I found it useful having two names though, one backed up by a birth certificate, the other by the adoption documents my aunt and John Waggs took out on me. It meant you could put a bit of space between you and your screw-ups. There were times when I even acted as my own referee and credit reference!' So you were a right brainless young shit,' said Dalziel. And you decided to make contact with Westropp here so's you could tap him for a bit of money, right?' 'No!' exploded Waggs. 'It wasn't like that. There was a car pile-up. Aunt Tessa and old John got killed. I didn't realize how much I needed them. John was so laid back, didn't give a fuck about anything I did as long as I didn't wreck the car. Ironic, huh? But I really liked him. No pressure. As for Aunt Tessa… You know, I used to call her mom till she told me what really happened, then I stopped. God, that must have hurt her. What a shitty thing to do. When I wake up in the night and start feeling rotten about things, that's always the first thing in my mind. I stopped calling her mom.' 'Bloody hell!' said Dalziel.
'No wonder you buggers don't win everything any more. You've gone beyond contemplating your navels, you've got your heads stuck up your own arseholes.' Westropp said, 'You're sure you're not from the Foreign Office, Mr Dalziel? I can confirm John's statement. His motive in contacting me wasn't financial. Not the first time anyway.' He glanced at his stepson and raised what would have been a quizzical eyebrow if the chemotherapy had left him any hair. Beneath his ochreous pallor there were hectic streaks, like dawn in a monsoon sky.
Marilou was watching him, her face taut with concern. Waggs said, 'I just felt a need… Anyway, I went to the Washington lawyer and told him I wanted to get in touch with my stepfather. At best I expected an address in Singapore or somewhere. When I found he was living down the road, so to speak, all tucked up nice and cosy with a new wife, I felt really angry. Stupid, huh? But he said he'd like to meet me, so I came. And it was OK. Not great, but OK. And they'd brought Pip back from school in England ready to start college over here, so I got a half-brother out of it. And that was OK too.'
He glanced at Philip affectionately and the younger man's grim expression relaxed for an instant.
Dalziel said, 'OK, let's skip to when it stopped being OK.'
Waggs said, 'You're the detective,' challengingly. But also delayingly. He likes Pip, thought Dalziel. The lad's presence bothers him. He doesn't want to bad-mouth his father in front of him.
He said, 'I don't know how, but I reckon the exchange of letters between Miss Kohler and Mr Westropp had summat to do with it.'
'What the devil do you know about that?' demanded Westropp.
'I know Miss Marsh tried to sell your American lawyer's address to Kohler and likely got sent off with a flea in her ear. But then you got to thinking, didn't you, lass? And you sweet-talked Daphne Bush into getting the address from Beddington College somehow, then posting a letter to your old boss. But when his reply came, Bush decided not to show it to you, out of selfishness perhaps, or mebbe out of love.
Then you quarrelled, and she did show it, and said some pretty nasty things. And you killed her…'
'It was an accident,' said Cissy Kohler. 'She fell. No one was going to believe me, and in any case I didn't care, so I said nothing … How do you know all this?'
'I've read the letter, lass. Oh yes, it's true. Did you think it got buried with Daphne? But I haven't seen the letter you wrote to him. What happened to that, Mr Westropp?' ‘I don't know. I tore it up, I expect, burnt it… I really can't remember. Does it matter?'
Oh yes, I think it matters,' said Dalziel, looking at Waggs.
Jesus, you really get off on this Great Detective thing, don't you?' said Waggs. 'Yes, I've got it. My stepdaddy's right. Money didn't come into things at first, but later… I came down here a couple of years back when the Hesperides guys were leaning on me hard.
I wanted a loan to buy them off. But that was the weekend you got really sick, remember? You were rushed to hospital and I had to act all filial. Funny thing was, I felt really concerned. I got the job of putting some things together to bring on after you, while your real family sat by your bedside. It was like I had a licence to poke around, so I poked. Do I need an excuse? I could say I was looking for some mementoes of my mother. I certainly found one. Cissy's letter. It was creased and faded and it wasn't exactly coherent, but I got its drift. First, you and your pretty young nanny had been screwing around behind my mother's back. And second, and this really blew my mind, she reckoned it was you that blasted her in the gunroom at Mickledore Hall!' He paused, for breath, for dramatic effect, it didn't matter.
