Colin Dexter - Last Seen Wearing (Inspector Morse 2)

LAST SEEN WEARING by Colin Dexter.

prelude

The Train Now Standing at Platform One

he felt quite pleased with himself. Difficult to tellfor certain, of course; but yes, quite pleased with himself really. Asaccurately as it could his mind retraced the stages of the day's events: thequestions of the interviewing committee wise and foolish; and his own answers- carefully considered and, he knew, well phrased. Two or three exchanges hadbeen particularly satisfactory and, as he stood there waiting, a half-smileplayed across his firm, good-humoured lips. One he could recall almostverbatim.

"You don't think you may perhaps be a bit young for the job?'

'Well, yes. It will be a big job and I'm sure that there will betimes - that is if you should appoint me - when I should need the experienceand advice of older and wiser heads.' (Several of the older and wiser headswere nodding sagely.) 'But if my age is against me, there isn't much I can doabout it, I'm afraid. I can only say that it's a fault I shall gradually growout of.'

It wasn't even original. One of his former colleagues hadrecounted it to him and claimed it for his own. But it was a good story: andjudging from the quietly controlled mirth and the muted murmurs ofappreciation,

COLIN DEXTER

apparently none of the thirteen members of the selectioncommittee had heard it before.

Mm.

Again the quiet smile played about his mouth. He looked at hiswatch. 7.30 p.m. Almost certainly he would be able to catch the 8.35 fromOxford, reaching London at 9.42; then over to Waterloo; and home by midnightperhaps. He'd be a bit lucky if he managed it, but who cared? It was probablythose two double whiskies that were giving him such a glowing sense of elation,of expectancy, of being temporarily so much in tune with the music of thespheres. He would be offered the job, he felt - that was the long and the shortof it.

February now. Six months' notice, and he counted off the months onhis fingers: March, April, May, June, July, August. That would be all right:plenty of time.

His eyes swept leisurely along the rather superior detached housesthat lined the opposite side of the road. Four bedrooms; biggish gardens. Hewould buy one of those prefabricated greenhouses, and grow tomatoes orcucumbers, like Diocletian ... or was it Hercule Poirot?

He stepped back into the wooden shelter and out of the raw wind.It had begun to drizzle again. Cars swished intermittently by, and the surfaceof the road gleamed under the orange streetlights ... Not quite so good,though, when they'had asked him about his short time in the army.

You didn't get a commission, did you?'

'No.'

'Why not, do you think?'

LAST SEEN WEARING

*I don't think that I was good enough. Not at the time. You needspecial qualities for that sort of thing.' (He was getting lost: waffle on,keep talking.) 'And I was er ... well I just hadn't got them. There were someextremely able men joining the army at that time - far more confident andcompetent than me.' Leave it there. Modest.

An ex-colonel and an ex-major nodded appreciatively. Two morevotes, likely as not.

It was always the same at these interviews. One had to be ashonest as possible, bat in a dishonest kind of way. Most of his army friendshad been ex-public schoolboys, buoyed up with self-confidence, and withmatching accents. Second lieutenants, lieutenants, captains. They had claimedtheir natural birthright and they had been duly honoured in their season. Envyhad nagged at him vaguely over the years. He, too, had been a publicschoolboy...

Buses didn't seem very frequent, and he wondered if he would makethe 8.35 after all. He looked out along the well-lit street, before retreatingonce more into the bus shelter, its wooden walls predictably covered withscrawls and scorings of varying degrees of indecency. Kilroy, inevitably, hadvisited this shrine in the course of his infinite peregrinations, and severallocal tarts proclaimed to prospective clients their nymphomaniac inclinations.Enid loved Gary and Dave loved Monica. Variant readings concerning OxfordUnited betrayed the impassioned frustrations of the local football fans: eulogyand urination. All Fascists should go home immediately and freedom should be

COLIN DEXTER

granted forthwith to Angola, Chile and Northern Ireland. A windowhad been smashed and slivers of glass sparkled sporadically amid the orangepeel, crisp packets and Cola tins. Litter! How it appalled him. He was farmore angered by obscene litter than by obscene literature. He would pass someswingeing litter laws if they ever made him the supremo. Even in this job hecould do something about it. Well, if he got it...

Come on, bus. 7.45. Perhaps he should stay in Oxford for thenight? It wouldn't matter. If freedom should be granted to Angola and the rest,why not to him? It had been a long time since he had spent so long away fromhome. But he was losing nothing gaining in fact; for the expenses wereextremely generous. The whole thing must have cost the Local Authority a realpacket. Six of them short-listed one from Inverness! Not that he wouldget the job, surely. Quite a strange experience, though, meeting people likethat. One couldn't get too friendly. Like the contestants in a beautycompetition. Smile and scratch their eyes out.

Another memory glided slowly back across his mind. 'If you wereappointed, what do you think would be your biggest headache?'

'The caretaker, I shouldn't wonder.'

He had been amazed at the uproariously delighted reception givento this innocent remark, and only afterwards had he discovered that the currentholder of the sinecure was an ogre of quite stupendous obstinacy - anextraordinarily ill-dispositioned man, secretly and profoundly feared by all.

Yes, he would get the job. And his first tactical

LAST SEEN WEARING

triumph would be the ceremonial firing of the wicked caretaker,with the unanimous approbation of governors, staff and pupils alike. And thenthe litter. And then...

'Waitin' for a bus?'

He hadn't seen her come in from die far side of die shelter. Belowher plastic hat tiny droplets of drizzle winked from die carefully pluckedeyebrows. He nodded. 'Don't seem very frequent, do tiiey?' She walked towardshim. Nice-looking girl. Nice lips. Difficult to say how old she was. Eighteen?Even younger, perhaps.

'There's one due about now.'

That's good news.'

'Not a very nice night.'

'No.' It seemed a dismissive reply, and feeling a desire to keepthe conversation going, he wondered what to say. He might just as well standand talk as stand and be silent. His companion was clearly thinking alongsimilar lines and showed herself die slicker practitioner.

'Coin' to Oxford?'

'Yes. I'm hoping to catch die 8.35 train to London.'

'You'll be all right.'

She unfastened her gleaming plastic mac and shook the raindrops todie floor. Her legs were thin, angular almost, but well proportioned; and thegentlest, mildest of erotic notions fluttered into his mind. It was die whisky.

'You live in London?'

'No, thank goodness. I live down in Surrey.'

"You goin' all that way tonight?'

COLIN DEXTER

Was he? 'It's not far really, once you've got across London.' Shelapsed into silence. 'What about you? You going to Oxford?'

'Yeah. Nothing to do 'ere.'

She must be young, surely. Their eyes met and held momentarily.She had a lovely mouth. Just a brief encounter, though, in a bus shelter, andpleasant -just a fraction more pleasant than it should have been. Yet that wasall. He smiled at her, openly and guilelessly. 'I suppose there's plenty to doin the big wicked city of Oxford?'

She looked at him slyly. 'Depends what you want, don't it?' Beforehe could ascertain exacdy what she wanted or what extramural delights the olduniversity city could still provide, a red double-decker curved into thelay-by, its near front wheel splattering specks of dirty-brown water across hiscarefully polished black shoes. The automatic doors rattled noisily open, andhe stepped aside for die girl to climb in first. She turned at the handrailthat led to the upper deck.