'You're telling me he says it was me that got into Spinks's warehouse?' he said. 'You want me to believe he's got the nerve to try that? You'll have to do a lot better than that, Mr Wield!'
I shall indeed, thought Wield, trying desperately to interpret this unforeseen turn. I shall indeed.
And he did. It was stupidly simple.
'It's the other way round, isn't it, Frankie?' he said softly. 'It's not been him alibi-ing you, but you alibi-ing him.'
He let go of the hands. He had no need of contact now. He had a stronger, better kind of grip on Pickersgill, the grip of a charge he could make stick.
'You lied about him being here that night. That's obstruction, Frankie. At the very least, we've got you for obstruction.'
The long thin face was sullen and uncertain.
'I don't know what you're on about,' he said.
It's Janey, thought Wield. Janey's told him the beating was enough. But it's a long way from being enough in Frankie's eyes.
'All right,' he said. 'You'd better come down to the nick with me, Frankie.'
'What the hell for?'
'Just to keep you out of the way, mainly,' said Wield. 'Though we'll think of something better for your brief. You'll need a brief, Frankie. You see, after I've shut you up, I'm going back to the hospital where I'll tell Ron you've shopped him for the Spinks job. Now, I reckon he's going to tell me you were the other man on that job.'
'Me! Do a job with that cowboy? You know that's not on, Mr Wield!'
'Mebbe I do, mebbe I don't. Who was the second man then, Frankie? Come on, lad. You know the watchman's dead. You don't want to be mixed up in this any more than you have to. Who was he?'
Again the unexpected reaction. A sort of triumphant amusement emerging in a raucous rush of laughter which almost drowned the noise of a door opening.
Almost.
Wield spun round and darted into the long narrow entrance hall. The front door was shut but at the other end the door which led into the kitchen was wide open and through it Wield could see a figure fumbling at the exit to the back yard.
It must have been locked. It was only half open when Wield reached him, hands flat and stiff like butcher's cleavers. The figure turned, his hands raised also. But one look at the pale and frightened face told Wield that the only intention here was a terrified defence.
Lowering his own arms, he smiled, the smile playing round his pitted face like a butterfly on a slag heap.
In response the other relaxed also and let his hands fall slowly from before his youthful anxious features.
'Hello, Tommy,' said Wield.
Chapter 19
Statement of Thomas Arthur Maggs made at Mid-Yorkshire Police HQ in the presence of Detective-Sergeant V. K. Wield.
‘I'm sorry about all the trouble I've caused. I didn't mean it but there didn't seem much else to do. It was all on top of me and Ron said I'd be dropping him in the shit if I told the truth but likely I would have done if the watchman hadn't died. I want whoever killed Brenda to get caught even though whatever they do to him won't be enough. But I didn't want to go to prison myself not for murder which is what I knew I'd get done for even though I never touched the man. That was Ron. I know it doesn't make any difference because I was there anyway, but it was Ron not me that hit him.
'It was all Ron's idea really. Brenda should have met me in the Bay Tree at eight o'clock that night only she didn't turn up. I wasn't all that surprised because we'd had a big row the previous night. It was about how far we should go now we'd got engaged. We'd just got engaged and I thought we could do it, I mean, go all the way now that it was fixed we were going to marry, but she wouldn't. Not inside her. Everything else, but not inside her and I got a bit annoyed and so did she. So when she didn't turn up, I thought she was just carrying on the row.
'Ron was there and we drank together till nearly nine. It was very crowded by then and I was a bit pissed off with being stood up so we went off to have a drive around and see what we could find to do. Ron had a bottle of whisky and we thought we might find some spare and go for a drive. We looked in a couple of places but there wasn't much on and we ended up parked alongside Spinks's warehouse having a drink when Ron said why shouldn't we do it? So we did. It was just a bit of fun till the watchman came. It was dead easy getting in and we'd found a box full of pocket transistors when this old fellow comes through the door, waving a torch. Ron hit him and pushed him over and we ran. We only had a couple of transistors apiece but it didn't matter because like I say it still seemed just a bit of fun.
