Deadheads dap-7

by Reginald Hill

'But we'd better let Mr Pascoe know when he gets back,' he said. 'He's got more artistic hands than me, so the strangulation process shouldn't be so nasty. On the other hand, he'll probably pass it on to Mr Dalziel when he comes back from London at the weekend. Have you ever had a good look at Mr Dalziel's hands?'

  Shaking his head, he stood up and slowly made for the door.

  Peter Pascoe didn't know whether to be delighted or not with Shaheed Singh's news. He distrusted simple coincidence. By the time he'd finished questioning the young cadet, Singh felt glad that he wasn't a criminal and not all that pleased to be a policeman.

  'What do you think?' Pascoe asked Wield after the door had closed behind the relieved youth.

  'Rosemont fits the picture,' said Wield. 'Big, but not big enough to have a living-in staff. Nicely isolated without being buried in the countryside. And probably with enough good stuff lying around to be worth nicking without being so good that it's all carefully catalogued and put in a bank vault when the house is empty.'

  'That's the first thing to check, whether the house is going to be empty in the next couple of weeks,' said Pascoe. ‘It's a bastard. If the Aldermanns are going away for a week, say, we can't afford to stake the place out for seven nights.'

  'Might be a fortnight,' said Wield helpfully.

  'Thanks! And I don't see much percentage in young Singh chatting to his mate again. He's probably terrified already at what he's done! Still, we can't ignore it. You check with the Aldermanns - no, on second thoughts, I'll do that. It's about time we met formally, I think. You get hold of Arthur Marsh's file again and see if there's anything useful there. And let all ears start flapping for any sound of a link-up between Marsh and these jobs. Mr Dalziel said he'd ring late this afternoon, so I'll fill him in then. He'll be thinking that, one way and another, Aldermann's really managing to hog the limelight! Which reminds me, how'd you get on with Mr Wellington?'

  'He didn't take kindly to the suggestion that an eminent, worthy and respected churchgoer like Burke might have been pissed out of his mind,' said Wield. 'He was even less happy at the hint that he might have played down such information.'

  'So Burke is stone cold sober,' said Pascoe. 'Which was more than you could say for his widow.'

  'How did you find her?'

  'Available,' said Pascoe. 'But evasive too. I had the feeling that I could put my finger on anything but the complete truth.'

  At half past five the phone rang and next moment Dalziel's stentorian voice was sounding in Pascoe's ear. After listening to a succinct, pungent, and actionably obscene analysis of the conference so far, Pascoe gave his equally succinct but metaphorically more restrained account of his interviews with Masson and Mrs Burke.

  Dalziel asked several questions, then said, 'Right, so you think Masson was up to something and Burke's widow was hiding something?'

  'I suppose I do,' said Pascoe cautiously.

  'I'll think on it,' said Dalziel heavily. 'You carry on talking while I'm thinking.'

  Pascoe now told him about Singh's tip.

  'Grand,' said Dalziel. 'The lad's done well. Tell him I'm pleased.'

  'But it may be nothing,' said Pascoe, surprised by the fat man's enthusiasm, it's so vague.'

  'Vague or not, next time the Aldermanns are out of that house, you've got the perfect excuse to be in. You'll be able to go over the place with a fine-tooth comb. Never know what you'll pick up!'

  'I thought the idea would be to prevent illegal access,' said Pascoe, faintly scandalized.

  'You're not taking a high moral tone with me, are you, lad?' said Dalziel threateningly. 'Listen, we've got that mad Welsh bugger here, the one who's always shooting his mouth off on television. What he wants, apart from hanging, flogging, and machine-guns, is for cops to have right of access without warrant, day or night, to any premises anywhere, and all householders to deposit duplicate keys at their local station! He thinks I'm a wet pinko, so you just count your lucky stars.'

  'Sorry, sir,' said Pascoe. 'I'm counting. It's all right. Now I've finished.'

  'You're a telephone hero,' said Dalziel with scorn. 'Listen, getting back to Masson, do you think he mebbe reckoned Penny Highsmith destroyed Aunt Flo's will herself?'

  'I wondered about that,' admitted Pascoe. 'There was certainly something there, I felt.'

  'I'm seeing her on Friday night, I'll put out some feelers,' said Dalziel. It was an image which set Pascoe's mouth twisting in a silent rictus.

