“Put me through to Scotland Yard, please, extension two-oh-seven? Jimmy! Mackie here. Could you check something for me in records? 1919, first week of April. A man died falling from the top deck of a number fifty-two bus. All I have is the initial news report, which is a bit thin. I can hold the line . . . Any witness statements? Could you read out the relevant bits? Relevant to my suspicious mind. Aha! ‘The victim was observed to be in an altercation—even struggling as physical contact was actually made—with another man . . . Tall, slim, raincoat, fedora pulled over face . . .’ No one ever arrested. Jimmy, mate, I owe you one! Would the murderer’s identity repay the favour?”

Poor old Edith! MacFarlane wondered what vocabulary Abe would have called on to express duplicity and underhanded misrepresentation. A direct Hey, old girl, I’ve just had a spiffing offer! All I have to do is kill a man and get away with it and a hundred pounds will be my reward. What do you say? Beginnings of a tidy little business?” Nothing doing! But if the dirty deed had been done “accidentally” and the old girl had had a chance to riffle her fingers through those irresistible crisp napkin-sized fivers . . . MacFarlane decided the word he was looking for was unprintable, but “con trick” and “quackery” came fairly close. And, if Edith could be taken in by her own husband, how much more likely was it that she was wrong about Dickie Dunne, whom she’d never even met?

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Cambridge, Wednesday, the 21st of May, 1924

Redfyre and Thoday spent Wednesday morning alerting railway, bus and even motorcar services in the city that a man of no fixed abode answering to the name of Richard Dunne was being urgently sought by the Cambridge CID. This man would be required, on apprehension, to help the police with their enquiries regarding a recent crime in the city. Anyone spotting him was asked to telephone the police or report to any constable.

“Bit late, sir, don’t you think?” Thoday asked. “I mean, smart chap like him, he’ll be miles away by now.”

“We have to do it by the book, Sarge. Though I agree our Dickie bird has most probably flown. It doesn’t feel quite right to me, though. There’s something we haven’t spotted yet. Little things for me just don’t add up, and it’s making me a bit fractious.”

“The most obvious being what on earth were, not one, but two old KOYLIs doing having a barney in the graveyard? Old enemies—old friends, sometimes—will have a fight over booze, women, even sleeping space. I’ve never heard of anyone putting out an expensive contract with a London hit man to rub out a harmless vagrant,” Thoday agreed.