Ask her if it was Williams,

I said.
There was some murmuring at the other end and then Ursula's voice back again, She thinks so, yes.
You're a dear, Ursula, I said.
She gave an unembarrassed laugh. Do you want me to go on down the road to Rube Golby's place? He had a show pony Calder cured a fair time ago of a weeping wound that wouldn't heal.
Just one more, then, Ursula. It's pretty conclusive already, I'd say.
Best to be sure, she said cheerfully. And I'm enjoying myself, actually, now I'm over the shock.
I wrote down the details she gave me and when she'd gone off the line I handed the new information to Wyfold.
Clint, he said with disillusion. Elvis next, I shouldn't wonder.
I shook my head. A man of action, our Shane.
Perhaps through needing to solve at least one murder while reviled for not catching his rapist, Wyfold put his best muscle into the search. It took him only two weeks to find Shane, who was arrested on leaving a pub in the racing village of Malton, Yorkshire, where he had been heard boasting several times about secret exploits of undisclosed daring.
Wyfold told Oliver, who telephoned me in the office, to which I'd returned via a newly installed wheelchair ramp up the front steps.
He called himself Dean, Oliver said. Dean Williams. It seems the police are transferring him from Yorkshire back here to Hertfordshire, and Wyfold wants you to come to his police headquarters to identify Shane as the man called Jason at Calder's yard.
I said I would.
I didn't say that with honesty I couldn't.
Tomorrow, Oliver added. They're in a hurry because of holding him without a good enough charge, or something.
I'll be there.