‘We were hoping it might mean something.’

‘I don’t think it does. But that cretin better have a guardian angel.’

The rest of the journey was passed in silence. Stressful, tense, silence.

In the mortuary of York District Hospital, Yellich and Williams sat on a bench in a softly lit, silent room, a velvet curtain hung over one wall. A door opened and a nurse came in and with an attitude of sorrow and solemnity, held a cord by the side of the curtain.

‘It will not be as you have seen in the films,’ Yellich said.

‘If you’d like to stand in front of the curtain.’

Williams nodded. Yellich in turn nodded to the nurse when be and Williams stood side by side in front of the curtain.

The nurse then pulled the cord and the curtain opened in complete silence. The dead man lay on a trolley in a darkened room. His head was neatly and tightly bound with bandage, the sheets were neatly and firmly tucked in, so that viewing the body through the mirror, by some trick of light and shade, he appeared to be floating in space.

‘That,’ Williams said, ‘is my father.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Yellich nodded to the nurse and the curtain slid shut. The nurse exited by the door through which she had entered and moments later returned to the room. She glanced at Yellich, who nodded, and the curtain was once again opened.

‘And that,’ Williams said. That is my mother.’

‘Back again?’ Thorn stood outside his house, the front door was open and Thorn’s dog sat in the hall of the house, keeping himself out of the sun, though he eyed Hennessey cautiously as he walked up the drive.

‘Back again?’ Hennessey smiled.

‘You are the police. I can see two constables at the Williamses’ bungalow and you have that stamp about you. I can tell police officers, with or without a uniform.’

‘Sorry it shows.’ Hennessey approached the man.

‘Oh, it shows.’

‘And you are?’

‘Edward Thorn, schoolmaster, retired.’

‘Ah…yes. It was you who first raised concern. I remember your name in the report. I’m Hennessey, Chief Inspector.’

Thorn nodded at the tall, gaunt-looking man, a man in his mid-to late-fifties, a man of eyes which, thought Thorn, showed both wounding and wisdom.

‘Mr Thorn, did you see or hear anything suspicious last night? That is, anything of that nature in respect of the Williamses’ bungalow.’

‘Yes. Yes, I did as a matter of fact. Heard more than saw in fact heard rather than saw, didn’t see anything at all.’

‘Oh?’

‘Heard a car in the lane, a powerful-sounding car, thought at first it was the Williamses’ son checking the house, but it wasn’t his car. He has a sports car but I’ve heard his car often enough to recognize it. This car had an engine which had <much deeper note, a very powerful machine. Came at about midnight, we’d just returned from our walk, me and my best friend in there…’

Hennessey smiled. ‘I have a dog. I understand the relationship.’

‘What sort?’

‘Mongrel.’

‘Good…anyway, I heard the car arrive and I heard it drive away again at about one a.m.’

‘But you didn’t see anything?’

‘I did not, Mr Hennessey, but I did see something about a week ago. It actually didn’t occur to me when I spoke to the constable yesterday morning, but now I may be seeing the awful significance of it. But it’s only significant if a tragedy has befallen the Williamses. If they turn up safe and well then what I saw cannot be relevant.’

Hennessey paused. ‘Well, Mr Thorn, without divulging details, I can tell you, off the record, that a tragedy has befallen the Williamses, that ours and your worst fears are confirmed.

‘Oh…’ Thorn groaned. ‘I am sorry. Well, in that case, on Thursday of last week I heard a man threaten to kill the Williamses, Mr Williams particularly.’

‘You heard someone threaten to kill the Williamses?’

‘Heard and saw,’ Thorn said. ‘You can see for yourself that the Williamses’ driveway is visible from where we are standing, you can see it through the trees.’

‘Yes.’ Hennessey nodded in agreement. ‘It’s a clear enough sight.’

‘And it’s a good acoustic pocket as well,’ said Thorn. ‘Your constable there will be hearing our conversation quite audibly.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. Call to him in a normal voice…’ Hennessey did so, not raising his voice any, he said, ‘Constable, can you hear me?’

‘Yes, sir,’ the constable replied. ‘Clear as a bell.’

‘My heavens.’ Hennessey was genuinely surprised.

‘It isn’t just a function of the silence, so that your voice has nothing to compete with, it’s a function of that wall there.’

Thorn pointed across Old Pond Lane to the slab-sided brick wall of a detached house which stood opposite and between Thorn’s house and the Williamses’ bungalow.

‘Talking to your constable just now was like bouncing a snooker ball off the cushion. If it hits the cushion at forty degrees it’ll bounce off at forty degrees. Your voice and the constable’s answer did not directly travel between you, it travelled across the lane, bounced off the wall of that house and travelled back across the lane.’

‘Astounding.’

‘Elementary, actually,’ said Thorn. ‘But that explains how I heard as well as saw what happened on Thursday.’

‘Which was?’

‘Fellow called Richardson. Irish by his accent, despite his English name.’

‘Well, I’m English with an Irish name.’

‘Point taken…He had a length of scaffolding in his hand, waving it about his head, the Williamses were backed up against their door…he was threatening to brain them, they threatened him with the police. He said, “Go on, call them, you’re the criminals, not me.’”

‘He had a scaffolding pole in his hand?’

‘Not a twenty-one.’

‘A what?’

‘A twenty-one. Full-length scaffolding poles are known as “twenty-ones” in the building trade because they’re that long measured in feet. I had an extension built on my house a year or two ago and I was chatting to the builders and I picked up that piece of information. When a scaffolding pole is bent it can’t properly be straightened and so the straight bits are cut off and make handy short bits to put at the end of gangways and suchlike.’

‘And this fellow had one such short bit?’

‘Yes, about two feet long. He was a big man, hands like bears’ paws, well able to grip a scaffolding pole. Anyway, the thing didn’t escalate into violence and the angry Irishman drove away in a small lorry—I think they’re called pick-ups—which had “Richardson—Builders” painted on the side of the door. I am just assuming that the angry Irishman was Mr Richardson.’

‘Do you know what the row was about?’

‘Money. Richardson said that if he didn’t get his money then Williams’s blood would be spilled, and if she got in the way, she’d get it too. I assume “she” was a reference to Mrs Williams. Charming fellow.’

‘It’s a fair assumption, I’d say.’ Hennessey looked at the house which stood on the other side of the lane, on the wall of which voices had bounced between Thorn’s house and the Williamses’ house. ‘I wonder if the people who live in that house saw anything?’

‘Plenty, I expect. He’s a vet, recently retired and celebrating the fact by taking his wife on a world cruise with Cunard. Daresay they’ll be somewhere between Sydney and San Francisco right now.’

Hennessey chuckled.

‘Reinforcements?’ Thorn said, as a white van slowed to a stop outside the Williamses’ bungalow.

‘Scene of Crimes Officers.’

‘The Williamses’ bungalow is a scene of a crime, then?’

‘Yes. Now it is.’

‘And I came here for a quite retirement.’

‘That will be my findings, Sergeant Yellich.’ Louise D’Acre removed the gauze mask from her mouth and pondered the bodies, laying side by side on twin stainless-steel tables, the top of the skull of each having been removed, thus exposing the brain. ‘Both died of head injuries, but both died differently.’