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Back Invitation to Die
Chapters (27)
  1. Chapter 1
  2. Chapter 2
  3. Chapter 3
  4. Chapter 4
  5. Chapter 5
  6. Chapter 6
  7. Chapter 7
  8. Chapter 8
  9. Chapter 9
  10. Chapter 10
  11. Chapter 11
  12. Chapter 12
  13. Chapter 13
  14. Chapter 14
  15. Chapter 15
  16. Chapter 16
  17. Chapter 17
  18. Chapter 18
  19. Chapter 19
  20. Chapter 20
  21. Chapter 21
  22. Chapter 22
  23. Chapter 23
  24. Chapter 24
  25. Chapter 25
  26. Chapter 26
  27. Chapter 27

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Cambridge, Tuesday, the 20th of May, 1924

The documents sent down from Yorkshire were pounced on next morning, examined, exclaimed over, absorbed and mined for information. Actions were planned, tasks divided and handed out by MacFarlane.

“From London to Leeds,” he said with grim satisfaction. “We’re spreading our net wide, but needs must! No one’s wriggling out of this through inattention. There, that’s you lads fixed up for the next three days. And you can thank your lucky stars and your self-sacrificing governor that you haven’t been handed the mucky end of the stick. Never send a man where you wouldn’t go yourself. I hope you’re marking and learning. One of us has to do it—go to Yorkshire. To interview an old lady who is most likely gaga.” He sighed a sigh of martyrdom. “I’m assigning this task to myself. I’m bound for Leeds tomorrow morning. No, no need to be concerned for me—the local lads are sending a squad car to pick me up from the nearest railway station, and I’m spending the night with an old mate. I shall be back by Friday afternoon. During my absence, Redfyre, you’ve got the ship.”

Redfyre and Thoday were ready for a breath of fresh air. Leaving the superintendent to work through a list of phone calls, they walked together to the morgue, where Redfyre checked on Thoday’s extraordinary theory concerning the feet of the dead man. He stood, boots in one hand, staring at the well-tended feet of the corpse.

“By God, you’re right, Sarge! Placing the boots so carefully—jokingly, almost—it wasn’t the killer ’avin’ a larf at our expense. He had to do it because their feet were different sizes. This poor chap isn’t our hero Captain Richard Dunne, everyone’s favourite tramp, at all. It’s someone else. Someone he’s met down in the graveyard or over the wall in Jude’s College grounds and decided to kill. Using the approved and taught commando silent killing technique. He decides to cover up the murder—for as long as he can, to allow himself chance to get away—by swapping clothes and identity with his own. He doesn’t mind ‘dying.’ If we fall for the story he’s built up for us, the blundering cops will take one look and say, ‘Dead vagrant. Drunk as a skunk. Another one.’ Without further enquiry, the corpse will be noted and dated by the coroner and shovelled into a pauper’s grave without a name. If it should be identified as ‘Old Dickie,’ well, that’s no problem. As a tramp, he’s ditched his identity years ago. He’ll just change his name again. Either way, he’s away free as a bird and no one’s looking for him.”

Back to practicalities, Thoday speculated: “So he left him wearing undergarments and suit that were unidentifiable and difficult to change in the dark on a corpse, then put his greatcoat on top. With everything taken from the pockets.”