As easy as calling a doctor and saying a prayer if someone falls ill, she said with spirit. Youre mixing up depression and despair, sir. Ones a condition of the mind, the other of the soul.
And nowadays the Church can tell the difference? he said smiling.
Sometimes, she said. But it doesnt matter. God always can.
Theres a conversation killer, he thought.
OK, he said. So lets get back to the oddities.
Maybe Im overstating it, she said, starting to empty the bag. As you can see, its a very full file, chaotic, but with all kinds of stuff bundled in that youd not expect to find when its not a criminal case. Looks like Mr Dalziel caught the call and stayed in charge.
Pascoe looked at the confusion of papers on the desk. Definitely a Dalziel file. No pushing it off on to Uniformed here soon as suicide was confirmed.
Odd. Even odder than his appearance last night. Copycat suicide ten years on might just about explain a Head of CIDs interest. But why had the Fat Man involved himself so deeply the first time round? Curiouser and curiouser.
Novello said, as if hed articulated his thought, Whats really odd is well, judge for yourself, sir. I made a sort of digest.
She produced a sheet of paper and looked at him enquiringly.
He said, Ill stop you if I get bored.
OK, she said. On March 18th Mrs Maciver flew to New York with her younger stepdaughter, Helen. On March 20th Mr Maciver killed himself in Moscow House, the family home. His body was found by his son on his return from Cambridge on March 23rd. The news was passed on to the daughter, Cressida, at Brigstone School, Lincoln, and she came home the next day. Mrs Maciver, travelling in America with her stepdaughter, was harder to reach, so she didnt arrive until three days later. Now it gets odd. Turning up at Moscow House, she found she couldnt get in. She contacted the police. We assured her it was nothing to do with us, but we were able to ascertain the locks had been changed on the instructions of Mr
Palinurus Maciver Junior. We needed a contact address for Mrs Maciver and the one she gave eventually was c/o Mr Tony Kafka, Cothersley Hall, Cothersley. I expect you know she later married Kafka, whos CEO of Ash-Macs-thats Ashur-Proffitt-Macivers, which used to be the Maciver family firm till the Americans took it over in the eighties. Pal Senior kept a seat on the Board but seems it was just for show. There was speculation at the inquest about how much losing the top job could have contributed to his depression.
Othellos occupations gone, said Pascoe. And eventually the Widow Maciver becomes Mrs Kafka. Wonder how long it took?
Nothing in this file about it, sir, but I checked. Eighteen months.
Pascoe looked at her speculatively and asked, Now why should you have checked that, Shirley?
Just being thorough, sir, she said.
Long years of listening to spinners, trimmers, quibblers, equivocators and every other kind of truth-mangler had fine-tuned Pascoes ear, and he thought he detected something here. A hesitation? A reservation? Something.
He left it for now and asked, And the inquest-anything interesting there?
Interesting?
Emotional outbursts. Wild accusations, that sort of thing. They didnt come across as a very together family last night and this odd business of the young Maciver changing the locks suggests some antagonism.
No, sir, said Novello. Seems to have gone off very smoothly. Verdict of suicide. End of story. I checked out the evidence exhibits while I was at it. As well as the shotgun, there was the book they found on the desk. Family cant have wanted that back either. Dont blame em. Even cleaned up and dried off for ten years, its not something you want lying around your coffee table.
No, sir, said Novello. Seems to have gone off very smoothly. Verdict of suicide. End of story. I checked out the evidence exhibits while I was at it. As well as the shotgun, there was the book they found on the desk. Family cant have wanted that back either. Dont blame em. Even cleaned up and dried off for ten years, its not something you want lying around your coffee table.
From the bin liner she took a plastic evidence bag. Pascoe could see what she meant. The book it contained was open, presumably as it had been found on the desktop all those years ago. Hed looked at the volume on the desk last night before it went down to the lab for close examination. The words on the page had been hard to read under the mullock of blood and brain, but hed made out the page numbers and the numbers of some of the small poems printed on them.
He checked these now against the older book from which the solider matter had been removed, leaving the page severely stained but legible. The page and poem numbers corresponded. Pal Juniors imitation had been exact.
The poem numbers ranged from 1062 to 1068. How many had Dickinson written? He knew little about her except that she was American and responsible for the lines Parting is all we know of Heaven And all we need of Hell. Or was that Ella Wheeler Wilcox, someone else he knew absolutely nothing about?
