Chapter Thirty-one
The second coastline is turned towards Spain and the west, and off it lies the island of Hibernia, which according to estimates is only half the size of Britain
(Julius Caesar, de Bello Gallico -on the geography of Ireland)
Ten minutes later the phone rang again, and Morse knew in his bones that it was Christine Greenaway.
It was Strange.
'You're out then, Morse – yes? That's good. You've had a bit of a rough ride, they tell me.'
'On the mend now, sir. Kind of you to ring.'
'No great rush, you know – about getting back, I mean. We're a bit understaffed at the minute, but give yourself a few days – to get over things. Delicate thing, the stomach, you know. Why don't you try to get away somewhere for a couple of days – new surroundings – four-star hotel? You can afford it, Morse.'
'Thank you, sir. By the way, they've signed me off for a fortnight – at the hospital.'
'Fortnight? A fort-night?'
'It's, er, a delicate thing, the stomach, sir.'
'Yes, well
'I'll be back as soon as I can, sir. And perhaps it wouldn't do me any harm to take your advice – about getting away for a little while.'
'Do you a world of good! The wife's brother' (Morse groaned inwardly) 'he's just back from a wonderful holiday. Ireland – Southern Ireland – took the car – Fishguard-Dun Laoghaire – then the west coast – you know, Cork, Kerry, Killarney, Connemara – marvellous, he said. Said you couldn't have spotted a terrorist with a telescope!'
It had been kind of Strange to ring; and as he sat in his armchair Morse reached idly for the World Atlas from his 'large-book' shelf, in which Ireland was a lozenge shape of green and yellow on page 10 – a country which Morse had never really contemplated before. Although spelling errors would invariably provoke his wrath, he confessed to himself that he could never have managed 'Dun Laoghaire', even with a score of attempts. And where was Kerry? Ah yes! Over there, west of Tralee – he was on the right bit of the map – and he moved his finger up the coast to Galway Bay. Then he saw it: Bertnaghboy Bay! And suddenly the thought of going over to Connemara seemed overwhelmingly attractive. By himself? Yes, it probably had to be by himself; and he didn't mind that, really. He was somewhat of a loner by temperament – because though never wholly happy when alone he was usually slightly more miserable when with other people. It would have been good to have taken Christine, but… and for a few minutes Morse's thoughts travelled back to Ward 7C. He would send a card to Eileen and Fiona; and one to 'Waggie' Greenaway, perhaps? Yes, that would be a nice gesture: Waggie had been out in the wash-room when Morse had left, and he'd been a pleasant old-
Suddenly Morse was conscious of the tingling excitement in the nape of his neck, and then in his shoulders. His eyes dilated and sparkled as if some inner current had been activated; and he sat back in the armchair and smiled slowly to himself.
What, he wondered, was the routine in the Irish Republic for exhumation'?
Chapter Thirty-two
Oh what a tangled web we weave When first we practise to deceive!
(Sir Walter Scott, Marmion)
'You what? asked a flabbergasted Lewis, who had called round at 7.30 p.m. ('Not till The Archers has finished' had been his strict instruction.) He himself had made an interesting little discovery – well, the WPC in St Aldates' had made it, really – and he was hoping that it might amuse Morse in his wholly inconsequential game of 'Find Joanna Franks'. But to witness Morse galloping ahead of the Hunt, chasing (as Lewis was fairly certain) after some imaginary fox of his own, was, if not particularly unusual, just a little disconcerting.
'You see, Lewis' (Morse was straightway in full swing) 'this is one of the most beautiful little deceptions we've ever come across. The problems inherent in the case – almost all of them – are resolved immediately once we take one further step into imaginative improbability.'
'You've lost me already, sir,' protested Lewis.
'No, I haven't! Just take one more step yourself. You think you're in the dark? Right? But the dark is where we all are. The dark is where I was, until I took one more step into the dark. And then, when I'd taken it, I found myself in the sunshine,'
'I'm very glad to hear it,' mumbled Lewis.
'It's like this. Once I read that story, I was uneasy about it – doubtful, uncomfortable. It was the identification bit that worried me – and it would have worried any officer in the Force today, you know that! But, more significantly, if we consider the psychology of the whole-'
'Sir!' (It was almost unprecedented for Lewis to interrupt the Chief in such peremptory fashion.)
'Could we – could you – please forget all this psychological referencing? I just about get my fill of it all from some of these Social Services people. Could you just tell me, simply and-'
'I'm boring you – is that what you're saying?'
'Exactly what I'm saying, sir.'
Morse nodded to himself happily. 'Let's put it simply. then, all right? I read a story in hospital. I get interested. I think – think – the wrong people got arrested, and some of 'em hanged, for the murder of that little tart from Liverpool. As I say, I thought the identification of that lady was a bit questionable; and when I read the words the boatmen were alleged to have used about her – well, I knew there must be something fundamentally wrong. You see-'
'You said you'd get to the point, sir.'
'I thought that Joanna's father – No! Let's start again' Joanna's father gets a job as an insurance rep. Like most people in that position he gets a few of his own family, if they're daft enough, to take out a policy with him. He gets a bit of commission, and he's not selling a phoney product, anyway, is he? I think that both Joanna and her first husband, our conjurer friend, were soon enlisted in the ranks of the policy-holders. Then times get tough; and to crown all the misfortunes, Mr Donavan, the greatest man in all the world, goes and dies. And when Joanna's natural grief has abated – or evaporated, rather – she finds she's done very-nicely-thank-you out of the insurance taken on his life. She receives £100, with profits, on what had been a policy taken out only two or three years previously. Now, £100 plus in 1850-whenever was a very considerable sum of money; and Joanna perhaps began, at that point, to appreciate the potential for malpractice in the system. She began to see the insurance business not only as a potential future benefit, but as an actual, present source of profit. So, after Donavan's death, when she met and married Franks, one of the first things she insisted on was his taking out a policy – not on his life – but on hers. Her father could, and did, effect such a transaction without any trouble, although it was probably soon after this that the Notts and Midlands Friendly Society got a little suspicious about Joanna's father, Carrick – Daniel Carrick – and told him his services were no longer-'