'Got me there,' he said. 'Don't remember that one.'
'I thought you never missed a match?' said Wield.
'Almost never. But when you see such a lot, you can't recall 'em all, can you?'
Wield nodded friendly agreement and made a note that this was one for the injured landlord to see.
'So what about the other date?' he asked.
'March first?' said the youth shaking his head once more. 'Means nowt.'
'It means you know that the Reds game was on Friday February twenty-sixth for a start,' observed Wield drily. 'Now there wasn't a game this night, you're right. Not a game of football anyway.'
'So what did happen? Give us a clue, won't you?' the youth said, grinning.
He really has no idea, Wield assessed. Queer-bashing probably wasn't worth remembering, a mere training session for the real fights at the weekend. Now was the moment to jump on him, to watch his expression as he realized he'd assaulted a cop, to listen to his lies and to squeeze from him a list of names to support some extempore alibi. One of them would break, kids always did. And a cop's word would be enough for most magistrates to pour shit on him from a great height.
But Wield found himself hesitating. He could sense danger here. A bright lawyer could offer the defence that Medwin had genuinely believed he was being propositioned in the hope that a normally prejudiced jury would accept this as provocation to violence. Suppose he went further and tried to find something in Wield's words or manner which might have justified such a mistake? Suppose he sensed a hesitation and asked Wield direct if he were gay? Philosophically, ever since his life crisis some eighteen months earlier, Wield had been 'out'. In practical terms, and certainly in terms of his professional image this had meant very little so far, but he had derived peace and strength from the certainty that he would never again prevaricate if faced by the question direct.
But to risk inviting this question in open court with some twinkle-toed brief tap-dancing all over him was no part of his bargain. It could bring the Force into ridicule, possibly get the charge dismissed, certainly set the right wing press sniffing around, scenting blood, offering deals, hinting protection. It could mean his career gone.
But perhaps, in fact probably, it would never come to this or anywhere near it. Simple evidence of what he was doing at the time, a police officer on duty viciously assaulted by a gang of young thugs, dealt with by a nice fascist magistrate with some bored legal aid brief somnambulating through the cross-questioning . . .
He had to do it, whatever. Big risk, little risk, no risk at all. Duty, faith, call it what you will; that personal imperative which, expanded to a general principle, makes religions; corrupted, makes fanatics; but ignored, makes existence meaningless; this was the only arbiter.
He said, 'On Tuesday March the first, you waylaid a man at the entrance to Kipling Gardens, and with the assistance of others as yet unknown, you assaulted him.'
'You what? Who says?' demanded Medwin, unable to hide his consternation.
'I say,' said Wield. 'You should try to pick on people your own size, son. Like dwarves.'
'You're saying it was you?' He stared at Wield in dawning recognition first of the face, then of the trap he'd fallen into.
'That's right,' said Wield. 'You really are in trouble, aren't you?'
There was a tap at the door and Seymour stuck his head in.
'Super's here and wondering how you're getting on,' he said.
'I'll have a word,' said Wield. 'Mr Medwin here turns out to be the young gent who assaulted me m March. He's just going to write a statement. Give him a hand, will you?'
He went out glancing at his watch. Not yet seven. I bet the fat sod's feeling all virtuous about getting up early, he thought.
He was being unjust though he couldn't have guessed it, for there was nothing in Dalziel's appearance to show he hadn't been to bed at all. On his return home from the Gents, he had soaked in a piping hot bath for more than an hour. Then, feeling himself more famished than fatigued, he had breakfasted on a black pudding boiled up in a panful of oxtail soup, sitting naked at his kitchen table, staring out through the soft focus of mucky glass and a damp May morning towards the window where he'd had his only living glimpse of Gail Swain.
Her face he couldn't remember, and next time he saw it, it mostly wasn't there. But the tits . . . in his mind's eye he saw the tits again. His libido seemed to be having an Indian summer, or perhaps it was a Malayan summer, for it was since his close contact with Chung that he'd noticed his imagination running hot. Which reminded him, he was due at rehearsal at ten, so instead of sitting here exciting himself, he'd be better off getting a couple of early hours in.
