SO DISCREET WAS the police presence Joe thought that Hunnyton had not received his message. A few yards from the open door of Virbio’s cabin, a uniformed bobby stepped forward, large right hand extended to bar his way. Recognition followed and he asked, “Commissioner Sandilands? Go right inside. The inspector’s waiting for you.”

“Not waiting exactly,” said a cheerful voice from inside. “I’ve just about solved this one while you were toying with your toast.”

The corpse was still in place, as was the rifle. Hunnyton’s murder bag lay open at the foot of the bed. The superintendent was in control and relishing it. He was making a sketch of the scene on a sheet of graph paper. Joe was about to step forward and help himself to a pair of rubber gloves when Hunnyton called out crisply, “No! Stay where you are! Sorry, Sandilands, but would you mind plonking your plates of meat on that piece of newspaper I’ve laid out for you behind the door?” He peered meaningfully at Joe’s feet. “Ah! Changed into your brogues, have you? Those were your tennis shoes the constable and I found traces of in the vicinity of the body? Dunlops, ribbed soles, size twelve, scarcely worn? Your left foot was rather dramatically outlined in blood. Just stay out of the way, will you? I can’t be doing with a fresh pair of Lobbs blundering on stage. I shall have to log four pairs plus any imprints the killer might have left, of course. So far no trace of him.”

“I’m just on my way to church. Blood-stained shirt and shoes … wouldn’t want to frighten the vicar …” Joe began.

“He’s seen worse! The Rev. Easterby was a front line padré in the last lot. Just help me out here—I’m assuming this fingerprint in blood on the neck of the body is yours.”

“I’ll supply my prints for the record, of course. Yes, the man was still alive when I got here. I rushed forward to offer assistance. Nothing I could do for him. I stood there by his side and said a prayer to Diana …”

“Crikey! Super Plod turns up to administer the last pagan rites? That must have sent him off rejoicing!”

Hunnyton looked up, puzzled, from his notebook and focussed on Joe’s face. “Good God, man!” And, more seriously, “What’s happened to you, Joe? You look bloody awful! Your face is bleeding.”

“The recently deceased threw a log at me yesterday. The wound opened up again when I was rolling around on the forest floor dodging bullets on my way back to the Hall an hour ago. Is this Suffolk or the Somme? Not sure.”

Hunnyton listened intently to Joe’s story, jotting down his estimate of the time of his arrival at the scene, the time Goodfellow had expired, and the time he’d been shot at in the woods without comment or question. “Well, kindly drip your blood type onto the paper provided. I’ve got a neat little sketch here and I’m not about to add any extraneous bodily fluid contributions from Scotland Yard.”

“That villain tried to kill me. We’re lucky it’s not my corpse you’re waving off in an ambulance.”

“Everybody’s lucky this is the corpse if I read his letter aright.” Hunnyton sniffed. “Not before time and I’ll raise a glass to the perpetrator. Those are my deathbed sentiments, if anyone wants to hear them. Now, I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed Timmy and his flash new bike to run a few errands for me. First he summoned PC Godestone from his allotment to act as guard dog, then he belted off to the vet’s with a phone message for Adelaide to transmit to the force back in Cambridge. We’re going to have to put that lady on the pay roll. Or me on the phone line.” He sighed. “And there goes my privacy. There’ll be a squad out within the hour. I haven’t alerted the Co-op funeral services yet—he’s going straight onto a slab at the morgue. I want a proper postmortem done by a doc I can trust in Cambridge. This is one case that’s not going to come back and bite me in the bum.”

“Not a suicide, then, Hunnyton?”

Joe received a scathing look. “I think you know that as well as I do. Could easily have been, though. I’ve come across these cases before. Bankrupt farmers usually. Their guns are old friends. If your arm is long enough, you can reach the trigger and fire it upwards into your head. Toe grip not unknown. Remote place like this—he’d have kept his gun at the ready under the bed in the country way. It’ll be interesting to see whose fingerprints are on the trigger.”

“I’m betting—Goodfellow’s.” Joe sighed.

“So am I. This is murder, Sandilands; we both know that. But it’s murder by a bloke who’s very sure of himself. Cool as you please. No emotion in evidence—no fight, nothing broken. Familiar with the victim’s habits. Knew he’d find him sleeping off a hangover. Knew he kept a loaded gun to hand. This was planning so careful, the bugger’s left not a trace of his presence. I tell you, Joe—I haven’t found so much as a hair so far. That’s worrying. They always leave something … Perhaps the forensics boys will see more than I’m seeing. Our careful friend would take the time to apply the dead man’s fìnger to the trigger when he’d wiped it clean, don’t you think? He might even have been wearing gloves and needn’t have bothered with the dead man’s finger. What he hadn’t counted on was that his target might be more alert than usual this morning. Planning an early get-away, Goodfellow might have drunk less than his usual eight pints at the Sorrel Horse.

“I was there at the Horse, Sandilands, last night. For the first part of the evening at any rate. In the public bar. Goodfellow was in the snug buying a round for his cronies. His last round as it turns out. I noted he sank two pints before I left. The barman will cast further light. We shall see. The murderer hadn’t counted on the instinctive recoil of a threatened body away from a blast, what’s more. Point blank range. The bullet was supposed to go straight up and take the top of the head off. But it went crosswise, through the throat and jaw. Removed his ear but left the skull intact, I’d say.”

Hunnyton looked dispassionately at the shattered head. “There’s so much blood and it’s so fresh it’s hard to tell. Are you sure it was as long ago as seven?” He tweaked the dead arm, testing again for rigor mortis. “Anyway, the doc will tell us more. I’m not an expert. Whatever—the shot only did three quarters the damage intended.”

“Nothing much our bloke could do to finish him off though. A dying suicide doesn’t generally have the strength to fire the second barrel.”

“He couldn’t hang around after the shot. He must have judged his victim had only minutes to survive. Made a fast exit and hoped for the best. Too bad for him that a nosy Scotland Yarder was taking the air in the environs and had the benefit of hearing the victim’s last gasp. What the hell were you doing in the wood at that hour? Never mind,” he rushed on, “Timing, Joe? Can you be precise?”

“No trouble! Styles and I heard the shot at seven o’clock exactly as I said. We were breakfasting together and he happened to open the window at the crucial moment.”

“That confirms what Adelaide told me. She sent Timmy back to me with a note. She was out in the garden and heard the first shot at seven. A second at seven forty. Country folk are so used to gunfire they wouldn’t notice but being just down from London, Adelaide did.”

“That’s exact. The second was the one fired at me as I retreated. But tell me, Adam, what did you make of his letter?” Joe had been aware that the superintendent had, in his rush of sympathy for him, fallen into calling him by his Christian name. It seemed polite to return the compliment and in view of the personal nature of the question, a more natural and feeling approach.

The handsome features congealed into a dark scowl. “Hardly the last note from a bloke about to top himself, was it? Had more the flavour of one who was just about to call a taxi and leg it. In fact, he’d got as far as packing. His bag’s the other side of the bed. Full to the gunwales! He wasn’t counting on coming back.” The professional comment was followed by a more dismissive tone. “It was no more than I’d expected. And suspected for years. It’s all right, Joe. I’m not one to have a fit of the vapours. I hope you didn’t fall for his blarney?”