Youre talking of the game I love, said Henry glad to be able to shift from the seriousness of the past couple of minutes.
Im sorry, said Fallowfield with a smile. try never to be frivolous about other peoples games, then they wont be amused or offended by mine. Games are all metaphors after all, and often euphemistic at that. Ah, here comes happiness.
A large shooting brake was jolting down the track which curved for a couple of furlongs from the metalled road down to the cottages. Even at a distance the car windows seemed incredibly crowded with faces.
Four adults, seven children, observed Fallowfield, still dont know who belongs to whom. Adults or children. They go soon, thank God. I must be off this minute, said Henry, rising. for the beer.
Oh, by the way, I brought you some mail from your pigeonhole. I didnt know whether you would be in tomorrow. Not much. And one looks like your luncheon bill. You must come and have a bit of supper with us one night next week. Let me know whenll suit you. .
I will. .
They both knew he wouldnt. He never did.
Henry made his way back through the cottage and out into the courtyard, waving his walking-stick with mock ferocity at the tidal race of small bodies which poured out of the now arrived car.
Behind him on the other side of the house, Fallowfields face had once more lost all trace of the animation it had held during Henrys visit.
He was staring down at the single sheet of paper he had taken from the first envelope he had opened.
It was headed by that days date. The message was simple.
I must see you tonight.
It was signed .
Dalziel did not receive the report on the bones until after 7 p.m. Pascoe, anticipating fall-out from his superiors wrath, had rung the lab at 5.30 to discover the report had been sent to the superintendents office. He re-routed it before reporting to Dalziel, who was much less condemnatory than might have been expected.
Limited minds, he said. means you can only think about one thing in one way. Im not specialized.
No, sir, said Pascoe.
Traffic problems to pornographic films at Buckingham Palace. Ill deal with them all. Now you, Pascoe. Youre in a dangerous position.
Yes, sir. Dalziel had had another half hour alone with Landor. Pascoe reckoned the principal had been foolish enough to bring out the bottles.
We all learn from our mistakes.
Youve got specialized knowledge. Or think you have. Without being in a specialized job. Youve got this whatever it is Degree, sir, said Pascoe helpfully.
I know its a bloody degree. But in something, isnt it?
Social sciences.
Thats it. Exactly. Which equips you to work well in
Society, sir?
Society, sir?
Instead of which you have to work in
Society, sir?
There was a long pause during which Dalziel looked at the sergeant more in sorrow than in anger.
Thats what I mean, he said finally. re too bloody clever by half.
Neither , nor seemed suitable here, so Pascoe preserved a diplomatic silence.
Im stopping here, said Dalziel suddenly. s fixed me up with a room. Its a long drive home. To nothing, thought Pascoe. Dalziel seemed to read the thought.
You might as well stay too. Theres no reason for you to go back, is there?
No, sir.
Pascoe had had a date that night, but he had put it off hours earlier as he saw the way things were going. It had been a pity. He had felt certain he wouldnt have had to spend that particular night alone in his flat.
Right. Then youll be at hand. Theyre going to give us dinner in here.
I think were a bit low for High Table. Conversation-killers, thats what we are. Even you, Pascoe, who might have been One Of Them.
Pascoe again skirted round the comment.
What about the principal, sir? Isnt he going to want this room back pretty soon?
Dalziel frowned.
I hope well be able to give it to him pretty soon. But evidently part of these flash new buildings you see going up around the place is a new administrative centre. Hes quite happy to have an excuse to start in there ahead of schedule.
Odd, said Pascoe. is nice.
He looked around the comfortably proportioned, panelled room.
Doesnt fit the new image, I expect, said Dalziel. re still in Miss. Disney-Land.
He laughed loudly at his own joke, his flesh shaking till he started an itch in the small of his back. This he erased against the corner of the desk, grunting with satisfaction.
Dinner arrived early, about 6.45, and they were sawing through some rather stringy beef when the lab-report was delivered.
You read it, said Dalziel carrying on with his meal.
Well? he said through a mouthful of apple crumble a few minutes later.
Female, middle-aged, been in the ground a few years, five or six would fit nicely. Skull is fractured in two or three places, probably the result of blows with a heavy instrument and almost certainly contributory factors in the death, theres a lot of technical stuff about the bones which isnt going to be of much help, she wasnt a hunchback, or lame or anything like that. Height about 5 6. A big-boned woman, normal weight expectation 9 to 9l/2 stone, but they cant make a guess at whether she was relatively fat or thin, size 5l/2-6 in shoes, size 7l/2 in gloves. Thats interesting, left leg has been broken twice, but old breaks.
