“You got him! Might have waited for me to have a go at him first . . . Oy, Jenkins! Get in here and put this fellow in cuffs—the ones with the extending chain—and take him down to the cooler to think about his sins over the weekend.”

“Sir!” Redfyre leapt to his feet. “Major Dunne has come in of his own accord to give a statement. I have not arrested him for any crime.”

“What are you waiting for? Giving him a chance to disappear for another twenty years? We’re not having that! Jenkins!”

Dickie Dunne watched the exchange with a detached amusement, smiled and said a polite thank-you as Jenkins applied the cuffs and led him away. At the door, he turned back and said affably to Redfyre, “We’ll speak later, perhaps? I’m sure there’s more you’d like to know.”

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Cambridge Police Station, Monday,
the 9th of June, 1924

“Sir, sir! There’s a gentleman below at reception who needs a word. Urgently.”

“Thank you, Jenkins. Does he have a name, this gentleman?” Redfyre was writing up notes on his lengthy weekend interview with Dickie Dunne. The South African story, which he was making every effort to tell succinctly, kept wriggling away from him in a lively way. He did not wish to be interrupted.

“I expect so, sir, but he’s not giving it. Or ‘vouchsafing it to all and sundry,’ according to him.”

“Who’s the ‘all and sundry’ down there, this bright a.m.?”

“We’ve got two stolen wallets, three tarts, a lost dog and the char lady, sir.”

“Did he ‘vouchsafe’ his business, at least?”

“Only when he got fed up with me. Lost his rag, banged on the counter, and shouted, ‘Is this the way the Cambridge police normally handle confessions to murder? Multiple murders? If I’m not sitting in front of the inspector within thirty seconds, I shall decide better of it, walk away and take my confession elsewhere.’”

“Ouch! I bet that cleared the waiting room! What bad manners. Better get your skates on, Jenkins, and ask him to come in. Er . . . not wielding a blood-dripping axe or anything, is he?”

“None of that, sir!” And, suspiciously, “Though it didn’t help that the shopping bag he’s carrying with him says ‘Baxter the Family Butcher’ on it.” Jenkins rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Joker! But there’s no accounting for what he might have got in there. Four pork chops? His laundry? The head of John the Baptist? I’ll take a look before I show him in. He’s well dressed and full of himself. But he strikes me as the sort who could turn nasty. Do you want me to hang about, sir? Apply the cuffs to this one as well? We’ve got a spare set.”