by W H Oxley
It was over an hour before Hawker returned, and when he did, one glance at his face told Brightwell there was a problem.
‘No luck with the fingerprints, sir?’
‘Absolutely none, though at least the super was happy about us bagging Bertie for that other robbery.’
‘What about ballistics?’
‘Jesus! I could murder a pint!’
‘The pubs are closed, sir.’
‘I know, don’t rub it in.’
‘Cheer up, sir, only half an hour ’til opening time.’
‘Humph! Anything new?’
‘Not much, but I did remember something odd that Goldstein said when I was taking his fingerprints. According to my notes, Purvis said that he wanted to enlist in the army and Goldstein asked him not to, but according to Goldstein Purvis has just received his call-up papers. He also mentioned something about a fourteen-year-old boy that helps out on Saturdays who could start fulltime.’
‘Hmm, that’s interesting… A school-leaver would be cheaper – and I’ve yet to meet a pawnbroker who was free with his money. I think I’d like another word with Purvis. Get on to it, Brightwell.’
‘I’ve already done so, sir.’
‘Nurse Williams?’ Hawker sighed.
‘It was quicker than going through official channels, sir.’ Brightwell grinned.
‘And?’
‘They’re going to amputate.’
‘His hand?’
‘The whole arm, he seems to have developed a particularly virulent form of blood poisoning.’
‘Humph, then he can forget all about those call-up papers. He won’t be much use to the army now.’
‘I suppose there’s no chance of the wound being self-inflicted, sir?’
‘That was one of the first possibilities I considered. There’s been a rash of those since conscription began. I heard of a garage up in the Midlands where all three apprentices managed to get their hands crushed in the same week – always the left one mind you. But if Purvis did shoot himself, what became of the gun? He had no opportunity to dispose of it, and by all accounts was in no condition to do so. Also, if the newsagent was observant enough to notice a cartridge case he’d hardly miss a gun, and if it fell under the counter or some such place the forensic chaps would have found it. Besides, it was Purvis’s right hand that was wounded.’
‘He’s left-handed, sir.’
‘Is he now…’ Hawker reached for his tobacco pouch and put his feet up on the desk. ‘I suppose we must give thanks to Nurse Williams for saving the Metropolitan Police a great deal of time – as well as giving them a good time…’
‘All in the line of duty, sir…’
‘I’ll bet it was!’
‘At least it gives Purvis a motive, sir.’
‘But let us not forget the missing gun, Brightwell. Where did it come from, and where did it go?’
‘I get the impression you’re hiding something from me as usual, sir. Why do you always do that?’
Hawker shrugged. ‘Because it is far too easy for me to start chasing one particular theory, and I get a different point of view from you if you don’t know everything – and a few fresh ideas are what I’m going to need after seeing that ballistic report.’
‘Was it that bad, sir?’
‘Worse: it’s back to the drawing board – or should I say drawing pints. They should be open in five minutes. Come on, Brightwell, grab your hat. I’ll tell you all about it in the pub.’
Chapter 5
