And what of the obverse? He was quite unwilling to give thanks to any of his hard-working underlings (especially Lewis); had little or no respect for most of his superior officers; was unorthodox, with little knowledge of police procedure and only minimal respect for forensic pathology; often pig-headed; impatient; a man with alpha-plus acumen, normally six furlongs ahead of the whole field during any investigation, but so often running on the wrong race course. And has there ever been a fictional detective so desperately mean with money?

On this latter point, I was encouraged by my editors to exemplify any fault rather than merely stating it. And I think that readers began to expect such exemplification in each novel. For example, in The Remorseful Day, the pair of detectives are the first customers in the bar of Oxford’s Randolph Hotel at 11:00 a.m., and Lewis’s eyebrows are raised a few millimeters when, throwing the car-keys to Lewis, Morse suggests that it’s high time he, Morse, bought the drinks: a large Glenfiddich for himself, and half a pint of orange juice for Lewis—only for the unfortunate barmaid to tell Morse that she cannot find sufficient change so early on for the £50 note proffered. Whereupon, patting his presumably empty pockets, Morse asks his sergeant if by any chance he has some appropriate small change on his person. (Here, I must admit, I had little difficulty in finding exemplars, with advanced symptoms of this odious trait, among a few of the Oxford dons I worked with.) But let me insert a caveat here. Mrs. Valerie Lewis (now alas killed in a hit-and-run accident) always knew whenever her husband was selected as Morse’s lieutenant: there was a perceptible change in his step—if less change in his pocket.

How did you get your first Morse novel published?

I have ever maintained that luck, good and bad, plays a considerably larger part in our lives than most people are prepared to acknowledge. It was not always so. The Romans, for example, as well as regularly pouring their libations and sacrificing animals to their traditional pantheon, were also very careful to appease and to seek the approval of the goddess of good luck (Fortuna). We can all accept that a little talent and a lot of hard graft are indispensable concomitants in any worthy enterprise. But what a blessing if the gods collectively are occasionally smiling on us! As they were, after a few early frowns, upon me.