“We gathered as much. You’ve no idea how much time the men wasted doing a Prince Charming act. And you messed up the socks. It would have been a neat ending. Decayed body of tramp, later identified as Dunne. Hardy is buried under a false name and disappears completely, unmourned and not pursued too energetically by his wife. Edith wouldn’t have wanted a close investigation into her husband’s affairs. And ‘Dickie Dunne,’ on account of having kept a half crown in his pocket, is put into a marked grave. Two men off the face of the earth for good.”

He turned his attention back to the list.

“We have a problem here,” Redfyre said after a calculated moment’s hesitation. “The number-six slot is already spoken for. We’ve had a prior confession for the murder of Hardy. Major—as we should properly call him—Richard Dunne confessed two days ago to the killing of his former comrade in arms. Ah, Constable! Thank you! Cup of tea, Gisbourne? Help yourself to sugar. Oh, and Jenkins, if anyone else appears at the desk confessing to the murder of Dr. Fanshawe, please tell them to join the queue.”

“Popular bloke, was he?” Jenkins asked innocently.

Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Cambridge, Monday, the 9th of June, 1924

MacFarlane shuffled the interview sheets for the tenth time, failing again to see what he wanted to see in them. He sighed and looked suspiciously into the eyes of Redfyre, who was sitting opposite, shrugged his shoulders and conceded defeat.

“Right, lad. You win.”

“Not me, sir. Justice, surely? Which is what we all signed up for. Besides, any other solution results, as we’ve both calculated, in defeat, derision—nay, contumely, even!” Redfyre smiled encouragingly. “You can imagine the headlines if we were to lose two cases, one after the other in court. ‘Cack-handed police force, failing to control crime surge in the city’ and all that. And we would lose. Gisbourne would employ the very best and smartest London lawyers and get away with it. I’m not sure, in any case, that his crime deserves an execution by hanging. But that’s not mine to judge—or yours, sir. We might both agree that he did the world a favour, but you never know. English juries are a bit odd at times. I’d rather not risk it.”

“So what are we to make of a joint hands-up from Dunne and Gisbourne? Bloody ridiculous! Are we quite certain that the two of them aren’t colluding over their stories?”

Redfyre had hoped his boss wouldn’t think so deeply into the matter. Again he had underrated him. “Colluding, sir?” He appeared to be giving the insight his full consideration. “No, I’m sure not. The two considered themselves enemies over past matters, if you remember, sir? And they wouldn’t have so underestimated the ability of the Cambridge CID to see through such a ploy, would they?”