Free Last Bus to Woodstock by Colin Dexter Page B

miss?’
    ‘You want me to go over all that again?’ Jennifer’s face showed all the impatience of a schoolgirl asked to rewrite a tedious exercise.
    ‘We shall have to have a signed statement in any case.’
    Jennifier sighed. ‘All right. You want me to account for my movements – I think that’s the phrase, isn’t it? – on Wednesday night.’
    ‘That’s right, miss.’
    ‘On Wednesday night . . .’ Laboriously Lewis began to write. ‘Shall I write it out for you?’ asked Jennifer.
    ‘I think I ought to get it down myself, miss, if you don’t mind. I haven’t got a degree in English, but I’ll do my best.’ A quick flash of caution gleamed in Jennifer’s eyes. It was gone immediately, but it had been there and Lewis had seen it.
    Half an hour later, Jennifer’s statement was ready. She read it, asked if she could make one or two amendments – ‘only spelling, Sergeant’ – and agreed that she could sign it.
    ‘I’ll just get it typed out, miss.’
    ‘How long will that take?’
    ‘Oh, only ten minutes.’
    ‘Would you like me to do it? It’ll only take me about two.’
    ‘I think we ought to do it ourselves, miss, if you don’t mind. We have our regulations, you know.’
    ‘Just thought I might be able to help.’ Jennifer felt more relaxed.
    ‘Shall I get you another cup of coffee, miss?’
    ‘That would be nice.’ Lewis got up and left.
    Policewoman Fuller seemed singularly uncommunicative, and for more than ten minutes Jennifer sat in silence. When the door finally opened it was Morse who entered carrying a neatly typed sheet of foolscap.
    ‘Good afternoon, Miss Coleby.’
    ‘Good afternoon.’
    ‘We’ve met before.’ The tide of relaxation which had reached high watermark with Lewis’s departure quickly ebbed and exposed the grating shingle of her nerves. ‘I walked down to the library after I left you yesterday,’ continued Morse.
    ‘You must enjoy walking.’
    ‘They tell me walking is the secret of perpetual middle age.’
    With an effort, Jennifer smiled. ‘It’s a pleasant walk, isn’t it?’
    ‘It depends which way you go,’ said Morse.
    Jennifer looked sharply at him and Morse, as Lewis earlier, noted the unexpected reaction. ‘Well, I would like to stay and talk to you, but I hope you will let me sign that statement and get back home. There are several things I have to do before tomorrow.’
    ‘I hope Sergeant Lewis mentioned that we have no authority to keep you against your will?’
    ‘Oh yes. The sergeant told me.’
    ‘But I shall be very grateful if you can agree to stay a little longer.’
    The back of Jennifer’s throat was dry. ‘What for?’ Her voice was suddenly a little harsher.
    ‘Because,’ said Morse quietly, ‘I hope you will not be foolish enough to sign a statement which you know to be false’ – Morse raised his voice – ‘and which I know to be false.’ He gave her no chance to reply. ‘This afternoon I gave instructions for you to be held for questioning since I suspected, and still suspect, that you are withholding information which may be of very great value in discovering the identity of Miss Kaye’s murderer. That is a most serious offence, as you know. It now seems that you are foolish enough to compound such stupidity with the equally criminal and serious offence of supplying the police with information which is not only inaccurate but demonstrably false.’ Morse’s voice had risen in crescendo and he ended with a mighty thump with his fist upon the table between them.
    Jennifer, however, did not appear quite so abashed as he had expected.
    ‘You don’t believe what I told you?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Am I allowed to ask why not?’ Morse was more than a little surprised. It was clear to him that the girl had recovered whatever nerve she may have lost. He clearly and patiently told her that she could not possibly have taken out her library books on Wednesday evening, and that this could be proved without any reasonable