The Dead of Jericho

'She's obviously glad to have you back, sir,' said Morse, as the two men sat opposite each other in the lounge.

'I think she is, yes.'

'Bit surprising, perhaps?'

'We're not here to talk about my personal affairs, I hope?'

'I’m afraid your personal affairs are very much involved, sir.'

'But not my private relations with my wife.'

'No. Perhaps not, sir.'

'And I wish you'd stop calling me "sir"!'

'My sergeant calls me "sir" all the time. It's just a sort of social formality, Mr. Richards." Morse slowly took out a cigarette, as if he were anxious to impose some leisurely tempo on the interview. 'Mind if I smoke?'

'Not a bit.' Richards took an ashtray from the mantelpiece and placed it on the arm of Morse's chair.

Morse offered the packet across but Richards shook his head with a show of impatience. 'Not for the minute, thanks. It's about Anne Scott, isn't it?'

'Amongst other things.'

'Well, can we get on with it?'

'Do you know where your brother Conrad is?'

'No. Not the faintest.'

'Did he ring you-while you were in Spain?'

'Yes. He told me one of your men had taken his fingerprints.'

'He didn't object.'

'Why should he, Inspector?'

'Why, indeed?'

'Why did you take them?'

'I thought he might have murdered Jackson.'

'What, Conrad! Oh dear! You must be hard up for suspects.'

'Yes. I'm- I'm afraid we are.'

'Do you want my fingerprints?'

'No, I don't think so. You see you've got a pretty good alibi for that night. Me!'

'I thought the police were always breaking alibis, though. In detective stories it's usually the person with the cast-iron alibi who commits the murder, isn't it?'

Morse nodded. 'Not in this case, though. You see, I happen to know exactly who killed Jackson-and it wasn't you.'

'Well, that's something to be grateful for, I suppose.'

'Did Conrad also tell you that we found the blackmail note in your desk?'

'No. But Celia did. I was a bit daft to keep it, I suppose.'

'But I'm very glad you did. It was the biggest clue in the ease.'

'Really?'

'And Jackson didn't write it!'

'What?'

'No. Jackson couldn't have written that letter because-'

'But he rang, Inspector! It must have been Jackson.'

'Do you remember exactly what he said when he rang?'

'Well-no, not really, but-'

'Please try to think back if you can. It's very important.'

'Well-he seemed to know that er-well, he seemed to know all about me and Anne.'

'Did he actually mention the letter?'

'Do you know-I don't think he did, no.' Richards frowned and sat forward in his chair. 'So you think, perhaps, that-that the person who rang me… But it was Jackson, Inspector! I know it was.'

'Do you mind telling me how you can be so sure?' asked Morse quietly.

'You probably know, don't you?' To Morse, Richards' eyes suddenly seemed to show a deeply shrewd intelligence.

'I don't really know anything yet.'

'Well, when Jackson rang, I decided to change things. You know, change the time and the place and all that. I thought it would give me a chance-'

'To follow him?'

'Yes.'

'How much money did you take with you?'

'£250.'

'And where did you arrange to meet him?'

'Woodstock Road. I left the money behind a telephone box there-near Fieldside-Fieldhouse Road, or some such name. I can show you if-'

'Then you waited, and followed him?'

'That's right.'

'In the car?'

Richards nodded. 'It wasn't easy, of course, but-'

'Did you take Conrad with you?'

'Take Conrad? What-what on earth-?'

'How did Conrad follow Jackson? On his bike?'

'What the hell are you talking about? I followed Jackson-in the car. I just-'

'There's a folding bicycle in your garage. I just happened to er notice it as I came up the drive. Did he use that?'

'I just told you, Inspector. I don't know where you're getting all these cock-eyed notions from but-'

'Did you put the bike in the back seat or in the boot?'

'I told you-'

'Look, sir! There can be no suspicion whatever that either you or your brother, Conrad, murdered George Jackson. None! But I'm still faced with a murder, and you've got to tell me the truth, if only because then I'll be able to eliminate certain lines of inquiry-and stop myself wasting my bloody time! You've got to understand that! If I can get it quite clear in my own mind exactly what happened that night, I shall be on the right track-I'm certain of that. And I'm certain of something else, and that is that you involved Conrad in some way or other. It might not have been on a bike-'

'Yes, it was,' said Richards quietly. 'We put it in the back of the Rolls, and when I parked just off the main road, Conrad got it out. He'd dressed up in a gown and had a few books with him. We thought it would sort of merge into the background somehow.'

'And then Conrad followed him?'

'He followed him to Canal Reach, yes-last house on the right.'

'So?'

'So nothing, Inspector. We knew where he lived and we-well, it was me, actually-I found out his name.'

'Go on!'

'That's the finish, Inspector.'

'You didn't drive Conrad into Oxford the night Jackson was killed? The night you spoke at the Book Association?'

'I swear I didn't!'

'Where was Conrad that night?'

'I honestly don't know. I did ask him-after we'd heard about this Jackson business. But he said he just couldn't remember. Probably at home all night but-'

'He's got no alibi, you mean?'

'I'm afraid not.'

'Well, I shouldn't worry about that, sir-Mr. Richards, I mean. I'd take it as a good sign rather than a bad one that your brother's a bit hazy about that night.'

'I see, yes. You know, it's not all that easy, is it, remembering where you were a week or so ago?'

'You'd surely have no trouble, though? About that night, I mean.'

'No, I haven't. I forget exactly when the meeting finished, but I know I drove straight home, Inspector. I must have been home by-oh, half-past ten, I should think.'

'Would your wife remember?'

'Why don't you ask her?'

'Hardly worth it, is it? You've probably got it all worked out, anyway.'

'I resent that, Inspector! All right, my brother and I probably acted like a pair of idiots, I realise that. I should have told the police about the letter and so on straight away. All right! But please don't drag Celia into things! I've treated the poor woman shabbily enough without her having to-'

'I'm sorry! I shouldn't have said that; and it doesn't really matter when you got home that night. Why should it?'

'But it's rather nice when someone can confirm what you say, isn't it? And I'm quite sure that Celia-'

'Forget it, please! I think I've got the general picture, and I'm very grateful to you.' Morse stood up to go. 'We shall have to have a statement, of course. But I can send Sergeant Lewis along at some time that's convenient for you.'

'Can't we get it done now, Inspector? I've got a pretty hectic programme these next few days.'

'Not off to Spain again, I hope?'

'No. I'm off to Newcastle first thing in the morning, and I expect to be there a couple of days. Then I'm going on-'

'Don't worry about that. There's no rush. As I say, it's not really important. But you know all this bureaucratic business of getting things down on paper: getting people to sign things, and all that. And to be truthful, Mr. Richards, we sometimes find that people change their evidence a bit when it actually comes down to having to sign it. Funny, isn't it? And, of course, the memory plays some odd tricks on all of us. Sometimes we find that we suddenly remember a particular detail that we thought we'd quite forgotten.'