Free The silent world of Nicholas Quinn by Colin Dexter Page A

thought—well, I just thought—'
    'You mean did he find me attractive?'
    'I don't suppose he could help that.'
    'You're very nice, Inspector.'
    'Did he ever ask you out with him?'
    'He asked me out to the pub once or twice at lunchtimes.'
    'And you went?'
    'Why not?'
    'What did he drink?'
    'Sherry, I think.'
    'What about you?'
    Her tongue moistened her lips once more. 'I've got slightly more expensive tastes
    myself.'
    'Where did you go?'
    'The Horse and Trumpet—just at the end of the road. Nice, cosy little place. You'd love
    it.'
    'Perhaps I'll see you in there one day.'
    'Why not?'
    'Your tastes are expensive, you say?'
    'We could work something out.'
    Again their eyes met and the danger bells were ringing in Morse's brain. He stood up:
    'I'm sorry to have kept you so long, Miss Height. I hope you'll apologize for me to your
    daughter.'
    'Oh, she'll be all right. She's been home a lot of the time recently. She's retaking a few O-levels, and the school lets her go home when she hasn't got an examination.'
    'I see.' Morse stood at the door, and seemed reluctant to leave. 'We shall be seeing
    each other again, no doubt.'
    'I hope so, Inspector.' She spoke pleasantly and quietly and—damn it, yes!—sexily.
    Her last words re-echoed in Morse's mind as he walked abstractedly down the
    corridor.
    'At last!' muttered Lewis to himself. He had been sitting in the entrance foyer for the
    past twenty minutes with Bartlett, Ogleby and Martin. All three had their overcoats and
    briefcases with them but were obviously reluctant to depart until Morse came and said
    the word. The death of Quinn had obviously thrown a pall of gloom over everything,
    and they had little to say to each other. Lewis had liked Ogleby, but had learned little
    from him: he'd remembered seeing Quinn the previous Friday morning1, but not in the
    early afternoon; and to each of Lewis's other questions he had appeared to answer
    frankly, if uninformatively. Martin, though, had seemed a completely different
    proposition: intense and nervous now, as the shock of the whole business seemed to
    catch up with him, he'd said he couldn't really remember seeing Quinn at all on Friday.
    Rather awkwardly, Morse thanked them for their cooperation, and gathered from
    Bartlett that it would be perfectly in order for himself and Lewis to stay in the building: the caretaker would be on the premises until at least 7.30 p.m., and naturally the
    building would be kept open for them as long as they wished. But before handing over
    the keys to Quinn's office and to his filing cabinets, Bartlett gave the policemen a
    stern-faced little lecture on the strictly confidential nature of most of the material they would find; it was of the greatest importance therefore that they should remember . . .
    Yes, yes, yes, yes. Morse realized how he would have hated working under Bartlett, a
    man for whom the sin against the Holy Ghost was clearly that of leaving filing cabinets
    unlocked whilst nipping out to pee.
    After they had gone, Morse suggested a quick stroll round the block, and Lewis
    responded willingly. The building was far too hot, and the cool night air was clean and
    refreshing. On the corner of the Woodstock Road they passed the Horse and Trumpet
    and Morse automatically, consulted his watch.
    'Nice little pub, I should think, Lewis. Ever been in?'
    'No, sir, and I've had enough beer, anyway. I'd much rather have a cup o' tea.'
    Relieved that it still wanted ten minutes to opening time, he told Morse of his
    interviews, and Morse in turn told Lewis of his. Neither of them, it seemed, felt
    unequivocally convinced that he had stared into the eyes of a murderer.
    'Nice-looker, isn't she, sir?'
    'Uh? Who do you mean, Lewis?'
    'Come off it, sir!'
    'I suppose she is—if you go for that sort.'
    'I notice you kept her all to yourself.'
    'One o' the perks, isn't it?'
    'I'm a bit surprised you didn't get a bit more out of her, though. Of the lot of 'em she
    seemed to me the one most likely