  'Talking of wills, this Burke woman looked comfortable, did she?'

  'Very,' said Pascoe. 'And financially too.'

  'You dirty young sod,' said Dalziel. 'Does she make money out of her market stall, do you think?'

  'Maybe. But I get the impression she probably just likes the hustle and bustle and the company, preferably male. She's pretty flamboyant.'

  'That's a new name for it,' said Dalziel. 'It's probably worth checking on her money, what Burke left her, what her income is now. She's in the covered market, isn't she? How did she get a pitch there? They're not easy to come by, inside or out. One comes vacant, the market traders usually have it sewn up in advance. It's notorious, any councillor on the market committee is kept in King Edwards for life.'

  Pascoe made a note and said, 'Any special reason you're so suspicious, sir?'

  'Who's suspicious? Just curious. Another thing. You say she drove down to the shops at two-thirty, came back at three-thirty, walked out of the garage straight on to the patio, and there he was, dead?'

  'That's right,' said Pascoe. 'I've got all the reports here. Inquest, police, medical. It all tallies.'

  'Have a look at the list of possessions,' said Dalziel.

  'Sorry?'

  'When they took Burke in for cutting up, they'd empty his pockets and itemize the contents,' explained Dalziel with violent patience. 'Find the list and read it out.'

  Hastily Pascoe sorted through the papers.

  'Well!' demanded Dalziel.

  'I have it. I have it. Wallet containing . . .'

  'Stuff the wallet. Get on to the loose stuff.'

  'Handkerchief. Small change. Car keys . . .'

  'Stop there,' said Dalziel. 'All right, where was the car?'

  'Whose car?' asked Pascoe blankly.

  'Burke's car! I take it them houses just have single garages and driveways? Right, then. If Mrs Burke could back her car out at two-thirty, there wasn't any other car in the drive was there? And if she could drive back into the garage at three-thirty, there still wasn't, was there? So where was it?'

  'Somewhere else?' offered Pascoe brightly.

  'Right! And why?'

  'Well, he was just popping in to collect something he'd forgotten, and didn't think it was worth taking the car up the drive.'

  'Something he'd forgotten up a ladder?' asked Dalziel.

  'Or he knew his wife might be going out later, so he parked on the road in order not to block her.'

  'He was a well-known considerate fellow, was he?'

  'Not from the sound of him,' admitted Pascoe. 'What do you suggest we do, sir? I mean, do you think it's important?'

  'I can't do your thinking for you, lad,' said Dalziel heavily. 'You talked to Dandy Dick yet?'

  'Tomorrow,' said Pascoe patiently. 'I did tell you.'

  'Oh aye. You lose track in this bloody place. It's like a bloody ant-hill down here. I like streets where I know half the buggers I meet and I can understand most of what the rest of 'em say. I'll be glad to get back even if it does mean putting up with you lot again. Keep in touch!'

  'I will,' said Pascoe. 'Enjoy your conference.'

  The phone went down with a crash.

  'You know, he sounded quite homesick,' said Pascoe to Wield.

  ‘It's nice to know we're missed,' said Wield. 'What do we do now?'

  Pascoe glanced at his watch.

  'There's only a couple of dozen things we could do,' he said. 'None of which should take more than a few hours by the time they got spread out. But on the other han
d, I'm feeling a bit homesick too. I think I'll just go home.'

  Ellie seemed slightly distracted that evening, but he put it down to the spiritual shock of coming to grips with the stack of exam scripts which still littered the lounge, though it was harder to explain in the same terms her perceptible start when he observed casually, 'I'm going to be getting a look at your mate, Daphne, at last.'

  'Why? What do you mean?'

  'Just that I'll have to call round and have a word with them. We've had a tip that Rosemont is going to be done, that's all. Probably nothing in it.'

  ‘It's not just another excuse to get into the house and have a poke around, is it?' she asked earnestly.

  He regarded her with puzzled amusement.

  'You think like fat Andy, do you know that?' he said. 'No, it isn't. It's a genuine tip, come to us courtesy of young Sherlock Singh. How's the marking going?'

  'Rosie got hold of a couple of the scripts, and chewed them,' said Ellie gloomily. 'God knows what the external examiner will think.'

  'He'll put it down to rage,' said Pascoe.