'But when the car broke down on the way home, we got worried. So Ron stuffed all the transistors up his bomber jacket and he took off with them in case anyone should come along asking questions. The coppers rolled up just a few minutes later so I told them I'd been out with my girl-friend and she'd set off home by herself when the car broke down. Then they tested me and took me in for a blood test so I had to keep on lying especially as I heard they'd found out about the break-in while I was there and the watchman was badly hurt.
'Next morning I tried to ring Brenda at the bank to square things with her, but she wasn't there. And when the police came round to the garage later on and told me she'd disappeared, I was worried sick. Ron said I'd better stick to my story. It'd be daft to say something that incriminated us, then find that Brenda had just gone off somewhere in the huff. I didn't think she had, though. She wasn't that sort of girl. When they came round and told me they'd found her, I was so sick I thought I'd die. I didn't know what to do. I mean, I wasn't thinking at all. I just wanted to curl up. Ron said to keep quiet still because by now the watchman was critical. But it wasn't just that. I just couldn't think of doing anything because all I could think of was Brenda.
'Then the watchman died and I was a bit better by then and wondering what I should do. But when he died it was as bad as ever, so I took off in the car. It got me as far as Watford Gap, then it broke down. I sat around for a bit drinking tea and thinking of hitching a ride to London. But in the end I just crossed the motorway and got a lift back north. I've been living with Ron round at his sister's house since then. I didn’t know what to do after the fight but Janey said it would be all right, Ron had had it coming to him, but it was over now and nothing more would happen. Then Mr Wield, Sergeant Wield that is, came round and I listened and I could see that he was on to us and I decided I'd better get away again.
'I'm really sorry about all this and I'm sorry the watchman's dead and I wish he wasn't but I want to do anything I can to help the police catch whoever it was that killed my Brenda.'
'That'll grab them in the gallery,' said Dalziel. 'There'll be more water in the jury box than on a test match wicket at Manchester.'
'I feel sorry for the lad,' said Wield quietly.
'That's a bad sign, Sergeant. Next thing you'll be putting stamps on your Christmas cards.'
Dalziel yawned. It was eight-thirty on Saturday morning. After Maggs had made his statement the previous night, Dalziel had talked to him earnestly for nearly two hours, going over everything again and again. His instinct had been to explore the new dimensions opened up by the statement instantly, but in the end he had decided to sleep on it, using as a soporific half a bottle of Scotch.
Now he was stretching himself, ready for action.
The news from the hospital was that Dave Lee had had a good night. Better still from Dalziel's point of view had been the confirmation of the hospital diagnosis a perforated ulcer whose condition could hardly have been aggravated by a blow to the stomach. Ludlam too was doing well. He had refused to say anything when questioned briefly after Maggs's statement and the doctor had insisted that the interview be postponed till the morning. But Frankie Pickersgill had talked freely till Janey arrived on the scene and let her split loyalties tear her into hysterics.
'You see what this means, Sergeant,' continued Dalziel.
Wield, who had seen what it meant the minute Tommy had started talking, prepared himself to be amu
sed at the fat man's analysis.
'We haven't got a single sighting of Brenda from the time she left the bank, that's what it means. We weren't bothered as long as we thought she'd met up with Tommy at half-eight. But now things look different. We're back to square one. Every man who's got anything to do with this case, I'll want him checked out again. Before, we were just asking what they were doing at eleven o'clock that night. Now I want to know what they were doing at six o'clock! That bank manager, for instance. Mulgan. You said he was reported to have a bit of a lech going for the girl. Mebbe he offered her a lift into town after work. That schoolteacher too. And Lee, of course. We'll need to get round the lot. I think I'll give Mr Pascoe a ring.'
'I thought it was his day off, sir,' said Wield neutrally. 'And with the Spinks job cleared up, won't we be able to use Mr Headingley's men?'
'There's a lot of loose ends there still. And what will they know about anything anyway?' said Dalziel irritably. 'No, we need men who've got this thing at their fingertips.'
He reached for the phone.
Pascoe answered with a sharp, suspicious Yes? and his tone did not change when he realized who it was.
