his policeman’s fancy and fuzzy pigs at that. Finally the information that Wilt had made a special request for two pork pies for lunch and had specified Sweet- breads in particular suggested an insane cannibalism that might fit in with what he had said he had done but seemed to be carrying things too far. The word ‘provocation’ sprang to mind and since the episode of the doll Flint had been rather conscious of bad publicity. He read through the statement again and couldn’t make up his mind about it. One thing was quite certain. Wilt knew exactly how Sweetbreads factory worked. The wealth of detail he had supplied proved that. On the other hand Mr Kidley’s incredulity about the heads and the mincing machine had seemed, on inspection, to be justified. Flint had looked gingerly at the beastly contraption and had found it difficult to believe that even Wilt in a fit homicidal mania could have…Flint put the thought out his mind. He decided to have another little chat with Henry Wilt. Feeling like death warmed up he went back to the Interview Room and sent for Wilt.
‘How’s it going?’ said Wilt when be arrived. ‘Had any luck with the frankfurters yet? Of course you could always try your hand at black puddings…’
‘Wilt,’ interrupted the Inspector, ‘why did you sign statement Little Tommy Tucker?’
Wilt sat down. ‘So you’ve noticed that at last, have you, very observant of you I must say.’
‘I asked you a question.’
‘So you did,’ said Wilt. ‘Let’s just say I thought it appropriate.’
‘Appropriate?’
‘I was singing. I think that’s the slang term for it isn’t it for my sleep, so naturally…’
‘Are you telling me you made all that up?’
‘What the hell do, you think I did? You don’t seriously think I would inflict the Pringsheims and Eva on an unsuspecting public in the form of pork pies, do you? I mean there must be some limits to your credulity.’
Inspector Flint glared at him. ‘My God, Wilt,’ he said, ‘if I find you’ve deliberately fabricated a story…’
‘You can’t do very much more.’ said Wilt. ‘You’ve already charged me with murder. What more do you want? You drag me in here, you humiliate me, you shout at me, you keep me awake for days and nights bombarding me with questions about dog food, you announce to the world that I am helping you in your enquiries into a multiple murder thus leading every citizen in the country to suppose that I have slaughtered my wife and a beastly biochemist and…’
‘Shut up,’ shouted Flint, ‘I don’t care what you think. It’s what you’ve done and what you’ve said you’ve done that worries me. You’ve gone out of your way to mislead me…’
‘I’ve done nothing of the sort,’ said Wilt. ‘Until last night I had told you nothing but the truth and you wouldn’t accept it. Last night I handed you, in the absurd shape of a pork pie, a lie you wanted to believe. If you crave crap and use illegal methods like sleep deprivation to get it you can’t blame me for serving it up. Don’t come in here and bluster. If you’re stupid that’s your problem. Go and find my wife.’
‘Someone stop me from killing the bastard.’ yelled Flint, as he hurled himself from the room. He went to his office and sent for Sergeant Yates. ‘Cancel the pie hunt. It’s a load of bull,’ he told him.
‘Bull?’ said the Sergeant uncertainly.
‘Shit.’ said Flint. ‘He’s done it again.’
‘You mean…’
‘I mean that that little turd in there has led us up the garden path again.’