'Not done yet?' he now greeted his sergeant. 'You're just supposed to be processing these lads, not getting their life stories.'
'This one turned out to be a bit more complicated. Seems to be clear on the train job, says he travelled by car that day, gave me these names as back-up,' said Wield, passing over the list. 'I reckon he's worth looking at for the pub riot, though. He went very amnesiac on that one. And something else came up. I recognized him as the leader of that gang that beat me up.'
'Oh yes,' said Dalziel with a lack of interest almost hurtful in the light of Wield's recent soul-searching. 'Wieldy, this name here, the one without an address...’
'Oh, him. Medwin says he was an old mate he bumped into at the match and gave a lift to. Living down south and just fancied coming back here on impulse. Sounds like he was pleased. Why the interest, sir?'
'The name, lad. The name. Tony Appleyard! I'm surprised you didn't spot it. Too early in the morning for you, is it?'
Even now it didn't register immediately. One man's obsession is another man's yawn. Then he remembered. Arnie Stringer's vanished son-in-law, whose continued absence Dalziel seemed to take as a personal affront! If he'd made the connection himself and gone running, he might have picked up a house point. Now his only reward for getting up so early was Dalziel's reproof.
He said, 'Needn't be the same, sir. Lots of Appleyards in Yorkshire.'
Dalziel looked heavenward and said, 'O ye of little faith! Let's go and find out, shall we?'
Though Dalziel's interview with Jason Medwin breached no human rights agreement, it was nevertheless an act of terror.
The fat man oozed avuncular charm, but as he smiled encouragement and nodded approval, his hands were doing terrible things to a sheet of paper, a plastic cup, and finally a lead pencil which he snapped into four pieces each of which he crumbled to splinters between finger and thumb.
Medwin had started with cheek - ‘Fucking hell, you're really bringing in the heavy mob, aren't you?' - then laughed uproariously.
Dalziel joined in and for a few seconds the two laughed in unison. But Medwin's amusement slowly diminuendoed through a nervous chuckle to a fearful silence, while Dalziel's guffaws went on and on, putting Wield in mind of the Laughing Policeman on the front at Blackpool which as a child he'd always found more frightening than funny. At last Dalziel too modulated to a smile, but by now it was clear that as far as Medwin was concerned, Dalziel's smile held more threat than Wield's grim features set at maximum grue.
It was quickly established that the youth's friend was indeed the Super's own Appleyard.
'Got some slag in the club, and her dad made him marry her. I'd have told him to sod off but Tone never had much bottle.'
'Can't all be heroes,' agreed Dalziel amicably. 'So he ran off south?'
The youth considered. None of this was self-incriminatory, so there was no point in misleading this fat bastard and (eyeing those restless hands) mebbe a lot of point cooperating with him.
'Nah, I reckon he went looking for work to start off, then just sort of got lost.'
'And it was just chance you met him?'
'Yeah. He were always a supporter, mind, and with them being down there, it was natural he'd go to the game.'
'But you didn't know he was in that bit of London?'
'Nah. Look, we weren't that friendly, just saw each other around the games, know what I mean? It was him came after me at the match. I thought I must owe him money or something, the way he grabbed hold of me.'
'So he was glad to see you.'
Medwin nodded. 'Yeah, he was. He looked a bit rough and I asked him if he was working and he said he'd been doing a bit on the lump, nothing regular, and he'd not felt up to much recently anyway. He kept on asking questions about back here, about his wife and things. Well, I didn't know her from shit and in the end when we'd had a few bevvies, I said why don't you come back up and see for yourself? It's only a quick belt up the mo'way. He said, why not? dead casual like, but underneath he were right keen. I'll tell you what, old Tone were no advert for heading south to make your fortune!'
'If he was in such a bad way, why'd he not come back earlier?' said Dalziel. It sounded more like a question to himself than to the youth but Medwin wasn't taking chances.
'Would have done if the tart's old man hadn't warned him off.'