He listened to Dalziel's digest of Maggs's statement and its implications without comment or question.
'You don't seem all that interested, Peter,' said Dalziel in an injured tone.
'Don't I, sir? I'm sorry. I'm not long up. Ellie hasn't been feeling too well and we had a rather disturbed night.'
'Nowt serious, I hope,' said Dalziel.
'I don't think so. But I reckon she ought to lie on in bed.'
'Best place for her,' said Dalziel expertly. 'These things always happen at weekends.'
'What things?'
'Anything,' said Dalziel. 'But I'm glad it's not serious. Look, I know it's your day off, but if Ellie's just going to be lying around, I'd appreciate it if you could pop in and lend a hand for a couple of hours. After you've taken her breakfast up, of course.'
'Now that's what I call big of you, Andy,' interrupted Ellie's voice.
'Ellie! You've got yourself up after all,' said Dalziel.
'No, I've been eavesdropping on the extension,' she said. 'Early morning calls on Peter's day off always fill me with suspicion.'
'Are you all right, lass? I told you yesterday, this flying wasn't for you in your condition.'
'Flying?' said Pascoe.
'I didn't go flying,' protested Ellie. 'Listen, Andy, I'll do a deal. Peter goes in today, he gets next Friday and Saturday off, no reservations, no conditions, earthquakes, wind and fire not excepted.'
'You have my personal guarantee,' said Dalziel.
'Now hold on,' began Pascoe.
'Soon as you can, Peter,' said Dalziel hastily. 'Ellie, brandy's the stuff, listen to an expert.'
'Brandy? The stuff for what?'
'Owt that Scotch can't cure. Take care!'
Pascoe went slowly up to the bedroom.
'Eavesdropping now, is it?'
'Certainly.'
'What's all this about next Friday?'
'Well, we've got to go down and see my mother sometime and I thought it'd be nice to stay overnight.'
'Jesus. And for this I give up my Saturday?'
'I could invite her up here for a while,' said Ellie.
'All right, you win. But listen, are you sure you feel OK?'
'Never better. I'll give Thelma a ring, maybe. Now what was it you said about breakfast?'
Later as he cleared away the tray, he said, 'Are you sure there's nothing else you want?'
She looked lugubriously down at her swelling breasts and belly.
'How about a nice big shiny egg we could take turns to sit on? And when it hatched, out would pop a nice little brat about six years old with your eyes and my nose all neatly dressed and talking and ready for school.'
He smiled so uncertainly that she laughed at him and pulled him down and kissed his mouth.
'OK,' she said. 'I'll say the right things and do the dewy-eyed bit, but not all the time. And whatever I have, I promise you I'm bringing the little sod up to be a transvestite.'
'Everyone'll be transvestite by the time he's old enough to enjoy it,' said Pascoe. 'Me, I sometimes wish I could spend my Saturdays lying in bed, contributing to the Life Force.'
'Get knotted,' she said amicably. 'It's the police force that's got you hooked. Now push off, or you might miss being in at the kill and you know how you'd hate that.'
He was on the landing when she called out, 'Peter!'
He rushed back in full of anxiety.
'Yes? What's wrong?'
'Nothing. Christ, you mustn't be so nervous. You'll never last another four months! No, it was just what Andy was saying about that boy's statement. I just thought.'
'All right, Sherlock. Shoot.'
'Well,' said Ellie, running her fingers through her hair. 'You know you laughed at me when I said that perhaps what the medium said in her trance might have come out of some time-slip caused by the violence of death?'
'Yes, I remember it well.'
'All right. But now there doesn't need to be a timeslip, does there? I mean, if she didn't meet her boyfriend, who knows what time she got killed? The sun could have been shining anyway. Perhaps that medium woman got some of it right after all.'
Sergeant Wield had the perfect excuse for calling on Mulgan at home. He had promised to pick up the list of Brenda Sorby's transactions on the day of her death, but developments had prevented him from doing so the previous evening.
