By the time they re-entered the main entrance hall, he’d decided that it was worth trying to remain anonymous for as long as possible.
‘I’ll ring the cops,’ he said. ‘You go and see if you can find Papworth and see what light he can throw.’
But his ruse to get a quiet word with Sergeant Cross was unsuccessful. A door opened and Bertie appeared, flushed violet with drink. Surprisingly this seemed to have made him more affable.
‘Dalziel!’ he said. ‘Come in and have a drink. On me. You mustn’t take my words to heart, mustn’t sulk. You’re too big for sulking. Your hulk has too much bulk for you to sulk. How’s that? Herrie’d get fifty dollars for that and you know how much the old sod would give us? Bugger all. That’s all. What’s your poison?’
‘I shouldn’t bother,’ said Bonnie sharply. ‘There’s likely to be quite a drink shortage round here shortly.’
‘What do you mean?’ demanded her son, swaying.
‘I mean we’ve been robbed. Mrs Greave, it appears, has been steadily removing all our drink stock and anything else she could lay her hands on. Including the working parts of your precious ovens. And now she’s taken off.’
Bertie stood amazed. His colour remained the same, perhaps deepened slightly, but affability drained visibly from his face.
‘Oh, the cow, the stupid cow! I’ll kill the bitch!’
He smashed the fist of his right hand into his left palm. Dalziel caught Bonnie’s eye and raised his eyebrows. She did not respond but looked away.
‘All right, Dalziel,’ said Bertie. ‘What now?’
‘There’s only one thing to do,’ interrupted his mother firmly. ‘We must ring the police.’
‘We must ring the police,’ echoed Bertie mockingly. ‘What’s the matter, Mother dear? Have his hidden charms enthralled you? I’ll ring the police, never fear.’
He approached close enough for Dalziel to smell the gin on his breath.
‘Dring dring,’ he said. ‘Dring dring. Is anyone there? I’d like to speak to a big, fat, ugly Detective Superintendent, please. You recognize the description? Good. Well, what happens next, please sir, Mr Dalziel?’
Dalziel looked from the youth to his mother. She made no effort to look surprised but shrugged her shoulders minutely. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, carefully, like a man decanting a rare wine against the light of a candle.
‘What happens next?’ he repeated, stepping forward so that Bertie had to move back quickly to avoid being knocked over. ‘Well, first of all, sonny, you start talking polite to me or I might just level off your spotty ugly face so that it’d take emulsion. Then next after that, we’ll start really digging into just what makes this place tick, shall we?’
11
Hello Sailor
Dalziel sat in the old man’s sitting-room and drank brandy. He had no authority to investigate crime on this patch, he assured Fielding. But the truth was he had been so discomfited and irritated by Sergeant Cross’s reproachful expression that the choice had been between escape and expulsion. The sergeant had not openly said that Dalziel had withheld information, but his suspicions – clearly roused by the fat man’s visit to Orburn that day – must have seemed confirmed when Dalziel told him that Annie Greave (or Annie Grimshaw, or Open Annie) was well known to Liverpool CID.
‘I telephoned them just on the off-chance she was using her proper name,’ he explained. ‘Not much imagination, these pros.’
‘Ah,’ said Cross.
The only immediate potential source of information about Mrs Greave was Papworth and he too had disappeared. His room, however, showed no signs of a hurried or permanent leave-taking and it seemed safe to assume he would return.
‘You mustn’t blame Bonnie,’ said Fielding suddenly. He occupied the same chair in which he had received the Gumbelow award and Dalziel wondered if he had moved out of it since then.
Apart from the debris of glasses and bottles which littered the room, the only other sign of the afternoon’s junketings was Arkwright, the sound engineer, who slept with his head pillowed on and his arms still clasped protectively around his recorder. From time to time a bubbly and rather musical baritone snore emerged from his mouth.
Whether the others had gone or were also to be found unconscious round the premises, Dalziel did not know.
‘Blame her for what?’ he grunted.
‘Going through your pockets,’ said Fielding. ‘It is after all a sensible thing to do when hanging up a suit to dry.’