'What's that? Appleyard said he'd been warned off by his father-in-law? When? How?'
The intensity of Dalziel's interest hit the youth like a fist.
'I don't know, do I? I'm just saying what Tone said. I said he'd be OK back here with the Security plus whatever he could bum off his wife's family. And he said, the only brass I'll get from her fucking preaching father is coffin handles. Then he went on - But sod him, I don't care what he says, I'll come back if I like, and see what he can do! I said you should stick one on the old wanker, Tone, and he said yeah, but I reckoned it were the drink talking.'
Who needed hypnotism to trigger total recall? Wield asked himself admiringly. Fat Andy could induce it wide awaking, and probably plant as many conditioned responses as he liked too.
'And when you got here, what did you do?'
'It were close on midnight and we dropped him near the pea-canning factory on the ring road.'
'Because that's where he wanted to be?'
'Not exactly. To tell the truth he were a bit of a pain. We'd had to stop a few times so he could honk, and when he had to get out again on the edge of town we thought, fuck it! and drove off. I mean, you try to help some people but they just won't help themselves, will they?'
He looked at Dalziel with wide-eyed appeal.
The fat man smiled once more.
'You're right, Jason. But you've helped me, haven't you? And I think that deserves a reward. Tell you what I'm going to do. Can't drop all the charges against you, but I'm going to give you a break on one of them. Let's see, what've we got? Oh aye. You were in the Rose and Crown when the landlord got duffed up. Don't try to play innocent, lad. This isn't an audition for the Mysteries. We've got witnesses. What else? You've got an alibi for the train job, if it checks out. And you were boss of the gang that beat up my sergeant here, right? That's the one to scrub, I reckon. You could get a couple of years for assault on a police officer and I shouldn't like to think of a good-looking boy like you in an over-crowded cell.'
He smacked his leathery lips together in an obscene kissing noise. Medwin was looking dazed. Dalziel went on, 'Don't worry so much, son. Full cooperation on the pub job, lots of names, and we'll go easy, never fear. Youthful high jinks in a bar, we've all done it, even magistrates. Bound over, a fine mebbe. And we'll keep stumm about the other, eh? Constable Seymour here will steer you straight. And I'm always handy if you need any assistance!'
With a genial wave, Dalziel led the way out.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Wield said indignantly, 'What's going off, sir? You'd got what you wanted, you didn't need any deal, and that bastard beat the shit out of me and God knows how many more besides
'Hold on to your hat, Sergeant,' said Dalziel. 'Do you really want to sit in court and hear that clever little sod tell the beak that you offered him a fiver for a quick wank? That's what he'd likely say; and what do you do if some clever brief comes sniffing round your private life?'
This was such a precise re-run of his own fears that Wield could find no words of protest that wouldn't ring hypocritically.
Dalziel continued, 'And don't worry about Jason. I heard yesterday afternoon that that landlord's had a relapse, long-term kidney damage, so anyone tied up with that rumpus isn't going to walk. Also there's the little matter of conspiracy to cause an affray charge which is why he's been picked up in the first place. That'll come as a nice little surprise when we ferry him across to Leeds in an hour or so. Meanwhile you and me have got work to do. Come on.'
'Yes, sir. Where to, sir?' said Wield, trying not so much to conceal as not to feel the great wave of relief washing over him.
'Where to? Do you not listen when I'm interrogating?' He glanced at his watch. 'Builders start bright and early, don't they? I reckon our best bet for having a little chat with Arnie Stringer will be at Moscow Farm! Let's get a move on. I've got a rehearsal at ten and God can't be late, can he?'
CHAPTER FOUR
It had stopped raining and the sky was beginning to clear with promise of a fine summer day. The yard at Moscow Farm was full of noise and activity. Shirley Appleyard was climbing up the outside stair to her office. Her father was loading a surveyor's level on to a shiny new pick-up, and Philip Swain was backing a gleaming yellow JCB out of the barn door.
But when Dalziel's car drove into the yard, they all paused. And when Swain switched off the JCB's engine, the pause turned into a stillness against which the drift of clouds across the pale blue sky seemed like frenzy.
