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

To Gaye it seemed an uninspired performance. Happening to be on the scene of a murder ought
surely to be a bit more exciting than this? She would go home now, where her mother and her young
son would be fast asleep. And even if they weren't, she couldn't tell them much, could she? Already
the police had been there over an hour and a half. It wasn't exactly what she'd come to expect from her
reading of Holmes or Poirot, who by this time would doubtless have interviewed the chief suspects,
and made some startling deductions from the most trivial phenomena.
The murmuring which followed the end of Morse's brief address died away as most of the
customers collected their coats and moved off. Gaye rose, too. Had she seen anything of interest or
value? She thought back on the evening. There was, of course, the young man who had found the girl...
She had seen him before, but she couldn't quite remember who it was he'd been with, or when. And
then she had it - blonde hair! She'd been in the lounge with him only last week. But a lot of girls these
days peroxided their hair. Perhaps it was worth mentioning? She decided it was and walked up to
Morse.
'You said the girl who has been murdered had blonde hair.' Morse looked at her and slowly
nodded. 'I think she was here last week - she was with the man who found her body tonight. I saw them
here. I work in the lounge.'
'That's very interesting, Miss - er?
'Mrs. Mrs McFee.'
'Please forgive me, Mrs McFee. I thought you might have been wearing all those 'rings to frighten
off the boys who come to drool at you over the counter.'
Gaye felt very angry. He was a hateful man. 'Look, Inspector whatever your name is, I came to tell
you something I thought might be helpful. If you're going ...'
'Mrs McFee,' broke in Morse gently, looking at her with an open nakedness in his eyes, 'if I lived
anywhere near, I'd come in myself and drool over you every night of the week.'

At just after 1.00 a.m. a primitive, if reasonably effective, relay of arc-lamps was fixed around the
courtyard. Morse had instructed Lewis to detain the young man who had found the murdered girl until
they had taken the opportunity of investigating the courtyard more closely. The two men now surveyed
the scene before them. There was a great deal of blood, and as Sergeant Lewis looked down on her, he
felt a deep revulsion against the violence and senselessness of murder. Morse appeared more interested
in the starry heavens above.
'Do you study the stars, Lewis?'
'I read the horoscopes sometimes, sir.'
Morse appeared not to hear. 'I once heard of a group of schoolchildren, Lewis, who tried to collect
a million match-sticks. After they'd filled the whole of the school premises, they decided they'd have
to pack it up.' Lewis thought it his duty to say something, but all appropriate comment eluded him.
After a while, Morse reverted his attention to more terrestrial things, and the two of them looked
down again at the murdered girl. The spanner and the solitary white button lay where Morse had seen
them earlier. There was nothing much else to see but for the trail of dried blood that led almost from
one end of the back wall to the other.

The young man sat in the manager's office. His mother, though expecting him to be late, would be
getting worried; and so was he. Morse finally came in at 1.30 a.m. whilst the police surgeon, the
photographers and the fingerprint men busied themselves about the courtyard.
"Name?' he asked.
'Sanders, John Sanders.'
'You found the body?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Tell me about it.'
'There's not much to tell really.'