Redfyre pointed an unsteady finger at the base of the memorial. “So this little tableau made its appearance some time during the dark hours of Saturday night and Sunday morning? If you’d missed it, it would have been found by ladies and gents heading for the Botanic Garden for their early Sunday constitutional, or worshippers on their way to the Catholic church a few yards away. You did well to clear up in the time.”

“Yes. Not difficult. There was no blood spilled. It was just a matter of calling up an ambulance and stretcher from Addenbrooke’s, which is all of a minute’s drive away down the road. I think we weren’t meant to notice it until much later.”

“How did you hear of the incident?”

“We were alerted by one of our beat bobbies. The night shift. He was on his way back here to clock in and file his report, sun just up. A fine, clear morning. Good lad! He remembered that there’d been trouble here earlier in the day and made a detour to check that no one had sneaked back and done something silly. He walked straight past at first, did a double take and went back to have a closer look. He decided to stay on guard himself at the memorial to preserve the scene and managed to stop a passing messenger boy on a bike. Paid him sixpence to cycle to the station and raise the alarm. Another sharp lad. He bustled in and gave the constable’s name and number first so we knew he wasn’t having us on. And this is what greeted us when we arrived.”

There was a second man in the photograph. He was not smiling, nor was he striding out towards a rosy future. He sat at the far end of the monument, facing the past, his back to the town, slumped against the plinth, head bowed over his chest.

“How did this one die?” Redfyre asked.

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Cambridge, Monday, the 19th of May, 1924

“Broken skull. The Mourner at the Memorial died from the effects of a broken skull. Neat, quiet job. If you’re a killer, it’s a good technique to use against a target who is as strong as or stronger than yourself. What you do is tap your victim on the point of the jaw first to render him unconscious, then when he slumps to the ground, you sit on his chest, grab his head by the ears or the hair and bang it against a hard surface.” MacFarlane illustrated the tapping, grabbing and banging sequence using his own meaty fists.

“Hard surfaces have accounted for more victims than knives or guns, I reckon. And there’s always one to hand when you need it. Fireplaces and table legs being favourites, of course.”

“Plenty of them around the area of a war memorial . . .” Redfyre suggested to move him on.