Exit Lines

by Reginald Hill

  ‘Leave it,’ he said. ‘I like a bit of son et lumière. It’s a not unfitting way to let those gun-happy buggers up there know we’re coming, wouldn’t you say, Sergeant?’

  But Wield did not reply. He was much more interested in looking back and wondering why the driver of the green van had changed his mind and turned round and was now heading back up the hill.

  Chapter 28

  ‘Ut puto deus fio.’

  ‘That sounds like your lot, Dalziel,’ said Sir William Pledger. ‘Didn’t realize you were bringing some friends.’

  He laughed and his guests joined in, even those who did not understand or did not appreciate the joke. Among the latter was Major Barney Kassell, who regarded Dalziel with grave suspicion.

  The fat man shrugged and said indifferently, ‘Me neither.’

  The shooting party had just returned from the moors and, still muddy and tweedy, were taking a hot toddy with their host in the gun-room before retiring to hot baths and fresh linen. Kassell went to the window which overlooked the courtyard of the Grange where the beaters were collecting their pay and the day’s bag of pheasants, more richly plumed than a tombful of dead pharaohs, were awaiting their collector.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Kassell. ‘I’ll just pop down and see that all’s well, shall I?’

  Pledger nodded and Kassell left. Dalziel looked as if he might be about to follow, but the Dutch judge who was expounding his pet theory of penal reform gripped him firmly by the elbow and the fat man, who was in an uncharacteristic state of uncertainty, let his mind be made up for him. He retrieved something of his self-esteem, however, by emptying his glass so positively that the punk-haired maid with tits like ostrich eggs, recently transferred from Paradise Hall, broke away from the French banker who seemed to think she was his personal property and came straight to him.

  ‘Another of the same, love,’ said Dalziel. The girl obliged. The judge seemed to be distracted by her imminence and lost his thread and Dalziel took the opportunity to turn away and look into the courtyard. Arnie Charlesworth was already at the window. He glanced at Dalziel and raised an interrogative eyebrow. Dalziel shook his head.

  Down in the courtyard, Pascoe and Wield had got out of the police car. Kassell was talking to the Inspector, angrily at first it seemed, and then rather more calmly, while Wield stood stolidly by and regarded the colourful array of dead pheasants awaiting the arrival of the game dealer. Across by the stables, collecting their afternoon’s wages, were the beaters. Two or three of them who were off-duty policemen had pulled their hats down hard over their brows at the sound of the approaching siren, and one at least, long, thin and sunken-headed, had started like a guilty thing surprised, and slipped out of sight round a corner.

  A telephone rang. After a moment, a servant came into the gun-room and spoke to Pledger, who by this time was standing with all the rest peering down at the scene outside.

  ‘Dalziel, it’s for you,’ said Sir William. ‘You sure you don’t know anything about this, old chap?’

  Dalziel didn’t reply but made his way to the door. He was interested to note that the sexy maid had taken the opportunity of all those turned backs to pour herself a healthy slug of the toddy. He grinned at her in passing. If abashment were felt, the indifferent mask of her face did not show it.

  Outside he picked up the phone and identified himself.

  He listened for a while, said, ‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ listened again, and said, ‘Yes, why not? Not much point in doing owt else, is there?’ And banged the phone down.

  Back in the gun-room he said, ‘Excuse me, Sir William, but mebbe you’d better come with me.’

  ‘Come with you? Why? Is something wrong?’ asked Pledger.

  But Dalziel had already turned away and was marching towards the front door of the house.

  There he met Pascoe, Wield and Kassell coming up the steps. The two policemen halted in surprise.

  Kassell said, ‘It’s all right, Andy. Seems our new maid’s got herself in a bit of bother.’

  ‘Maid?’ said Dalziel. ‘You pair of midsummer night dreams have come here about the maid?’

  His voice scoured the base of incredulity.

  ‘She’s wanted for questioning, sir,’ replied Pascoe defiantly. ‘Sorry to disturb you and your friends, but it’s a serious matter. Suspicion of being an accessory to murder.’

  ‘Murder?’

  ‘Yes, sir. The Deeks case.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Dalziel savagely. ‘You don’t half pick your moments, Inspector.’

