“That’s the ticket! Wish I could believe you. But on that understanding, I say formally: you have the case and may call on Sergeant Thoday for assistance. Plus any uniform you need. That new lad—Constable Jenkins—seems handy, though he’s got a bit of a mouth on him. You should get on well. And we’ve always got Dr. Beaufort in our corner . . . Be interesting to hear what our subject spews forth. Brandy, though . . .

“Oh my God! Brandy!” MacFarlane took another swig of his ale, his mind apparently somewhere in the past. A past he was revisiting, Redfyre judged, with a chill blend of horror and guilt.

“Inspector, there’s more to this than meets the eye. Even a sharp eye like yours.” He stirred in his seat, ill at ease, then, coming to a decision: “Look here—if you have a minute, you might try glancing through that black box file over there. Third shelf down.” He pointed with his pencil.

Redfyre looked over his shoulder. “The one with the silver pull handle? It looks like a coffin, sir!”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it is. A miniature coffin. A container for dead things . . . old bones, regrets, mistakes and memories. It predates you, Redfyre. Predates me! It goes back quite a few years, in fact. I inherited it from my predecessor, and I’m sad to say I’ve been obliged to add to it myself over the years.”

He fell silent for a moment, then, responding to Redfyre’s questioning eyebrow: “Dead cases. It represents—records, if you like—our failures. Unsolved crimes. Shamingly, you’ll find about twenty of them. Thinning out latterly, I’m glad to say, as our techniques and training improve. Still, I’d rather nail it down and not have to add any more.”

“But you think this present case is headed for the coffin box, I’m guessing?”

“It’s got that feel about it. I can always tell. And this is the odd thing, Redfyre—and the reason I’m inviting you to make free with our darkest secrets—there’s a precedent. Well, make that three or four precedents. Going back over six years or so, I’d say. If you sift through, you’ll find a number of odd bods: some transients, all male, all unknowns and untraceable. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, though: I’ll mark your card and draw your attention to one or two that chime with this tramp killing of yours. All found dead on Cambridge streets. Their bodies deposited with no attempt to hide them.”