'Where does this all leave us, sir?'
'Things are moving fast.'
'We’re getting near the end, you mean?'
'We were always near the end.'

Detective Chief Inspector Morse was going to miss Sergeant Lewis. He would have resented deeply any suggestion that he had been instrumental in delaying the younger man's promotion. In fact, Morse had often gone out of his way to praise Lewis to his superiors whilst hinting how indispensable the younger man was to his own success rate.
He regarded Lewis as a friend, although Morse was not a man given to expressions of friendship. Professionally, Lewis's more prosaic approach to police work had provided a solid base from which Morse could make sudden leaps of imagination that would bring them nearer to solving a case. However, Morse could not help but acknowledge that Lewis too was capable of unexpected insights when Morse himself was getting nowhere. So, if Morse did not exactly hold Lewis back, nor did he encourage him to move on. If asked, Morse would have said that Lewis had the potential to be a good Inspector, but should perhaps wait a little longer.
The trouble was, neither of them was getting any younger. Morse was only a couple of years off the official retirement age and if Lewis did not break away soon, his chance would be gone forever. In the end it was Chief Superintendent Strange who had forced the issue. He negotiated a place for Lewis on the next Inspectors' course and ordered him to go. Secretly he hoped that Morse would not think it worthwhile working out his remaining few years with a succession of assistants more interested in furthering their own careers and not too concerned to adapt to the irritating ways and prickly temperament of an officer from an earlier generation.
Strange had thought he was doing both men a kindness. Morse had put a brave face on it, congratulating Lewis warmly and taking him and his wife out for a splendid meal to celebrate. He showed no signs of wanting to retire though, despite the strongest of hints from Strange. Morse had recently begun a relationship with Adele Cecil, a woman he had met on an earlier case and although Morse would never talk about such a thing, Strange had the impression it was going well. To say that Morse had mellowed would be going too far, but he did seem more cheerful. Strange resolved to get to know Miss Cecil. Perhaps she could make Morse see sense about retiring early.
Strange had not realised that his attachment to Adele had rekindled Morse's enthusiasm for all aspects of his life. When he listened to music, he was enchanted as if he were hearing it for the first time. He read voraciously, glass of whisky in hand. On most days, The Times' crossword was completed in fifteen minutes. What Strange did not expect was, that with Some sort of order occurring in his personal life, Morse would become more enthusiastic about his police work By seeking justice, Morse felt he was playing his small part in restoring order to a troubled world.

`The thought suddenly occurred to Morse that this would be a marvellous time to murder a few of the doddery old bachelor dons. No wives to worry about their whereabouts; no landladies to whine about the unpaid rents. In fact, nobody would miss most of them at all. . .’