A Pinch of Snuff (11 page)

'I'll get out of your way then,' said Pascoe rather sulkily.

'What the hell for?'

'Well, you said you didn't want me involved on the case.'

'I don't want you talking to Burkill or Shorter, get that clear. But there's no reason why you should be sitting on your arse in the office while I'm stuck down here. No, you go and sort out that Heppelwhite pair, get their version of things.'

'Burkill won't like me interrogating his mates.'

Dalziel's face was as heavy and ugly as a slag heap.

'No one tells me who I can or can't use on a case, Inspector. No bloody one. Now jump to it and we'll see if we can't get round one over before closing time!'

Constable Palmer was in such earnest conversation with the Heppelwhites that he didn't hear Pascoe open the door.

'There was a case up in Middlesbrough last month,' he was saying. 'Same thing. Only he were a teacher. Suspended sentence. No wonder someone thumps them!'

'You reckon we'll be OK then?' said Charlie Heppelwhite.

'Bound to be. He'll not want the publicity. Anyway, go for a jury if it comes to a case. You're entitled, and there's not a family man in this town but'd applaud you.'

'Palmer!' said Pascoe.

'Sir.'

'Step outside for a moment.'

Pascoe heard himself reprimanding the constable with an ironic awareness of the parallels between this scene and his own recent interview with Dalziel.

Palmer was obviously unrepentant.

'Sorry, sir,' he said, 'but I've got two little girls of my own.'

'Proud of their dad?'

'I hope so, sir.'

'Then you'd better learn to follow instructions, else they'll be wondering why daddy's spending so much time at home.'

Palmer's face set with resentment but he said nothing in reply and Pascoe dismissed him, feeling full of guilt at uttering such a Dalzielesque authoritarian threat.

He spoke to the Heppelwhites separately. The father, though he expressed the feeling that scourging was too good for a man like Shorter, obviously had considerable reservations about the whole business.

'I didn't want to come here,' he said. 'But he were set on it, so I thought it best to come with him. Bri's a hard man when he wants. And our Clint's got a temper.'

Pascoe regarded his thin earnest face and groaned inwardly. Here was someone else whose route to the punch-up was paved with good intentions.

'Who threw the first punch?' he asked.

Heppelwhite thought carefully.

'I don't rightly know,' he said in the end. 'The dentist waved his arms about, you know, going shoo! shoo! like we were a lot of sheep. Clint grabbed one of his arms, just to restrain him a bit, and the fellow called Clint a smelly yobbo, some such thing. Then Clint pushed him in the chest.'

'Punched or pushed?'

Heppelwhite hesitated.

'A bit of both,' he admitted. 'He swung at Clint and next thing Bri was banging away at him.'

'And you?'

'I don't know. I just found myself going through the motions. Down our way, you don't hang around when your mate's in a fight.'

'You could have tried to stop it.'

'Last fellow I saw try to stop Bri in a fight got a busted nose,' said Heppelwhite.

'Oh. Is Mr Burkill a regular fighter then?'

'I never said that. It happens he's on the Club committee and if there's ever any trouble down there, it's Bri they send for. It's usually visitors start it.'

'Of course,' agreed Pascoe. 'Foreigners from Doncaster or Sheffield. I gather you've known Mr Burkill a long time.'

'Aye.Twenty years or more. I'm a couple of years older than him, but his missus and mine's of an age and they were best friends ever since school.'

'Nice family?'

'Very nice.'

'Close?'

'What?'

'I mean, they get on well together.'

'Oh yes. Deirdre, that's Mrs Burkill, she's always been dead proud of Bri and the way he's got on.'

'And Sandra?'

'Lovely lass. I'm her godfather, like Brian's my Clint's.'

'And she likes her father?'

'What a daft question!' said Heppelwhite. 'Of course she likes her father. He's, well, he's her father!'

'Were you surprised when you heard what she said about Shorter?'

Heppelwhite hesitated before saying, 'Of course I was surprised.'

'You don't seem sure.'

'Don't try to put words in my mouth, lad!'

'Nice-looking girl, is she? For her age, I mean.'

'Aye.Very bonnie. For her age.'

