thought of that. Although itâs true people like that generally utter threats in advance and act in irrational ways, itâs not always the case. They donât necessarily seem disturbed, at least not to the casual eye.â
Billy paused deliberately.
âBy the way, sir, Iâd be grateful if you didnât mention any of this to the press; or what I said about Scotland. We donât want to stir them up.â
His words brought a tired smile to Edward Gibsonâs lips.
âThey wonât hear it from me, rest assured. But I should warn you, some of the newspapers have been on to me already, asking questions. Itâs not every day a man gets shot in broad daylight. It wonât take much to get them going. Iâm surprised they havenât picked up on that Scottish report yet.â
âTheyâre bound to â and soon. But Iâd rather not do their work for them.â
âQuite so.â Gibson made as if to get up. âBut fairâs fair. Can I count on you to keep me informed about the investigation? I donât want to be left in the dark.â
âWeâll stay in touch, I promise.â
âThen Iâd better get back to those papers.â He heaved himself up. âYou wanted a word with Mrs Gannet, is that right? Sheâs in the kitchen. Iâll send her through.â
âWhat did I tell you, Billy? This is one of those cases. Itâs going to give us both grey hairs, you mark my words.â
Tilting his chair back, Vic hoisted his feet up on his desk. They had returned from Kingston a short while before and he had sent out to the nearest pub for a couple of sandwiches, which they were washing down with cups of tea before Billy caught his train back to London. The CID offices were situated on the first floor of Lewes police station, and on their way in Vic had introduced him to a detective-sergeant and two constables, who were busy sorting through statements collected from parties of hikers and ramblers who had been out on the Downs on the day Gibson had been murdered.
âWe know the shooter didnât escape this way, via Lewes,â Vic said. âIâve been hoping he might have been spotted walking cross-country towards Brighton. But no luck so far, Iâm afraid.â
âIf Gibson was his target â if it wasnât a random killing â then he must have known heâd be fishing there.â Billy had been turning the problem over in his mind. âHe must have had some idea of his habits; that suggests he made some earlier visits to Lewes.â
He had been looking over the file compiled by the pathologist while he chewed on a cheese sandwich. The police photographs of Gibsonâs body lying face-down on the bank had added little to what his colleague had already told him. Other pictures taken at the mortuary later showed the effects of the bullet, which struck him at the base of the skull and exited through his jaw, leaving an ugly wound.
âThe sawbones made an interesting point,â Chivers had told him. âIf you want to make a clean job of topping someone, thatâs the best spot to shoot them: it breaks the spinal cord, severs the brainstem. Deathâs instantaneous.â
âSo he knew what he was about?â
âIt looks that way.â
Billy put down the file. He took a sip from his tea.
âWhat Iâd like to know is who that visitor was who got Oswald so upset. And did the letter he was writing have anything to do with this business?â
These facts, both new, had emerged in the course of the interview they had had with Gibsonâs daily, a spry old party named Edna Gannet, who had not only proved to be more observant than most, but could also put two and two together. As sheâd been quick to point out.
âAs soon as I saw the chair, I knew. He didnât have to say nothing. And I could tell he was put out. Iâd heard him in the study going on about
Richard Ellis Preston Jr.