“What was the business you wanted to talk about before Wallace so rudely barged in our lunch the other day, Jerry? You were a bit mysterious, saying you didn’t want it leaving the building at Vauxhall.”
Jerry Furley had called me at Chester Square, arranging to meet me at, of all places, Westminster Mortuary, in Horseferry Road. I walked around the corner and caught a black cab, arriving a few minutes before he did.
“The thing I wanted to tell you about was how Gerald Neil died, Harry, but on reflection, then wouldn’t have been the optimum moment. Not all the pieces were together, and I mean that literally. Hopefully today is a better day. I’ve got the chief Home Office pathologist supervising the post-mortem, at the end of which I hope we will be in a better position to ascertain the ca
