Sergeant Wilkerson’s voice came down the line with the force of a foghorn. “That you, sir? I’ve got a bit of bad news. Or it might be good news, depending on one’s point of view!”

“What is it, Sergeant?”

“That Iris Kenneth we found dead in the river, sir. Well, it isn’t her after all. Iris Kenneth just walked in her landlady’s front door and like to’ve given the old biddy apoplexy on the spot. Thought she’d seen a ghost, she did. But it was a very angry ghost, who was soon threatening to have her up for theft for disposing of her personal property. Which the landlady, if you recall, sir, had already sold.”

“Are you quite sure,” Rutledge said, “that the woman is truly Iris Kenneth? This time?”

“Oh, yes, sir. There was quite a row, and the local station sent a pair of constables along to see what it was about. All the roomers living there swear that it’s Iris, but of course Mrs. Rollings is fit to be tied, claiming she never clapped eyes on this woman in her life! Well, stands to reason,” he added, suppressing a gleeful note in his voice. “She’s likely to be taken up on charges.”

Rutledge thought, It must have been quite an entertaining scene. “Where has Iris been, did she tell you?”

“By the time I arrived, there was some semblance of peace, and she confessed she’s been staying with friends in Cardiff, hoping for a part in some production there. In my opinion, she was short of money and ruralizing until something came up. At any rate, I took the liberty of contacting the Cardiff police, and they just sent word she’s telling the truth.”

If she was Iris Kenneth—who was the woman in the river? And what did the corpse have to do with Matthew Walsh?

Hamish answered him. “Nothing at all.”

Rutledge asked Wilkerson if he’d questioned Iris Kenneth about Walsh.

“That I did, sir! And she tells me he’s a devious bastard who would strangle his own mother.” Wilkerson’s laughter boomed down the line, nearly deafening Rutledge. “She hasn’t had any decent work since he let her go, and if she could point to him being Jack the Ripper, she’d be happy to do it. It’s anger talking, in my view. Revenge. She doesn’t sound afraid of him, only furious with him. I asked her if he’d threatened her or hurt her in any way— showing his violent nature, so to speak. She swore he never touched her—she’d had a little knife to use on him if he had—but he’s a brute and a niggardly bastard, and selfish to boot.”

A woman scorned.

“If you learn anything about the other woman, let me know.”