All heads were turned to Westropp. Even Marilou had released his shoulders and taken a step to one side as if she needed to see his face. He said, 'And if you believed what the letter said, dear boy, why have I been such an unconscionable time in dying?' Waggs said, 'Good question. My first impulse was to head down to the hospital and rip the truth out of you, but when I got there you were already being ripped open by professionals. By the time you were well enough for me to take over, I'd done some thinking. What had I got? The hysterical outpourings of a woman banged up for life in a Brit jail. For all I knew she could be sending letters to the King of Siam. I needed to see for myself just how mad or sane she was. But how the hell could I get near her? Then God moved in a mysterious way.' He glanced at Dalziel and said, 'It was like I told you this morning. I got so preoccupied with my stepdaddy I forgot to hide and the heavies from Hesperides picked me up. You've got to go with what you've got. I heard myself selling them the story. It was sheer desperation at first, but then I began to convince myself. I needed to make it sound like I really had the inside track, but I didn't want to bring my mother into it, so I claimed I was Cissy's kin. And they bought it! And the way it's panned out so far has kept them happy they'll get a good return on their investment. I've kept them off my back by persuading them we need to wait to see how it all turns out. That's the nature of the story, isn't it? That's what's going to stop the kids from rustling their popcorn or screwing in the drive-ins. I mean, look at us here. No one's leaving till they see the credits roll. So here's your big scene, step-daddy. How're you going to play it?' It was all-eyes-on-Westropp time again. Dalziel found himself thinking: This really would make a great movie. Then he thought: Jesus! Keep your hand on your wallet while that young man's around! Westropp looked like a man who'd dried in every sense. The eyes in that shrivelled face drifted round the expectant gazes of his audience, touching but never engaging each in turn. Finally they came to focus on the telephone and there they stayed. It's going to ring, thought Dalziel.
Before I count three. One… two… three… Shit, thought Dalziel. The telephone rang.
FIVE
'It has been kept from her, and I hope will always be kept from her. It is known only to myself and to one other who may be trusted.' It was Marilou Bellmain who picked up the receiver. 'Hello?
Look, can you…?' Whoever was ringing clearly couldn't. Beaten back by a superior weight of words, she fell silent, listened, then said to her husband, 'It's Scott Rampling. He says it's imperative he talks with you.' 'In that case…' said Westropp. He took the phone, looked apologetically around as though a pleasant pre-prandial drink had been interrupted, and said, 'Would you mind…?' Waggs looked as if he would very much. Pip too, but Dalziel made for the door, saying, 'OK by me, squire. I'm busting for a pee anyway.
Upstairs, is it, luv?' Without waiting for Marilou's answer, he went out into the hallway and ran lightly up the stairs. The first room he looked in was the toilet. He went on to the next door. A bedroom. By the bed, a telephone. Carefully he picked it up, put his hand over the mouthpiece and pressed the receiver to his ear. A moment passed, then Westropp said, 'All right, Scott. What is it?' 'I gather you've got company,' said Rampling's voice. 'They still there?' 'My guests have kindly stepped outside for a moment,' said Westropp. 'How can I help you, Scott?' 'I want to know what's going on? You know the Kohler woman kept a diary? In code in a Bible, for God's sake! Well, I've got
it and it makes interesting reading. She thinks she's been protecting you.' 'So?' 'So nothing. So it's not like they said. So I got to thinking: What is it like?' Westropp said gently, 'Scott, these are old, unhappy far-off things and battles long ago. My advice is, let them rest.' ‘I tried,' protested Rampling. 'I've had my people on it.'
'That girl, you mean?' Westropp laughed. 'Oh Scott, you always wanted things all ways. I can just imagine it. Sempernel or someone like him warning you that trouble was on its way and asking you to clean it up.
