It was time to get back to the point.
So, he said, when you came on shift today you were told your husband had been admitted.
Not straight away, she said. Not for a couple of hours. It was Dr Marwood who told me.
What was your reaction?
Well, I wanted to know if he was all right, naturally. And when Ellison Dr Marwood said it was just some kind of nervous tension and hed been sedated but seemed fine this morning, I got worried in case it had something to do with me.
Would that have surprised you?
She thought about this, then said, Yes, it would. He could get very emotional, Greg, you know, fly off the handle, have a fit of what theyd call hysterics in a woman. But it was always at something specific. Often it was completely illogical, but there had to be something, not just sitting at home brooding about things that had happened. And in any case, I doubt if he did much brooding about what had happened to us.
What had happened to you, Mrs Waterson? asked Wield.
I dont see that that has anything to do with you, she retorted. Look, what youre here for is to find if I can help you track down Greg, right? Well, I cant. I walked out on him three weeks ago and till this morning Id not seen him since.
Mrs Waterson, when I arrived this morning, you didnt look like, well, like a woman separated from her husband.
Because I was letting him kiss me and feel me up?
Thats right.
She smiled and drew on her cigarette, both with visible effort.
Sergeant, I went to see him in my break. I was exhausted. You cant imagine what a relief it was to talk to someone who wasnt talking to me professionally. And when he got hold of me, well, at least he wasnt grabbing at me to complain about a pain or ask for a bedpan. It was nice and soothing when he started stroking me, like a massage. Oh yes, when you arrived I probably looked as if I was ready to get into bed with him, and I was. But not to make love, just to sleep sleep sleep
She leaned back and closed her eyes. Wield felt very sorry for her but not so sorry that he was going to return to Dalziel with questions unasked.
He said, What did you and your husband talk about this morning?
She opened her eyes with difficulty and looked at him blankly.
What did he say about the reasons for him being there? he pressed.
What makes you think he said anything? she evaded.
Well, so far youve not asked me a single question about it, luv, he said. And that sounds like a lack of curiosity which could be a record.
Youre not daft, she said wearily. All right. He told me everything. Hed written it all down. Did he not show it to you? Whyd that fat bobby, Dalziel, not come himself?
That fat bobby. Wield liked it. But Waterson hadnt mentioned Dalziel in his written statement. Significant?
Do you know Mr Dalziel? he asked.
Ive seen him, naturally. He doesnt bother much with curtains. And everyone roundabout talks about him. Hes what you call a character, I suppose.
I suppose he is, said Wield. Did you believe your husbands statement, Mrs Waterson?
Of course, no problem. Things fall apart around him, always have done. Give him a pencil and hell draw you a near-on perfect circle. But Ive known him cut his finger spreading butter and he can break a cup just stirring his tea. Put him and a gun in the same room and someones almost bound to get hurt. Story of his life.
She yawned widely. He wasnt going to be able to keep this interview going much longer. There were more ways of escape than decamping.
Did you know he was having an affair with Mrs Swain? he asked.
Not specifically, she said, standing up and moving slowly towards the narrow bed which occupied one corner of the room. But I know all about her, all that matters, I mean.
What does that mean?
It means shed be slim, with long legs, good figure, blonde hair. Names dont matter. I sometimes doubt if Greg knows their names. Hes like a little boy in a sweet shop. He just points at the lemon popsicles, and because hes such a charming little boy, he usually gets what hes pointing at.
As she spoke, she loosened her skirt, stepped out of it, and began to unbutton her blouse. There was nothing seductive or suggestive in the action even if Wield had been seducible or suggestible in that direction. She was on automatic pilot, preparing for crashdown. Wield did notice, however, that she fitted her husbands blueprint very well.
Was it because of the women you left him? he asked.
No, she replied. Not just the women.
What, then? he asked, wondering if sleep or her answer would break the tape first. It was a close-run thing.
it was like going home to another shift and it was always Saturday night on casualty she said. Then she slipped onto the bed with one arm still in her blouse and was instantly asleep.
