Latimer was scornful. ‘We don’t need tramps here.’
‘Fortunately, Doug Pym disagreed. That’s why we caught the lads who tried to vandalise the bowling green. Old Bag Dad saw them at it. He also foiled thieves who attempted to raid the botanical gardens. And there were many other occasions when he was a key witness.’
Latimer was stunned. ‘You’d listen to the word of a man like that?’
‘With gratitude.’
‘Well, he can’t help you this time, Inspector.’
‘You may be surprised on that score.’
Fallowell turned away to supervise his scene of crime team and the park keeper was left to ponder. He was seething with frustration. The murder had made nonsense of his claim to have cleaned up the park. It was almost as if someone were deliberately trying to get back at him. He could think of only one person who might do that – Old Bag Dad.
It was two days before the park was reopened. Visitors swarmed in, still buzzing with curiosity about the crime and anxious to see the exact place where it had occurred. Molly Mandrake’s profession added a lurid glow to the whole affair. In their press statement, the police announced that the victim had suffered death by asphyxiation though they were reticent about any sexual abuse involved. Colourful theories abounded.
When the head park keeper did a circuit of his domain, he was taken aback to see Old Bag Dad on his favourite bench. The tramp was in the process of eating a banana. Ken Latimer bore down on him.
‘Don’t you dare throw that banana skin away,’ he warned.
‘You have enough of those already,’ said the tramp with a glint in his eye. ‘And it seems that you slipped on one of them. What happened to your nightly patrol, Mr Latimer? You boasted that you’d make the park safe after dark.’
‘That’s exactly what I did.’
‘Try telling that to Molly Mandrake.’
‘She had no business being in here.’
Old Bag Dad stiffened. ‘I hope you’re not going to tell me that she was asking for it,’ he said, sounding a note of challenge. ‘No woman should suffer that fate. Molly may not’ve been a saint but she’s entitled to our sympathy. God bless her!’
‘Have you spoken to the police yet?’ demanded Latimer.
‘Why on earth should I do that?’
‘Chief Inspector Fallowell thought you might’ve seen something.’
‘Yes,’ said the tramp with a chuckle. ‘I noticed that Tom Fallowell was in charge of the case. He’s a friend of mine. Give him my regards when you see him again.’
‘You’re the one who should see him.’
‘Am I?’
‘Tell him what you know.’
‘About what?’
‘This crime,’ said Latimer with irritation. ‘You know this park, and the people who use it, better than anybody. You must have ideas.’
‘Dozens of them,’ admitted the other, getting up. ‘Excuse me while I put this banana skin in the bin. You won’t slip on it then.’
‘Were you acquainted with Molly Mandrake?’
‘Not in a professional sense.’ He dropped the banana skin into the metal bin. ‘But we often had a chat. Molly was good company. She used to be a bus conductor, you know. In the dear old days when we had such luxuries. Apparently, that’s how it all started.’
‘What did?’
‘Her change of direction. When they switched over to driver-only buses, Molly was out of work. She’d been so popular with her male colleagues that she decided to start charging for her expertise. I recall her telling me that it was just like being a bus conductor,’ he went on with a fond smile. ‘They bought their ticket and she took them on a very pleasant journey.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘The other night, alas, she reached her terminus.’
Latimer eyed him shrewdly. ‘You know something, don’t you?’
‘I know lots of things, my friend.’
‘You have information about this murder.’
‘How could I?’
‘It’s a crime to withhold evidence. Do you realise that?’
‘What evidence could I have, Mr Latimer?’ taunted the old man. ‘I’m banned from the park after dark. You evicted me from my bench.’
‘You might have sneaked back in here.’
‘And eluded your eagle eyes? How could I possibly do that?’
‘This is important. We’re talking about a serious crime.’
‘Nobody is as anxious as me to see the killer brought to book,’ said the tramp, firmly. ‘Molly was a friend of mine. She was so full of life.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Molly was like me, Mr Latimer. A harmless soul who relies on the sympathy and understanding of others. She also relied on their weaknesses, I grant you, but that doesn’t contradict my argument. Molly needed the kind of tolerance that Doug Pym used to give us. If he’d still been here, I have a feeling that she’d be alive to this day.’
Latimer blenched. ‘Are you saying I am responsible for her death?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘My intention was to get rid of any crime.’
‘That was tantamount to throwing down the gauntlet,’ said the old man. ‘Some people hate authority. When they’re given orders, they have this tendency to disobey them. Molly had to go on coming here.’
‘And what about you?’
‘Oh, I’m much more law-abiding.’
‘Don’t lie to me.’
Old Bag Dad beamed. ‘I always tell the truth to a man in a peaked cap,’ he declared. ‘And you look as if you were born with it on.’
Ken Latimer was stymied. He realised that bullying would get him nowhere this time. If he wanted cooperation from the old man, he had to trade. It was a bitter pill to swallow but the future of the park was at stake. He could not let an unsolved murder hang over it like a dark cloud.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s have it. What’s the deal?’
‘Deal?’
‘You were a witness. We need you to come forward.’
‘But I was forbidden to come here at night,’ the tramp reminded him. ‘If I give evidence, you’ll prosecute me for trespassing on council property. My lawyer would never allow me to do anything like that.’
‘There’ll be no prosecution, Bag Dad.’
‘What guarantee do I have of that?’
‘My promise,’ said Latimer, proudly. ‘I’ll stand by it.’
‘I need something more. I want to go back to the old arrangement.’
‘You, staying the night here? I won’t have that.’
‘Then there’s no deal. Got it?’
‘There has to be. My reputation is at stake here.’
The old man indicated the bench. ‘So is my bed.’
‘If I let you stay overnight, I’d be breaking the rules.’
‘Join the club, Mr Latimer.’
The keeper’s head sank to his chest. After a lifetime of enforcing rules and regulations, he was faced with an impossible dilemma. He could stay true to his principles and risk having an unsolved crime leaving a permanent stain on his park. Or he could compromise. It required a huge effort on his part.
‘Very well,’ he conceded, grudgingly. ‘You win.’
‘I’d prefer it if we could shake hands on that.’
It was almost too much to ask. Latimer was a fastidious man with a deep-seated hatred of tramps but he knew that Old Bag Dad was in a position to dictate terms. With severe misgivings, he extended his hand. The other man shook it then walked across to pick up his bag.
‘I think I’ll go and have a talk with Tom Fallowell,’ he said.
When he arrived at the police station, Old Bag Dad was taken straight to the Chief Inspector. A mass of evidence had already been collected but no suspect had yet emerged. The police were baffled. The tramp was able to supply a crucial detail.
‘I caught a glimpse of the registration number on the car.’
‘What was it?’ pressed Fallowell.