Dalziel 04 An April Shroud

by Reginald Hill

  'I say, I don't know what's going on . . .'

  Hereward Fielding turned his head, Dalziel saw his chance and stepped from the rowing-boat into the punt, Ariel took another step and became Caliban, stumbling over a loose cushion and falling heavily to the deck. The punt rocked violently; Dalziel standing precariously on the gunwale swayed like a clipper's mast in a gale, Hereward rose from his gun and reached out a saving hand but it was too late. Like the undermined statue of some deposed dictator, the massive bulk of the man toppled slowly sideways and entered the water with a mighty splash. Tillotson and Fielding knelt anxiously at the side of the punt eager with apologies and assistance. And Pascoe, feeling it was time the twentieth century asserted itself, stepped calmly into the bows and took possession of the gun.

  It struck Pascoe as odd that a man who had recently been threatening to blow a hole in his boss should now be so solicitous about his health, but Tillotson's words as he helped drag the waterlogged Dalziel aboard seemed to explain this.

  'I'm so sorry, but really all I was going to say was there's no need for any fuss. I mean the gun's not loaded, you don't think I'd leave the thing loaded do you? I told Herrie, he knew it wasn't loaded; please, what's going on? Oh gosh, you are wet, aren't you?'

  Pascoe squatting by the duck gun began to chuckle quietly. The unloaded gun doubled the comic dimensions of the thing by removing altogether the heroic element. Of course, if there had been a risk . . . idly he pressed the trigger.

  The resulting blast tore the mist apart for about five yards in all directions. More devastatingly, the rowing-boat which was in the direct line of fire at very close range had a hole nine inches across punched in its side close enough to water-level for each rocking motion to ship some water. Very quickly the craft began to settle and the lake poured in.

  'Not loaded,' said Dalziel to a dumbfounded Tillotson. 'Jesus Christ. Pascoe, grab those oars!'

  Pascoe obeyed just in time. As he began awkwardly to paddle the punt back towards the shore, the rowing-boat sank with a quiet burp, leaving only a few bubbles and Dalziel's floppy hat to show where it had foundered.

  Back at the house they found the car chaos was under control. Cross had taken over and the only cars now remaining were those stranded by Dalziel's removal of the keys which fortunately had survived his immersion. But the confusion in the car park seemed now to have been internalized by the members of the household who hung around in their fancy dress like actors uncertain of their cue. Pascoe was particularly sorry for Bonnie Fielding whose anxiety about her father-in-law and distress at Dalziel's half-drowned state were doubled by the discovery that her son Nigel had decided to run away again. Another note had been found saying that one night of working in the restaurant had convinced him this was no life for a sensitive spirit, or words to that effect.

  Pascoe tried to keep Hereward apart from the rest of the household but his effort was in vain without resorting to the strong arm of the law and as Dalziel had retired to dry himself without firm instruction, he contented himself with keeping the old poet in sight. He was not at all surprised to find Ellie waiting at the landing-stage. She had sent her parents home by themselves and returned just in time to hear the boom of the duck gun. The look of relief on her face as she saw them emerge from the mist had been a great boost for Pascoe's ego, even though her first words to him were, 'You've got oil all over your best suit!'

  Now they were all gathered in the old man's sitting-room. Hereward had poured himself a large brandy and Pascoe was interested to notice that he filled up a glass with Glen Grant also. Cross came into the room accompanied by a new figure whom he introduced to Pascoe as Chief Inspector Balderstone. Briefly Pascoe outlined what had taken place. Obscurely he felt the need to somehow cover up for Dalziel, but he had no idea how to do this. The fat man would have to look after himself.

  Balderstone listened carefully but ventured no comment and a couple of minutes later, Dalziel reappeared.

  He had changed quickly into sports jacket and slacks. On his feet incongruously he wore a pair of multi-coloured carpet slippers. But casual though his garb was, Pascoe realized it separated him from the medieval/Tudor costume of the Lake House people as clearly as if he had come down in full police uniform.

  He greeted Balderstone and spoke quietly to the two local policemen for a few moments, after which Cross slipped out of the room.

  'Andy,' called Hereward Fielding. 'There's a drink waiting your attention here. And for your friends too.'

