amateur sometimes struck lucky but was usually to be dismissed as a nuisance.
But Grimsby was young and, as he admitted to Carolus, had been put in charge of the investigation in this case, given for the first time the responsibility of clearing up what his superiors had called a ânasty messâ. He knew the reputation of Carolus and although he would not admit it had a half-mocking hope that Carolus would lean back in his chair, put his fingers together and proceed to solve the entire puzzle.
That there was a puzzle, and that he was baffled by it, Grimsby admitted to himself, adding in his own mind that there could be no harm in hearing whatthat chap Deene had to say. Carolus, on his side, knew that only through Grimsby could he learn the essential facts of the case, the identity of the murdered boy and perhaps something of his associates.
âOh yes, we know who he was all right,â said Grimsby. âThereâll be no secret about it by tomorrow because weâve given the name to the papers. The London Press arenât interested and even our local newspapers donât show much excitement. Thereâs been so much of this sort of thing lately, you see. The novelty has worn off.â
âBut the puzzles remain?â
âThatâs it. They do.â
Carolus was silent for a moment then said, âDid you notice the dead boyâs wrists?â
Grimsby looked disappointed. If this was all the famous Carolus Deene had to contribute it would not get him much farther.
âYes. And his ankles,â he said. âBeen carried some distance on the pillion seat of a motor-cycle.â
âDead or alive?â
âEither, as I see it. Probably dead. The boy came from Hartington. Fatherâs a foreman in a plastics factory.â
âSo you think the boy was murdered, stripped, and dumped in that ditch?â
âOr vice versa. No idea yet. The doctor says heâd been dead for at least twenty-four hours when you found him. He could have been killed in Hartington on the Saturday afternoon, in fact, and brought across to Newminster, (thatâs about thirty miles as you know) during the darkness of Saturday night.â
âHis ankles tied to the footrests of a motor-cycle and his arms round the riderâs waist. Wearing a helmet and goggles, perhaps?â
âYes. Obviously.â
âBut dead?â
âCould be.â
âWhy was he stripped then?â
âIdentification, I suppose. Or at least to delay identification. Actually, we knew on the third day that a Hartington youth known as âDutchâ Carver had been missing since Saturday afternoon. So the delay wasnât of much use, was it?â
âNot unless those two days were important to someone. They could have been.â
Grimsby considered that.
âYes. I suppose so. The boy was a greaser. Had hair down to his shoulder blades. That, as you know, had been roughly cut.â
âI saw that.â
âAnd thatâs about as far as Iâve got. Obvious suspects are the skinheads of the town, particularly one group. Doesnât it seem a bit fantastic to you in this day and age that our murder suspects are quite often teenagers? It sickens me.â
âYes. How many of the group are there?â
âAbout a dozen. Iâve questioned four without much satisfaction. You understand of course, that this conversation is in the strictest confidence, donât you?â
âOf course. I appreciate that. Iâll tell you what Iâm considering. The facts begin to interest me and I think Iâll run over to Hartington. I donât like the place, but itâs there that the core of this case would seem to lie. You neednât be aware Iâve gone or show that you know me if we meet. I shall work on my own and if I get anything for you Iâll phone you here in Newminster.â
âFine. Iâll expect to hear from you.â
âDonât be