A/N: I know it has been a long time coming, so if you're still following this story, thank you! Please know all your comments over the last few years have been much appreciated.

Part 8

The first thing Connie noticed when she woke was that she was desperately thirsty. And that Morse's rooms were very green. She sat up slowly, head pounding. When she looked up, the green walls seemed to shimmer and dance, so she closed her eyes again, waiting for her body to catch up with her brain. She groaned slightly as she stood up. The narrow bed was just under the window and a fresh breeze made the curtains float. When she looked back down she saw the breeze also caught at Morse's curls. He looked exhausted even in sleep, she thought.

She found a glass and filled it with water from the tap that seemed to constantly drip. Apart from a pounding head and a sleepless night, Connie felt fine. In fact, she thought to herself, I feel terribly good. She hoped Morse wouldn't become distant and aloof once he woke. Some of her friends had talked about how boys could be like that after a night together…but then again, Morse was a man. She looked forward to him waking — what was he like in the mornings? Did he read the paper like the men in her family did?

After some searching, Connie found a cloth and began to freshen herself up while looking around his rooms. She was amazed at the number of opera records he had as well as books. He struck her as more of an academic than a policeman, but then again, her father had a lot of books, too.

She felts a moment's twinge at the thought of her parents. She thought perhaps they wouldn't approve, but pushed the thought away quickly. There was no telling whether Morse thought of this more than an evening together. Her friends had complained to her about that, too. Best not to have any expectations, she thought, though she couldn't quite quell the hope that he would want to see her again.

Morse groaned and Connie went to sit on the edge of the bed with the glass of water, expecting he might have a thick head too.

He rubbed his face and blinked in a startled way at the sight of her half-dressed and fresh looking before him. She smiled at him and handed him the glass. Morse took it gratefully, smiling back. She noticed he gazed at her while he drank, as if committing her to memory.

"Good morning," she said softly.

He grinned and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Good morning." His voice was rough from sleep and drink, and she shivered slightly to hear it.

Thinking she was cold, he lifted the edge of the sheet, beckoning her in. She nestled close to him, finding a comfortable spot in the crook of his arm.

"Alright?" he asked quietly.

"Yes. You?"

"My head aches."

"Mine too."

"What time is it?"

"About 7:30. What time have you got to be in?"

"Need to collect Inspector Thursday in an hour…" He sighed heavily and rubbed his face again with his free hand.

Not sure what to say, Connie kissed the nearest bit of him.

He looked down where she lay against his chest and gave her a squeeze. "You are lovely."

She blushed with pleasure. "As are you."

"I'd better…" he nodded to the room.

Connie sat up and nodded back. "Yes, of course." She turned to sit on the edge of the bed, feeling slightly lost. Morse sat up behind her and kissed her bare shoulders, tracing the few freckles there. "I'll see you back safely."

"Thank you." It sounded hollow even to Connie's ears, and she cleared her throat.

"Connie?"

She nodded, but he reached to turn her towards him. "I'm not sure what to do from here either," he said honestly, looking at her earnestly. "But I do know we've got a murder to solve, and the sooner that is done, the sooner you are safe."

"Yes, I know." She felt better for him saying it though. His sensible and honest response to their time together allowed her to relax visibly. She kissed him, stood and began to find her clothes.

"I hope you find him."

"Maybe we'll have some luck with this motorbike. Also, one of the letter's I found was postmarked in Bicester, so maybe that is also a place to start."

She watched him dress from the corner of her eye and found it incredibly sweet the way his hair stood up no matter how much he combed it. She made tea and he found some bread for toast. They sat quietly sipping the strong tea for awhile and kept catching each other's eye and grinning.

Morse walked her back to her college. At the entrance he squeezed her arm and smiled. "Best stay in college today, with your friends…and maybe ring your family? If you see anything suspicious, ring the station."

"Yes, alright." She squeezed his hand.

"Be seeing you…"

Connie nodded and walked away, looking back once over her shoulder to see him watching. She waved.

Morse shook himself and turned towards the station. He felt slightly lost himself…he knew it would be different with her — she was younger and inexperienced — but he had never expected it to be so thrilling and wonderful. He was so relieved to see her when he woke. She seemed to give him some sort of calm that went right to the centre of his chest. He hoped he had reassured her enough, but it was true what he'd said: he didn't know what to do from here. Solving the case was his first priority, especially since she too had been threatened and could be in danger.

