Free Death at Gallows Green by Robin Paige

called. Edward answered with a shrug. Apparently it was a surprise to him, too—which in itself was odd, considering that the murder, which had been committed in Edward’s district, was Edward’s case. Superintendent Hacking, who was stationed at district headquarters in nearby Colchester, began with a brief summary of Sergeant Oliver’s service and reported that the Standing Joint Committee that controlled the County Force had met upon the matter and determined that the sergeant had met his death while in the execution of his duty. Mrs. Oliver had been granted a pension of fifteen pounds a year, plus two-pounds-ten for the child. The questioning then turned to the incident itself.
    â€œDo you know,” Harry Hodson asked, “why Sergeant OIIVER might have been in the vicinity of Dedham on the night he was murdered?”
    Hacking’s face was impassive. “I do,” he said.
    â€œPlease state it for the jury.”
    â€œThere was a matter that required the urgent attention of the police in this neighbourhood.” Hacking’ voice was clipped. “If you press me I will state it, but in the interests of justice, it would possibly be best not to.”
    Charles frowned. An odd business. Several of the jurors apparently thought so too, for they sat forward on their bench. Edward was even more intent, his face furrowed, lips pressed together.
    â€œYou may state the reason,” Coroner Hodson said. Hacking’s eyes flicked to Edward. “Sheep have been stolen in the neighbourhood,” he said. “In consequence, close attention was being paid. By my special direction, I might add.”
    Edward sat upright.
    Harry Hodson frowned. “No one has offered any evidence suggesting that the murder involved sheep stealing.”
    â€œThe preceding witness did,” the superintendent replied.
    The clerk was consulted, Mr. McGregor’s testimony was read back, and the superintendent’s recollection was confirmed. But when asked to specify whose sheep had been taken, the superintendent only replied that this was the very information Sergeant Oliver had been attempting to procure so he was no wiser than any of them. However, Chief Constable Pell had taken the case himself, and expected it to be speedily resolved.
    Mr. McGregor was recalled from the bench outside the pub where he was sharing a pint with a friend, and asked for more specifics about sheep-stealing. But he could provide nothing more and was permitted to return to his pint. The jury retired to the back garden and returned a few moments later with the verdict everyone had expected: “Homicide, by person or persons unknown.”
    People stirred, voices were raised, Sanders the publican opened the tap, and life at the Live and Let Live began to flow again.

11
    Never the time and the place
And the loved one all together!
    â€”ROBERT BROWNING
“Never the Time and the Place”
    E dward Laken swallowed convulsively. “I don’t understand it,” he said.
    The black coach bearing the coffin had returned to Gallows Green, the curious had gone back to their shops and farms, and Superintendent Hacking had been driven back to Colchester by the uniformed constable who had brought him. The twelve jurors were bellied up to the bar, drinking the convivial pints purchased for them by Harry Hodson and explaining to anyone who would listen the complex logic behind their verdict. Edward and Charles were seated at a scratched deal table in the rear, a pitcher of local beer before them, a dark brew faintly suggestive of licorice and tobacco and with a definitive body. Edward, having had two glasses, was feeling deeply morose.
    â€œI don’t understand it,” he said again, staring into his glass.
    â€œThe sheep-stealing, you mean?” Charles asked.
    â€œNot that, nor the superintendent’s giving the case over to Pell, nor—” He leaned back in his chair and bitterly mimicked the