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“Well, I’ve not checked his bed.” She rose to her feet.

“It’s okay, Mary, love, you stay where you are,” said Briggs. “You tell us the room and I’ll check.” She did as she was asked and then sat back down.

“Carry on, Mary,” prompted Gardener. “A strange incident.”

“Oh, yes. When Stan was leaving, he called Henry by the name of Harry. I just thought it was a mistake, but maybe it wasn’t.” Tears welled in her eyes and she brought a handkerchief to her face.

Briggs returned. “The bed hasn’t been slept in.”

“I know this is hard for you, Mary, but we have to carry on. You said that Stan left, have you any idea where he went?”

“No, he just said he had business to see to and that he would come back later.”

“But you never saw him come back?”

“No.”

“How well did you know Stan?”

“I didn’t. In fact, until yesterday, we’d never really spoken. I’d only nodded to him. He seemed pleasant enough.”

“Any idea where he came from?”

“No. He was a down and out, but I’ve no idea which places he went to, and Henry never said.”

“Couldn’t give us a description, could you, love?” asked Reilly.

“Shouldn’t be a problem. He’d certainly stand out in a crowd. I’d say he was in his sixties, and he had odd eyes, they were different colours and one was lower than the other. He had an awful scar as well, just under the right eye. He’d not looked after his skin, poor love, but then who could? When you’re living rough, moisturiser’s not top of your list, is it? Lots of wrinkles, and it looked leathery. But for all that, he didn’t look hungry.”

Gardener really didn’t like where the description was heading. “How did he dress?”

“Well, there’s another funny thing. He reminded me and Henry of Sherlock Holmes. He had a deerstalker, and he used to smoke a pipe, well, not smoke it exactly, just stick it in his mouth as if he used to smoke and had given up.”

She gave out another sob. “Do you know, I can’t believe anyone would do something so awful.” Her voice rose an octave. “He had his head cut off, and where’s the body, for God’s sake? Who would cut off a head and take the body?”

Gardener hadn’t the heart to tell her what they’d found upstairs, but he figured she’d find out soon enough. “I appreciate you didn’t know Stan very well, but in the time you did see him, was there anything unusual about his behaviour?”

“Again, not really. He was a nice enough chap, talkative. Had some funny ideas about the world and where it was heading; none too keen on insects, as I remember, or things that flew around: moths and butterflies. He was frightened of storms. We had one once, a right humdinger. I remember seeing him sitting at the table, his knuckles were as white as his face.”

“At least that’s something,” said Gardener. “Anything else?”

“To be honest, Mr Gardener, I didn’t really know him, and Henry didn’t talk about him that much, either.”

Gardener sighed inwardly. For someone who could cause so much damage, information was pretty thin on the ground. “Can you think of any strange things happening over the past week or so?”

Mary Phillips paused and then said, “Nothing that I know of.” And then she cried into her handkerchief again.

Gardener thought it best to terminate the interview. She was stressed enough as it was. “Okay, Mary. You’ve been a great help. I’ll leave you a card. If you remember anything, no matter how trivial you think it is, ring me. Day or night, I’ll get the message.”

Mary took the card and he told her she was allowed to leave. Before she actually left the room, Gardener called over. “Miss Phillips?”

Mary turned. “Yes?”

“Just one more question if you don’t mind. I know you’ve worked with Henry for two years, and you’ve said he was a private man. But, can I ask, did you spend any time alone with him? In his quarters, or anywhere else for that matter?”

“What are you suggesting, Mr Gardener?”

“Nothing. I simply want to ascertain how well you got on. At some point, I’m going to have to go over his room and collect all his personal belongings. I’d like you to try to remember and make an inventory. I need to know if there’s anything missing, anything personal.”

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