for Miss Scott.'
'She used to let you have a key for that?'
'Well, you see, she wasn't always in in the afternoons-and with me, well, not in much in the mornings, like-so I'd let meself in if-'
'Was it you who did the brick-work?'
There was no fright this time-Walters was sure of that-and perhaps he'd been wrong earlier. After all, most of the public get a little flustered when the police start questioning them.
'You saw that?' Jackson's ratty-featured face was creased with pleasure. 'Neat little job, wasn't it?'
'When did you do that?'
'This week-Monday and Tuesday afternoons it was-not a big job-about four or five hours, that's all.'
'You finished Tuesday afternoon?'
'That's right-you can ask Mrs. Purvis if you don't believe me. She was out the back when I was just finishing off, and I remember her saying what a nice and neat little job it was, like. You ask her!' The man's small eyes were steady and almost confident now.
'You've still got the key?'
Jackson shook his head. 'Miss Scott asked me to give it back to her when I'd finished and-'
'You gave it back to her, then?'
'Well, not exactly, no. She was there on the Tuesday afternoon and while she paid me, like, it must have slipped me memory-and hers, as well. But I remembered on the Wednesday, see. I'd been fishing in the morning and I got back about-oh, I don't know-some time in the afternoon, so I nipped over and-'
'You did?' Walters felt strangely excited.
'-just stuck it through the letter box.'
'Oh.' It was all as simple and straightforward as that, then; and Walters suspected he'd been getting far too sophistical about the key business. Could Jackson clear up one or two other things, as well, perhaps? 'Was the door unlocked, do you remember?'
Jackson closed his eyes for a few moments, inclining his head as though pondering some mighty problem. 'I didn't try it, I don't think. As I say, I just stuck-'
'What time was that, do you say?'
'I-I can't remember. Let's see, I must have slipped across there about-it must have been about half-past… No, I just can't seem to remember. When you're out fishing, you know, you lose all track of time, really.' Then Jackson looked up with a more obvious flash of intelligence in his eyes. 'Perhaps one or two of the neighbours might have seen me, though? Might be worth asking round, mightn't it?'
'You mean people here tend to er to pry on what all the others are doing?' Walters had chosen his words carefully, and he could see that his point had registered.
'Only a tiny little street, isn't it? It's difficult not to-'
'What I meant was, Mr. Jackson, that perhaps-perhaps
'Trouble is,' Jackson hesitated, 'one day seems just like any other when you're getting on a bit like I am.'
'It was only two days ago, you know.'
'Ye-es. And I think you're right. I can't be sure of the time and all that, like-but there-
'This person just walked in?'
'That's it. And then a few minutes later walked out.'
Phew! Things had taken an oddly interesting turn, and Walters pressed on eagerly. 'Would you recognise him-it was
Jackson nodded. 'I didn't know him-never seen him before.'
'What was he like?'
'Middle-age, sort of-raincoat he had on, I remember-no hat-getting a bit bald, I reckon.'
'And you say you'd never seen him before?'
'No.'
Walters was getting very puzzled, and he needed time to think about this new evidence. In a few seconds, however, his puzzlement was to be overtaken by an astonished perplexity, for Jackson proceeded to add a gloss on that categorically spoken 'no'.
'I reckon I seen him later, though.'
'You
'I reckon I seen him later, I said. He went in there again while
After Walters had left, Jackson sat in his back kitchen drinking a cup of tea and feeling that the interview had been more than satisfactory. He hadn't been at all sure about whether he should have mentioned that last bit, but now he felt progressively happier that he had in fact done so. His plan was being laid very carefully, but just a little riskily; and the more he could divert suspicion on to others, the better it would be. How glad he was he'd kept that key! At one point he'd almost chucked it into the canal-and that would have been a mistake, perhaps. As it was he'd just 'stuck it through the letter box'-exactly the words he'd used to the constable. And it was the truth, too! Telling the truth could be surprisingly valuable. Sometimes.
Chapter Seven
I say, 'Banish bridge'; let's find some pleasanter way of being miserable together.
– Don Herold
The recently formed Summertown Bridge Club had advertised itself (twice already in the