You saying, sure thing, but thinking maybe if it's something they want cleared up, it might be interesting to let it run and see what it's all about. Getting poor Mr Dalziel to do your dirty work for you! Oh Scott, you're so devious, you sometimes fool yourself.' 'Dying's making you real sassy, James. I'm in your town at the moment to make some slant-eyed sonofabitch think he's important enough to need protection. I'll call by later to find out what's really been happening. Meanwhile, my advice is, get those people out of there. Guy in your condition shouldn't be entertaining visitors.' 'Your solicitude is almost unbearable,' said Westropp. 'Do try to keep calm, there's a good chap. As the French aristo said on his way to the guillotine, this is no time to be losing your head. Sorry. I realize in your case the image is rather crass, but you know what I mean. A bientot!' He put the phone down. In the bedroom Dalziel replaced his almost simultaneously, went out of the bedroom into the bathroom, pulled the flush and ran lightly down the stairs. The others were standing around like job applicants waiting for one of them to be called back into the interview room. Waggs caught his eye and raised an eyebrow. He at least suspected a non-urinary motive. Dalziel said, 'That's better out than in.' 'Truth, you mean?' 'I'd not bet your pension on it. A word in your ear?' He glanced around. Marilou was standing close to the sitting-room door, staring hard at it as if hoping to penetrate the woodwork by will alone. Philip stood by her, his young face pale and anxious. Cissy Kohler had lit a cigarette and was leaning against the wall, face blank, eyes unblinking, even the smoke from her narrow cigarette hanging still in the air before her.
Dalziel took Waggs's arm and pushed him through a door into the kitchen. 'So where's all this taking us?' he asked. 'That's an odd question for a cop.' 'Oh aye? Why's that?' 'I thought you guys just went along with the facts.' 'There's facts and facts,' said Dalziel.
'How so? I thought a fact was a fact was a fact.' 'Sometimes they're like bits of china. You piece them together and you've got a bowl that'll hold water. Other times they're like bits of chocolate. You chew 'em up, and all you've got is shit.' 'Jee-suss! You know what, Dalziel? Inside you, there's a poet trying to get out. In fact, from the size of you, I'd say a whole anthology. Jee-suss!' The second divine invocation was at suddenly finding himself translated to a higher sphere, which was to say, the top of the electric stove.
Dalziel said, 'I ought to turn this thing on and see if I can boil some sense into you. You want to know if he killed your mother? What good'll that do you? All you do is give Philip a murderer for a father and Marilou a murderer for a husband.'
'And Cissy?' cried Waggs, who didn't lack courage. 'Don't I give her something too? Something she deserves? Listen, she's lost a life because of all this. Nothing that can happen to any of the rest of us can come close to that. She wants to see the guy she gave that life up for before he dies. She wants to hear something from him that might help her think it was even just a fraction worthwhile. She deserves that chance, doesn't she?'
'Why?' said Dalziel. 'She's got three deaths on her hands. In my book, that's at least two too many for second chances. Did they all three deserve to die? Your mother? That little lass? Daphne Bush? So what's that leave her deserving except what she got?'
But he didn't sound all that convincing, not even to himself.
He turned and went back into the hallway. The others were still there. He went towards the sitting-room door, but Marilou Bellmain barred his way.
'He will call us back in when he's finished his phone call,' she said.
'Missus, he finished long since,' said Dalziel, easing her aside.
Philip looked for a moment as if he might get chivalrous, but Dalziel gave him a look that would have stopped a horse, let alone a knight, and opened the door.
Westropp lay back in his rocker, his eyes closed, looking more like something the Egyptologists had just peeled the bandage off than a living being.
Marilou went to him and took his hands. Now the eyes opened like a lizard's on a rock. 'There you all are,' he said. 'I'm sorry, but I don't think I can go on with this just now. Another time, perhaps.
Yes, another time would be nice. But before you go, an apology.
Hopelessly inadequate, but what else can I offer? To you, Pip. To you, John. It was an accident, believe me. I may have sometimes wished your mother harm, but I never purposed it. And to you. Cissy, what can I say? Except that the events of that dreadful weekend, especially Emily's death, deprived me of the power of rational thought and action just as they must have deprived you, otherwise how could either of us have stood aside and let poor dear Mick die? I'm sorry for all the..
. misunderstanding. Aren't words inadequate, particularly when you've had a classical education? Now if you don't mind, I'd like a little time with Marilou.' Cissy Kohler was drawing in huge breaths as if air was going to be rationed. 'Is this it?' she managed to gulp out. ‘Is this all I get?' 'It's all there is,' said Westropp. 'Sometimes it is better to travel hopelessly than arrive. I know that too, believe me.'
She took a step towards him, fumbling with the clasp of her handbag.