Slowly Dalziel raised his hand, in greeting presumably, but it seemed to Wield as if the puppet-master had twitched the strings, for the three figures before him instantly returned to life.
'Superintendent, what can I do for you?' said Swain, jumping down.
'You?' Dalziel considered long enough to telepath several grossly offensive suggestions. 'You could tell me who your new lawyer is.'
Swain raised his eyebrows, specially plucked by Chung to look more diabolic.
'So I could,' he said pleasantly. 'But why should you want to know?'
'Just so I'll know who to expect next time we have you down at the station,' said Dalziel.
'In that case, it's hardly worth telling you as I might have changed him several times by then.'
Dalziel laughed, untroubled by Swain's show of assurance. The man was bright enough to have looked behind Thackeray's upfront reasons for breaking the connection, and it wouldn't be comfortable for him to find Dalziel's great grey head peering behind the screen too. But it was early days to decide what, if anything, might be made of the lawyer's doubts.
He said, 'Man knows his own business best. It's Mr Stringer I've come to see today, if you can spare him.'
'We're very busy . . .'
'So I see. Must be grand to be able to afford decent equipment at last. Take a lass out in one of these things and she'd not be able to complain you didn't make the earth move for her!' He patted the JCB admiringly. 'Big job, is it? Someone's drive? Or more garages?'
It only became a gibe if you let it. Swain said, 'We're clearing a bit of land on the farm estate. Crimper's Knoll. Do you know it? Not much use for anything but grazing a few sheep, but it will make a lovely setting for a few quality homes.'
'Is that right? You'll have got planning permission?'
Swain smiled a smile compounded of new money and old blood.
'It's in train,’ he said. 'So if you could let me have my partner back as quickly as possible. Do you want to talk inside?'
'Out here will do fine,’ replied Dalziel.
He put his arm around the foreman's shoulders and led him away. Wield said, 'Use your phone?' and without waiting for an answer went up the stairway to the office.
Shirely Appleyard said as he passed her on the stair, 'What's he want?'
'There's divided opinion on that, luv,' said Wield.
Inside the office he closed the door firmly behind him and dialled the station number asking for Pascoe, who did
not sound happy when he came on.
'Where the hell are you?' he demanded. 'I've just got in and the place is like a morgue.'
Rapidly Wield explained what had happened, then went on, 'Seymour should be in the interview room with Medwin still. There's something I should have asked the boy and he'll likely be en route for Leeds by the time I get back. It's about the night he attacked me.'
'I thought you said Il Duce had promised him immunity on that? He must be going soft in the head.'
This was no time to explain Dalziel's motives. Wield said, This is just information. It's simply that when Medwin and his gang were beating me up, a vehicle went by. It slowed down, might even have stopped, then it took off again.'
'Like the driver thought of helping, then decided not to get involved?'
'Or like he mebbe picked up Waterson,' said Wield. 'Just a thought. It could be worth asking.'
'You're not getting as dotty about Waterson as the old man is about Appleyard, are you, Wieldy? Good job someone's here doing the real work, isn't it?'
'Anything you want me to tell the Super?' said Wield innocently.
'With his hearing, likely he's heard me already! Cheers.'
Wield left the office and joined Shirley Appleyard at the head of the stair.
She said, 'What're they talking about? Is it about Tony? Have you heard something?'
'Like what?'
'Like .. . like he's dead maybe.'
'Why should he be dead?' wondered Wield.
'I don't know. I wake up in the night sometimes and I'm sure he's dead. Then I tell myself in the morning it was just one of them daft turns you get in the night. But recently it's not mattered whether it's been black dark or broad day, I've still felt the same. So is that why he's come?'
'No,' said Wield, moved by the pain he could see on the girl's face. 'The Super would be up here talking to you if he'd brought bad news, wouldn't he?'
'Would he?' she scoffed. 'You men! We even get our tragedies as drippings from your pot!'
She turned away abruptly and went into the office. Wield, no stranger to pain himself, felt her loneliness and abandonment crying out to him.
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