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“Just that he looks after his mother, sir. They have a small cottage on the outskirts of Great Tipton. I hear that he used to work as a labourer but needed a steadier job when his mother got sick.”
“Ah, I remember now. His mother has a wasting disease. She used to work for the Michaels,” Mark replied, immediately crossing the blacksmith’s labourer as a possible criminal.
Mr Finchay beamed. “That’s right.”
Mark nodded. “Did you see anybody else?”
“Well, no. I can’t rightly recall that I did.”
“What about Mrs Glover? Whe
re do you think she was going?” Isaac interrupted.
Mr Finchay looked nonplussed. He opened his mouth and then closed it again with a snap. “I can’t rightly say. I don’t know.”
“She isn’t usually seen on the street at that time in the morning,” Mark prompted. Mr Finchay opened his mouth to reply only for Mark’s next question to stop him. “What time was this? When did you see her?”
“It must have been about seven o’clock this morning,” Mr Finchay murmured.
“Do you see her on the street regularly?”
“Now that you come to mention it, I don’t.”
“I thought her husband sold their farm to the newcomer, Mr Richmond,” Mark replied.
“That’s right. Mrs Glover has been moaning to everyone about how Mr Richmond purchased the farm at a fraction of the price. What the Glovers got for their farm was scandalous. It was barely enough to clear all their bills, you know.”
Mark shared a knowing look with Isaac. “That is what Mrs Glover has told you, is it?”
Mr Finchay nodded.
“Where is she staying now?”
“I think they are living with her sister over in Great Tipton now. I can’t rightly be sure.”
“Is there any reason for her to be in the village at seven in the morning?” Mark asked.
“Not that I can think of. I am not all that sure. Harriett might be able to tell you if the woman had any friends in the village she could visit.”
“At seven in the morning?” Isaac’s brows shot up.
“Now that you come to mention it, it is a little unusual.” Mr Finchay scowled.
“Mr Finchay, I would remind you that what we have discussed here this morning relates to our investigation into the murders of Mr Lewis, Mr Richmond, and now Mrs Girdling. You are not at liberty to mention what we have discussed this morning with anybody. Understand?”
Mr Finchay nodded.
“Doing so might put your life in danger. If the killer thinks that you have noticed something about his actions or behaviour, you may end up like Mrs Girdling. Keep your back doors locked and bolted and make sure you have a weapon behind the counter with you. Don’t leave the shop unlocked if you must go out the back. All right?”
“We don’t mean to scare you, Mr Finchay,” Mark amended when Isaac had finished. “But my friend here is right. The killer is ruthless and targeting people who are likely to report what they see to us.”
“Tuppence isn’t the killer. Someone is trying to make her look guilty. She has been under close guard since she found Mr Lewis and couldn’t possibly have murdered Mr Richmond or Mrs Girdling.”
Mr Finchay nodded thoughtfully but had paled considerably the longer that Isaac and Mark had talked. He now looked terrified.
“Go about your business as you usually would, Mr Finchay. Try to at least pretend that everything is all right. However, keep an eye out for anybody on the street who isn’t usually out and about at certain times of the day. Don’t hurry to the station to tell me yourself if you see something unusual. Send a letter, or someone with a note, but be quick about it. If I am not at the station, get your messenger to leave a note with my assistant, Detective Calger, all right?”
“Of course, sir. I can send Brian, my delivery boy, with the note. He is fast on his feet,” Mr Finchay murmured. “He can use his delivery bicycle.”