Once he had collected DI Thursday and they arrived back at the station, he asked Constable Strange if there had been any news. Nothing, as of yet, though uniform had been sent out to the last known address for Herbert Schmidt. It wasn't in Bicester, though, so Morse was not hopeful. There had been no reports of a stolen motorbike, so Morse was inclined to think it belonged to the blond haired man.

He went down to the coroner to get the results of von Buren's postmortem.

Max DeBryn was waiting for him. He was a short, slightly round man who always wore a bowtie. He glanced up at Morse when he came in, peering through his spectacles. "Late night, Morse?"

"Not really." Morse cleared his throat. He rather liked Max DeBryn — he was straightforward, yet incredibly kind. Perhaps it was because, like Morse, DeBryn didn't really fit in either as he spent most of his time with the dead rather than the living. DeBryn, too, was a learned man with similar tastes. Morse felt he could be himself with the doctor in ways that he might not with his upstairs colleagues, so he relaxed slightly. "Well…maybe a bit…" He shot the doctor a swift smile.

"Well," DeBryn said, turning on his heel and walking towards the sheet-covered table. "All was not tickety, shall we say, boo with our German. Look here…"

Morse swallowed hard. "I believe you…just tell me."

"Dicky heart - was taking medicine for it, and a heavy drinker by the looks of it. Had eaten approximately four hours before he died. Cause of death, bullet to the brain." DeBryn snapped the file shut and handed it to Morse over the covered body.

Morse nodded. "Cheers."

Near lunchtime he received the translated letters that von Buren and Schmidt had exchanged. He hadn't been far off — there was a definite intimate tone in them, and the contents seemed to be more than pleasantries.

"Morse? That was uniform on the blower…that address for Schmidt appears to be where he's been staying as a lodger. Thursday wants you to have a shifty," Constable Strange said.

"Right."

Morse tidied his desk briefly, putting the letter translations into his desk drawer, and then went out to find the car.

At the address, a landlady let him in.

"Like I told your lot, he's only been here in town a few weeks. Quiet, tidy. Foreign of course, but so many are these days…" she told Morse as they walked up the stairs, "Haven't seen him for a bit, but he often comes and goes. His work I think he said…"

Once in the room, Morse shut the door quietly and looked around. It was tidy, as the landlady had said. He began to go through the few belongings there, paying particular attention to a suitcase. If he was on the move, Morse thought, then the best place to keep something out of sight would be the suitcase…But there was nothing in there that stood out obviously.

Not one to feel defeated, Morse felt along the seams and prodded with his fingertips. As he had hoped, a small incision gave away the place where a small, tightly bound packet of papers were hidden. Morse stood and stretched his legs, now slightly numb from crouching. The name on the first envelope in the packet was Schmidt, dated 1944; a faded stamp of a swastika could just be made out in the corner. The letter inside was in a looping scrawl and signed 'Hein'. Could this be von Buren?

Morse slipped the packet into his coat pocket and put things in the room back as he had found them. Presumably this meant that Schmidt would return…otherwise why go to all the trouble of making a secret place in the suitcase?

Downstairs, Morse found the landlady in the kitchen. "I'd prefer you not to mention that we'd been here, if you do see him. Just ring this number if he comes back." He handed her his card.

"Should I be worried?"

"No, nothing like that. We'd just like to speak with him."

She nodded, though looked unconvinced.

Morse tried again, "If he knows the police have been, he might run off…think he's being deported, you know…"

She seemed more satisfied with this and nodded knowingly.

"Did he have a motorbike at all?"

"I don't recall seeing him on one, no," she replied, turning her attention back to her stove.

Morse thanked her and left. His stomach growled, and he realised he had missed lunch while reading the translations and then coming here. Half wanting to go around to see Connie and half wanting to immediately try to read the German's letters, Morse sat in the driver's seat of the car, looking out at the street absently. Finally, he decided to go find Connie and take her to a late lunch if she was free.

At the college the porter made him sign in.

"Do you mind if I look at the recent entries again?" Morse asked, suddenly having a thought.

"Of course, sir."

Morse scanned the recent weeks of entries in the registry book, not looking for a specific name necessarily, but seeing if one would jump out at him. There was no Herbert Schmidt and nothing that stood out. Damn… He made his way to Connie's stair, hoping she was in. He was so lost in thought that he nearly ran into Beth.

"Hallo," she grinned at him brightly, "looking for Connie?"

