"Never did no 'arm," said Wally defensively. "No call for anyone to complain."

"There haven't been any complaints," said McLoughlin encouragingly. "I won't rat on you, Wally. As far as I'm concerned, if you behave yourself, you can use it as often as you like."

Wally pursed his lips into a pink rosette. "There's a big 'ouse there. Easy as winking to pop over the wall. Been in the garden a few times, never seen no one." He gave McLoughlin a speculative look to see if he was interested. He was. "There's a sort of man-made cave near the woods," he went on. "Can't fink what it's for but it's got some bricks stacked in it. The door's 'idden by a big bramble but it's a doddle to creep in be'ind it. I always take bracken in wiv me to give me a good kip. 'Ere, why you looking like that?"

McLoughlin shook his head. "No reason. I'm just interested. Have you any idea what day this was, Wally?"

"Gawd knows, son."

"And you didn't see anyone when you were in the garden?"

"Not a soul."

"Was this cave in darkness?"

"Well, there ain't no electricity, if that's what you mean, but while it's light you can see. If the door's ajar, of course," he added.

McLoughlin wondered how to put the next question. "And the place was empty except for this stack of bricks you mentioned?"

"What you getting at?"

"Nothing. I'm just trying to get a clear picture."

"Then yes. It was empty."

"And what happened the next morning?"

"Hung around till lunchtime, didn't I?"

"In the cave?"

"No. In the woods. Nice and peaceful, it was. Then I got to feeling peckish, so I 'opped over the wall and looked about for somefing to eat." He had knocked on several doors, without much success.

"Why didn't you buy something with your winnings?" asked McLoughlin, fascinated.

Wally was intensely scornful. "Do me a favour," he admonished. "Why pay for somefink you can get free? It's booze they won't give away. Anyway, I 'adn't much winnings left and that's a fact."

He had found a group of houses on the outskirts of Streech where "an old bat" had given him a sandwich. The council houses, McLoughlin thought. "Did you try anyone else?" he asked.

"Young la.s.s told me to push off. Gawd knows, I sympathised wiv 'er. There was a dozen nippers yelling their 'eads off in 'er front room." He abandoned Streech as a dead duck at that point and set off down the road. After about an hour, he came to another village. "Don't recall the name, son, but there was a vicarage. Always good for a touch, they are." He had roused the Vicar's wife and persuaded her out of a cup of tea and some cake. "Nice little woman, but she came over sanctimonious. That's the trouble wiv vicarages. You can always get a bite but you has to take the lecture wiv it. I scarpered sharpish." It had begun to rain again. "Strange wevver, I can tell yer. 'Ot as blazes most of the time, but every now and then there was a funder storm. You know the sort. Fat rain, I calls it. Flashes of lightning and great claps of funder." He had looked around for shelter. "Not a blooming fing. Nice little boxes wiv neat garages. No help to me. Then I comes to this bigger house, set back a bit. I fought I'd explore the back, see if there was a shed. I sneaks down the side and lo and be'old there's just what I'm looking for, nice little shed wiv no one in sight. I opens the door and pops inside." He stopped.

"And?" prompted McLoughlin.

A cunning gleam had appeared in the old man's eyes. "Seems like I'm giving you a lot of information for nuffink, son. What's in it for me?"

"A fiver," said McLoughlin, "if what you tell me's worth it."

"Ten," said Wally. He glanced behind him at the closed door then leaned forward confidentially. "To tell you the trufe, son, it's a bit claustrophobic this place. The lady of the 'ouse does 'er best but there's no fun. Know what I mean. A tenner'd give me a day out. I've been 'ere a week for Gawd's sake. I've 'ad more fun in prison."

McLoughlin considered the morality of giving Wally the wherewithal to turn his back on Heaven's Gate and concluded that Wally was on the point of scarpering whatever happened. You can't teach an old dog new tricks. Ten pounds would give him a start at least. "Done," he said. "What happened when you went into this shed?"

"Looked around for somefink to sit on, didn't I, make meself comfortable while I was there. Found this feller 'iding at the back be'ind some boxes. When 'e realised I'd seen 'im, 'e came over all 'oity-toity and ordered me off 'is property. I arst, reasonable like, why I should imagine 'e was the owner when 'e was skulking in the shed same as me. 'E got properly riled and called me a few names. In the middle of it, this woman comes out of the kitchen door to see what the noise is. I explains the situation and she tells me the geezer's 'er 'usband and 'e's in the shed looking for a paintbrush." Wally pulled a wry face. "They must've fought I was born yesterday. The paintbrushes was all laid out neat and tidy on a workbench at the side. The geezer was 'iding, no mistake. Anyway, I sees my opportunity. They wants rid of me and they'd pay up to see me go. I got a bottle of whisky, a decent pair of shoes and twenty quid out of it. Tried for more but they turned nasty and I reckoned it was time to skedaddle. This the feller you're looking for?"

