Free Last Detective by Leslie Thomas

dishes at the counter which had not been in favour at lunchtime. Odours wandered from the back regions. A tramp came in and, after politely taking off his hat and giving his ragged hair a pat with his hand, sat down at a table near to the counter. At that distance he examined the brightly illuminated food like a patron at an art gallery. He knew his timing.
    â€˜Shepherd’s pie for ten pence? That’s less than half the price,’ suggested the woman across the counter.
    The tramp shook his head. ‘I only got six,’ he answered. ‘All right, six,’ sighed the woman. ‘No wonder they reckon you’re a millionaire.’
    Davies said: ‘They ought to do a tramp’s pie and sell it to shepherds.’
    Mrs Norris did not smile. ‘There’s some good-hearted people around,’ was her only comment. She returned her face to Davies.
    Eventually he said: ‘Mrs Norris, do you think you could bear to go through it again? To tell me about that one day. I’ve seen the statements, but I want to hear it from you.’
    â€˜All right,’ she said wearily. ‘Can I have another cup?’
    He rose. ‘I could do with one myself.’
    â€˜I expect it’ll go on expenses, won’t it?’ she asked genuinely.
    â€˜I’ll fiddle it and make it a profit,’ he said. He went to the counter and got the teas. The tramp said: ‘Hello, Dangerous.’
    Unprompted, she began when he had returned to the table. ‘It was the 23rd of July. She was at home in the morning, helping me. She was very good like that. It was a very hot day. There’d been about a week of hot weather. In the afternoon she went to the Employment place. It was only a little office in those days, not that great big place they’ve got now.’
    â€˜Times change,’ he nodded. ‘She was interested in nursing, wasn’t she?’
    Mrs Norris nodded. ‘She’d have been a credit. She was a very kind-natured girl.’ Her voice was without inflection, as though she were merely reciting something she had said many times before. ‘They had a talk to her about nursing but she came to have her tea and went straight out to that bleeding youth club. She said she’d tell me all about it when she got back that night. And, she never did get back.’
    â€˜You didn’t like the youth club?’ he said.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ she shook her head. ‘Nothing was ever said, but there was something rotten about it. Father Harvey never watched it like he ought to have done. But he was new here then. But I think he feels guilty about it. I think he knows how I feel about that.’
    â€˜You didn’t care for Mr Boot?’ suggested Davies.
    Her eyes came to life, as though in a moment some faith in him had been kindled. Then she subsided again, ‘No, I didn’t like that one,’ she admitted. ‘I expect you’ve seen the pictures.’
    â€˜Yes, the one of Mr Boot, Celia and another girl at some sort of garden fête.’
    â€˜Ena Brown,’ said Mrs Norris. ‘As was then. She’s Ena Lind now.’
    â€˜Lind? Lind? Who else was called Lind?’ he said, trying to remember the names on the statements.
    â€˜Bill Lind,’ she filled in flatly. ‘He was our Celia’s boyfriend. Just a friend. Like they are at that age. Not really a boyfriend.’
    â€˜And he married Ena, Celia’s friend?’
    â€˜Yes. About three years after. They told the newspaper in that article…they said they had been “drawn together by the tragedy” or some bleeding muck like that. Drawn together! She was pregnant more like it. They’ve got one of those council maisonettes now. She looks like a tart and when I see him in the street he turns the other way. Makes out he don’t know me.’
    â€˜And you didn’t like Mr Boot?’
    â€˜No, I didn’t care for him,