The Mudflats of the Dead

where he went that Friday evening.’

The headmaster was inclined to be peevish.

‘I really must protest, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘I cannot have my staff harassed in this manner.’

‘We are investigating a case of murder, sir.’

‘I am fully cognisant of that, but it had nothing to do with my school. I am, of course, horrified that Mr Palgrave should have been set upon, robbed and murdered. All too much of that sort of thing goes on at the present time, and the police seem powerless to prevent it. However, what happened, however unfortunately, to Mr Palgrave during a weekend, has nothing to do with his work here. The whole thing has led to considerable unrest in the staff commonroom and given rise to a most undesirable degree of speculation and excitement among my boys and girls. I really cannot countenance further disruption.’

‘All I need is five minutes’ conversation with Mr Winblow, sir, and it will be less noticeable if I have it here than if I go to his private address or ask him to come down to the station.’

‘Oh, very well.’ He rang through to his secretary. ‘Chase up Mr Winblow, please, Mrs Wrack, and ask him to spare me a moment. He should be in the history room with 4A. I suppose,’ he added to the sergeant, ‘there is no objection to my being present at this interview? It will enable me to determine whether Winblow ought to have a solicitor to watch his interests. He is a young, inexperienced man and may need professional advice.’

‘Remain by all means, sir. You may be able to help both Mr Winblow and my enquiry.’ They waited in silence until Winblow appeared.

‘You sent for me, Headmaster?’

‘Sit down, Winblow, and remember that you are not obliged to answer any of the sergeant’s questions unless you wish.’

‘You were aware that Mr Palgrave had written a book – his second book – I believe, sir?’ asked the sergeant.

‘Yes, of course. A very bright chap, poor Palgrave.’

‘We learn that he had various copies made of it.’

‘Oh, yes. I’ve got one, a carbon.’

‘Was it a gift to you?’

‘Not a gift, no. He said he’d like me to read it, so long as I didn’t spill tea on it or get it dogeared. Then I was to keep it somewhere safe until he asked for it in case he needed it to check by, or to send to another publisher.’

‘Somewhere safe?’

‘Yes. He said the copy he’d sent in could get lost or damaged and the copy he was keeping at his digs – well, there might be a fire or a burglary. He was pretty steamed up about the work. Said it was a major opus and would establish him for all time. Very euphoric, and all that.’

‘Have you read your copy, sir?’

‘Not yet. Thought I’d get on to it in the Easter holiday. Not much time for reading during term,’ said Mr Winblow, with one eye on his headmaster.

‘Do you know what happened to the other copies, sir?’

‘Not a clue. Nobody else on the staff here has one, that’s for sure.’

‘Thank you, sir. That’s all, then.’

The head nodded dismissal to the assistant master and, when the door had closed behind Winblow, he said:

‘Are you satisfied, Sergeant?’

‘Oh, yes, sir, thank you. It was a very minor point, but we have to clear these things out of the way.’

‘There’s a letter from a Mrs Kirby,’ said the detective-inspector upon his subordinate’s return. ‘She wants to tell us something which she thinks may have a bearing.’

‘Let’s hope it’s something useful, sir. You were right not to make anything important out of the missing copies. Apparently he distributed them among his friends for safe keeping, as I think you said.’

‘Well, you’d better get along and see what this woman has to say. Here’s the address. Any time after six, she says.’

‘Lives in Chelsea, I notice, sir. Means she may know something.’

‘You’re thinking of the river. I thought of it, too.’

‘Would a body chucked in the river, perhaps over one of the bridges, fetch up as far as the Bregant Docks, sir? It was opposite them that the body was found. There’s a big bend in the river after Hammersmith.’

‘Our river chaps would know about that, I expect, but, if you ask me, Old Father Thames is quite unpredictable. Besides, the fact that this woman lives near the river may be coincidence, so it’s no good raising our hopes too high that she really knows anything important.’

Miranda welcomed the young sergeant with the kindly warmth she extended to all visitors and offered him a drink.

‘Not just now, thank you, madam. I understand you have something to tell us which may have a bearing on the case of murder we are investigating.’

‘I don’t know whether it’s important, but, in case you didn’t know about it, I thought perhaps I should tell you.’

The sergeant took out his notebook.

‘Fire away, madam,’ he said encouragingly, so Miranda, aided at times by Adrian, gave a full account of the holiday at Saltacres and the death of young Camilla Hoveton St John. The sergeant did not interrupt her, but dotted down his shorthand in the hope that something useful might emerge from the long narrative.

‘Thank you, madam,’ he said when she appeared to have come to an end. ‘In your opinion, then, Mr Palgrave’s death could have been a revenge job.’

‘I can’t think of any other reason why anybody should have killed him. You see, the more I thought about it – it doesn’t matter telling you this now that he’s dead – and the more we talked it over, my husband and I, the more I was convinced that nobody but Colin could have drowned Camilla.’

‘That’s very interesting, madam. Thank you for your help.’ He returned to his headquarters and retailed the interview. ‘I can’t see there’s much in it, sir,’ he said. ‘We had a report on the Saltacres case, of course, but I can’t see any real tie-up. The Saltacres case was never brought in as murder. They are not even certain which day the girl was drowned, and it seems open to doubt whether anybody was with her at the time, anyway.’

‘Well, we must still have a shot at finding out where Palgrave went that Friday night. Once we know that, we really can get weaving. Until we know it we are only groping in the dark. If only we could find a motive for his death we might get somewhere, too, but I can’t believe, from your report, that this woman has supplied it. The girl died months and months ago.’

‘No, I don’t think she has helped, sir, but it was worth a try.’

‘Did you happen to ask her whether she had been lent one of the copies of the novel?’

‘No, sir. Judging by what the schoolmaster chap told me, I didn’t think it important. Besides, she only knew Palgrave through this girl picking him up on a holiday beach. I got the impression that she’d (Mrs Kirby, I mean) that she’d seen very little, if anything, of him once the holiday was over. After all, they live a good way apart and wouldn’t have very much in common, anyway. As you will see when I’ve typed out my report, sir, I asked her point blank if Palgrave had visited her that Friday night. She looked astonished and said he had not. Besides, he’s got a car, sir, and his landlady’s got a garage. It’s quite a way from Finchley to Chelsea. He would have driven to her flat, sir, if he’d gone there at all, not walked.’

‘So what about trains and buses? It could be confirmed that he left on foot, but suppose he used public transport? If Mrs Kirby was lying, and he did go to Chelsea that evening, he may well have preferred a bus rather than take his car across London. Of course we’ve tried that line, but it might be as well to have another go.’

‘A chap of Palgrave’s age would have taken his car, sir, and chanced finding somewhere to park at the other end. We know he didn’t take a taxi. We’ve sorted that out. Anyway, the impression I got was that Mrs. Kirby was telling the truth and that she’d seen little or nothing of Palgrave since the holiday.’

‘Well, ring her up and find out whether she has a copy of his book. If she has, ask whether he brought it to her himself or sent it by post. Rattle her a bit, if you can. Something might come out. When you’ve done that, we’ll go over my interviews with Palgrave’s agents and publishers. I don’t see any use I can make of what they told me,