Wield stood looking at her for a while. His two exemplars came into his mind. First he did what Pascoe would have done, eased her arm out of the blouse sleeve and folded the duvet gently over her body.
Then he did what Dalziel would have done and started to search the room.
CHAPTER SIX
Down at the Black Bull, Dalziel was trying to change the subject.
Did you have a look at them letters? he interrupted.
Which letters? said Pascoe.
From that barmy woman. I put em on your desk. Surely youve had time to read a couple of letters?
Pascoe sighed, recalling the small alp of files which had reared out of his in-tray that morning. In fact he had read the letters, if only for their relative lack of bulk.
Yes, I saw them. Very interesting. Now about your statement
Having grasped the nettle, and also having paid for the first two rounds despite the official postponement of his celebration, Pascoe was determined not to let go.
I just said what I saw, lad.
Which was Swain holding the gun. Then Water-son making a grab for him. Then the gun went off?
I heard the gun going off, didnt see it, corrected Dalziel. Now, about them letters, Id like your opinion, you being such a clever sod.
Yes, sir. Youre sure about the sequence?
Of course Im bloody sure!
Then Waterson must be covering up for Swain?
See? I was right. You are a clever sod, said Dalziel, finishing his second pint. All weve got to do is find the bugger, kick some sense into him, and I get to stay flavour of the month. Now, these letters
Pascoe gave up. For the time being.
Whats your interest, sir? he asked. She says shell not be writing again.
Shell write again, never fear, growled Dalziel. Then shell top herself, and I dont want any bugger saying we did bugger-all. So get something down on paper, pass the buck to social services, the Samaritans, anyone so long as we look squeaky clean to the coroner. Here come our hot pies. Ill have another pint to wash the taste away when youre ready.
I thought it was a rise in salary I was getting, said Pascoe, nursing his half full glass. I didnt realize it was an entertainment allowance.
I thought it was a rise in salary I was getting, said Pascoe, nursing his half full glass. I didnt realize it was an entertainment allowance.
Dalziel thought this so funny he choked on his pie and, his own glass being empty, he finished Pascoes.
Thats better, he gasped. And I see youre ready now, so how about them drinks?
Its pinpricks not principles that engender treason. As Pascoe put the foaming pint before his chief he said casually, Talking of free booze, therell be some going on Sunday evening if youre interested. A little reception at the Kemble in connection with these Mystery Plays theyre putting on in the summer. Ellies a mate of Eileen Chungs and she said theyre keen to have some police liaison. These theatricals pour the plonk like theres no tomorrow and I dont see why those blighters in traffic should enjoy all the freebies, so Ive fixed for us to get invited.
Good thinking, lad. They can come in later and do the work! Chung, eh? Ive seen her and Ive heard a lot about her but weve never actually met. Id like that. I think the arts deserve every thinking citizens support.
He squinted over his glass to catch Pascoes reaction, then he added, And Ive always been partial to a bit of dusky chuff, and laughed so much he started coughing again.
Back at the station the laughter stopped when Dalziel found the full post-mortem report on Gail Swain on his desk. It confirmed the cause of death as massive brain damage from the .357 Magnum cartridge which had been recovered from Watersons converted attic after bursting its way through from the bedroom below. Blood alcohol was present at the level of 155 milligrams per 100 millilitres, which meant, as Dalziel observed, that she was well pissed. Remains of what the pathologist designated as an exotic meal, probably Chinese or Indian, were found in her stomach. She was a heavy smoker, had had her appendix removed, had sustained a fracture of her left tibia not less than three years before, had had no children, and had had sex a couple of hours before her death.
She was also a heroin user.
Dalziel threw back his head and bellowed, Seymour!
Thirty seconds later a broad-shouldered redhead peered anxiously through the door. Detective-Constable Dennis Seymours ear was not refined enough to distinguish furioso from simple fortissimo so he always anticipated the worst.
Had a good poke around Swains house, did you? said Dalziel.
Yes, sir. Reports on your desk, sir.
Ive read it. Its not a bad report far as it goes. But I couldnt see owt in it about drugs.