  ‘It’s all right, Andy,’ repeated Kassell. ‘They’ll be away in a couple of minutes. Nothing to worry about, Sir William. Just a spot of bother concerning one of the domestics.’

  Pledger and most of his guests had come out of the door behind Dalziel. Pascoe let his eyes drift up to them. The only one he recognized was Arnie Charlesworth, quietly watchful, with a shotgun in the crook of his arm. Probably, thought Pascoe, he was just about the poorest in this group of rich, powerful men who got their kicks out of destroying helpless half-tame birds. Except for Dalziel, of course. Dalziel was the poorest, or ought to be. What the hell was he playing at?

  ‘Is that right, Dalziel?’ said Pledger, an edge of anger in his voice. ‘Is all this noise and drama just so that they can arrest one of the maids? For God’s sake, man, don’t they teach you fellows anything about discretion? I’ll be talking to Tommy Winter when he gets back, I assure you.’

  ‘Your privilege, sir,’ said Dalziel. ‘I think you’ll find the Chief Constable knows about most of it. Not the maid, no one bothered to tell even me about the maid.’

  Pascoe found himself beyond all reason or justice being glowered at accusingly.

  ‘What then?’ demanded Pledger. ‘If not the maid, what?’

  Dalziel didn’t respond but looked beyond the trio on the steps towards the approach road. Along it a little convoy was approaching. It consisted of two cars and a van.

  ‘Sir William,’ said Dalziel formally. ‘I have reason to believe that a private aeroplane belonging to Van Bellen International has been used to smuggle quantities of heroin into the country.’

  ‘You what?’ cried Pledger, looking round at his guests. ‘Do you know what you’re saying?’

  ‘Oh aye,’ said Dalziel. ‘Question is, do you? On the whole, I reckon not. But Major Kassell here does, isn’t that right, Barney?’

  ‘You bastard,’ said Kassell softly. ‘You bastard.’

  He wasn’t talking to Dalziel, Pascoe realized with surprise. His gaze was fixed on the indifferent features of Arnie Charlesworth.

  The convoy had come to a halt and half a dozen men and a black labrador debouched. One of them, a grey-haired man with a sad face, came to the foot of the steps and looked interrogatively at Dalziel.

  ‘Don’t even ask,’ said Dalziel. ‘You wouldn’t believe it. But now you’re here, you’d better improve the shining hour. It’ll be somewhere among the pheasants most likely. If Rin Tin Tin doesn’t find it, you’ll have to get your fingers bloody. Sir William, why don’t you and your guests go back in the warm? This shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘By what authority are you doing all this?’ demanded Pledger.

  ‘Look,’ said Dalziel. ‘I’ve got a warrant here, want to look? I didn’t expect to have to use it–’ another baleful glance at Pascoe – ‘but it entitles me to pull this bloody mansion of yours apart brick by brick if I have to. Now you can ring the DCC, or you can even ring old Tommy in Barbados, if you like, and they’ll tell you the same.’

  ‘It won’t be the police I ring,’ said Pledger threateningly as he retreated, followed by all the other guests except for Charlesworth.

  ‘Sergeant Wield, think you can handle this lass single-handed? There’s a Frog banker in there you’re going to make very unhappy. I’d like a word with Mr Pascoe here.’

  Wield glanced at Pascoe, who nodded. The Sergeant made his way into the house.

  ‘What’s going off, sir?’
demanded Pascoe, looking towards the stable block where the newcomers, now wearing rubber gloves, were busy among the dead pheasants with pocket knives.

  Dalziel glanced towards Kassell.

  ‘Keep an eye on the Major, will you Arnie?’

  Charlesworth shifted his shotgun on his arm.

  ‘Pleasure, Andy,’ he said quietly.

  Dalziel took Pascoe’s arm and moved him down the steps.

  ‘I’ll tell you what should’ve been going off,’ said Dalziel. ‘There should’ve been a man called Vernon Briggs who’s a game dealer driving happily towards town with that little lot of birds in his van. I believe you passed the van on the road? Well, he was so shit scared at being overtaken by a cop car with its hooter going full blast that he turned about and set off home like a peppered rabbit. Can’t blame him, can you? I mean, if you’re on your way to pick up a kilo of heroin, you don’t hang around when you see the filth, do you?’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, but how was I to know?’ protested Pascoe. ‘And just a kilo you say? Christ, with this performance, I would have expected at least a ton. Who are they, anyway? Customs and Excise?’

