Chapter Text
I: Prologue
AMANTES SUNT AMENTES
Lovers are lunatics.
-Terence
Oxford, England
Mid-November, 1969
It was already late in the day when they finally closed the Musbury case. The station was almost empty, and the last of the afternoon sun was slanting through the window blinds of the Criminal Investigation Department at Castle Gate police station.
It had been a challenging mystery, with a house full of suspects, a plethora of motives, and too many misdirections. ‘I should have seen it before,’ Morse admitted, as he and Jim Strange wrapped things up. ‘They were too chummy by half—the hippie and the hired help?’ He shook his head. ‘I was—I was stupid.’
‘Still a win, though, innit?’ Jim Strange said amicably, leaning his shoulder into the wall as Morse unpinned photographs and notes from the bulletin board. ‘And that trick with the handkerchief was a nice bit of work.’
‘Mmm,’ Morse grunted. He was just glad it had worked.
‘Fancy a pint?’ Jim continued, heading for his desk. ‘Thought I’d ring Noreen, have her meet me down the pub. You should ask Kate.’
Morse hesitated for a moment, staring down at the open folder of case notes. ‘Actually—we’ve split up.’
‘Oh, no, bad luck,’ Jim lamented. ‘I’m sorry, matey.’
Morse snapped the case folder shut, annoyed his colleague automatically assumed he’d been dumped. ‘What for?’ he asked curtly. ‘I broke it off.’
‘What?’ Strange frowned at Morse. ‘Whaddya do that for?’
Morse looked away and shrugged, ignoring the lump rising in his throat. ‘It ran its course. She’s too . . .’ He paused, thinking. Distracting. Troublesome. Capricious, obstinate. Wild, devastating, bewitching. ‘. . . vulgar,’ he finished finally.
‘Vulgar?’ Strange repeated, incredulous. ‘A piece like that? Are you mad?’ Strange gaped at his colleague, disbelief knitting his brows.
Morse glared back. ‘I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself.’ He didn’t want to talk about it, that was certain. It had only been a couple of days since they’d parted ways, but he’d made a mess of it, as usual, and it had turned rather ugly. ‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Yeah, alright, fine,’ Strange huffed, and went back to clearing up his desk. But his mouth was still twisted in annoyance, and he slapped the green manila folders into the box with more force than was necessary. Morse watched him warily, hoping that was the last he’d hear of it.
Once they’d finished, Morse closed the box and shifted it to the side table where the Information Room clerks would pick it up in the morning. Turning to retrieve his jacket from the back of his chair, he found Strange standing there, arms crossed, his jaw set in a determined frown. For a moment, the two men stood glowering at one another.
Unusually for him, and in testament to his uneasiness, Morse broke first. ‘What?’ he snapped.
Jim Strange paused for a moment before speaking, squaring his shoulders defiantly. ‘Like it or not, Morse, I’m your mate,’ he said gruffly. ‘And you don’t have many of those, as you’re a prickly bugger at the best of times.’ Morse gritted his teeth as Strange continued, ‘So I reckon it’s down to me to tell you.’
Morse scowled at him, daring him to go on.
But Strange had known him for years, and had no fear of his petulance. ‘You’re a bloody idiot!’ he finished with a growl.