'They grow quick these days, don't they? Suppose I suggested to you, Mr Heppelwhite, that if Sandra had been caught up to some hanky-panky with a young lad, you'd not have been in the least surprised. Would that be nearer the mark? It was Mr Shorter's alleged interference which surprised and shocked you.'

'Perhaps,' said Heppelwhite cautiously. 'There's mebbe summat of that in it.'

He was clearly unwilling to go further and without having seen the girl himself, Pascoe didn't feel able to pursue the line.

Clint began defiantly, asserting a Wild West notion of chivalry and vengeance.

'She's only a kid, isn't she? She needs protected.'

'All girls need protected, do they?'

'Decent girls do,' said Clint boldly.

'How old are you, Clint?'

'Nineteen.'

'Been around a bit?'

'What?'

'You
know. Had your share? Know what I mean?'

'I do all right,’ said Clint.

'Do you really? That's interesting. Mostly slag, though?'

'What?'

'You know. Scrubbers. Old bits that you pay.'

'Not bloody likely,' said Clint hotly.

'No? Well, stuff that's there for everyone, then. There's always one or two like that around. You know, snap your fingers and it's yours.'

'Get stuffed!' exploded Clint.

'You mean, it's not just the easy stuff? You don't mean to tell me you've been making it with . . . decent girls?'

It was a petty triumph and Pascoe felt disgusted with himself for seeking it. Besides it was bad technique. Burkill might be provoked into talking by such an attack but all it served to do with this youngster was drive him into a surly silence.

Finally Pascoe sent both the Heppelwhites off with the warning that they would probably need to be seen again before the day was through and the threat that charges of assault were more than likely. Not that Pascoe believed this last himself. The girl's allegations would have to be closely investigated, but he couldn't see Jack Shorter doing anything which was likely to bring them into the public eye.

He caught the police surgeon just as he was leaving. Shorter had evidently been happy to be examined and treated and the doctor was able to tell Pascoe that apart from the possibility of a cracked rib, the damage was superficial. He also told him that Dalziel had just joined the dentist. Pascoe felt relieved. It removed from him the temptation to see Shorter which, perversely, Dalziel's interdict had only served to make the stronger by dint of corresponding with Pascoe's own reluctance of which he was ashamed.

Ms Lacewing appeared in the hallway.

'I've sorted out Shorter's patients,' she said.

'I bet they hardly felt a thing,' said Pascoe.

She suddenly grinned. Her own teeth were small and white and looked very sharp. They changed the whole character of her face, giving it a kind of sly sexuality which was not unexciting.

'I'm going to have some coffee. Join me,' she said.

She led him into her surgery where an electric kettle was jetting steam on to a pile of dental records.

She made their instant coffee swiftly and lay on the patient's couch with Pascoe perched gingerly alongside her on the dentist's stool.

'Are you related to Ellie Pascoe?' she asked.

'In a way,' he said. 'She's my wife. Do you know her?'

'Of her. She sounds interesting. I think we may be friends.'

It was an alliance Pascoe did not much care for the sound of.

'Who's been saying nice things about her?' he wondered.

'My uncle. He says she's an arrogant, loud- mouthed trouble-maker.'

'What?'

'Yes. That's what attracted me.'

'Who is this uncle?' demanded Pascoe hotly.

'Why? Are you going to do the knight-errant bit and thump him? I doubt it. He's Godfrey Blengdale.'

'Oh,' said Pascoe.

'Didn't you know?' she said, smiling up at him sweetly. 'In fact it's Gwen, his wife, that I'm related to. She's my mother's sister. Poor cow. I like her a lot, but she's too stupid to tell Uncle God to go jump. I was there last week when he came home from a meeting that your wife had attended also. That's when he gave her the testimonial. Do you think she'd be interested in WRAG?'

'I doubt if she needs it,' said Pascoe.

'I see,' said Ms Lacewing. 'You make up her mind for her, do you?'

'No,' said Pascoe, suddenly tired of being the second fiddle in someone else's orchestration. 'On the contrary, it's me who lets other people make up my mind. Take this business of Jack Shorter, for instance. You say you're not interested in professional solidarity, so tell me, do you think he did it?'

'What,' she replied, 'is he alleged to have done? Precisely.'

Pascoe was obliged to say he didn't know.

