in having a serious talk with her fiancé about marital matters. Alone. They had gone off in the noisy, multicoloured mini.
According to Tommy they had spent the evening just driving around. Without stopping? Of course they had stopped, just parked out in the country to have a fag and a talk. Was that all? They might have played around a bit but nothing serious.
‘Nothing serious’ was confirmed by the pathologist. Brenda was virgo intacta.
The canal was flanked on the one side by warehouses. Access could be obtained to the waterfront, but only by dint of climbing over security gates. In addition, from eleven P.M. on, there had been great police activity in Sunnybank, the canyon-like road which serviced the warehouses, for it was in one of these that the night watchman, whose injuries had kept the doctor from sampling Tommy Maggs’s blood, had been attacked.
On the other side of the canal, the side where the body had been found, was a grassy isthmus planted with willows and birches to screen the industrial terrace from the view of those taking the air in the pleasant open spaces of Charter Park. This air on the night in question was filled with music and merriment. The city’s fortnight-long High Fair was coming to the end of its first week there. The City Fathers in a fit of almost continental abandon permitted the municipal Boating Station to stay open until midnight during the fair and those who tired of the roundabouts and sideshows could hire rowboats to take them across to the isthmus where the trees were strung with fairy lights and a couple of hot-dog stands provided the wherewithal for a picnic. This area was far too well populated for a body to have been dumped in the canal until eleven-thirty when the clouds which had slowly been building up in the south suddenly came rolling northwards, ate up the moon and the stars, and spat rich, heavy raindrops into the sultry night. Within twenty minutes the isthmus was vacated by laughing holiday-makers and cursing hot-dog men alike, while on the canal the pleasure cruisers had either puttered off to more congenial moorings downstream or battened down for the night.
Now a regiment of corpses could have been deposited without drawing much attention.
But by now, Tommy Maggs was already in deep conversation with the police and was to continue in their company until dropped at his door at one-thirty A.M. His father, watching a late western on the telly, confirmed his arrival. So unless he later stole from the house and, carless, contrived to re-encounter Brenda, lure her to the canal bank some five miles away and there murder her, he was in the clear.
But what had happened to Brenda after she left her boy-friend by his broken-down mini, no one could say. Except one person.
At six o’clock on Friday the news editor of the Evening Post picked up his phone.
‘I must be cruel, only to be kind,’ said a voice.
The line went dead.
The news editor yelled for his secretary.
Ellie Pascoe was not enjoying the rich rewarding experience of pregnancy.
At roughly the halfway point she was still suffering the morning sickness which should have died away a month earlier and was already experiencing the backache and heartburn which might decently have waited till a month later.
‘For Christ’s sake don’t make soothing noises,’ she said as she returned pale-faced to the breakfast table. ‘I’m having a baby, not turning into one.’
Pascoe, warned, returned to his cornflakes and said lightly, ‘You shouldn’t have bought the ticket if you didn’t want the trip.’
‘I didn’t know it meant the end of civilization as I know it,’ she said grimly.
‘At least you don’t have to go to work,’ said Pascoe.
They were well into July and the long vacation had begun at the college where Ellie lectured.
‘It’s the students who get the holiday, not us,’ she retorted. This was an ancient tract of disputed land, full of shell holes. Pascoe made a tactical withdrawal.
‘Can I have the butter, please?’
‘If by that you mean that if I’d taken your advice and resigned last term I wouldn’t need to be thinking about next September’s courses then let me remind you that, first, I personally need the work and, secondly, we personally need the money and, thirdly, that women having fought for centuries to get the meagre rights they’ve got, including the right not to lose their jobs because some careless fellow puts them up the stick, I am not about to renounce those rights just because you’re feeling all patriarchal and protective. Excuse me.’
When she came back, Pascoe said, ‘Thank God I didn’t ask for the marmalade,’ but she didn’t respond.
‘What are you doing today?’ he asked as he finished his coffee.
‘I’m going to be sick at the Aero Club,’ she said.
‘Good God,’ he said, alarmed. ‘You’re not taking up gliding, are you?’
‘No. Just having lunch there. They do a chicken-in-the-basket. Today they might see it there twice.’
‘Come on,’ said Pascoe. ‘It can’t be that bad. Can it? And why the Aero Club? Not your normal stamping ground.’
‘I’m meeting Thelma.’
‘Lacewing? You surprise me. I shouldn’t have thought it was her scene either.’
‘And what do you know about Thelma’s scene?’
‘Me? Nothing. Nothing at all,’ said Pascoe uninterestedly.
He had good reason for sounding uninterested in Thelma Lacewing. First she was the leading light of WRAG, the Women’s Rights Action Group which put the law a very poor second to its principles; secondly, he had recently helped to put her uncle, a respected local businessman, away on a pornography charge; thirdly, he (in a purely aesthetic sense of course) rather fancied her and sometimes thought she might rather fancy him.
‘Anyway, her scene or not, it’s her idea,’ continued Ellie. ‘I promised that when the summer vac came and I had more time, I’d take some of the secretarial work off Lorraine Wildgoose’s plate.’
‘But you said it was only students who got holidays,’ protested Pascoe.
‘Oh, go to work!’ said Ellie disgustedly. ‘See if you can stop that lunatic from killing more than half a dozen women today.’
As he finished his toast, he said crumbily, ‘Wildgoose. That rings a little bell. Do I know her?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Ellie. ‘Though she’s all the things you admire in a woman. Forty, ferocious, teaches French and is in the middle of a rather unpleasant marital shipwreck.’
Pascoe shuddered and rose from the table.
When he returned with his briefcase ready for departure, Ellie was immersed in the newspaper.
‘Hey, there’s a little bit here about fat Andy calling in a clairvoyant.’
‘Oh God. Let me see.’
He looked at the paper and said in relief. ‘It’s just a couple of lines and I don’t think he gets the Guardian anyway.’
‘Perhaps not. But just think how large it’s likely to be printed in the tabloids! It’s a good story. At least, you made it sound like a good story last night.’
‘Don’t!’ he said, kissing her.
‘Peter,’ she said thoughtfully when he’d finished, ‘that transcript of the tape you showed me. Can I borrow it?’
‘Why on earth should you want that?’
‘Well, it’s just come back to me. I woke up in the night and I was lying there thinking