Drugs? Seymours good-looking face went rigid with alarm. I wasnt told to look for drugs, sir.
You werent told to look for Barbary apes either, but I dare say if youd found a pair fornicating on the kitchen floor, you might have mentioned them!
What I meant, sir, was I saw no sign of drugs.
Oh aye? Checked every bottle in the bathroom cabinet, did we? Stuck your finger in every tin and jar in the kitchen and had a lick?
Seymour shook his head. He looked so contrite that Dalziel, who was not above admitting an injustice once it had served its turn, said, Not your fault, lad. You werent told. Though the way to get on is to do things youre not told, as long as theyre not things youve been told not to, except if you know for sure they need doing. Ask Mr Pascoe to step in here a moment, will you?
With the mingled relief and bafflement of a supplicant leaving the sibyls cave, Seymour departed. Dalziel picked up the phone and spoke to Sergeant Broomfield on the desk below.
Get the quack along here, will you, George? I want him to give Swain a going-over for drug abuse.
Yes, sir. What if he dont want to be gone over, sir?
Tell him its routine. A pre-release examination just so he cant come back with accusations about brutality. He hasnt fallen off a chair or accidentally banged his head against someones boot, has he?
No, sir. Very well behaved. One thing, though: hes asked to contact his solicitor.
Taken his time, hasnt he? He got the chance last night, its in the record. Which crook acts for him?
Mr Eden Thackeray.
Old Eden? Shit. Get the quack quick as you can, George.
He put the phone down and looked up at Pascoe whod just come in.
Whats this about drugs, sir?
Seymour been blubbing? I had high hopes of him once, but I reckon hes not been the same since he started screwing that Irish waitress. Sap your strength, the Irish do. Id pump bromide into their potatoes. Take a look at this.
He tossed the PM report over the desk.
Take Seymour back to Swains house and see what you can find. I doubt itll be much, though. He didnt look to me like a user. A night in the cells and itd have started to show. Also hed have been a lot keener to contact his brief to get him out. As for her, if she set out to screw her way back to LA, shes not likely to have left a cache of scag under the floorboards. But there may be traces. And if he knew, then maybe he can point us at the pusher.
Right, sir, said Pascoe. By the way, these letters you were so concerned about. I thought Id
Sod the bloody letters, said Dalziel irritably. Were here to sort out crooks, not piss around with hysterics! Im surprised at you for wanting to waste my time!
Half an hour later Pascoe drove into Currthwaite, a village in danger of being annexed into a suburb, albeit a pretty plush suburb. On the town side the invasion was practically complete with the old rolling parkland now dotted with a range of well fortified high-class executive dwellings. Even when he entered the village proper between a Norman church in mellow York stone and a blockhouse chapel in angry brick, the High Street cottages were signalling their surrender with window-boxes without and Sanderson curtains within, and everywhere he looked he saw the greenwellied conquerors marching their labradors in a non-stop victory parade.
Moscow Farm at the far end of the village showed signs of having fallen to the same attack. Snow-cemed, window-boxed, double-glazed, burglar-alarmed, saunad, showered, and centrally heated, it bore as much relation to an old working farmhouse as Washington Heights to Wuthering Heights. But when he looked out of the french window at the rear, Pascoe saw there had been an active resistance movement, for the old farmyard after being prettied into a patio had regressed into a builders yard.
I bet the rest of the village dont much like it, said Seymour. Not with the kind of prices theyre asking round here.
Youre into the property market, are you? asked Pascoe.
Want to be. I got engaged.
Congratulations. To Bernadette, I take it?
Bernadette McCrystal was the Irish waitress whose debilitating influence Dalziel so deplored. Pascoe had met and liked her, though he doubted if marrying her was going to herald halcyon weather in Seymours voyage through life.
Of course, said Seymour a touch indignantly.
Ill buy you a drink. Now lets get on.
Ninety minutes later to Seymours undisguised relief they had found nothing.
I didnt fancy going back to the Super with a barrowload of coke.
Still time, observed Pascoe. Out there is where theyll keep the barrows. Ill take a look. Id like a word with his secretary anyway. You take one more look round here.