'All I can see is a squiggle,' said Leeming, glancing at the petition. 'How on earth can you tell who wrote that?'
'Because I used to work alongside Amos. I'd know that scrawl of his anywhere. He taught me all I know about policing. He left under a cloud but I still say that this town owed a lot to Amos Lockyer.'
'Why was that?'
'He was like a bloodhound. He knew how to sniff out villains.'
'Yet he's no longer a policeman?'
'No,' said Butterkiss with patent regret. 'It's a great shame. Amos was dismissed for being drunk on duty and being in possession of a loaded pistol. There were also rumours that he took bribes but I don't believe that for a second.'
'Why were you surprised to see his name on the list?'
'Because he doesn't live here any more. Amos moved away a couple of years ago. The last I heard of him, he was working on a farm the other side of Charing. But the main reason that I didn't expect to see his name here,' said Butterkiss in bewilderment, 'is that I'd expect him to side with the law. how could he call for Nathan Hawkshaw's release when the man's guilt was so obvious?'
'Obvious to you, Constable,' said Leeming, 'but not to this friend of yours, evidently. Or to everyone else on that list.'
'How many more names do you want to hear about?'
'I think I have enough for the time being. You've been very helpful, especially as you've been able to give me so many addresses as well.' he closed his notebook. 'Inspector Colbeck wanted to know if you'd ever heard of a man called Angel.'
'Angel?' Butterkiss gave a hollow laugh. 'everyone in Kent has heard of that rogue.'
'There is such a person then?'
'Oh, yes. As arrant a villain as ever walked. Nothing was safe when Angel was around. He'd steal for the sake of it. He made Joe Dykes look like a plaster saint.'
'We were told that he may have been at the Lenham fair.'
'I'm sure that he was because that's where the richest pickings are. Angel loved crowds. He was a cunning pickpocket. At a fair in Headcorn, he once stole a pair of shire horses.'
'Someone had those in their pocket?'
'No, no,' said Butterkiss, unaware that he was being teased. 'They were between the shafts of a wagon. When the farmer got back to the wagon, the horses had vanished. Angel had gypsy blood and gypsies always have a way with animals.'
'Did you ever meet him?'
'I tried to arrest him once for spending the night in the Saracen's Head without paying. The nerve of the man!'
'What happened?'
'It was raining hard and he needed shelter. So he climbed in, as bold as brass, found an empty room and made himself at home. Before he left, he stole some food from the kitchen for breakfast.'
'The fellow needs locking up for good.'
'You have to catch him first and that was more than I managed to do. Angel is as slippery as an eel. The person who can really tell you about him is Amos Lockyer.'
'Why?'
'Because he had a lot of tussles with him,' said Butterkiss. 'Amos managed to find him once and put him behind bars. Next morning, when he went to the cell, the door was wide open and Angel had fled. The next we heard of him, he was running riot in the Sevenoaks area.'
'How would he have got on with Joseph Dykes?'
'Not very well. Joe was just a good-for-nothing, who stole to get money for his beer. Angel was a real criminal, a man who turned thieving into an art. He boasted about it.'
'Was he violent?'
'Not as a rule.'
'What if someone was to upset Angel?'
'Nobody would be stupid enough to do that or they'd regret it. He was a strong man – wiry and quick on his feet.'
'Capable of killing someone?' said Leeming.
'Angel is capable of anything, Sergeant.'
Winifred Hawkshaw was so concerned about her daughter that she went to call the doctor. Occupied with other patients, he promised to call later on to see the girl. The anxious mother went straight back to Middle Row and up to Emily's bedroom. To her dismay, it was empty. After searching the other rooms, she rushed downstairs where Adam Hawkshaw was starting to close up the shop for the day.
'Where's Emily?' she asked.
'I've no idea.'
'She's not in her room – or anywhere else.'
'I didn't see her go out.'
'Have you been here all the time?'
'Yes,' he said. 'Except when I went to buy some tobacco.'
'Emily's run away,' decided her mother.
'That's silly – where could she go?'
'I don't know, Adam, but she's not here, is she? Emily hasn't been out of the house for weeks but, as soon as my back is turned, she's off. Lock up quickly,' she ordered. 'We've got to go after her.'
'She'll come back in her own good time,' he argued.
'Not when she's in that state. I've never known her have a fit like that. There's something very wrong with Emily. Now, hurry up,' she urged. 'We must find her!'
Surrounded by a graveyard in which leafy trees threw long shadows across the headstones, St Mary's Church had stood for four centuries. It was at once imposing and accessible, a fine piece of architecture that never forgot its main function of serving the parish. Emily Hawkshaw attended the church every Sunday with her family and they had always sat in the same pew halfway down the nave. This time, she ignored her usual seat and walked down the aisle to the altar rail before kneeling in front of it. Hands clasped together, she closed her eyes tight and prayed for forgiveness, her mind in turmoil, her body shaking and perspiration breaking out on her brow. She was in a positive fever of contrition.
Madeleine Andrews had travelled from London to Ashford in a second-class compartment but Colbeck was so happy to see her, and so grateful for the information she brought, that he insisted on buying her a first-class ticket for the return journey. He removed his hat to give her a kiss on the hand then waved her off, standing wistfully on the platform until the train had rounded a bend and disappeared from sight. Deeply moved by her visit, Colbeck felt that it had been more than a pleasant interlude. What she had learnt in hoxton might well serve to confirm his theory about how a man who courted anonymity had been traced to his home. Madeleine's attendance at a funeral had been opportune.
Deciding to call on Emily Hawkshaw again, Colbeck left the station and made for Church Street. He had already resolved to say nothing to his Sergeant about the unheralded visitor. Victor Leeming was too old-fashioned and conventional to believe that a woman could be directly involved in the investigative process. It was better to keep him – and, more importantly, Superintendent Tallis – ignorant of Madeleine's part in the case. The Metropolitan Police was an exclusively male preserve. Robert Colbeck was one of the very few men who even dallied with the notion of employing female assistants.
As he approached St Mary's Church, his mind was still playing with fond memories of taking tea with Madeleine at the Saracen's Head. A loud scream jerked him out of his reverie. Ahead of him, pointing upwards with horror, was a middle-aged woman. The handful of people walking past the church immediately stopped and followed the direction of her finger. Colbeck saw the slim figure at once. Holding one of the pinnacles on top of the