  The atmosphere had subtly changed, realized Pascoe. From confusion and doubt a kind of optimism had emerged. He felt he could guess its source and the next minute confirmed this.

  'Thanks,' said Dalziel, taking the drink. 'I need that.'

  'I'm sorry about your soaking,' said Hereward. 'And about that gun! When I think what could have happened, my blood curdles.'

  He shivered and took a long pull at his drink.

  'My fault really,' added Tillotson. 'I'm so sorry.'

  'But even with the gun empty, it was a silly joke,' resumed Hereward.

  'Joke?'

  'Holding you up like that! It's true what they say about second childhood. I never thought I'd start playing pirates!'

  He laughed and all around him the others laughed too.

  Dalziel didn't laugh.

  'Where were you going, Herrie?' he asked.

  'I told you. I couldn't get out of the gate because of those damned cars, so I organized a taxi.'

  'At the other side of the lake.'

  'That's so. You see I wanted to get into High Fold and as you'll recall from our first encounter, that's over that side.'

  'And why did you want to get into High Fold?' asked Dalziel. He was speaking very calmly and with hardly any inflection, as if, thought Pascoe, he merely wants to get this out of the way so he can get on with the real business. Pascoe had no doubt that this was Dalziel's intention, but where he could go from here he could not see. It was clear that the truth about Butt had been unearthed, probably from Sergeant Cross who would have no reason to withhold it. This is what came of acting alone, as Dalziel had often warned him. Almost certainly this stupid pretence about the diary had been exploded also. So Hereward had now learned the truth. There was no need to run. The evidence such as it was pointed to Butt and no one else.

  Pascoe wondered uneasily if Dalziel had assumed he would keep the old man incommunicado, but he himself had made no effort in this direction when they first re-entered the house.

  'I wanted to get to the pub there and buy a couple of bottles of cherry brandy. Revolting drink, I know, but very popular with the lower orders. We had run short. Bonnie asked me to see what I could do.'

  He glanced at Bonnie who met Dalziel's disbelieving gaze full on and nodded.

  'Why go to High Fold. Why not Low Fold? It's a mile closer.'

  'It's the licensing hours,' said Hereward. 'Different authorities. They have an extra half-hour at weekends in High Fold.'

  It all fitted together rather nicely, thought Pascoe in whose mind a little doubt had begun to stir. Could it be true? No! He had been there, had heard the exchange between Dalziel and this man. But what had he heard? A joke. Why not?

  Dalziel had remained silent since Fielding's last answer and the old man decided to press home his advantage.

  'What's all the fuss, Andy? Is it the gun? I'm sorry about that, but you have to make allowances for the mentally handicapped. Hank has promised to dismantle it tomorrow. He's good with his hands.'

  Uniff waved them before him like a Negro minstrel.

  'Yeah, man,' he said.

  Balderstone coughed gently.

  'Excuse me, sir,' he said to Dalziel. 'Have you any instructions?'

  'It's your case, Chief Inspector,' said Dalziel. 'I'm a guest here. Though there's one suggestion I could make.'

  'What's that, sir?'

  'Arrest the bloody lot of them,' snarled Dalziel. 'Charge 'em with obstructing the police and with being accessories befo
re, after, and during the fact.'

  'What fact is that, sir?'

  'The fact that Open Annie Greave was done to death in this house ten days ago.'

  He glared malevolently at the group before him. Their reactions all looked to Pascoe like bad acting, but perhaps it was their theatrical costume which gave this impression. Only Hereward remained firmly in character.

  He laughed disbelievingly.

  'Can that be it, Andrew? You think that absurd story you told Bonnie made me start like a guilty thing surprised and set off across the lake like Lord Ullin's daughter? For God's sake, you know me well enough by now. Even if I were guilty, if in my age I had found sufficient strength first to roger then to strangle this unfortunate woman, can you imagine that I would take flight in such a futile and undignified fashion? Dressed like this?'

  His hands touched his doublet, his face lengthened in amused surprise, till finally he began to laugh at the self-evident absurdity of the idea. It was an infectious laugh and gradually, one by one, the others joined in. Even Pascoe felt tempted. Dalziel's face didn't change.