Ellie would know, though he would suffer for admitting his ignorance. She was big on the neglect of female writers. Pascoe smiled as he recalled Fat Andys riposte after listening to a harangue which hed deliberately provoked: I think Ive got it now, lass. If its got tits and can put two words down on paper, its a lost genius.
He ran his eyes over the tiny poems.
The first, 1062, seemed the relevant one. He scanned it-staggered Dropped the Loop
To Past or Period Caught helpless at a sense as if
His Mind were going blind- Groped up to see if God was there Groped backward at Himself
Caressed a Trigger absently
And wandered out of Life.
It was, he thought, surprisingly good.
Whoops!
There he went. Patronizing or what? Because she was female, American, and he knew sod all about her, he was surprised to be impressed.
The only thing surprising here, he could hear Ellie say, is your prejudicial ignorance, and Im not surprised at that.
He returned his attention to the poems.
1063 had stuff about ashes in it and there had been a fire in the wastepaper bin. And 1065 began Let down the Bars, Oh Death but then got into sheep imagery. The others had nothing suggestive in them. At least he couldnt see anything. Maybe they needed a female eye.
He said, You read these poems, Shirley?
She nodded.
What did you make of them?
She shrugged.
For the tape, he said smiling.
Load of bollocks, she said. But Im not really into poetry and stuff.
Its not everyones cup of tea, he said.
Hed taken the volume out of the evidence bag now. After all these years, the risk of contamination hardly applied. Set in one place all these years, the spine creaked and cracked as he turned to the title page.
It bore an inscription in an elegant flowing hand. The World ~ stands ~ solemner ~ to me~
Since I was wed ~ to You!
For my darling Pal from your solemnly loving Kay
Nice, said Novello over his shoulder.
In what way?
All ways. If she meant it, brings-a-tear nice. If she didnt, nice one, Kay! Sir, if you dont mind me asking, is there something going on here? Do you reckon theres something dodgy about last nights suicide?
He said with a smile, Just being a good housewife, Shirley.
Despite trying to keep it light, he could see she took it as a shut-out. But explaining that he probably wouldnt still be messing with this if his boss hadnt told him to leave it alone wasnt the best example to lay before a subordinate!
Was there anything here to justify further delay in passing this over to Paddy Ireland? The answer was no except maybe for that suspicion of a hesitation
Right, he said negligently. Thats it, dear. Over to Uniformed. Could you dump this stuff back in the store, then we can both get back to some real work?
The dear worked. He saw her jaw set and guessed he was at last going to get what was bugging her in the form of a Parthian shot.
Oh, by the way, she said as she started gathering the tumble of papers together, there was that
That was a tape cassette.
She pushed it across the desk towards him. He looked at it without touching. It was the kind of cassette they used in the interview room but without a label.
He said, This was where?
Tucked away in one of the box files, she said. Could just have ended up there by accident.
You havent played it then?
No, sir.
Positive without being over emphatic. She was good. But Pascoe had been where she was now.
Shed listened to the tape. It contained something she didnt care to admit shed heard. Shed been uncertain what to do about it till hed got up her nose with his dear, which had made her decide it would be amusing to leave him to listen to it alone, and later observe surreptitiously how he reacted.
It was time for her to learn that DCs had no secrets from DCIs.
OK. Probably nothing, but Ill have a listen, he said.
He took the tape, swivelled in his chair to face the table that bore his computer and other electronic equipment, and loaded it into the cassette player.
Novello, laden with the file material, was trying to negotiate the door.
Pascoe said, Tell you what, Shirley. You might as well sit down and listen to this too. Then if its got to go back with the rest of that stuff, you wont need to make an extra trip.
She halted, turned, looked at him over the files.
Their gazes locked for a moment. Then she nodded as if getting a message.
As you wish, sir, she said, returning to her seat.
He waited till she was settled and pressed the start button.
A familiar voice boomed out. Voluntary statement made by Mr Palinurus Maciver Junior in the presence of Detective Superintendent Andrew Dalziel. Date March 27th, 1992. Time one thirty-seven. God, I should be out enjoying me lunch! All the meat pies ull be gone. Never mind, duty calls, eh? Off you go, Mr Maciver. The floors yours. Tell us thy story. But try and keep it short!
Pascoe looked at Novello and tried to keep his face as blank as hers.
An unlabelled cassette. The supers voice casually breaking several clearly spelled out rules of procedure. Already, without hearing a word of what Maciver might say, he understood Novellos concern-and her well-hidden glee.