‘Right. So that’s what Wilt said he did with them. And you keep those in the No. 2 cold storage room. Am I right?’
Mr Kidley nodded miserably. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘we do.’ He paused and gaped at the Inspector. ‘But there’s a world of difference between a pig’s head and a…’
‘Quite,’ said the Inspector hastily, ‘and I daresay you think someone was bound to spot the difference.’
‘Of course they would.’
‘Now I understand from Mr Wilt that you have an extremely efficient mincing machine…’
‘No,’ shouted Mr Kidley desperately. ‘No. I don’t believe it. It’s not possible. It’s…’
‘Are you saying he couldn’t possibly have…’
‘I’m not saying that. I’m saying he shouldn’t have. It’s monstrous. It’s horrible.’
‘Of course it’s horrible.’ said the Inspector. ‘The fact remains that he used that machine.’
‘But we keep our equipment meticulously clean.’
‘So Wilt says. He was definite on that point. He says he cleaned up carefully afterwards.’
‘He must have done,’ said Mr Kidley. ‘There wasn’t a thing out of place on Monday morning. You heard the foreman say, so.’
‘And I also heard this swine Wilt say that he made a list of where everything came from before he used it so that he could put it back exactly where he’d found it. He thought of everything.’
‘And what about our reputation for hygiene? He didn’t think of that, did he? For twenty-flue years we’ve been known for the excellence of our products and now this has to happen. We’ve been at the head of…’ Mr Kidley stopped suddenly and sat down.
‘Now then,’ said the Inspector, ‘what I have to know is who you supply to. We’re going to call in every pork pie and sausage…
‘Call them in? You can’t call them in,’ screamed Mr Kidley, ‘they’ve all gone.’
‘Gone? What do you mean they’ve gone?’
‘What I say. They’ve gone. They’ve either been eaten or destroyed by now.’
‘Destroyed? You’re not going to tell me that there aren’t any left. It’s only five days since they went out.’
Mr Kidley drew himself up. ‘Inspector, this is as old fashioned firm and we use traditional methods and a Sweetbreads pork pie is a genuine pork pie. It’s not one of your ersatz pies with preservatives that…’
It was Inspector Flint’s turn to slump into a chair. ‘Am I to understand that your fucking pies don’t keep?’ he asked.
Mr Kidley nodded. ‘They are for immediate consumption he said proudly. ‘Here today, gone tomorrow. That’s our motto. You’ve seen our advertisements of course.’
Inspector Flint hadn’t.
‘Today’s pie with yesterday’s flavour, the traditional pie with the family filling.’
‘You can say that again.’ said Inspector Flint.
Mr Gosdyke regarded Wilt sceptically and shook leis head ‘You should have listened to me,’ he said, ‘I told you not to talk.’
‘I had to say something,’ said Wilt. ‘They wouldn’t let me sleep and they kept asking me the same stupid questions over and over again. You’ve no idea what that does to you. It drive you potty.’
‘Frankly, Mr Wilt, in the light of the confession you have made I find it hard to believe there was any need to. A man who can, of his own free will make a statement like this to the police is clearly insane.’
‘But it’s nor true,’ said Wilt, ‘it’s all pure invention.’
‘With a wealth of such revolting detail? I must say I find that hard to believe. I do indeed. The bit about hip and thighs. It makes my stomach turn over.’
‘But that’s from the Bible.’ said Wilt, ‘and besides I had to put in the gory bits or they wouldn’t have believed me. Take the part where I say I sawed their…’
‘Mr Wilt, for God’s sake…’
‘Well, all I can say is you’ve never taught Meat One. I got it all from them and once you’ve taught them life can hold few surprises.’
Mr Gosdyke raised an eyebrow. ‘Can’t it? Well I think I disabuse you of that notion,’ he said solemnly. ‘In the light of this confession you have made against my most earnest advice, and as a result of my firm belief that every word in it is true, I am no longer prepared to act on your behalf.’ He collected his papers and stood up. ‘You will have to get someone else.’
‘But, Mr Gosdyke, you don’t really believe all that nonsense about putting Eva in a pork pie, do you?’ Wilt asked.
‘Believe it? A man who can conceive of such a disgusting thing is capable of anything. Yes I do and what is more so do the police. They are this moment scouring the shops, the pubs and the supermarkets and dustbins of the entire county in search of pork pies.’
‘But if they find any it won’t do any good.’
‘It may also interest you to know that they have impounded five thousand cans of Dogfill, an equal number of Catkin and have begun to dissect a quarter of a ton of Sweetbreads Best Bangers. Somewhere in that little lot they are bound to find some trace of Mrs Wilt, not to mention Dr and Mrs Pringsheim.’
‘Well, all I can say is that I wish them luck.’ said Wilt.
‘And so do I,’ said Mr Gosdyke disgustedly and left the room. Behind him Wilt sighed. If only Eva would turn up. Where the hell could she have got to?
At the Police Laboratories Inspector Flint was getting restive. ‘Can’t you speed things up a bit?’ he asked.
The Head of the Forensic Department shook his head. ‘It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,’ he said, glancing significantly at another batch of sausages that had just been brought in. ‘So far not a trace. This could take weeks.’
‘I haven’t got weeks,’ said the Inspector, ‘he’s due in Court on Monday!
‘Only for remand and in any case you’ve got his statement.’ But Inspector Flint had his doubts about that. He had been looking at that statement and had noticed a number of discrepancies about it which fatigue, disgust and an overwhelming desire to get the filthy account over and done with before he was sick had tended to obscure at the time. For one thing Wilt’s scrawled signature looked suspiciously like Little Tommy Tucker when examined closely and there was a QNED beside it, which Flint had a shrewd idea meant Quod Non Erat Demonstrandum and in any case there were rather too many references to pigs for his policeman’s fancy and fuzzy pigs at that. Finally the information that Wilt had made a special request for two pork pies for lunch and had specified Sweet- breads in particular suggested an insane cannibalism that might fit in with what he had said he had done but seemed to be carrying things too far. The word ‘provocation’ sprang to mind and since the episode of the doll Flint had been rather conscious of bad publicity. He read through the statement again and couldn’t make up his mind about it. One thing was quite certain. Wilt knew exactly how Sweetbreads factory worked. The wealth of detail he had supplied proved that. On the other hand Mr Kidley’s incredulity about the heads and the mincing machine had seemed, on inspection, to be justified. Flint had looked gingerly at the beastly contraption and had found it difficult to believe that even Wilt in a fit homicidal mania could have…Flint put the thought out his mind. He decided to have another little chat with Henry Wilt. Feeling like death warmed up he went back to the Interview Room and sent for Wilt.
‘How’s it going?’ said Wilt when be arrived. ‘Had any luck with the frankfurters yet? Of course you could always try your hand at black puddings…’
‘Wilt,’ interrupted the Inspector, ‘why did you sign statement Little Tommy Tucker?’