When Morse came back at the hotel some hours later, this time he could easily find a place to park the car not far from the entrance. He went in the same way, but this time there wasn't anyone at checking invitations or collecting the coats. Only the night concierge was at the reception desk, but he gave Morse just a quick look and returned to the newspaper he was reading at the dim light of a desk lamp.

The hall was now almost empty, the lights almost turned down, with only the last few guests unable to accept the end of the evening. A few couples were still on the dance floor, moving slowly at the fading rhythm of the music a few members of the band were still playing, while others were putting away instruments and equipment. Some people were sitting at the bar, and among them, it wasn't difficult for Morse to spot Joan: sit on a stool, her head resting on her arms on the counter.

'Miss Thursday!'

She raised her head at the sound of her name and saw Morse with his coat on.

'It took more than I'd expected...' He began, getting near to her, but suddenly stopped as he noticed the many empty glasses displayed in front of her.

'You.. You own me a dance... Remember?' She stood up almost sliding from her stool, 'No.. No... Wait a minute... You own me two dances now...' She pointed out, clutching the bar counter with one hand and mimic the number two with the fingers of the other one, 'Let's dance Morse!' She exclaimed.

'I don't think so. How many of these have you got?' He asked serious raising his brows, nodding at the glasses on the counter.

'Oh... Just a few... You kept me waiting sooooo long!' She started to walk unsteadily towards the centre of the dance floor and Morse couldn't help but follow her, a bit concerned by her state.

Once he had reached her, Joan threw her arms around his neck and leaned her head on his shoulder. Morse felt embarrassed and gave a quick look around the room, as if he wanted to be sure there was no one who might recognise the two of them. But apparently most of the guesses had already left and he exiled with relief.

'You're not dancing...' She complained like a spoiled child, raising her head and looking at him directly in his eyes: the makeup on hers had slightly melted and a few dark shadows were now on her cheeks. She shifted a strand of hair, now messed up, from her cheek with a move of her head and leaned again against his coat.

'Time to see you home. Your parents will be worried.' He gently moved her arms away from the back of his neck and accompanied her back on the bar stool.

'You wanted to offer something to me... Now it's the right time...?' She said with a grin on her face.

'Is it possible to have a coffee?' Morse asked the barman while he was rinsing the last glasses.

'Bar's closed, sorry sir.'

He looked at his wrist watch : he didn't notice it was half past midnight.

'Stay here Miss Thursday.' He added to Joan who was trying to get back to dance floor, and left the room for a couple of minutes.

When he was back he was holding her coat, but Joan was again in the middle of the almost empty dance floor slowly moving at the rhythm of the fading music, unsteady and on the point of loosing balance at any step.

Morse quickly reached her, who smiled at him, languid.

'Here.' He held her coat open to invite her wearing it.

'You promised me a dance!' She repeated again with a mix of anger and supplication.

'Another time perhaps.'

'You - gave me your word!' She said almost crying, but Morse stood impassive, with her coat open towards her and in the end she had to obey and slide in it.

'Come on.' He gently put an arm around her and pushed her toward the exit.

When they approached the reception desk, the porter raised his head from the newspaper again: 'All right miss?'

'D.C. Morse. She's with me.' The porter looked up at Morse's and with a nod he came back to his read.

After they went thought the hotel hall, the cold air of the night was on their faces and Morse let out a sigh of relief while they were approaching the car. He opened the door and made sure Joan was sited steadily on the passenger sit. For all the time she stayed in silence, moving like a puppet in the hands of its puppeteer. After a few miles Joan leaned with all her body against his, half asleep already. 'Miss Thursday!' Again, at the sound of Morse's voice she reopened her heavy eyelids. He stopped the engine, got off, turned around the car and reopened the door of the passenger's sit: 'Better if we walk, Miss Thursday.' His tone didn't admit any replay and Joan got off the car as well, but with slower movements. He took her purse from the sit and shut the car's door, then he gently put his arm around her shoulders and they started to walk along the silent streets of Oxford. Quickly the chilly air of the night achieved the effect Morse was hoping for and Joan seemed to regain her vitality: 'You're exactly like dad.' She busted out of the blue at same point with a hint of anger in her voice: 'You always think you can do what you want and make people do what you want just because you're a policemen...'

Morse didn't replay and Joan went on: 'It's always work first, who cares if other people are waiting for you or have planned to go somewhere with you - or just wanted to have fun with you...'

'That's not fair!' This time he picked up her provocation.

They stopped and Joan took her purse from his hand with irritation.

'You weren't on duty tonight.'

'Policemen are always on duty.' He glanced at her with disbelieve. 'I thought you knew it.'

'I've seen this so many times, you know. There's always something more important to do for you and you think you're always right, the others can't understand what it means... You always have to do the right thing... ' Joan stopped for a minute and kicked her shoes off: 'Dammed shoes!' They landed on the garden of a house nearby and Morse ran to fetch them.

'I can go home by myself, you don't need to do the right thing again, you've already done it, apparently tonight.' She started to walk faster but had to slow down her pace after a couple of steps. Morse had stood still for a moment, stunned by her reaction, but quickly rejoined her, keeping her shoes in his hands: 'Wait... Miss Thursday... You're going the wrong way!'

