The Remorseful Day

Chapter seventy-nine

Lewis finished reading through the folder early that same evening. Most of it he’d known about already. It was only when he’d come to the last three sheets that he was aware of the wholly new tenor of Morse’s thinking. But herewith I give my final thoughts on the murder of Yvonne Harrison, that crisply uniformed nurse who looked after me in hospital once (but once!) with such tempting, loving care.

From the start of this case, one person stood out high above the others in firmness of purpose, daring, and clarity of mind: Frank Harrison. He was still sexually attracted to Yvonne, but she was no longer attracted to him; indeed one night in hospital she told me that she used to hook her foot over her own side of the mattress to establish a sort of no-man’s-land between them. But she remained a woman obsessively interested in sex, both as practicing participant and addicted voyeur. (She had mentioned to me some Amsterdam videos. But although I looked quite carefully through the scores of videos there, I could find nothing. I suspect they were innocently disguised under such labels as The Jungle Book or Cooking with Herbs.)

Now clearly Frank Harrison was — is — someone with a very strong sexual drive, and doubtless he claimed his marital rights on his spasmodic periods at home. But inevitably, when they were away from each other, Yvonne knew what he was up to, just as he knew what she was up to. And for that reason, I can find no compelling motive for Frank Harrison to have murdered his wife. There might have been the opportunity, for all we know. But his alibi was uncon-tested, since there seemed no reason to suspect the firm and explicit evidence of the man Flynn, who claimed to have picked him up from Oxford Station and driven him out to his home to Lower Swinstead.

It is now my view (I look forward to interviewing Frank H. on the matter) that Flynn was not in fact paid for fixing his taxi times for the purpose of Harrison’s alibi. He was paid for something different.

Until so very recently I thought that Simon must have murdered his mother. He had ample motive if he found his beloved mum in bed with the local builder — God help us! And the other facts fitted that hypothesis neatly: he was known to Repp, the local shady character familiar to everyone around, as well as being a regular at the Maiden’s Arms; known to Barron, of course; and also known to Flynn, because the pair of them had attended lipreading classes together.

As you know, I was wrong.

But there was someone else who had an even more compelling motive, with the other facts fitting equally convincingly: Sarah Harrison. What motive could she have had? Simply this: that she and Barron had been secret lovers for a year or so before Yvonne’s murder. I learned something about this from two most unlikely witnesses — from Alf and Bert, denizens of the Maiden’s Arms. Particularly from Bert, who had seen the two of them together, both at the Three Pigeons in Witney and at the White Hart in Wolvercote, when he was playing away in the cribbage league. I’ve little doubt that others in Lower Swinstead knew about it too, but they all kept their mouths shut. On that fateful evening, Sarah called home unexpectedly, and found her secret lover in bed with her mother — God help us! She was already known to Repp, as well as to Barron, of course. But where does that opportunistic fellow Flynn fit into the picture this time? There is now ample proof that he knew Sarah fairly well, because in the years before the murder the pair of them had performed in a pop group together in several pubs and clubs in West Oxfordshire (some details are known) although never as it happens at the Maiden’s Arms.

And that’s almost it, Lewis.

There remains just the one final matter to settle. The murder weapon was never found. But the path report, as you’ll recall, gave some indication of the type of weapon used. There were perhaps two blows only to Yvonne’s head. The first rendered the right cheekbone shattered and the bridge of the nose broken. The second, the more vicious and it seems the fatal blow, crashed across the base of the skull, doubtless as Yvonne tried to turn her head away in desperate self-defense. The suggestion made was that some sort of “tubular metal rod” was in all probability the cause of such injuries.

An arm crutch!

How do I know this? I don’t. But I shall be inordinately surprised if I am not very close indeed to the truth. And — how many times this has happened? — it was you, Lewis, who did the trick for me again! Remember? You were reining back some fanciful notions of mine about Sarah tearing down to the cinema to buy a ticket, and you said that she wasn’t going to be tearing about anywhere that night, because she’d sprained her ankle rather badly; and that if she were doing anything it would be hobbling about. Yes. Hobbling about on one of those metal arm crutches they’d probably issued her with from the Physiotherapy Department. (Will you find out, Lewis, if and when the arm crutch was returned?)

I realize that it won’t be easy to establish Sarah’s guilt, but we’ve got the long-awaited interview with her father to look forward to. He’ll be a worthy opponent, I know that, but I’m beginning to suspect that even he has almost had enough by now. If I’m overoptimistic about such an outcome, there’ll still be Sarah herself. It will be a surprise if the pair of them haven’t been in close touch in recent days and weeks, and I’ve got a feeling that like her father she’s almost ready herself to emerge from the hell she must have been going through for so long. Quite apart from judicial convictions and punishments, guilt brings its own moral retribution. We all know that.

One thing is certain. This will be — has been — my last case. I am now determined to retire and to take life a little more gently and sensibly. We’ve tackled so many cases together, old friend, and I’m very happy and very proud to have worked with you for so long.

That’s it. The time is now 12:45 A.M., and suddenly I feel so very weary.

All the manuscript notes were with Strange within the half-hour.

And Lewis had nothing further to do with the investigation.