  'Come on, Andy,' said Bonnie. 'Let's have a drink and count the takings. Your friends can help. At least it'll be an honest count with the law so well represented.'

  She advanced smiling. She was an extraordinarily attractive woman, thought Pascoe. Something of this must have shown on his face as a sudden sharp kick on the ankle reminded him that Ellie was standing close by.

  'I'm sorry,' said Dalziel.

  'Sorry? Never apologize,' laughed Bonnie.

  But Dalziel stood aside and pushed open the door. The smile faded and with it ten years from Bonnie's face.

  'Oh, Andy,' she said. 'Whatever happened to Sydney Carton? This is a far, far shittier thing than you have ever done.'

  Dalziel considered this while Pascoe's eyes flitted from the stricken woman to the even more devastated visage of her father-in-law. Then he looked through the door.

  Standing in the hallway with Sergeant Cross's protective or retentive arm around his shoulders was Nigel Fielding.

  'No, it isn't,' said Dalziel to Bonnie.

  18

  The Last Days of Pompeii

  'Was she your first?' asked Dalziel.

  'Yes.'

  'And Hank fixed you up?'

  'Yes.'

  'Well,' said the fat detective with an effort at jocularity, 'we've all got to start some time and it's best to start with an expert.'

  The room had been cleared except for Nigel and his mother. They sat on the sofa while opposite them Dalziel and Balderstone lounged in armchairs. Cross had gone upstairs with Hereward who had folded up like an evening daisy when the boy appeared. Pascoe stood quietly in the window bay.

  'So you had been intimate with Mrs Greave since she came to this house?' asked Balderstone delicately.

  'Come on, Inspector,' said Bonnie scornfully. 'I didn't bring up my children to be mealy-mouthed!'

  'Did you know of this relationship, ma'am?' enquired Balderstone.

  'Not till too late,' said Bonnie.

  'And when you found out, what did you do?'

  'What should I do?' she asked. 'I saw no harm in it. I thought she was Pappy's daughter, remember. A nice respectable widow who happened to have hot pants. Like the Superintendent says, we've all got to start somewhere and it was better than getting some local kid into trouble.'

  Dalziel took up the questioning again. His voice had a strange quality which puzzled Pascoe, who had attended the fat man's interrogations more times than he could remember. But this intonation was new to him.

  'After your father's funeral you decided to run away?'

  'Yes,' said Nigel. He had spoken only the minimum necessary to answer questions. He looked pale but composed. Only occasional quick flickers of his eyes from one extreme of vision to the other hinted at agitation.

  'But you didn't get far. It was too wet. You came back to shelter.'

  'Yes.'

  'And you hid in Mrs Greave's room?'

  'Yes.'

  Dalziel nodded and scratched his nose.

  'I thought it was Papworth,' he explained to Balderstone. 'Only, when I searched his room, I couldn't find any suede shoes. Any road, I doubt if he eats doughnuts for breakfast! We nearly bumped into each other once or twice, eh, lad?'

  The boy nodded.

  'So you were here all the time. And when I found you in the billiards-room with your rucksack, you hadn't just come back. No, you were just on your way out then. I wondered how you knew my name! You were waiting till Herrie got me safely out of the way to Orburn, then off you would go and as far as I was concerned the one person who could know nothing about Annie's death was you. Right? But you did know something about it, didn't you, Nigel?'

  The boy nodded. His mother put her arm protectively over his shoulder. They were large shoulders, Pascoe realized. The large frame of the elder brother was all here, though unhung as yet with Bertie's superfluous flesh. He was a powerful young man, powerful enough to . . .

  'I killed her,' he said blankly.

  'Tell us about it,' said Dalziel gently.

  Why doesn't his mother intervene? wondered Pascoe. There's no need to let him answer these questions now. She could get her solicitor here for a start.

  'She just packed up and said she was going. I found her getting ready and when I tried to persuade her to stay, she just laughed at first. I tried to stop her and we had a fight. We ended up on the bed and, well, I thought it was going to be all right then. But after we'd finished, she just went back to her packing.'

  He fell silent and glanced at his mother.

