‘Nobody would dare to do that to my drivers,’ said Hannah. ‘Any vehicles parked here are watched carefully day and night. Luckily, we’ve got enterprising young women like Alice who can turn their hand to vehicle maintenance as well as to driving. You should follow in her footsteps, Vera.’

‘Not me — I’m all fingers and thumbs.’

‘Learn from Alice. It’s only a question of application.’

‘I’ve tried, Mrs Billington, I really have.’

‘You must make more effort, woman,’ said Hannah, curtly. She summoned up a smile. ‘Anyway, what have the pair of you been up to this morning?’

Alice delivered her report and earned a nod of approval. Vera was too nervous to venture anything more than the occasional word. Hannah looked from one to the other as if weighing something up.

‘You’ve done well,’ she said. ‘You’ve done very well, in fact. I trust that the lorry will be ready for action again this afternoon.’

‘Yes,’ said Alice, confidently. ‘I’ll have that engine singing like a bird.’

‘That’s the attitude — every problem can be solved.’

‘It certainly can — even if it means oily fingers and a lot of tinkering.’

The older woman gave her braying laugh then promptly changed the subject.

‘What do you think of the food here?’

‘It’s all right, Hannah.’

‘Do you agree, Vera?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said the other. ‘It’s better than I expected.’

‘But it’s rather bland and repetitive,’ said Hannah. ‘We can’t blame them for that. We’re subject to rationing like everyone else. I just wondered if you’d like a chance to eat something more appetising for once.’

‘We’d all like that,’ said Alice.

‘Then you and Vera must come to tea sometime. Cook makes the most wonderful scones and her chocolate cake is almost sinful.’

‘Thank you, Hannah. We’d love to come.’

Vera was less certain. ‘Yes … thank you for asking us.’

‘I’ll find a time when we’re not so busy and let you know.’

After flashing a smile at them, she turned on her heel and marched off. Vera waited until she was well out of earshot. She could be honest with a friend.

‘I don’t want to go, Alice.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘I wouldn’t feel comfortable,’ said Vera. ‘I’ve never been to a house with a cook before. Mummy and I make the meals at home. I’d be on tenterhooks. I’ll find an excuse not to go. I hope that won’t stop you.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Alice. ‘I’d love to go. I’m much nosier than you.’

They met in Marmion’s office at Scotland Yard and were able to review what they’d learnt that morning. Marmion talked about his visit to the library and his conviction that Eric Fussell had enough hatred inside him to drive him to murder. Keedy told him about the second encounter with Stan Crowther and how the landlord had confirmed the alibi given by Robbie Gill. Marmion was more interested in the information that Crowther’s mother had been there and that she’d hotly denied that Waldron had arrived for a tryst with his spade.

‘So where did he leave it?’ wondered Marmion.

‘Maybe he took it back to his digs before he went to Maud.’

‘Why bring it home in the first place? Surely he keeps it at the cemetery. It would have been a bit late to do some gardening.’

‘P’raps he used it to bash Ablatt’s head in.’

‘You’ve met Waldron. Can you imagine him doing that?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Keedy. ‘He’s mean and dangerous. When he’d had enough beer inside him, I can well imagine him killing someone. What I can’t believe is that he’d do that and then go off for a rendezvous with a lady.’

‘He could have done it after he’d seen Maud Crowther.’

‘Her son told me he looked unusually clean when he got back to the Weavers Arms. That doesn’t sound like a man involved in a brutal murder. There’d have been specks of blood over his clothing.’

‘That’s speculation, not evidence.’

‘It’s all we’ve got.’

‘So where does that leave us, Joe?’

‘We’re still very much in the dark.’

‘There are only two possible suspects so far and, although they were known to each other, they’re the most unlikely accomplices. Waldron may have been in the right place at the right time but all he was thinking about, I fancy, was knocking on Mrs Crowther’s door.’

‘What about the newspapers? Did they bring in any witnesses?’

‘They brought in much more than that,’ said Marmion. ‘I was wading through the messages when you go back here. There were two cranks who claimed that they’d actually done the murder, but then we always get bogus confessions at a time like this. One woman reckons that her husband was the killer because he came home with blood on his face and there was a man who insisted that he witnessed the murder even though he was in Stepney at the time. He must have the most amazing eyesight.’

‘We ought to arrest them for wasting police time, Harv.’

‘Leave them to their weird fantasies.’ He noticed the signs of weariness in his colleague. ‘You look as if you’re ready to fall asleep, Joe. Take the afternoon off. Get some sleep and start fresh again tomorrow.’

‘I don’t want to miss any of the fun.’

‘What fun?’ Marmion’s laugh was mirthless. ‘If you think it’s fun to go to another press conference this evening, you can take over from me and have the superintendent breathing down your neck.’

‘No, thanks — keep Chat well away from me.’

‘We’re going to release a few details about the post-mortem.’

‘Not too many of them, I hope. I saw the corpse, remember. We both know the effect it had on Mr Ablatt. When’s the inquest, by the way?’

‘No date has been set for it yet.’

‘The family will want the body as soon as possible.’

‘That’s always the case,’ said Marmion, ‘but we have to follow protocol. The inquest must come first.’ He picked up the newspaper beside him. ‘Have you had the chance to see this?’

‘Is that the Evening News?’

‘They sent over a copy of the early edition.’ He handed it to Keedy. ‘Just read the first paragraph. The tone has changed completely since yesterday.’

Keedy looked at the front-page feature. ‘I see what you mean, Harv.’

‘Yesterday, he was a murder victim deserving of sympathy. Then we told them about Cyril Ablatt’s background and they latched onto the fact that he was a conscientious objector. Today, he’s a different person altogether.’

‘The sympathy has dried up almost completely.’

‘That’s why we have to redouble our efforts. There are far too many people who think that conchies ought to be hanged, drawn and quartered. They’d be quite happy if the killer got away with it. We’re going to disappoint them.’

‘How do we do that?’

‘Something will turn up.’

‘I’ve heard that phrase before.’

‘It comes from Mr Micawber in David Copperfield.’

‘But he wasn’t a detective, was he?’

‘Oddly enough, he was. It was Micawber who exposed Uriah Heap’s villainy and saved the day. He turned out to be a hero in the end.’

‘Things don’t happen like that in real life.’

‘We’ve had to rely on luck before,’ said Marmion. ‘Solving a murder is not entirely a matter of logical deduction. Take that anonymous letter I had this very morning. It came out of nowhere.’

‘But did it get us any closer to the killer?’

‘It might have done, Joe.’

Keedy put the newspaper aside. ‘All we’ve managed to do so far,’ he said, disconsolately, ‘is to arrest a useless plumber.’

‘You did more than that. You stopped him venting his spleen on the wall of the house. Mr Ablatt will be grateful and so will a lot of people in Shoreditch. Most of them are decent folk who’d think what Robbie Gill was going to do was in bad taste.’

As they were speaking, a young woman knocked on the open door and came into the office. She spoke with deference.

‘This came for you, Inspector,’ she said.

‘Thank you,’ said the other, taking a piece of paper from her.