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had thought of a quip about her no longer being in uniform, but decided it might offend her and simply nodded.
    â€˜Have you heard of the Whadcoats?’ she asked.
    â€˜If you’re referring to the family of North London gangsters, then yes,’ he told her. ‘Ghastly people, but now dead if I recall correctly?’
    â€˜Albert Whadcoat died last year,’ she confirmed. ‘Bill Whadcoat, the younger brother, is still alive and now out of prison. Another man from the same gang also died last year, John Fellowes.’
    â€˜That name I do remember. He was known as the gentleman gangster, wasn’t he, a cognomen I always felt was a contradiction in terms. Yes, I remember the funerals, very vulgar I thought. I can never understand why these people attract such adulation when on the face of it they seem to be the lowest of the low, but do go on.’
    â€˜John Fellowes had become a committed Christian shortly before he died. He made a confession on his deathbed to being involved with several murders, including Andy Sixsmith.’
    â€˜I’ve never heard of him.’
    â€˜Andy Sixsmith disappeared in January 1971. He’d been trying to set up as a rival to the Whadcoats, so everybody assumes they murdered him but no evidence was ever found, and no body, until now.’
    â€˜A-ha, so John Fellowes confessed to the killing and told you how the body had been disposed of, but where do I come in?’
    â€˜It’s not as simple as that. Let me explain.’
    â€˜Of course. Go on.’
    â€˜Fellowes confessed to being there when Sixsmith was killed by the Whadcoats, and to getting rid of the body. He said he was helped by another member of the gang, Victor Hodges. Hodges is still alive and living in Solsbury, which is why I’m on the case.’
    â€˜I see. Is that ghastly man Morden involved as well?’
    â€˜Inspector Morden is in charge of the case.’
    De Lacy grimaced but she carried on with her explanation.
    â€˜According to Fellowes, they buried Sixsmith’s body in woodland to the north of London, near a village called Hammondstreet. The area has been developed, but Fellowes was very exact about where the body was buried: alongside a much older lane. The Hertfordshire police dug up the whole area, a trench nearly two hundred yards long and about ten wide. They found a skeleton.’
    â€˜Then I fail to see the difficulty?’
    â€˜It was the wrong skeleton.’
    â€˜Some other gangster?’
    â€˜No. They were the bones of a man who’d been hanged, at least one hundred years ago.’
    Two weeks later de Lacy made his initial report.
    â€˜I enjoy an exercise in pure logic,’ he stated, ‘but if you want me to solve this case for you I’m almost certainly going to need more data.’
    â€˜I have to be extremely careful,’ Susan McIntyre insisted. ‘I certainly can’t show you any of the paperwork, or the actual evidence.’
    De Lacy didn’t reply immediately, doing his best to fight down the irritation he felt with the situation and concentrate on the satisfaction to be had from working out the facts behind the case by logic alone. Nevertheless, he clearly needed as much information as Detective Sergeant McIntyre was willing to provide.
    She was being exceptionally careful, and had insisted from the start that they do nothing which would leave an electronic or paper trail, which meant meeting in person. Intrigued by the case and with nothing better to do, de Lacy had not only accepted but driven down to the little market town of Solsbury, where she was based. Rather than stay in the town itself, he had selected The Bell, a pub in the village of High Elms which not only boasted comfortable rooms but a restaurant with a Michelin star. In the two days since his arrival he had thoroughly enjoyed not only the local countryside and the excellent cooking, but the pleasant thrill of engaging in clandestine