Dalziel caught her in his arms, spun her round and pushed her through the doorway. Screened by his own bulk from the others, he dipped his hand into her bag, took out the small revolver he found there and slipped it into his left-hand pocket. He turned and called, 'Mrs Bellmain.' Marilou looked towards him impatiently and he said, 'Cissy's not too well.' It was the first time he had brought himself to call her Cissy. Marilou looked unhappily from Jay Waggs to her husband, who said, 'I'll be all right, dear. Don't be long.' She went out into the hall and Dalziel re-entered the room. Waggs took a step towards the man in the rocking-chair but there was no menace in the move. Rather he seemed to want a closer look. He said, 'I've been around the entertainment industry too long not to recognize the smell of bullshit.' 'You say so?' said Westropp. 'John, believe me, when I say I'm sorry…' 'Yeah, yeah, I gotta see that Cissy's OK. But this isn't the end, stepdaddy. There's a lot of mileage in this yet.'
He turned and pushed past Dalziel. 'Poor John,' said Westropp. 'For a man who makes a living out of selling ideas, his forecasts seem sadly off the mark.' 'At least he's worried about that woman out there,' growled Dalziel. Westropp shrugged, shoulder bones moving like sticks in a sack. Then he turned his attention to his son. 'Pip,' he said.
'We've never been as close as I could have wished. I lost too much of your childhood, but I had to send you away to school till I finally settled down with Marilou…' His son said, 'Dad, please, it's OK, forget it…' His face was soft with grief. He leaned over Westropp as if to kiss him but the sick man turned his head away and patted his shoulder and in that moment Dalziel saw how distasteful the memory of his dead wife was still to him. Philip straightened up. Westropp said, 'We'll talk later. Ask Marilou if she'd mind not coming in till Mr Dalziel comes out.' The young man turned away, looked at Dalziel as if about to say something, but left without speaking. 'Funny,' said Dalziel. 'What?' 'Lot of men would make more of a live son than a dead daughter.' 'Well, well. A moralist perchance appears, led, heaven knows how, to this poor sod. You are a father perhaps yourself to know so much about these relationships?' 'No, but I know enough to guess that it's the lad who's the real poor sod here,' growled Dalziel. 'I'd put money it was your missus insisted he should come back from yon school in England to live with you.' He saw he'd hit home and he pressed on, 'Been working long for Rampling, has he?' 'I'm sorry?'
'Didn't you know he was one of that lot
? Breaking and entering hotel bedrooms a speciality. Well, not really. He weren't much good at it.
Only did it, I dare say, 'cos he got told the bugger whose bedroom it was might be a threat to his dear old dad.' 'Your room, you mean? That was Pip? Well, well.' Westropp frowned, then said, 'But this is a diversion. I have little time for such things. You want something from me, I assume?' 'The truth.' ‘Iindeed? And perhaps you will perform me one or two little services in return?' 'Such as?' 'Always leave the bathroom as you'd like to find it. That was one of my old nanny's maxims. It's tidying-up time for me. For a start, perhaps you could dispose of this.' He produced a little automatic pistol from beneath his cushions. Dalziel took it gingerly, checked the safety was on, tried to put it in his left pocket, found it full of gun already, and transferred it to the right. 'Keeps me well balanced,' he said. 'Like you.' 'You think so?' 'Man has to be well balanced to live what you've lived through without cracking. Or completely cracked to start with.'
'Now that's not for me to say. All I know is that the greater obstacle to human progress is our capacity for bearing things. Ah, as the heart grows older, It will come to such sights colder By and by, nor spare a sigh…' It was, Dalziel guessed, a poem. Pascoe used the same funny voice when he slid into poetry too. But his face was never striated with pain and weariness like Westropp's. 'You want me to call a quack?' he asked. 'No, thank you. I have my medication.' He opened his hand to show a tiny pillbox. The lid snapped up at the touch of his finger. He took out a green and black capsule and examined it quizzically. 'Sometimes coals are needed in Newcastle after all,' he said. 'Catch.' He tossed the box to Dalziel who plucked it from the air and examined the coat of arms. 'It's all right. I didn't nick it from Windsor. It's mine by right of inheritance.' 'Worth a bob or two.' 'Probably. Keep it. Souvenir.' 'I don't need to be reminded.'
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