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

shone his torch on the upper part of the body. The left-hand side of the blouse was ripped across; the
top two buttons were unfastened and the third had been wrenched away, leaving the full breasts almost
totally exposed. Morse flashed his torch around and immediately spotted the missing button - a small,
white, mother-of-pearl disc winking up at him from the cobbled ground. How he hated sex murders! He
shouted to the constable standing at the entrance to the yard.
'Yes, sir?'
"We need some arc-lamps.'
'It would help, I suppose, sir.'
'Get some.'
'Me, sir?'
'Yes, you!'
'Where shall I get...?'
'How the hell do I know,' bellowed Morse.
By a quarter to midnight Lewis had finished his task and he reported to Morse, who was sitting with
The Times in the manager's office, drinking what looked very much like whisky.
'Ah Lewis.' He thrust the paper across. 'Have a look at 14 down. Appropriate eh?' Lewis looked at
14 down: Take in bachelor? It could do (3). He saw what Morse had written into the completed
diagram: BRA. What was he supposed to say? He had never worked with Morse before.
'Good clue, don't you think?'
Lewis, who had occasionally managed the Daily Mirror coffee-time crossword was out of his
depth, and felt much puzzled.
'I'm afraid I'm not very hot on crosswords, sir.'
'"Bachelor" - that's BA and "take" is the letter "r"; recipe in Latin. Did you never do any Latin?'
"No, sir.'
'Do you think I'm wasting your time, Lewis?'
Lewis was nobody's fool and was a man of some honesty and integrity. 'Yes, sir.'
An engaging smile crept across Morse's mouth. He thought they would get on well together.
'Lewis, I want you to work with me on this case.' The sergeant looked straight at Morse and into
the hard, grey eyes. He heard himself say he would be delighted.
'This calls for a celebration,' said Morse. 'Landlord!' West-brook had been hovering outside and
came in smartly. 'A double whisky.' Morse pushed his glass forward.
'Would you like a drink, sir?' The manager turned hesitantly to Lewis.
'Sergeant Lewis is on duty, Mr Westbrook.'
When the manager returned, Morse asked him to assemble everyone on the premises, including
staff, in the largest room available, and drinking his whisky in complete silence, skimmed through the
remaining pages of the newspaper.
'Do you read The Times, Lewis?'
"No, sir; we take the Mirror.' It seemed a rather sad admission.
'So do I sometimes,' said Morse.
At a quarter past midnight Morse came into the restaurant-room where everyone was now gathered.
Gaye's eyes met and held his briefly as he entered, and she felt a strong compulsion about the man. It
was not so much that he seemed mentally to be undressing her, as most of the men she knew, but as if
he had already done so. She listened to him with interest as he spoke.
He thanked them all for their patience and co-operation. It was getting very late and he didn't intend
to keep them there any longer. They would now know why the police were there. There had been a
murder in the courtyard - a young girl with blonde hair. They would appreciate that all the cars in the
courtyard must stay where they were until the morning. He knew this meant that some of them would
have difficulty getting home, but taxis had been ordered. If anyone wished to report to him or to
Sergeant Lewis anything at all which might be of interest or value to the inquiry, however unimportant
it might seem, would such a person please stay behind. The rest could go.