‘What was she doing in my wallet?’ demanded Dalziel. ‘Ironing my money? And why didn’t you lot say you knew I was a policeman?’
Fielding shrugged.
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘Why should I?’
‘Why indeed? But it doesn’t create an atmosphere of confidence having someone in your house under false pretence.’
Dalziel refilled his glass with a brusqueness which in another man might have resulted in spillage.
‘I pretended nowt.’
‘Come, come,’ said Fielding mildly. ‘This morning Bertie and Lou went to Bonnie with some story about the possibility of your putting money into the restaurant. They were very put out when she told them who you were.’
‘Oh. They didn’t know till then?’ said Dalziel thoughtfully.’
‘No.’
‘And you?’
‘Bonnie told me this morning too. She’s a very discreet woman.’
Dalziel considered the implications. It was a comfort to know there hadn’t been a general conspiracy, with everyone watching the big thick policeman blundering around. It was also good to know that whatever asexual motives Bonnie might have had for going to bed with him, the hope of more money for the business wasn’t one of them. But this still left some disturbing possibilities. A detective grew accustomed to attempts to use sex either as a means of buying him off or compromising him. It didn’t happen every night or every week or even every month. But it happened. Dalziel didn’t want this to be the truth, but his self-image argued against him. He had never considered himself a lady’s man, but he had had his moments, and until a few months ago would have been complacent enough to accept that a big, burly, balding middle-aged detective superintendent might set some female hearts astir. Now there was too much darkness in his nights for the overspill not to cloud all but the brightest day, and his diminished concept of what he was hardly admitted the generation of love at first sight, or even enthusiastic lust.
Which left one more question. Why? What was he being bought off from, or more simply perhaps, distracted from.
He leaned forward and peered at the old man.
‘Got your envelope safe?’ he asked.
Hereward winked and tapped his stomach indicating, Dalziel surmised, either that he had stuffed it down his undervest or else eaten it.
‘Why were you so bothered about taking it?’ continued Dalziel.
Fielding looked at him cunningly.
‘Pride,’ he said. ‘Literary pride.’
‘Piss off,’ said Dalziel easily. ‘You wouldn’t let pride get between you and all that brandy.’
‘All right,’ said Fielding. ‘Ambition then.’
‘Ambition?’
‘Yes. This year I shall equal Browning. Another three will take me up to Wordsworth. And if I can hang on another three, I’ll be past Tennyson.’
Dalziel laughed.
‘Good-living bastards these poets, were they? So you want to be a hundred? Hey, you know what the Queen’s Telegram says?’
‘No. What?’
‘Drop dead you silly old bugger.’
Fielding found this so amusing that he choked on his drink and for a moment Dalziel thought he was going to anticipate his sovereign’s alleged command. But the cause of the upset also proved a remedy and after a moment he returned to his line of questioning.
‘So what were the magic words I uttered that made you change your mind?’
‘Nothing really,’ said
Fielding. ‘I just wanted to be reassured that you would make your presence felt, which you have done with admirable timing. To be worth several thousand pounds in a household of relative paupers is no comfortable thing, Dalziel. You understand?’
‘No,’ said Dalziel. ‘Not unless you’re implying one of this lot’d try to knock you off. You’re not saying that, are you?’
‘Of course I’m saying that,’ snapped Fielding. ‘What do you want – a bibliography and index?’
‘When people start talking about murder threats I want owt that’ll stand up as evidence,’ retorted Dalziel. ‘Come on now. This is a serious allegation. What do you know?’
‘I know that I am an old man,’ said Fielding slowly, ‘and in the eyes of many I have lived my life and run my race. I know that an old man is susceptible to heat and cold, to accidents, heart attacks, broken limbs, dizziness and dyspepsia. I shall not die, I think, from daggers or bullets or strange exotic poisonings. But die I shall and, as with many of the old, I suspect, I fear that a less than divine shoehorn will be used to ease me into my grave.’
Dalziel drank his brandy, shaking his head and marvelling inwardly at this strange and loving submission to the monstrous tyranny of words.