Accident prone, volunteered Dalziel, scraping the remnants of custard from his plate noisily. else?
The mouth should be a help. No less than three gold fillings, one a fairly complex job.
Well need that dentist. Your Mrs. Parish is the only one of your probables that the age fits. Anything more?
Yes. That red hair. It was a wig. Or what was left of a wig. Real hair, mind you, but treated, and remnants of the binding fabric still remained. That could help.
Dalziel was unimpressed.
Too many bloody wigs about these days. You never know whether what youve got hold of is going to come away in your hand or not. What about clothes etcetera?
Well, there were traces of fabric in the earth samples we sent along and theyll let us know if they can make any definite pronouncements on the buttons, bits of metal and so on we picked up. They reckon the body was fully clothed and wrapped up in something, a blanket or a piece of curtaining. But theyre still working on it.
Dalziel poured himself a cup of coffee and stirred in two large spoonfuls of sugar.
The first thing then is for you to go and see that dentist. Its a long chance, but at the least it will eliminate Mrs. Parish. And then
Then?
Then well have to visit every dentist and doctor in the area. And eventually between here and Central Europe if necessary.
Unless we get something else. Well, you might as well be off. You wont want to finish that, will you? Its cold.
I thought it was a bit off as well. Didnt you? was the best Pascoe could do as he pushed back his chair.
Dalziel merely grinned, then grimaced as he took a mouthful of hot coffee.
Shall I make you an appointment while Im there? asked Pascoe, and closed the door without waiting for a reply.
The dentists name was Roberts. He was a round-shouldered gangling man with a small head and a hooked nose. Spider-like, was the thought which came into Pascoes mind. He shouldnt have cared to be loomed over professionally by this sinister figure.
Roberts was not happy at being removed from in front of his television set. It was a song-and-dance show. Perhaps it was close-ups of the singers mouths he found so interesting, thought Pascoe, his stomach moving uneasily as the smell of the surgery caught at his imagination.
Roberts had been warned on the telephone that there might be an interest in Mrs. Parishs dental record.
Youre lucky, he said in a high-pitched voice. cant keep things for ever. It would have gone soon. It took me forty-odd minutes to find it as it was. And I dont need to look at it again to tell you its nothing like this.
He waved the piece of paper on which Pascoe had copied down the relevant details from the lab-report.
Really, sir? Why?
Well; those gold fillings. Now this one, at the front here, that was probably essential, nothing else would do the trick. So youd get it on the National Health, you see? But these two. Not necessary at all.
Someone paid for that work.
And it wasnt you that did it?
No. Well, as far as I can remember. But I think I would, wouldnt I?"
Ive no idea, sir. Id be grateful if you could have your records checked. Well be asking everyone.
More work. All right then. Ill have a look.
He turned to the door. Pascoe didnt budge.
Now, sir, would be as good a time as any. While were here. Itll save me coming back.
Roberts was displeased.
Look, here! Ill get my receptionist this is out of working hours.
Pascoe felt his own resistance stiffening, which he knew was foolish. He just was not in the mood for the Robertses of the world that night.
Hello, Julian, here you are, said a voice from the door. saw a light so I came through. Whats this? An emergency?
The newcomer was in his forties, a strongly-built distinguished-looking man with an engaging smile.
Oh no. Its nothing. The police. This is my partner, James Jackson.
This is
Sergeant Pascoe, sir. Were hoping that someone in your way of business will be able to help us by recognizing this set of teeth. Unfortunately it will probably be more than five years ago since they received treatment.
Roberts seemed to have diminished since the arrival of his partner.
James is more the man for you, he said irritably. gets most of our private patients.
Jackson laughed.
Youre too modest, Julian, he said. Pascoe doubted it. s have a look.
He took the description of the dead womans jaws from the sergeants hands and glanced at it, casually at first, then with growing interest.
Now wait a minute, he said.
You recognize it? said Pascoe, hardly daring to hope.
It rings a faint bell. The gold work, you see. But its absurd lets see.
He glanced rapidly through the drawers of the filing cabinet before him.
No, no, he said, nonplussed.
Perhaps where Mr. Roberts got Mrs. Parishs record prompted Pascoe.
Roberts pointed wordlessly to the bottom drawer of an old wooden cabinet shoved almost inaccessibly into a corner. Jackson got down on one knee and began to toss out an assortment of papers with gay abandon.
Suddenly the fountain of stationery ceased.
Now wait a minute, he said again, this time triumphantly. about that? The artist always recognizes his own work!