  Dalziel coughed phlegmily.

  'You were fond of her?' he said.

  'Yes,' said Nigel lowly. 'I told her I loved her. I thought she felt the same. But she laughed again, told me to grow up. She'd never treated me like a child before. I started unpacking her case and she got angry. She pushed me away, I hit her, she said things about my father . . .'

  'What things?' demanded Balderstone.

  'About your father making love to her?' said Dalziel quickly.

  'Yes. She said that. She said that I was being a bloody nuisance now like he'd been. I didn't believe her, but then she started saying things about my mother too. We had another fight, only this time . . .'

  His agitation was quite clear now. His mother's arm tightened around him, but still she didn't speak.

  'But you didn't mean to kill her,' urged Dalziel.

  No wonder Bonnie doesn't bother with a solicitor, thought Pascoe. This was the unfamiliar intonation in Dalziel's voice. Defence counsel trying to lead his witness.

  'No. I was just angry.'

  'And afterwards you went out and found Herrie?' said Dalziel. He was recalling the photos he had looked at in Uniffs room. In one of them Herrie had been standing by the door, apparently talking to someone in the corridor. In the subsequent shots, the old man had disappeared. Everyone else was accounted for except for himself and Bonnie, upstairs on the bed (his mind quickly suppressed the image), Papworth allegedly drinking in the Green Man, and of course Annie Greave, already by this time he now knew lying dead in her room. His mind had been toying with the limited permutations for ten days now. Nigel had made an appearance at a subconscious level long before he would permit him to take the lead.

  'Yes,' said the boy. 'I locked the door. Charley tried it, but I just kept quiet. Then I slipped out and nearly bumped into you and my mother.'

  He turned to Bonnie and said, 'I was going to look for you but I couldn't say anything when I saw you with him, could I?'

  Bonnie shook her head slowly.

  'No. I'm afraid you couldn't, darling.'

  Balderstone took up the questioning.

  'Why did your grandfather and yourself put the body in Butt's car?'

  'He wanted to use the Rover, but Mother had the keys and she was with Mr Dalziel. Mr Butt had left the keys in his car. Herrie thought that Mr Butt was so drunk he'd be hours. But just after we'd go
t the boot shut, he came out of the house. He didn't see me, but he saw Herrie by the car. They talked for a moment, then he drove away.'

  No wonder the old man had believed he could offer himself as a decoy. If Butt's memory had been stimulated by interrogation, then the meeting with Hereward by his car would have been strong circumstantial evidence.

  Pascoe wondered how far he had intended to go. Would his actions have been merely diversionary or was he willing to go the whole hog and confess in order to protect his grandson?

  And how far would Nigel have let him go? There was in this boy, Pascoe suspected, a broad vein of the tough self-interest which characterized both his brother and, by report, his father.

  'What about Mr Spinx?' Balderstone now demanded. 'Hadn't Annie rung him and asked him to give her a lift?'

  Pascoe wondered if Dalziel had outlined his theory to Balderstone or if the local man had arrived at the same conclusion independently.

  'I don't know anything about Mr Spinx,' said the boy emphatically.

  'All right, son,' said Balderstone unexpectedly. 'That'll do for now. Mrs Fielding, we'll have to take Nigel down to the station with us, you realize that. You may accompany him, of course, just as you or your representative may be present at any further interrogations. Perhaps you'd like to put some overnight things together for the lad.'

  As Bonnie left the room, Cross entered.

  'I've got a statement of sorts from the old man,' he said. 'He doesn't half ramble on! The doctor's here now and he's given him a sedative. I thought there'd be plenty of time for another go later, when he's more himself.'

  'Yes,' said Balderstone. 'Plenty of time. Would you take Nigel out to my car, Sergeant?'

  The boy turned at the door and said very formally, 'Good night.'

  'Watch how you go, son,' said Dalziel. 'By the way Sergeant Cross, I've been meaning to ask, you ever catch your chicken thief?'

  'No, sir,' said Cross.

  'We served chicken tonight. I've a notion Papworth supplied them. We never did find where he was the night Mrs Greave disappeared. And his room stinks. A word to the wise.'

  'Thanks,' said Cross, ushering the boy out.