but it seemed to Dalgliesh that the air was heavy with her unspoken sympathy for Blaney and he felt obscurely that, as a policeman, she held him partly responsible although he was unsure precisely why and for what. Rickards or his men must have questioned the villagers about the headlanders, Ryan Blaney in particular. Perhaps they had been less than tactful.
Five minutes later he stopped to open the gate barring entry to the headland. On the other side a tramp was sitting on the bank which separated the narrow road from the reed-enclosed dyke. He was bearded and wearing a checked tweed cap beneath which two neat plaits of strong grey hair bound with a rubber band fell almost to his shoulders. He was eating an apple, slicing it with a short-handled knife and throwing the sections into his mouth. His long legs, clad in thick corduroy trousers, were stretched out widely in front of him almost as if he were deliberately displaying a pair of black, white and grey trainers, their obvious newness in stark contrast to the rest of his clothes. Dalgliesh closed the gate then walked over to him and looked down into a pair of bright and intelligent eyes set in a drawn and weatherbeaten face. If this was a tramp, the keenness of that first glance, his air of confident self-sufficiency and the cleanliness of his white rather delicate hands made him an unusual one. But he was surely too encumbered to be a casual hiker. His khaki coat looked like army surplus and was bound with a wide leather belt from which was suspended by string an enamel mug, a small saucepan and a frying pan. A small, but tightly packed backpack lay on the verge beside him.
Dalgliesh said: 'Good morning. I'm sorry if I seem impertinent, but where did you get those shoes?'
The voice that answered him was educated, a little pedantic, a voice, he thought, that might have once belonged to a schoolmaster.
'You are not, I hope, about to claim ownership. I shall regret it if our acquaintanceship, although no doubt destined to be brief, should begin with a dispute about property.'
'No, they're not mine. I was wondering how long they've been yours.'
The man finished his apple. He threw the core over his shoulder into the ditch, cleaned the blade of his clasp knife on the grass, and pushed it with care deep into his pocket. He said: 'May I ask if this inquiry arrives from – forgive me – an inordinate and reprehensible curiosity, an unnatural suspicion of a fellow mortal, or a desire to purchase a similar pair for yourself. If the last, I am afraid I am unable to help you.'
'None of these things. But the inquiry is important. I'm not being either presumptuous or suspicious.'
'Nor, sir, are you being particularly candid or explicit. My name, incidentally, is Jonah.'
'Mine is Adam Dalgliesh.'
'Then, Adam Dalgliesh, give me one good reason why I should answer your question and you shall have an answer.'
Dalgliesh paused for a moment. There was, he supposed, a theoretical possibility that here before him was the murderer of Hilary Robarts, but he did not for a moment believe it. Rickards had telephoned him the previous evening to inform him that the Bumbles were no longer in the jumble chest, obviously feeling that he owed Dalgliesh this brief report. But that did not mean that the tramp had taken them, nor did it prove that the two pairs were the same. He said: 'On Sunday night a girl was strangled here on the beach. If you recently found, or were given, those shoes or were wearing them on the headland last Sunday the police will need to know. They have found a distinct footprint. It is important to identify it if only to eliminate the wearer from their inquiries.'
'Well, that at least is explicit. You talk like a policeman. I should be sorry to hear that you are one.'
'This isn't my case. But I am a policeman and I know that the local CID are looking for a pair of Bumble trainers.'
'And these, I take it, are Bumble trainers. I had thought of them as shoes.'
'They don't have a label except under the tongue. That's the firm's sales gimmick. Bumbles are supposed to be recognizable without a blatant display of the name. But if these are Bumbles there will be a yellow bee on each heel.'
Jonah didn't reply, but with a sudden vigorous movement swung both feet into the air, held them for a couple of seconds, then dropped them again.
Neither spoke for a few moments, then Jonah said: 'You are telling me that I now have on my feet the shoes of a murderer?'
'Possibly, but only possibly, these are the shoes he was wearing when the girl was killed. You see their importance?'
'I shall no doubt be made to see it, by you or another of your kind.'
'Have you heard of the Norfolk Whistler?'
'Is it a bird?'
'A mass murderer.'
'And these shoes are his?'
'He's dead. This latest killing was made to look as if he were responsible. Are you telling me you haven't even heard of him?'
'I sometimes see a newspaper when I need paper for other more earthy purposes. There are plenty to pick up from the waste bins. I seldom read them. They reinforce my conviction that the world is not for me. I seem to have missed your murdering Whistler.' He paused then added:
'What now am I expected to do? I take it that I am in your hands.'
Dalgliesh said: 'As I said, it isn't my case. I'm from the Metropolitan Police. But if you wouldn't mind coming home with me I could telephone the officer in charge. It isn't far. I live in Larksoken Mill on the headland. And if you care to exchange these trainers for a pair of my shoes, it seems the least I can offer. We're about the same height. There should be a pair to fit you.'
Jonah got to his feet with surprising agility. As they walked to the car Dalgliesh said: 'I've really no right to question you, but satisfy my curiosity. How did you come by them?'
'They were bestowed on me, inadvertently I might say, some time on Sunday night. I had arrived on the headland after dark and made my way to my usual night shelter in these parts. It's the half-buried concrete bunker near the cliff. A pillbox I think it's called. I expect you know it.'
'I know it. Not a particularly salubrious place to spend the night I should have thought.'
'I have known better certainly. But it has the advantage of privacy. The headland is off the usual route for fellow wayfarers. I usually visit once a year and stay for a day or two. The pillbox is completely weatherproof and as the slit window faces the sea I can light a small fire without fear of discovery. I push the rubbish to one side and ignore it. It is a policy I would recommend to you.'
'Did you go straight there?'
'No. As is my custom I called at the Old Rectory. The elderly couple who live there are usually very obliging in allowing me to use their tap. I wanted to fill up my water bottle. As it happens, there was no one at home. There were lights on in the lower windows but no one responded to the bell.'
'What time would this be, do you remember?' 'I have no watch and I take little account of time between sunset and sunrise. But I did notice that St Andrew's Church clock in the village showed 8.30 as I passed. I was probably at the Old Rectory by 9.15, or shortly afterwards.'
'What did you do then?'
'I knew that there was an outside tap close to the garage. I took the liberty of filling my bottle without permission. They would hardly, I think, begrudge me clean water.'
'Did you see a car?'
'There was one standing in the drive. The garage was open but, as I have said, I saw no human beings. I then went straight to the shelter. I was by then exceedingly tired. I drank some of the water, ate a crust of bread and some cheese and fell asleep. The shoes were thrown in through the door of the bunker some time during the night.'
Dalgliesh said: 'Thrown in rather than placed?'
'I imagine so. Anyone who actually entered the bunker must have seen me. It is surely more likely that they were thrown in. There is a wayside pulpit at a church in Ipswich. Last week it said: 'God gives every bird his worm, but He does not throw it into the nest.' On this occasion apparently He did.'
'And they hit you without waking you? They're heavy shoes.'
'As I have said, you talk like a policeman. I had walked twenty miles on the Sunday. I have an easy conscience and I sleep sound. If they had fallen on my face I have no doubt they would have wakened me. As it was, I found them next morning when I woke up.'