Mrs Mulgan, looking worried almost to the point of fear, admitted him first to the entrance hall of their ugly detached bungalow where he spoke with her in a low voice for several minutes, then to the lounge where Mulgan, reading the Daily Mail in his shirtsleeves, looked annoyed and made it clear he'd have preferred to deal with the sergeant on the doorstep. Unabashed, Wield accepted Mrs Mulgan's offer of a coffee.
'What use can this stuff be to you anyway?' asked Mulgan after his wife had gone out.
'The information about the money was very useful indeed, sir,' said Wield.
'Yes. Well, that was different. These other transactions can hardly be relevant. I hope you're not going to be bothering our customers.'
'I'm sure every one of them would want to help catch our man, sir. Every little helps. Someone somewhere knows something.'
'You mean, someone's protecting this lunatic?' said Mulgan incredulously.
'Maybe. Or perhaps someone doesn't realize what they know. Could be you, sir.'
'Me?' said Mulgan, thick lips pursed. 'Hardly. I gave you a comprehensive statement.'
'First statements aren't usually. Comprehensive, I mean. I mean, they can't be, really.'
'First statements.'
'Oh yes, sir. Often one's enough, but when we get a bit bogged down, we start crossing the t's and dotting the i's. We'll be going over everything again with everyone. For instance, sir, we know all about what you did that Thursday till the time the bank was closed, but nothing after that.'
'Oh yes you do,' said Mulgan sarcastically. 'You made sure, without, I may say, a great deal of subtlety, that I was at home that evening about the time that poor Brenda was killed.'
'What time was that, sir?'
'Between eleven and midnight the papers said. During the storm.'
'That's true, sir,' said Wield ambiguously. 'I'm sorry if we were heavy-handed, but we have to check everyone. No, it's the earlier bit of the evening I'm interested in. We're still trying to find someone who saw Brenda earlier, so those as would have recognized her are particularly interesting. Did you go straight home from the bank?'
'I think so. I may have popped into the shops along the parade. It's very handy; at least my wife thinks it so.'
He laughed and played with the square, black-rimmed spectacles he wore to read his paper.
'It was Thursday, sir,' prompted Wield gently. 'Half-day closing here. But late opening in the town centre. You didn't go into the centre, did you?'
'No. I very rarely do. And Thursday or not, Jennings', that's the newsagents, he's always open. I usually pick up an evening paper there.'
'Then you'd drive home?'
'Yes.'
'Arriving when?'
'Six at least. Often earlier.'
'Nice to have regular hours, sir,' said Wield appreciatively. 'I expect Mrs Mulgan likes it too. Do you eat at the same time most nights?'
'Yes. Half six, usually. It's our main meal of the day. If you want the details, Sergeant, though I can't imagine why, my wife and I will probably sit and have a sherry and talk about the day, then we eat, wash up, go out for a stroll perhaps if the weather's nice, or potter in the garden. Watch a bit of television, then bed. That's about it.'
'And that night was no different.'
'Very few of them are different enough to be distinguishable, Sergeant,' said Mulgan. 'Had it been, though, I would certainly recall,'
He put his spectacles back on and looked pointedly at his newspaper as though to indicate the interview was over.
Wield gave him a quarter-minute.
'It was a Thursday, though, sir,' he said.
Mulgan didn't look up.
'Yes?' he said.
'And your wife was saying that most Thursdays she goes to visit her mother in the afternoon. She often doesn't get back till eight. Or later.'
Now Mulgan looked up again.
'That's right,' he said. 'And as it was a Thursday, she probably wasn't in when I got home and probably didn't get back till late. What are you trying to say, Sergeant? And why didn't you tell me you'd been cross-examining my wife too.'
'No, honestly, I'm sorry,' said Wield, rearranging his features into a new chaos which his tone signalled meant distress. 'All I wondered was, did you maybe stop off, have a drink somewhere that night? I mean there'd be no rush to get home, would there? And if so, did you perhaps see anything of Brenda, just passing, I mean? Or talking to someone?'
The bait was a bit obvious, he thought. Guilty or innocent, Mulgan would see it dangling there.
Dalziel 06 A Killing Kindness Page 17