‘Well,’ he grunted, ‘no bugger in this house’ll kill you now, not while I’m around.’
‘A champion!’ said Bertie from the doorway. ‘Sound the trumpet three times and Dalziel will gallop to the rescue!’
‘What’s happening out there, Bertie?’ demanded Fielding. ‘And spare us your tedious wit in the telling.’
‘Nothing much,’ said the stout youth, flopping into a chair. He seemed to have recovered both his sobriety and his temper. From the paleness round his eyes Dalziel judged that he had been sick.
‘Sergeant Cross has been asking everyone questions,’ said Tillotson, who had followed Bertie into the room. ‘But he seems to have finished now. Is it true that you’re a policeman too, Mr Dalziel?’
Dalziel regarded him kindly. Here was the last person anyone ever told anything. Tillotson and his kind would be carrying on normally days after the Last Trump had summoned everyone else to the Judgment Throne.
‘That’s right,’ he said.
‘Really? Sir George Cheesman who used to be Chief Constable of Worcester is my godfather. Do you know him?’
‘No,’ said Dalziel. ‘But I used to have a budgie that whistled the “Eton Boating Song”. What are you lot going to do now?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean you were in bad enough trouble with this restaurant business before. Now with your booze gone and your ovens knackered, you are right up the creek.’
‘Which pleases you, does it?’ asked Bertie.
‘No. Not at all,’ said Dalziel.
‘We’re covered against theft by insurance, surely?’ said Tillotson.
Dalziel and Bertie laughed in unison.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Tillotson.
‘After you,’ said Bertie to Dalziel.
‘Well, firstly no insurance company’s going to rush to pay out on any claim coming from this household at the moment. Especially not if it’s Anchor.’
‘And secondly,’ said Bertie, ‘I doubt if my late lamented father ever bothered to insure the new equipment and so on. I asked him about it once, but got told in no uncertain terms that financial arrangements were his pigeon.’
‘Oh,’ said Tillotson. He looked very taken aback.
‘Worried about your investment?’ asked Bertie. ‘Don’t be, Charley. Just stiffen that upper lip and wave goodbye.’
There was a tap on the door and Cross came in.
‘I’m finished now,’ he said. ‘May I have a word, sir, before I go?’
Dalziel rose.
‘What are the chances of getting the stuff back, Sergeant?’ asked Tillotson.
‘Pretty low, I’m afraid,’ said Cross. ‘Do you think you’ll be able to sort things out for the opening night?’
Bertie, to whom the question was addressed, yawned rudely.
‘Who knows, Sergeant? But don’t you worry about our business, just work hard at yours, will you?’
Dalziel put his arm over Cross’s shoulder and ushered him through the door. He himself turned just before he closed it and said, ‘Sergeant Cross has paid ten quid for two first-night tickets. So think on; the customer is always right, eh?’
‘Puffed-up young git!’ said Cross savagely in the hallway. ‘I’ll sort the bugger before I’m through.’
Inwardly Dalziel applauded the attitude but he put on his best impartial-guardian-of-the-law look and shook his head disapprovingly.
‘That’s no way to talk,’ he said. ‘You want to watch yourself, Sergeant.’
‘I’m too busy watching other people, sir,’ said Cross sulkily. ‘I’ve had three hours’ sleep today, and when I leave here I’m going back to those bloody chickens again.’
‘It’s a full life,’ agreed Dalziel. ‘What did you want to see me about?’
‘Nothing really, sir. Just to ask, really, if there was any other way you could help me; I mean, you staying in the house, and everything …’
This was the closest he dared come to a spoken reproach, realized Dalziel.
‘I don’t think so,’ he answered.
‘How long will you be staying here, sir?’
‘Not long. Just till tomorrow probably. I don’t know.’
It was true. He didn’t. Everything pointed the way to a quick exit. But there were questions still to be answered if he cared to, or dared to, go on asking them.