  ‘Mainly, with some of our drugs squad lads,’ said Dalziel. ‘And don’t be snooty about a kilo, lad, it’d set you and me up for life, I tell you. Any road, you’re missing the point. There’s this ring operating out of Holland. That’s the biggest European market, but they’re developing their UK outlets. But last winter you’ll recall they lost a couple of large consignments, a couple of hundredweights or thereabouts. They’ve changed tactics since then, going for a lot smaller runs. This is one of them, but the drugs boys don’t just want to stop this line, they wanted to follow it through to the central distribution point. The word is it’s somewhere in Yorkshire; Leeds maybe, or Sheffield. Vernon Briggs was going to be the lead-in. No longer! No doubt alarm bells are ringing all along the route as he doesn’t turn up.’

  ‘I really am sorry, sir,’ said Pascoe, his indignation fading.

  ‘Don’t let it worry you,’ said Dalziel, belching gently. ‘These fancy schemes usually turn into cock-ups. Too much pussy-footing around. Me, I was for going in feet first and kicking it out of them.’

  ‘Them?’

  ‘Kassell, mainly. I doubt if Sir William knows anything. But I wouldn’t put my pension on it. They were buddies out in Hong Kong, so he knows Barney’s not your lily-white. Still, who is these days? Except the Chief Constable! First sniff that Pledger might be involved and he was off across the Atlantic. Called it a tactical withdrawal. Didn’t want to risk arousing suspicion by refusing invites to shoot. Certainly didn’t want the embarrassment of being around when the balloon went up. So off he goes. Top level decision is not to tell the DCC anything. Stupid, really. He’s thick but not that thick. I had to fill him in myself the other day. You should’ve heard him! It’s all this need-to-know crap, I told him. They read too many spy stories!

  ‘Me? Through Arnie Charlesworth. There’s a big file on Kassell. Arnie was in it as an associate – just that, no suspicion that he knew owt about the racket. And when someone spotted Arnie’s lad had been shot full of junk when he crashed his car, they got the bright idea he might be willing to help if approached right. They wanted an inside man, close to Kassell, see? Then some other spark, doing a deep check on Arnie, discovered him and me went a long way back. George Asquith on the Drug Squad knew me. They contacted me to ask about Arnie first off, then gradually this other bright idea evolved, for me to get close to Kassell via Arnie who’d let on I was bendable and had done him a few favours with Customs and Excise. Anyone who’s got an “in” on Customs and on police operations at the same time was like a tit in a monastery to Kassell. I thought it was a load of bollocks myself, but it went like a dream. That accident last week put the seal on it. Kassell’s convinced there was a cover-up there; in fact he thinks he helped with it.’

  ‘And there wasn’t?’ said Pascoe. ‘You weren’t driving?’

  ‘Only as far as the road,’ Dalziel said. ‘Then Arnie made me change over. He’s not so tired of life he wants to end up like his lad, dead in a road smash! Ironic, when you think what happened later. That Warsop woman was a bit of a bonus, really. Convinced Kassell I was bent. You can sort her and Abbiss out now, by the way.’

  ‘Is Abbiss mixed up in this?’ asked Pascoe.

  ‘I doubt it. But he did know Kassell well enough to appeal to him when you started leaning. And Barney asked me to lean on you. Likes doing favours, does Barney. Never know when you may need to call them in.’

  ‘Yes. Well I’m glad you weren’t driving,’ said Pascoe.

  ‘Peter!’ said Dalziel in mock dismay. ‘You never doubted me, did you, lad? I bet there were cocks crowing twice all over the station last weekend!’

  The analogy did not have to be pursued very far to break down, thought Pascoe. It was striking him that the hunt for the hidden heroin was taking rather a long time. The searchers seemed to be going over the pheasants for a second time and the drug-sniffing dog was cocking its leg against a stone mounting-post with the indifference of one who has given up for the day.

  ‘You’re sure there was a consignment this week, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Evidently they thought so at the continental end,’ said Dalziel. ‘Me, all I had to do was assure Kassell that the coast was clear, no special Customs or police activity at the airport.’