  'He could be right. How was your day? Anything new on the Elgood front?' she said casually.

  'Not much. I'm seeing him tomorrow.'

  'Are you? Why?' she asked sharply.

  'Just a couple of points to clear up. Is there some beer in the fridge? I just fancy one. What about you?'

  'No, thanks,' she said. 'Peter, you will remember that Daphne's my friend.'

  'When I visit Rosemont, you mean?' he said evasively. 'I'll be awfully polite, I promise.'

  He went out of the lounge to the kitchen, leaving Ellie staring sightlessly at the pot of ferns in the fire grate.

  'Oh shit,' she said.

  8

  INNOCENCE

  (Bush. Vigorous, upright, flowers creamy white with a few pink flecks - sweetly perfumed.)

  Pascoe was five minutes early for his appointment with Elgood. As he approached the office door, it opened and a man in a creased grey suit was ushered out by Miss Dominic who regarded Pascoe coldly, though whether on account of his earliness or because he'd used the lift he could not tell. The departing man headed virtuously for the stairs.

  Creep, thought Pascoe and went in.

  'You're early,' said Dick Elgood. 'I hope this means you're in a hurry. I know I am. I'm up to my eyes.'

  'I'll try not to keep you long,' said Pascoe. 'Just a couple of questions.'

  'Haven't you asked enough questions, for God's sake? Last time we spoke, I told you to drop the matter. But since then from all sides I hear you're still snooping around!'

  Elgood sounded angry, but Pascoe thought he detected a note of anxiety as well. ‘I’ve got a job to do, Mr Elgood,' he said solemnly. Ellie had once remarked that the main perk of being a cop was that you could talk entirely in clichés and no one dared throw rotten eggs. 'It's not an easy job,' he continued, warming to his banalities, 'and it has this peculiarity. Once you start on something, you take it as far as you can until you're convinced that no crime's been committed. It doesn't matter who says yea or nay. You carry on regardless.'

  'Is that right?' sneered Elgood. 'Even when it means setting your own wife on to spy on people?'

  Pascoe sat upright, jerked out of his role-playing.

  'You'd better explain that, Mr Elgood,' he said quietly.

  'What's to explain?' said Elgood. 'Except if you're going to say it was coincidence that the day after I spoke to you at the station, your wife struck up an acquaintance with Mrs Aldermann.'

  'I'm not sure I need say anything about that,' said Pascoe, 'except to wonder how you're so familiar with Mrs Aldermann's affairs.'

  ‘It's not only the police who hear things in a town this size,' answered Elgood challengingly.

  He wants me to say what I know, thought Pascoe, still slightly off-balance as a result of the crack about Ellie. It could only mean Daphne Aldermann had mentioned her new acquaintance to Elgood. Damn. It must look suspicious, to say the least. Not that that bothered him, but the thought of the embarrassment to Ellie if the Aldermann woman took it wrong . . . perhaps it had happened already; there'd been something in Ellie's manner last night ; . . a restraint ... on the other hand, she had said she was having coffee with Daphne this morning, so . . .

  He shook the wisps of thought out of his head. Wisps. A good word for most of his thoughts on this case. Everything vague, nothing to grasp at.

  Perhaps it was time to hit Elgood with a few facts.

  'Let me tell you what we know to remove any temptation you may feel to lie,' he said. 'We know that the day before you spoke to me at the police station you met Mrs Daphne Aldermann in the top floor of the multi-storey car park. We know that she transferred from her car to yours and you drove away together. We know that she did not return to her car until approximately five hours later.'

  'Your wife told you all this, did she?' said Elgood.

  'No,' said Pascoe wearily. 'My wife has told me nothing about you. As far as I'm aware, she knows nothing about you. I may be wrong, of course. To get back on track, Mr Elgood, we have independent witnesses to your rendezvous with Mrs Aldermann in the car park. Are you denying it?'

  Elgood shook his head, stood up and began to walk round the room with his graceful dancing step. He didn't look at all like Fred Astaire, yet there was in his simplest movement that same quality of lightness. He was immaculately suited in Oxford blue mohair with a striped claret and gold waistcoat with mother of pearl buttons.

  'I'm not denying I met her. Why should I? My private life's my own affair, isn't it?'

  ‘It seems to me you made it mine when you complained that the husband of the woman you had this private rendezvous with was trying to kill you,' said Pascoe in exasperation. 'For God's sake, in simple terms of motive alone, it alters everything.'