‘I see. The man Papworth hasn’t come back yet, sir. I wonder if you’d mind keeping an eye open and letting us know when he returns. I’d like a word with him as soon as possible and we don’t really have the establishment to spare a man to hang around here half the night.’
‘A super in the house is worth a d.c. in the bush?’ said Dalziel. ‘Aye, I’ll watch out for him. Is anything known about him, by the way?’
‘Not by us, officially. But he’s well known in the district. He’s been around for twenty or thirty years, most of them working for the Percivals. His reputation’s not so good. A rough, tough character, keeps himself to himself, hard to beat in a deal or in a fight.’
‘Women?’
‘What?’
‘Is he known as a womanizer? I don’t suppose he had Open Annie down here to cut his toenails.’
Cross considered.
‘No. I’ve never heard of anything out of the way in that line. But I’ll ask around if you think it’s important.’
Dalziel shrugged indifferently.
‘Your case, Sergeant. You ask what you want to know. Me, I’m just a tourist. Well, I won’t keep you from your chickens. A tip-off, is it?’
Cross nodded.
‘There’s been a lot about and I’ve been told this battery’s to be cleared out this week. I’ll give it one more night.’
‘It’ll be tomorrow,’ said Dalziel maliciously. ‘Good hunting.’
He returned to the sitting-room. Louisa and Mavis had joined the others, but there was no sign of Bonnie. The two girls were looking down at Arkwright.
‘Is he the sole survivor?’ asked Dalziel.
Louisa nodded.
‘The others left shortly before you and Bonnie reappeared,’ she said. ‘I think they got hungry. Also Herrie made it clear that he was fed up of listening to Abbott and Costello.’
‘It wasn’t very kind of Penitent to abandon him,’ said Dalziel, indicating the snoring Negro.
‘What shall we do with him?’ asked Tillotson. ‘We can’t just let him lie there all night.’
‘Are you going to give him your bed then?’ mocked Bertie.
‘Stick him in Mrs Greave’s room,’ said Dalziel. ‘She won’t be back.’
‘And of course the servants’ quarters are the proper place for a black man,’ said Bertie. He looked healthier now and his nastiness was returning.
‘A bed’s a
bed,’ said Dalziel, refusing to be drawn.
‘A liberal policeman! But suppose it was your sister’s bed, Dalziel. What then?’
‘Personally,’ said Dalziel, ‘I wouldn’t envy a randy billy goat getting into my sister’s bed. Come on, sunshine. Charley boy, give us a hand.’
Together he and Tillotson lifted Arkwright from his tape-recorder and carried him, feet trailing, down the corridor to Mrs Greave’s room where they dumped him on the bed, removed his tie and shoes and covered him with a patchwork quilt. Then at Tillotson’s suggestion, they retired to the kitchen where the young man brewed a pot of coffee at the expense of only one cup and a few minor burns.
Dalziel glanced at his watch. It was still early, just a quarter past nine, but he found himself yawning.
‘Tired?’ said Tillotson sympathetically, pouring the coffee.
‘A bit,’ said Dalziel. ‘It’s been a hard day. Or a day of surprises, and that’s always hard. You don’t care much for surprises when you’re getting on.’
‘I don’t like surprises either,’ said Tillotson sadly.
‘No? Well, you’re young enough to take things in your stride anyway. How much cash have you got in this business?’
‘A few hundred,’ said Tillotson. ‘Not much, but all I possess.’
‘That’s enough. All you possess is quite enough,’ said Dalziel. ‘What’s your standing?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I mean, what’s the deal? Is it shares? Or a partnership agreement? What kind of investment have you made?’
‘Does it matter?’ asked Tillotson.
Dalziel rolled his eyes and scratched the skin around his Adam’s apple.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘love’s one thing but business is another. Of course it matters. One way you can just lose your investment if the thing folds. Another way, though, you can be held partly responsible if the thing goes bankrupt which might mean you having to find more cash. You follow? It depends what you signed.’
‘Oh, I didn’t sign anything,’ said Tillotson. ‘I just made out a cheque to Conrad, Mr Fielding that is.’
An April Shroud Page 13