  ‘Perhaps he was just testing you out,’ suggested Pascoe brightly.

  He wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

  ‘Mebbe. If so, you’re in real trouble, Peter,’ said Dalziel seriously. ‘It’s one thing cocking this lot up if we find the stuff. But if we don’t, well, questions in the House’ll be the last of your worries.’

  ‘Hold on!’ protested Pascoe. ‘None of this is down to me …’

  ‘If you hadn’t come in here on the bell with lights flashing, Vernon Briggs wouldn’t have run scared, and those lads there who were set to follow him wouldn’t have had to make a quick decision whether to grab him or let him go.’

  ‘They made the wrong decision then, didn’t they?’

  ‘No. They made the only possible decision,’ said Dalziel. ‘Not to worry, lad. There’s worse things than a career in traffic control. Leastways you only get hit by trucks there!’

  The greying man with a sad face approached once more. He shook his head and said, ‘Nothing there, Andy.’

  ‘No,’ said Dalziel. ‘Well, I’m glad it wasn’t my idea, Freddie.’

  Dalziel was off-loading responsibility like a trainee stripper shedding clothes, thought Pascoe bitterly.

  ‘What do we do now? The house?’

  The two men turned to look at the building.

  ‘Up to you,’ said Dalziel. ‘I’d be glad to get inside myself. It’s getting a bit parky out here.’

  It was true. With dusk, the wind had dropped but there was a sharp edge of frost already in the air, turning breath to visible vapour.

  Kassell spoke. ‘Superintendent Dalziel, don’t you feel the time has come to sit down and talk this over, before you and your friends get too deep in to step back. Sir William’s a reasonable man, but once roused, well, he won’t hold back, believe me.’

  He sounded quietly confident, but Pascoe noticed he made no attempt to move away from Charlesworth and when he looked at the gun in the bookie’s hands, he saw why. The hammers were cocked! He took a deep breath and glanced at Dalziel. The thought had occurred to him that if Charlesworth were doing this for the sake of his dead son, he wasn’t going to be very happy to see Kassell walk away free.

  The front door swung open and Pledger appeared on the threshold, presumably having settled his guests and probably having made his phone call.

  He addressed himself to Kassell.

  ‘Barney, what’s happening out here?’ he asked.

  ‘Those gentlemen down among the pheasants seem to be searching for something, Sir William,’ replied Kassell. ‘I don’t know what it is, but I gather they can�
�t find it. Mr Dalziel and his friend here seem to be debating about whether to extend the search into the house, I myself am limited as to movement because the Superintendent has put me under restraint of Mr Charlesworth, whose gun, you will observe, is cocked and ready for action.’

  ‘This is outrageous!’ exploded Pledger. ‘I have already made representation at the highest level and I’ve no doubt that in a very short time, you’ll be hearing from your superiors. Meanwhile I demand that Charlesworth here be made to hand over his shotgun. No one is entitled to behave in this manner in this country, not even the police, without special dispensation. So, gentlemen, let’s end this farce here and now.’

  There was a grimness in his voice which made him, despite his lack of size, a formidable presence.

  Everyone was looking at Dalziel.

  With a sudden grasp of an essential truth, Pascoe saw that all the fat man’s apparent off-loading of responsibility was nothing but a show for his own peculiar entertainment. When the crisis moment came, everyone focused on Dalziel. There was no way he could escape it. Nor, in all the time Pascoe had known him, had he ever shown any sign of wanting to escape it. The grey-haired Customs man called Freddie might be technically in charge of the operation, but the decision as to whether they went into Haycroft Grange and continued the search there would be Andrew Dalziel’s.

  The decision was delayed by a disturbance behind Sir William. A female voice was raised in a reboant cantillation of obscene abuse, cut off abruptly as Andrea Gregory found herself thrust out into the cold air by Sergeant Wield. The girl glanced round at the curious tableau before her, decided that there was nothing in it to concern her and, focusing on Pascoe, said calmly, ‘He was old, what’s it matter? They should get put down anyway once they get like that, all of ‘em.’

  She glanced at Dalziel now, clearly including him in her euthanasia programme. The fat man said to Pascoe, ‘Peter, you’d best be getting along, I think.’