Joan turned towards him: 'See? The others are always wrong! I don't care if I'm going the wrong way... Maybe that's my way!' She shouted at him, 'Maybe... I'm wrong!' She started to lose balance and ended up sit on the kerb a few steps ahead.

When Morse reached her and sit on her side, on the cold edge of the sidewalk, he realized she was crying.

'What's wrong with me, Morse? Sometimes I think I'm so completely wrong! It's not just tonight... ' She wiped her cheeks with a hand and looked at him waiting for an answer. Morse handed out his handkerchief and passed it: 'There's nothing wrong with you Miss Thursday!'He managed to say a bit embarrassed.

'You don't know me well enough.' She said sobbing in a childish way due of the alcohol she had.

'Maybe... But I'm sure of it... You're just a bit... Drunk.' He smiled shyly at her and she couldn't refrain a smile as well.

'You see? I can't even hold my booze...'

He smiled without looking at her, but kept his glace at the street in front of them: 'It takes years of practice.'

She wiped again her eye and blow her nose with Morse's handkerchief.

'C'mon.' He said and stood up stretching a hand towards her, 'It's getting late.' Morse scratched the back of his head: 'Can you stand?'

'I think so.'

The two of them started to walk towards the Thursday's household, then Joan busted into a sudden laugh: 'It's becoming a bit of a habit Morse, you see me home at night, isn't it?'

He couldn't refrain a smile: 'I told you... Police officers are always on duty.'

She laughed again uncontrollably and laud.

'Miss Thursday, your neighbours will complain for the noise.'

'Well? I can always say a policeman is already seeing me home.' She started to run across the small garden in the front of the Thursday's household, where the lights were still on. The door opened without the need of ringing or putting the key in the lock and Fred Thursday appeared in the doorway.

'Night dad!' And Joan in a hurry slid inside and climbed up the stairs leaving Fred with no time to say anything.

It was only at that point that Morse realized he was still carrying Joan's shoes and ran towards the door: 'Sir!' He placed the shoes just inside the door and stepped back outside.

'Morse, you want to come in?'

He shook his head and smiled shyly at his guvnor.

'Jim phoned and told me about the accident. What do you think? Related with the Thompson's case?'

Morse shrugged a bit: 'It could be, but the victim's still unidentified.'

Fred looked at his pipe preoccupied and nodded.

'I took the liberty to ask doctor DeBryn to proceed with the post-mortem tomorrow, sir.'

'Well done Morse. What time?'

'Two o'clock.'

'Fine, I'll need a lift.'

Morse nodded: 'Good night, sir.'

'Night Morse... And... Thanks... For Joanie.'

Morse shook his head again and put his hands inside the pockets of his coat. 'She'll be fine... She just had a bit of a booze... The accident took more time than I expected -'

'No need to excuse yourself Morse, you did more than what you had to. I asked the porter to call a taxi for her if you weren't come back. See you tomorrow.'

'Goodnight, sir.'

'Night Morse.'

Fred closed the door and Morse could hear the sound of the key in the lock turning, then when he started walking away from the house, he noticed that the every lights were turned off, except one coming from a window on the first floor.

At a quarter to 2 pm, the following afternoon, Morse was ringing the bell of the Thursday's household again.

'Ah Morse, here already?' It was Fred who opened the door. 'C'mon in, I'll be done in a minute.'

Morse stepped in and nodded, embarrassed, to Winifred, who was washing the dishes in the tiny kitchen. 'Fred? What's going on?' She asked to her husband with a worried tone.

'We have to go to back to the nick, won't take long.'

'On a Sunday afternoon?! Fred!' Winifred turned towards him without hiding her disappointment and at the same time embarrassed by the presence of Morse, who, even more embarrassed, was staring at the floor, pretending to be interested in the design of the carpet. He noticed that Joan's shoes were still in the same place he had placed them the night before.

'I'm going back in time, don't you worry.' He explained to Win and started to climb the stair.

'See? Copper's wife, that's what it is about!' Winifred exclaimed from the kitchen and Morse thought about the words Joan had told him the night before. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't noticed her, who was coming down the steps. 'Miss Thursday!'

'Morse.' She murmured, keeping her eyes on the same carpet. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs as to say something, but stayed silent.

'How's your head?' He asked sincerely, finally looking at her.

'Pounding.'

He nodded and smiled at her with genuine sympathy.

'As you make your bed, so you must lie on it.' Fred Thursday was coming down the stairs, 'C'mon, Morse.' He put his coat and hat on and opened the door, 'We haven't all day, have we?'

'Good bye Mrs. Thursday.' Said Morse loudly.

'Bye Morse!'

Fred was already out towards the car parked just outside the house, but Morse was still on the doorway and had to stop when Joan gave him his handkerchief back: 'Cleaned and ironed'.

He took it and smiled a little, nodding and putting it back in his pocket.

'Morse... I...' She started saying something keeping her gaze down, embarrassed and uncomfortable, but Fred interrupted her, shouting from the car: 'Morse! Come on!'

'Good bye Miss Thursday.' Morse could only manage to say as he moved towards the street.

'Bye, Morse.' Joan leaned to the doorway and stayed there until the car was too far to be seen and then closed the door behind her.

End