‘No. There were no witnesses apart from one of Bowyer’s men who got hit by the thing, and he ended up in an asylum thanks to that and the booze. He committed suicide about a year ago.’
Mundy was surprised to see distant amusement flare in Rose’s misty eyes and then he suddenly knew, as deep down he always had. A look passed between them that carried an unspoken question and answer –
Do you?
Yes.
Rose nodded slowly; it was incredibly hard to gain the old woman’s trust, but this Mundy had achieved.
Rose opened the door behind her, saying, ‘I think that you’d better come in, detective.’
The interior of this caravan was much the same as the other had been, with the same fantastic pictures stuck on the walls, all the better for awing the pubic into parting with their money. Mundy took a seat as Rose sat at her spot in-between the cloth-covered table and the wall.
She smiled gently, her somewhat hard visage correspondingly softening for a second.
‘You seem a sensible man, although I fear that your type of policeman is fast becoming a rarity in this day and age. I would appreciate it if what I tell you does not go beyond these walls – ’
Mundy shook his head. ‘I can’t guarantee that.’
Rose shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter – you can’t bring Teddy Bowyer’s murderer to justice now, anyway.’
Mundy nodded slightly at the heavy sarcasm the gypsy had placed on the word ‘justice’, and then permitted himself a slight smile.
‘Rejoined the other world, has it?’
Rose smiled in return as she opened a draw in the round table, producing a large and dog-eared photograph which she handed to Mundy.
‘Oh no, detective. It – sorry, they – were very much of this world, and they were both very mortal. So mortal, in fact, that the war resulted in both of them losing their lives. They had an act together, which they stopped after they fought over a card game. They were close friends, you see – almost like brothers. They fought like brothers; but they loved like brothers, too.’
Mundy stared at the photograph, only the slightest trace of surprise showing in his expression as he nodded his comprehension. All things considered, he’d been a fool not to have realised this before.
The photo showed Gregor supporting an equally well-built man on his shoulders – Mundy did not recognise Hans, but the answer was now obvious regarding who it was who’d detached Bowyer’s head from his shoulders.
The two men wore only trousers and their exposed skin was slick with sweat, suggesting that they’d just done a show requiring significant exertion.
A multitude of black clothing lay about them, the quantity suggesting that it had been used primarily to conceal their combined shape. Most illuminating of all, though, was Hans. His massive hands held the two pieces of a thick lump of wood that he’d snapped like a twig, the blue veins on his incredibly large arms prominent as he smiled cheerily at the camera.
*
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