McLoughlin nodded. "Sounds like it. Can you describe him?"

Wally's brow wrinkled. "Five tennish, fat, grey 'air. E'ad nancy feet for a man. The shoes they gave me didn't 'alf pinch."

"What did the woman look like?"

"Mousey little fing, sorrowful eyes, but Gawd she 'ad a temper. Lammed into me and 'er old man somefink rotten for making a noise." He looked suddenly thoughtful. "Not that we was, mind you. Froughout the 'ole fing, we spoke in whispers." He shook his head. "Bats the pair of 'em."

McLoughlin was jubilant. Got you, Mrs. T, he thought. "Where did you go then?"

A thoughtful expression crossed Wally's face. "There's a saying, son. A bird in the 'and is worf two in the bush. It had stopped raining but I 'ad this feeling we was in for anover funder storm. I fought to meself I've a bottle o' whisky and nowhere cosy to drink it. If I push on, 'oo's to say if I'll find a dry place for the night. So I 'ightailed it back to the cave at the big 'ouse and pa.s.sed a 'alfway decent night." He considered McLoughlin out of the corner of his eyes. "The next day, I finks to myself, I've a few quid in me pocket and I've 'ad nuffink decent to eat for days, so I 'eaded off towards Silverborne. There's a nice cafe on the road-"

"Did you leave anything behind?" McLoughlin cut in.

"Like what?" asked the old man sharply.

"Like the shoes?"

"Dumped 'em in the woods," said Wally scornfully. "d.a.m.n fings gave me corns a right drubbing. That's where experience comes in. A young bloke would've chucked the old pair out before 'e'd properly tried the new. Then 'e'd've been in agony till 'e found some more."

McLoughlin tucked his notebook into his pocket. "You've been a great help, Wally."

"That it?"

McLoughlin nodded.

"Where's my tenner?"

McLoughlin took a ten-pound note out of his wallet and stretched it between his fingers. "Listen to me, Wally. I'm going to give you ten pounds now as a token of good faith, but I want you to stay here another night because I may want to talk to you again. If you do, I'll come back tomorrow morning with another ten, making twenty in all." He held out the tenner. "Is it a deal?"

Wally got up and pounced on the note, secreting it in the depths of his shirt. "Are you on the level, son?"

"I'll give you an IOU if you like."

Wally made as if to spit on the carpet, then thought better of it. "Be about as much use to me as a mug of water," he said. "OK, son, it's a deal. But if you don't come back first fing, I'm off." His eyes narrowed. "Don't you go telling the lady of the 'ouse, mind. I've 'ad my fill of good works this week. They don't know when to leave a bloke alone in this place."

McLoughlin chuckled. "Your secret's safe with me, Wally."

"I spotted the pattern," said McLoughlin to Walsh, with a tinge of irony which brought a glitter to the older man's eyes, "when I marked the houses which reported seeing the tramp." He pointed to small red crosses on the map in front of them. "If you remember, Nick Robinson had two reports. One from a woman in Clementine Cottage who said the tramp pa.s.sed her house and went into the pub, which meant he was coming from the direction of Winchester. The next from the landlord at the pub who said he stayed until closing time then ambled off in the lee of the wall round the Grange estate, in other words heading towards East Deller." He traced his finger along the printed road. "The next reports we had of him were PC Williams's. He said an elderly woman had given the tramp a sandwich and a young woman had turned him away because it was her son's birthday. They both live on the council estate which is to the west of Streech and on the East Deller road. The date the young woman gave was May twenty-seventh. But when we spoke to Mrs. Thompson she told us he'd visited them in East Deller on the twenty-fourth. That would have meant he had doubled back on himself for some reason to come through Streech three days later from the direction of Winchester."

Walsh gathered together the remnants of his authority and b.u.t.toned them about himself with as much dignity as he could muster. "I went into all this myself," he lied. "The fact that we found the shoes at the Grange implies he did just that."

