Chapter 17

Friday, midafternoon

Jon sat across from Perstow in his cramped caravan. "Why?"

"I tried, sar. But he can see through me every time. Tol' him I recognized you from an interdepartmental communiqué."

"Weak."

"I could not think of a thing else. Sorry, sar."

Jon rubbed his face, weary. "You've got other things to worry about. Go about your business and don't let on about anything else concerning me. Understood?"

"Understood. Sorry, sar."

After seeing the portly man out, Jon decided to treat old man Tavy to the drink he'd promised him. Even if Jon wasn't part of the investigating team, he was a policeman. Despite a lack of invitation, he would find a way in.

"Tavy's house is at the back of the village," Sergeant Perstow had told him as he handed him a hand-drawn map of the lanes to follow.