvis about her who her real father is, Moira Stewart about her alibi for the night Ronald Fraser was killed. The truth might reveal they had nothing to do with Fraser's murder but you've got to ask yourself why would an innocent person lie?'

'Fear of being implicated in the murder. Afraid that something would come out into the cold light of day that they didn't want the world and his wife to know about?' Thursday was groping around in the dark, looking for possible explanations to explain the suspicious behaviour of their suspects but it was the kind of discussion with Morse which often led to a breakthrough moment in an investigation. Often an idea, a theory, sometimes even just the odd word from Thursday sparked off a train of thought in Morse which led to a sudden revelation or a flash of insight.

'What could Moira Stewart be afraid of? Ok, so she and Ronald Fraser got on better than she made us believe the first time we spoke to her. So what?'

'Maybe she and Fraser were more than just work colleagues and friends. Maybe they had a brief fling and she doesn't want that to come out.'

Morse fell silent for a moment and gave Thursday's hypothesis some consideration. 'Possibly. Although I'm not sure I believe Fraser was the sort of man to have a relationship with a woman half his age.'

'We can't rule it out, Morse. Middle-aged man, lonely, shy, no social life to speak of, lives for his job. Attractive young colleague, takes a bit of interest in him, talks to him down the pub on a Friday night, gets on with him better than anyone. Who knows what can happen in circumstances like that?'

'So what's with all this 'Dad' and 'old man' stuff, then?' Morse frowned and stared at Thursday sitting across the desk to him.

'Maybe just a bit of harmless horseplay, like she said. Office banter and mickey-taking, just like you see in every workplace, I guess. See it happening here, if you look and listen hard enough.'

'What about Catherine Jarvis, then? She did deliberately mislead us.'

Thursday nodded and sat up at the mention of her name. 'Yes, she did. And I want to know why. I'm far more interested in her as a suspect, if truth be told. There's something about her I just don't like. Too cool and clever by half for me.'

Morse smiled even though this was no laughing matter. He knew that DCI Thursday always had a problem with suspects who came across as cool, calm and composed. His guvnor's instincts had long since been to believe the really nervous, frightened, emotional ones and distrust the ones who exuded a sense of confidence, sometimes even a touch of arrogance, in their interviews. He wasn't often wrong, Morse reminded himself.

'How do you want to play it, Sir? One after the other or shall we each take one?'

'You take Moira Stewart and I'll take Ms High and Mighty Jarvis. Then we can think about swapping over if neither of them confesses to the murder straight away.'

Morse nodded and was on the point of making his way out of Thursday's office, with the DCI following swiftly on his heels, when there was a knock on the door and a solemn-looking DS Strange came into the room and shut the door behind him.

'What is it, Sergeant? We're just about to interview these two wildcats. You'd better make it quick.'

Strange looked at Thursday and Morse in silence for a few seconds before delivering the news that he had just learned. 'Just received word from the hospital, Sir. Vera Cooper passed away not ten minutes ago. She never regained consciousness. Died from the injuries she sustained at the cottage, Sir.'

An uneasy silence descended on the room as the three men took a moment to digest the sobering, yet not wholly unsurprising news.

'Right,' said Thursday, his jaws grimly set and his mouth tight-lipped. 'So now we've got a double murder on our hands. We need to step up our game. Let's get to it, then.'

Author's Message

I just want to take this opportunity to give a huge word of thanks to John Cowdrey for posting yet another favourable review. You are extremely generous with your comments and I am glad that you are enjoying the story. Thank you so much for all your reviews and I hope you will continue to follow the story, especially as the conclusion is now rapidly approaching.