  'Because he's jealous?'

  Elgood began to laugh. It sounded fifty per cent genuine.

  'What's so funny?'

  'You are, Pascoe,' said the little man. 'You keep on getting it wrong! Aldermann's not the jealous type, believe me. Any road, there was nowt to be jealous of. It was the first time me and Daphne had met, apart from a couple of lunch-time drinks where anyone could see us. Come between him and his precious roses, that might be a different matter!'

  'Isn't that what you are doing, by blocking his advancement?' answered Pascoe, trying a different tack.

  'Mebbe,' said Elgood, serious again. 'But that's for him to decide. Me, I'm just doing what's best for the firm. It'll all be sorted next Wednesday, by the time he gets back.'

  'Back? From where?' asked Pascoe.

  'He's going off on Monday to that fancy school near Gloucester that his lad goes to. No wonder he's short of a bob or two, paying out on them places! I've brought the next board meeting forward till Wednesday, so he should be safely out of the way.'

  He spoke with the satisfaction of absolute authority, but Pascoe was much struck by the disproportionate influence this (by all accounts) quiet, unassuming man Patrick Aldermann seemed to have over the lives and decisions of others.

  'Out of the way? Yet you say you don't feel threatened?' he mused aloud.

  'No. I want that forgotten,' said Elgood. 'How many times do I have to tell you? My private life's my private life. Keep out of it! I've seen you today, Mr Pascoe, to give you a last warning. Any more prying by you, or your men, or your missus for that matter, I'll treat as police harassment. And I'll go a long way over your head, aye, and over Andy Dalziel's too, to get it stopped. I've got friends in most high places, Mr Pascoe. So think on.'

  Pascoe rose slowly.

  'Friends,' he said. 'High places. Threats. Nasty sneers about my wife. I quite liked you when first we met, Mr Elgood. I thought you were . . . natural. Unspoilt. An original. But suddenly the mould is beginning to look very familiar.'

  To his credit, Elgood looked uncomfortable.

  'Listen, Pascoe. About your wife, I meant no offence. The rest stands, but a man's wife's a different
matter.'

  'And you are something of an expert on the difference,' murmured Pascoe making for the door.

  The telephone rang. Elgood snatched it up as though relieved at this reunion with the outside world.

  'Yes?' he snapped, turning his back on Pascoe who opened the door. He felt his exit if not ignominious was at least undistinguished.

  'Pascoe!' said Elgood. 'It's for you. Try to keep it short.'

  It was Wield.

  'Hoped I'd catch you, sir,' he said. 'I had a moment this morning, so I thought I'd knock off one or two of these little jobs from your list. First up was Mrs Burke's finances. Her husband left her comfortable, but not really comfortable enough for a motive. But I checked on that market stall of hers. The word is it's a little goldmine. More interesting though is how she got the lease in the first place. There was a bit of queue-jumping there, I gather. A bit of calling in of old favours.'

  'I'm listening,' said Pascoe.

  He listened for another three of four minutes, ignoring Elgood's terpsichorean expressions of impatience.

  'Thanks, Sergeant,' he said finally and replaced the receiver.

  'Finished, Inspector?' said Elgood. 'Perhaps I can have my office back, eh?'

  For answer, Pascoe sank slowly on to the hard chair once more.

  'Just one more question, Mr Elgood, if you don't mind,' he said.

  'I do bloody mind!' exploded Elgood. 'Can't you take a bloody hint?'

  'I'm quite good at hints,' said Pascoe. 'I've just had a couple. Mr Elgood, before I go, I'd like to discuss with you for a little while the precise nature of your relationship with Mrs Mandy Burke.'

  While her husband was not being offered coffee by Dick Elgood, Ellie Pascoe was sitting drinking her second cup in the Chantry with only Rose for company.

  Not by nature a nervous woman, she had approached this meeting with the trepidation of one who feels herself in the wrong with little clear idea of how she got in it and less of how she can get out of it. She would dearly have loved to talk things over with Peter, but that had been impossible without revealing the cause of her concern, which would have made her undeniably guilty of the treachery she stood accused of. Yet she had sensed something evasive in her husband's manner also which suggested to her that he already knew of the liaison between Daphne and Elgood.