‘You can say that again.’ said Inspector Flint.
Mr Gosdyke regarded Wilt sceptically and shook leis head ‘You should have listened to me,’ he said, ‘I told you not to talk.’
‘I had to say something,’ said Wilt. ‘They wouldn’t let me sleep and they kept asking me the same stupid questions over and over again. You’ve no idea what that does to you. It drive you potty.’
‘Frankly, Mr Wilt, in the light of the confession you have made I find it hard to believe there was any need to. A man who can, of his own free will make a statement like this to the police is clearly insane.’
‘But it’s nor true,’ said Wilt, ‘it’s all pure invention.’
‘With a wealth of such revolting detail? I must say I find that hard to believe. I do indeed. The bit about hip and thighs. It makes my stomach turn over.’
‘But that’s from the Bible.’ said Wilt, ‘and besides I had to put in the gory bits or they wouldn’t have believed me. Take the part where I say I sawed their…’
‘Mr Wilt, for God’s sake…’
‘Well, all I can say is you’ve never taught Meat One. I got it all from them and once you’ve taught them life can hold few surprises.’
Mr Gosdyke raised an eyebrow. ‘Can’t it? Well I think I disabuse you of that notion,’ he said solemnly. ‘In the light of this confession you have made against my most earnest advice, and as a result of my firm belief that every word in it is true, I am no longer prepared to act on your behalf.’ He collected his papers and stood up. ‘You will have to get someone else.’
‘But, Mr Gosdyke, you don’t really believe all that nonsense about putting Eva in a pork pie, do you?’ Wilt asked.
‘Believe it? A man who can conceive of such a disgusting thing is capable of anything. Yes I do and what is more so do the police. They are this moment scouring the shops, the pubs and the supermarkets and dustbins of the entire county in search of pork pies.’
‘But if they find any it won’t do any good.’
‘It may also interest you to know that they have impounded five thousand cans of Dogfill, an equal number of Catkin and have begun to dissect a quarter of a ton of Sweetbreads Best Bangers. Somewhere in that little lot they are bound to find some trace of Mrs Wilt, not to mention Dr and Mrs Pringsheim.’
‘Well, all I can say is that I wish them luck.’ said Wilt.
‘And so do I,’ said Mr Gosdyke disgustedly and left the room. Behind him Wilt sighed. If only Eva would turn up. Where the hell could she have got to?
At the Police Laboratories Inspector Flint was getting restive. ‘Can’t you speed things up a bit?’ he asked.
The Head of the Forensic Department shook his head. ‘It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,’ he said, glancing significantly at another batch of sausages that had just been brought in. ‘So far not a trace. This could take weeks.’
‘I haven’t got weeks,’ said the Inspector, ‘he’s due in Court on Monday!
‘Only for remand and in any case you’ve got his statement.’ But Inspector Flint had his doubts about that. He had been looking at that statement and had noticed a number of discrepancies about it which fatigue, disgust and an overwhelming desire to get the filthy account over and done with before he was sick had tended to obscure at the time. For one thing Wilt’s scrawled signature looked suspiciously like Little Tommy Tucker when examined closely and there was a QNED beside it, which Flint had a shrewd idea meant Quod Non Erat Demonstrandum and in any case there were rather too many references to pigs for