'Then your question's meaningless. ‘Whatever the specifics,' he protested, 'surely the notion of interference is narrow enough in itself to permit an answer.'

'A typically naive masculine point of view,' she said.
'Was she touched? Was he provoked?
That's the extent of your thinking, I bet.'

'I'd like more notice of that question,' said Pascoe cautiously. 'But yes, they
are
important questions.'

'Reverse them. Was
he
touched? Was
she
provoked? Have you ever had a case where
those
questions suggested themselves to you? Suppose a strange woman pinched your bottom in a train, would you feel that a crime had been committed?'

'No. But then the sexual element's not present.'

'How do you know?'

'Well, I don't,' admitted Pascoe. 'But I wouldn't feel sexually assaulted.'

'Suppose she grabbed your privates?'

'It would depend whether the motive was to give me pain or herself pleasure.'

Ms Lacewing laughed.

'For a policeperson,' she said, 'you are not too idiotic.'

'We have mental hygienists. But let's get this straight. You seem to be saying that men are hard done to, that what for a man is a crime, for a woman is nothing at all.'

'Perhaps you
are
too idiotic,' she said. 'What I'm saying is that whether this poor girl
has
been interfered with, or
imagines
she's been interfered with, or
wishes
she'd been interfered with, or is merely
pretending
she's been interfered with, a crime's been perpetrated on her mind far graver than any you'll charge Jack Shorter with.'

'Bloody hell,' said Pascoe. 'You know, for a while there I thought we were speaking the same language!'

Before she could answer, Pascoe heard his name bellowed outside.

'It'll have to wait till my next appointment,' he said.

Dalziel was standing by the office door looking as if he'd been waiting for hours. Behind him Pascoe could see Shorter, who looked rather pale and had a couple of pieces of plaster on his forehead.

'There you are,' said Dalziel. 'I'm done here. The doctor's advised Mr Shorter to take things easy for the rest of the day, and I've said the same. I've also advised him in his own interest not to discuss this business with anyone.'

'Except a solicitor,' said Pascoe clearly.

'That's up to him. I don't think Burkill will go running to the Press just yet, but there'll be talk at Blengdale's and it can easily get about. We'll want to see you again, Mr Shorter, after the girl's made a statement. If you are not going to be at home, make sure we know where to find you. Are you fit, Inspector? Let's get a move on then. There's work to be done.'

He set off purposefully towards the exit. Pascoe hesitated, looking into the room at Shorter who met his gaze with a kind of frustrated resentment.

'Take it easy, Jack,' urged Pascoe. 'It'll be OK.'

'Inspector!'

With a final helpless shrug, Pascoe turned and went after Dalziel.

Behind him Shorter stood up and kicked the door shut with a resounding crash.

'If I were you,' said Dalziel, 'I shouldn't let him at my fillings for a couple of weeks.'

Chapter 10

'Sure you won't have one?' asked Dalziel.

Pascoe shook his head and the fat man replaced the bottle of Glen Grant in his filing cabinet.

'It's medicinal,' he said, lifting his tumbler in salutation to God knew what God and taking a substantial draught. 'Wash the taste of that place out of my mouth.'

'You've made your mind up then? You haven't even heard the girl!'

'There's a WPC there now taking a statement. I'll have a go when I've seen it. But I'd be surprised if it didn't stand up.'

'Why, for God's sake?'

'One
- Brian Burkill's not daft. He wouldn't do what he didn't see cause to.
Two
- this dentist of yours started putting himself in your way last week, coming the old pals act. Right?'

'Hang on!' protested Pascoe. 'He drew my attention to a possible breach of the law, that's all.'

'He told you some cock-and-bull story about a girl being beaten up, that's what. It
was
a cock-and-bull story, wasn't it?'

'Yes,' admitted Pascoe. 'He was mistaken. But he could have found an easier way of putting himself in my way, as you put it. Why link himself with the Calli at all?'

'Suppose he knows the girl's going to talk? They all do eventually. We investigate him, find out his favourite hobby's watching skin-flicks. It doesn't look good, does it? So he clears the decks. It's in the open. I bet his wife knows all about it.'

'Yes, she does,' said Pascoe. 'I met her.'

'Did you? I wonder how long she's known. Did she look the type who'd like a bit of way-out thrill?'