Last Seen Wearing by Colin Dexter Page A

and draped it across his knees. Maguire stared dejectedly at the table-top and played nervously with a bottle of tomato ketchup. There was indecision in his eyes, and Morse timed what he hoped was his second trump card perfectly.
   'How long had you known that Valerie was pregnant?' he asked quietly.
   Bull's-eye. Morse replaced his coat on the seat beside him, and Maguire spoke more freely. 'About three weeks before.'
   'Did she tell anyone else?'
   Maguire shrugged his shoulders. 'She was a real sexy kid—everyone was after her.'
   'How often did you go to bed with her?'
   'Ten—dozen times, I suppose.'
   'The truth, please, lad.'
   'Well, three or four times, maybe. I don't know.'
   'Where was this?'
   'My place.'
   'Your parents know?'
   'No. They were out working.'
   'And she said you were the father?'
   'No. She wasn't like that. Said I could have been, of course.'
   'Did you feel jealous?' Morse had a suspicion that he did, but Maguire made no answer. 'Was she very upset?'
   'Just scared.'
   'What of? Scandal?'
   'More scared of her mum, I think.'
   'Not her dad?'
   'She didn't say so.'
   'Did she talk about running away?'
   'Not to me.'
   'Who else might she have spoken to?' Maguire hesitated. 'She had another boyfriend, didn't she,' persisted Morse, 'apart from you?'
   'Pete?' Maguire could relax again. 'He didn't even touch her.'
   'But she might have spoken to him?' Maguire was amused, and Morse felt that his questioning had lost its impetus. 'What about her form tutor? She might have gone to her, perhaps?'
   Maguire laughed openly. 'You don't understand.'
   But suddenly Morse realized that he was beginning to understand, and as the dawn was slowly breaking in his mind, he leaned forward and fixed Maguire with grey eyes, hard and unblinking.
   'She could have gone to the headmaster, though.' He spoke the words with quiet, taut emphasis, and the impact upon Maguire was dramatic. Morse saw the sudden flash of burning jealousy and knew that gradually, inch by inch, he was moving nearer to the truth about Valerie Taylor.

Morse took a taxi to Southampton Terrace where he found a patient Lewis awaiting him. The car was ready and they were soon heading out along the M40 towards Oxford. Morse's mind was simultaneously veering in every direction, and he lapsed into uncommunicative introversion. It wasn't until they left the three-lane motorway that he broke the long silence.
   'Sorry you had such a long wait, Lewis.'
   'That's all right, sir. You had a long wait, too.'
   'Yes,' said Morse. He made no mention of his return to the Penthouse. He must have gone down a good deal already in his sergeant's estimation; he had certainly sunk quite low enough in his own.
   It was five miles outside Oxford that Lewis exploded the minor bombshell.
   'I was having a talk with Mrs. Gibbs, sir, while you were with Mr. Maguire.'
   'Well?'
   'I asked her why he'd been such a nuisance.'
   'What did she say?'
   'She told me that until recently he'd had a girl in the flat.'
   'She what?
   'Yes, sir. Almost a month, she said.'
   'But why the hell didn't you tell me before, man? You surely realize . . .?' He glared at Lewis, incredulous and exasperated, and sank back in despair behind his safety belt.

His stubborn conviction that Valerie was no longer alive would (one had thought) have been sorely tested when he looked back into his office at 8.00 p.m. Awaiting him was a report from the forensic laboratory, short and to the point.
   'Sufficient similarities to warrant positive identification. Suggest that investigation proceed on firm assumption that letter was written by signatory, Miss Valerie Taylor. Please contact if detailed verification required.'
   But Morse seemed far from impressed. In fact, he looked up from the report and smiled serenely. Reaching for the telephone directory, he looked up Phillipson, D.