"I agree, so we needed another sighting in East Deller, with a date, if possible. Jonesy went out there to see what he could dig up. He had a chat with our friend the Vicar who told Jonesy he was writing a sermon when the tramp called at the vicarage. The Vicar couldn't give a date but he always writes his sermons on a Sat.u.r.day. OK, now only two people have offered a definite date, May twenty-fourth, supplied by Mrs. Thompson, a Wednesday, and May twenty-seventh, the day of the birthday party, a Sat.u.r.day. Wally is adamant he went from the council estate in Streech to the vicarage and the Thompsons at East Deller which puts him there on Sat.u.r.day, May twenty-seventh. So why did Mrs. T. lie about the date?"

"Get on with it," ordered Walsh impatiently.

"Because, in face of her blatant lie, we had proved the shoes were her husband's and she had to explain why they were no longer in her possession. She opted for the truth this time, or as near the truth as d.a.m.n it, and invited us to corroborate the story by giving us a description of the tramp. Remember, we never told her where we found the shoes. For all she knew we got them from the tramp himself." He collected his thoughts. "Now she could be sure, if we had the tramp, that he would say he'd seen her husband. So to give us the actual day of his visit would be tantamount to telling us her husband was alive and well and living in East Deller after she'd reported him missing. Bang would go her alibi. So she advanced the tramp's visit by three days. It was a gamble but it d.a.m.n nearly paid off. Wally hasn't a clue when he went through, and if it wasn't for the child's birthday, neither would we. No one else can remember the date." He paused for a moment. "It's going to come as a nasty shock when we tell her where Wally dumped the shoes. In her wildest nightmares she couldn't believe it would be at the scene of her proposed crime."

Walsh stood up. "Poetic justice, I say. But I'd like to know how she persuaded him to lie low and how she got him to the ice house."

"Use your charm and she'll probably tell us," said McLoughlin.

20.

Mrs. Thompson opened the door with a smile of welcome. She was dressed to go out in a neat blue suit and white gloves but there was a sad, rather dated air about her as if her fashion sense had expired with the '50s. Two suitcases stood behind her in the hall. Splashes of rouge on her cheeks and a touch of lipstick gave her face a bogus gaiety but when she saw the gathered policemen her mouth drooped tragically.

"O-oh." She breathed her disappointment. "I thought it was the Vicar."

"May we come in?" asked Walsh. Her inadequacies repulsed as effectively as cheap perfume.

"So many of you," she whispered. "Has the devil sent you?"

Walsh took her arm and eased her backwards, allowing his men in behind. "Shall we go into the sitting-room, Mrs. Thompson? No point in standing around on the doorstep."

She put up a feeble resistance. "What is this?" she beseeched, eyes welling, little heels digging into the hall carpet. "Please don't touch me."

McLoughlin slipped his hand under her other arm and, together, they whisked her through the sitting-room door and into a chair. While McLoughlin kept her seated with a firm hand on her shoulder, Walsh directed his men to a thorough search of the house and garden. He flashed the warrant under her eyes before tucking it back into his jacket pocket and sitting in the chair opposite her.

"Well, now, Mrs. Thompson," he said genially. "Off for your little rest by the sea?"

She shook McLoughlin's hand from her shoulder but remained seated. "I'm expecting the Vicar at any moment to take me to the station," she announced with dignity. McLoughlin noticed a thinning patch in her hair. He found it oddly embarra.s.sing as if she had taken off part of her clothing and revealed something best kept hidden.

"Then I suggest we don't beat around the bush," announced Walsh. "We wouldn"t want to keep him waiting."

"Why are you here? Why are your men searching my house?"

Walsh steepled his fingers in his lap. "You remember that tramp you told us about, Mrs. Thompson?" She gave a brief nod. "We've found him."

"Good. Then you'll know I was telling you the truth about dear Daniel's generosity."

"Indeed, yes. He also mentioned that Mr. Thompson gave him a bottle of whisky and twenty pounds."

The sad eyes lit with pleasure. "I told you Daniel was a saint. He would have given the shirt off his back if the man had asked for it."

McLoughlin took the chair next to Walsh and leaned forward aggressively. "The tramp's name is Wally Ferris. I've had a long talk with him. He says you and Mr. Thompson wanted rid of him, that's why you were so generous."

"The ingrat.i.tude," she gasped, her lips parting on a tremor. "What did our Lord say? 'Give to the poor and you shall have treasure in Heaven.' My poor Daniel has earned his place there by his kindness. The same cannot be said of this tramp."

