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himself.
    â€˜Sorry. I was interviewing a witness,’ he replied proudly.
    â€˜Oh, yes?’ Willis replied. ‘And where would you have run into a witness, Hawthorne?’
    â€˜At Mr Brown’s corner shop. It’s on Priory Road,’ Hawthorne replied. ‘He sells cigarettes and newspapers and…’
    â€˜Yes, Hawthorne, I know. I’ve known Joey Brown since before you were born. What does he know about this?’
    â€˜He doesn’t,’ Hawthorne replied defiantly, taking his notebook from the top left pocket of his uniform jacket. ‘But his daughter Mavis does.’
    He opened the notebook at the page he wanted, but seemed unsure of whether to continue.
    â€˜Go on, officer,’ Arnold said encouragingly.
    â€˜Mavis was in the shop on Saturday night,’ Hawthorne began, studying the notebook intently. ‘It was just before 11 o’clock. She had been doing some stock-taking and she was about to lock up for the night and go upstairs. They live above the shop, you see…’
    â€˜Go on,’ Arnold said again.
    â€˜Yes, sir. Just as she was about to turn the lights out she saw a young couple at the shop window. They wanted to buy some cigarettes. She opened up for them and sold them two packets of Woodbines. When they left, they were walking towards the meadow. She didn’t see them again. But she did give me a description.’
    â€˜Jennifer and Frank both had Woodbines with them,’ Phillips said.
    â€˜Well, I’m damned,’ Arnold breathed. ‘Well done, lad. You’ve probably found the last person to see them before it happened. I want you to bring her in tomorrow morning. I would like to test her memory a bit more.’
    Hawthorne positively beamed. ‘Yes, sir.’ He paused. ‘Actually, there is more…’
    Arnold nodded encouragingly.
    â€˜Well, sir, Mavis also saw a man pass the shop just a minute or two after the couple. She had put the lights out by then, and she could see him clearly under a street light. He was walking in the same direction as the couple, towards the meadow. She also gave me a description of this man. He was about the same height as her dad…’
    â€˜Five seven, five eight,’ Willis interjected.
    â€˜He was wearing a raincoat, open, a dark jacket and a red and white checked shirt. He had a dark woollen hat on, so she couldn’t see his hair or eyes. He had heavy brown shoes. She noticed that the shoes looked dirty.’
    Hawthorne turned over to the next page of his notebook.
    â€˜And he was whistling a tune.’
    â€˜Oh, yes?’ Arnold asked.
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ Hawthorne replied. ‘She recognised it from a programme on the radio, and she whistled it for her dad when she got upstairs, and asked him what it was. It was the Lincolnshire Poacher .’
    Willis had been leaning on the table in front of the desk at which Arnold was sitting. But now he suddenly pushed himself up, quickly, firmly, holding up one arm as if to request silence, and walked over to the window. For some time he stared outside. Eventually, he turned back to Hawthorne.
    â€˜Is she sure about that, Hawthorne?’ he asked. ‘Is she quite sure about that?’
    Hawthorne nodded. ‘Positive,’ he replied.
    â€˜Bloody hell,’ Willis said.

10
    30 January
    PC Willis turned the black Humber Hawk police car off the tow path and drove slowly across the muddy ground to park in front of the lock keeper’s house, at right angles to the house, just to the left of the front door. He switched off the engine and turned towards Detective Superintendent Arnold, who occupied the front passenger seat.
    â€˜This is the house, sir’ he said. ‘If he’s not here, he will be down at the lock, I daresay. We can walk down to the lock in a minute or two if we need to.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost lunch time. He will probably be making his way