Morse reddened, wondering if Connie and Beth had spoken about the night before. Did women tell each other these things? "Um, yes, is she in?"

"She's in the library. I'm on my way out, but I can show if you like."

"I know the way, thanks." He smiled at her.

Turning in the opposite direction, Morse made his way to the library instead. He found Connie easily and studied her briefly in the moment before she looked up, marvelling at the fact that she'd been in his bed just this morning.

When she noticed him, her face broke into a smile, lips turning downwards in a sort of upside down smile that was knowing and enticing all at once. Morse hurried over to her more quickly than he had intended, garnering an annoyed look from another student.

Now that he was there, Morse felt at a loss for words. "Um, well, I just…"

Connie stood from the desk she was at, and gently took his hand. "This way," she whispered, nodding towards the other students nearby, "otherwise they'll be on our case."

She led him further into the library, between narrow bookshelves that smelled of dust. She turned and kissed him. "How wonderful to see you."

He smiled. "I just wanted to see you. I haven't had lunch yet and thought you might join me."

Connie grinned at him. "You do realise it's after two o'clock?"

"Late lunch…"

A movement beyond the shelf just behind Connie caught his eye and he put his finger to his lips. "Better move then…" He too, had hated being disturbed while at the library…incredible that he was now the disturber.

She led them around another tall bookshelf. There wasn't as much light here and the smell of dust seemed stronger. Her hand was warm in his. All at once, he froze and gripped her hand. A head of short blond hair, so blond it was nearly white, passed them on the far side of the shelves.

Connie tightened her grip too, gasping slightly. Morse motioned for her to stay. He moved along the bookshelves silently, trying to keep up with the figure. The person turned to the left into another long row of shelves and Morse followed, heart racing. It was a surprise to see that at the end of the row was a solid wall. Morse took a deep breath, and followed a bit more closely before finally saying firmly, "STOP. Police."

The person in front whirled round, the nearly white hair, swirling slightly.

Morse swallowed hard. It was a young woman with glasses. "Beg your pardon, miss. I thought you were someone else."

She frowned at him and whirled away again, throwing a glare over her shoulder.

Morse turned back to find Connie watching and laughing silently.

"I think our short night is playing tricks on us," Morse said quietly, thrusting his hands in his pockets and looking around the library with some amusement.

"We'll be seeing him everywhere if we aren't careful," Connie agreed, giggling.

"C'mon, how about something to eat then?"

They left the library and ended up in the White Horse. Much like over tea that morning, they kept catching each other's eyes and smiling. She took his hand under the table at one point, lacing their fingers together. He told her about the letters he had found in the suitcase, and showed the packet to her briefly.

After an hour though, Morse sighed. "I'd better be getting back. I'll walk you…"

Outside the late afternoon was soft and sunny. When they reached the college, Connie squeezed his arm and said, "I've enjoyed this, Morse. Thank you for coming to find me."

Morse squeezed her arm in return. "I've enjoyed it too."

As he made his way back to the station, Morse felt his thoughts all of a jumble. Thoughts of Connie in the early morning light, soft, beautiful and wonderfully…her… Other thoughts of the case, the letters he'd recently found weighing down his pocket…and the distinct feeling that he was being watched. He shook his head, dismissing this last thought.

As soon as he returned to the station he sent the letters off to the translators. His quick glance through them had given him an idea. Morse knocked on the door of DI Thursday's office.

"Oh, it's you, Morse. Any news?"

"Yes. I went to Schmidt's lodging. I found a packet of secret letters that he might have received from von Buren while in Germany. I've asked to put a plainclothes officer in the vicinity in case he turns up again soon. Unless something has happened to him, he's bound to come back for the letters."

"Blackmail of some kind you think?"

"Perhaps, sir."

Thursday nodded. "Right. Let's do that, then you can drive me home."

It was to both Morse and Thursday's alarm then, to see Winnie, Thursday's wife, running down the path towards them after Morse had pulled the car up outside the Thursday home.

Thursday leapt out. "What is it?"

"Oh, Fred, the station has just rung - a girl has been taken from St. Anne's college. They say she knows Morse."

Thursday turned to look at Morse as stood beside the car. "Right, back to the station then. You can tell me in the car."

"Here are some extra sandwiches just in case," Winnie called, hastily thrusting a packet through the open window of the car.

Morse drove quickly back towards the station, his heart beating loudly. Connie!