"He also said," continued Mcloughlin doggedly, "that he found your husband hiding in the shed outside."

She t.i.ttered behind her hand like a teenager. "Actually," she said, looking directly at him, "it was the other way round. Daniel found the tramp hiding in the shed. He went out to look for a paintbrush and tripped over a bundle of old clothes behind some boxes at the back. Imagine his surprise when the bundle spoke."

Her words carried conviction and McLoughlin knew a sudden doubt. Had he relied too heavily on an old man who, by his own admission, lived in an alcoholic haze? "Wally claims it was raining while he was in your shed. I've checked with the local meteorological office and they have no record of any rainfall on Wednesday, twenty-fourth May. The storms began two days later and lasted on and off for the next three days."

"Poor man," she murmured. "I told Daniel at the time we should have tried to get him to a doctor. He was drunk and very confused. You know, he asked me if I was his sister. He thought I'd come looking for him at last."

"But, Mrs. Thompson," said Walsh, allowing surprise into his voice, "if he was as drunk as you say, why did you give him a bottle of whisky? Were you not compounding his already severe problems?"

She cast her eyes to the ceiling. "He begged us in tears, Inspector. Who were we to refuse? Judge not and you shall not be judged. If the poor man chooses to kill himself with demon alcohol, I have no right to condemn him."

"But you do have the right to speed up the process, I suppose," said McLoughlin sarcastically.

"He's a sad little man whose only comfort lies in a whisky bottle," she said quietly. "It would have been cruel to deny him his comfort. We gave him money to spend on food, shoes for his feet and we urged him to seek help for his addiction. There was not much more we could do. My conscience is clear, Sergeant."

"Wally claims he came here on Sat.u.r.day, May twenty-seventh." Walsh spoke casually.

She wrinkled her forehead and thought for a moment. "But it can't have been," she said with genuine puzzlement. "Daniel was here. Didn't we decide it was the twenty-fourth?"

McLoughlin was fascinated by her performance. It occurred to him that she had expunged the memory of murder from her mind and had convinced herself that the story she told was the real one. If that was so, they were going to have the devil's own job bringing a prosecution. With only Wally's testimony, backed by the woman in the council house, they wouldn't stand a chance. They needed a confession.

"The date is corroborated by an independent witness," he told her.

"Really?" she breathed. "How extraordinary, I don't remember seeing anyone with him and we are so secluded here." She fingered her cross and gazed at him with reproachful eyes. "Who could it be, I wonder?"

Walsh cleared his throat noisily. "Would it interest you to know where we found your husband's shoes, Mrs. Thompson?"

"Not really," she a.s.sured him. "I a.s.sume from the things you've said that the tramp-Wally-discarded them as useless. I find that hurtful to my dear Daniel's memory."

"You're very sure he's dead, aren't you?" said McLoughlin.

She produced her lace hankie like a magician and dabbed at the inevitable tears. "He would never leave me," came the refrain.

"We found the shoes in the woods at Streech Grange, not far from the ice house," said Walsh, watching her closely.

"Did you?" she asked politely.

"Wally spent the night of the twenty-seventh of May in the ice house and abandoned the shoes in the woods the next morning as he left."

She lowered the handkerchief and looked with curiosity from one to the other. "Really," she commented. Her expression was one of bafflement. "Is that significant?"

"You do know we've found a corpse in Streech Grange ice house, don't you?" McLoughlin remarked brutally. "It is male, aged between fifty and sixty, broad build, grey hair and five feet ten inches tall. He was murdered two months ago, around the time your husband went missing."

Her amazement was utter. For several seconds a kaleidoscope of emotions transformed her face. The two men watched closely, but if guilt was there, it was impossible to isolate. To the forefront was surprise. "I had no idea," she said, "no idea at all. No one's said anything to me. Whose corpse is it?"

McLoughlin turned to Walsh and raised a despairing eyebrow. "It's been in all the newspapers, Mrs. Thompson," said the Inspector, "and on the local television news. You could hardly have missed it. The body has decomposed to such an extent that we have not yet been able to identify it. We have our suspicions, however." He studied her pointedly.

She was taking deep breaths as though breathing were difficult. The rouge stood out on her cheeks in bright spots. "I don't have a television," she told them. "Daniel used to get a paper at work and tell me all the news when he came home."She struggled for air. "G.o.d," she said surprisingly, holding a hand to her chest, "they've all been keeping it from me, protecting me. I had no idea. No one's said a word."