perhaps a touch embarrassed. ‘Is this -’ Denton gestured around the Haymow - ‘just so you can quiz me?’
‘No, no, no,’ Munro said. ‘Georgie’s just being a good copper. He’s got to follow up the loose ends, see?’
Denton glanced back at Guillam. ‘Am I suspected of something?’
‘Everybody’s suspected of something - that’s the copper’s way. No, you’re not suspected in this, unless it’s spinning a tale about the Ripper for your own amusement. Which would not amuse me.’ Guillam put down his empty glass. ‘Willey’s got his murderer—’ Denton saw Munro’s head come up, and his face must have shown his own surprise, because Guillam said, ‘News to you? - a nigger he picked up with blood all over him, drunk out of his mind and unable to say where he’d been. So you’re not a suspect, see? So please don’t give me a hard time, Mr Denton. If you don’t like talking to me here, I’ll haul your arse down to the Yard and show you how we conduct an interrogation of an unwilling witness - because you say you are a witness. Now, get off your high horse, you.’
Denton felt a contradictory deflation at the news that Willey had the murderer, or at least a suspect; all at once, Mulcahy and his visit seemed irrelevant. He made the mistake of saying so to Guillam. Guillam bared his teeth the way angry dogs do and snarled, ‘Just because you’re a smart fella, don’t try to do my thinking for me!’
Guillam would never have talked to Hench-Rose like that, Denton thought - he’d succeeded in convincing Guillam, at least, that he wasn’t a gentleman. Oddly, the offensive tone made him like Guillam a little, and he laughed. ‘What do you want to know?’
Guillam grunted. ‘I read your statement to Willey and I think it’s a bit peculiar that this fellow - Mulcahy? - just happened to come to your house.’
‘I explained that.’
‘Just came to your house, started to babble, he did.’
Denton tried not to sound defensive. ‘It’s the “sheriff ” thing again. He was frightened out of his wits.’
‘Tell me about that.’
‘What?’
‘How was he frightened? Tell me how you knew he was frightened.’
Denton looked to Munro but got no help. ‘Are you two going to take me to see the girl’s room or aren’t you?’ he said, annoyed again.
Guillam sat back, eyed him. ‘Depends,’ he said. He began working a thumbnail between his front teeth, moved the nail to the right into the next crevice, then the next, then turned the nail horizontally and chewed it. ‘I’m thinking of doing you a service here. In return, I’d like some information. Then, if I’m satisfied, we’ll stroll down to the crime scene because I want to see what you make of that - if you don’t mind.’
‘Munro said that was a tale, taking me along to see what I’d remember.’
‘That’s Donald’s word, tale, not mine.’
‘My God - you really do suspect me of something!’
Guillam hunched forward. ‘Mr Denton, if we really suspected you, we’d have you at the Yard. Now tell me about Mulcahy being frightened out of his wits.’
He went through that, then through Mulcahy’s flight, which Guillam said was ‘convenient’, then through Mulcahy’s arrival and his choice of Denton for his ‘babbling’. The more Denton talked, the weaker it sounded. The more questions Guillam asked, the more Denton thought that he was being looked at as one of those loonies who rush to the police after every sensational crime.
‘City Police didn’t find your tale about this Mulcahy very helpful.’ Guillam gave a glimmer of a smile. ‘I did send a couple of telegrams to check out what you say he told you, nonetheless.’ He looked up at Denton, his huge face on his left fist.
‘Where?’
‘Yorkshire, Paris, Berlin.’ He made a circle with his right thumb and forefinger. ‘Nothing yet.’ Guillam shifted, put both forearms in their heavy tweed sleeves on the little table. ‘You write stories, Mr Denton, fanciful stuff full of ghosts and fairies. Tempting to think your brain’s been too active, it is.’ He held up his left hand again to shush Denton before he could speak. ‘Don’t get your dander up. I know that’s insulting. But see it from my perspective - in walks this gent, feeds Willey a tale that doesn’t help anything, gent turns out to be a professional storyteller, maybe one wanting his name in the papers. Willey’s being run ragged, trying to fend off the press scum and satisfy his masters and