"Dexter, Colin - Inspector Morse 01 - Last Bus to Woodstock" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dexter Colin)

and inaccessible stretches of road was breeding a reluctant respect for the law; and any establishment
offering 'PATRONS ONLY, cars left at owners' risk' was quite definitely in business. Tonight, as usual,
the courtyard was tightly packed with the inevitable Volvos and Rovers. A light over the archway
threw a patch of inadequate illumination over the entrance to the yard; the rest lay in dark shadow. It
was to the far corner of this courtyard, that the young man stumbled his way; and almost there he dimly
saw something behind the furthest car. He looked and groped silently. Then horror crept up to the nape
of his neck and against a padlocked stable door he was suddenly and violently sick.

2 Wednesday, 29 September

The manager of the Black Prince, Mr Stephen Westbrook contacted the police immediately after the
body was found, and his call was acted upon with commendable promptitude. Sergeant Lewis of the
Thames Valley Police gave him quick and clear instructions. A police car would be at the Black Prince
within ten minutes; Westbrook was to ensure that no one left the premises and that no one entered the
courtyard; if anyone insisted on leaving, he was to take the full name and address of the person
concerned; he should be honest if asked what all the trouble was about.
The evening's merriness wilted like a sad balloon and voices gradually hushed as the whispered
rumour spread: their had been a murder. None seemed anxious to leave; two or three asked if they
could phone. All felt suddenly sober, including a pale-faced young man who stood in the manager's
office and whose scarcely touched whisky still stood on the counter of the cocktail lounge.
With the arrival of Sergeant Lewis and two uniformed constables, a small knot of people gathered
curiously on the pavement opposite. It did not escape their notice that the police car had parked
immediately across the access to the courtyard, effectively sealing the exit. Five minutes later a second
police car arrived, and eyes turned to the lightly built, dark haired man who alighted. He conversed
briefly with the constable who stood guard outside, nodded his head approvingly several times and
walked into the Black Prince.
He knew Sergeant Lewis only slightly, but soon found himself pleasurably impressed by the man's
level-headed competence. The two men conferred in brisk tones and very quickly a preliminary
procedure was agreed. Lewis, with the help of the second constable, was to list the names, home
addresses and car registrations of all persons on the premises, and to take brief statements of their
evening's whereabouts, and immediate destinations. There were over fifty people to see, and Morse
realized that it would take some time.
'Shall I try to get you some more help, Sergeant?"
'I think the two of us can manage, sir."
'Good. Let's get started.'
A door, forming the side entrance to the Black Prince, led out into the courtyard and from here
Morse stepped gingerly out and looked around. He counted thirteen cars jammed tight into the limited
space, but he could have missed one or two, for the cars furthest away were little more than dark hulks
against the high back wall, and he wondered by what feats of advanced-motoring skill and precision
their inebriated owners could ever negotiate the vehicles unscathed through the narrow exit from the
yard. Carefully he shone his torch around and slowly perambulated the yard. The driver of the last car
parked on the left-hand side of the yard had presciently backed into the narrow lot and left himself a
yard or so of room between his nearside and the wall; and stretched along this space was the sprawling
figure of a young girl. She lay on her right side, her head almost up against the corner of the walls, her
long blonde hair now cruelly streaked with blood. It was immediately clear that she had been killed by
a heavy blow across the back of the skull, and behind the body lay a flat heavy tyre-spanner, about one
and a half inches across and some eighteen inches in length - the type of spanner with its undulating
ends so common in the days before the inauguration of instant tyre repairs. Morse stood for a few
minutes, gazing down at the ugly scene at his feet. The murdered girl wore a minimum of clothing - a
pair of wedge-heeled shoes, a very brief dark-blue mini-skirt and a white blouse. Nothing else. Morse