A Pinch of Snuff (21 page)

Pascoe told him. Colbridge said airily that he saw no difficulty there, leave it with him, always ready to help the provinces.

'If it's so damned easy,' said Pascoe, 'there's something else.'

'Oh God! Why don't I keep my big mouth shut? Go on.'

'A man called Toms - would you believe Gerry Toms? - claims he was staying at the Candida Hotel last Friday night. Could you check for me without treading on anyone's toes? Great. Fine. I'll buy you a pint of real beer next time you're up this way. Oh, and listen, while you're at it, if there was any way of getting a look at his bill . . . it's a phone call I'd be interested in. To Harrogate. Could you? Many thanks.'

As he himself had said earlier that day, it was always worth checking the obvious.

It was after one when he made his way to the Black Bull and he expected to find either Dalziel or Wield there already, probably both. But there was no sign of either. On the off-chance they might have opted for something a cut or two above their usual pie and peas, he glanced into the little dining-room where business executives could sit at tables with nearly white cloths and eat their pie, peas, and chips like real gentlefolk.

The first people he saw were Ellie and Ms Lacewing, drinking coffee and brandy.

'Hello!' he said. 'I didn't think they served unescorted ladies in here.'

Ellie rolled her eyes and groaned.

'I'm beginning to believe what Thelma tells me.'

'And what does Thelma tell you?' asked Pascoe, regarding the beautiful dentist distrustfully.

'That peaceful compromise isn't possible. Nothing but all-out revolution will do.'

'And the Black Bull dining-room was the nearest thing to a bastion of male chauvinism you could find!' mocked Pascoe.

'The nearest thing that sells the nearest thing to food,' corrected Ms Lacewing.

'Are you eating in here, Peter?' asked Ellie.

'No. Just looking for Andy Dalziel. I'll sit in the bar as usual and pick at a bag of crisps,' he said plaintively.

'I shouldn't wait too long for your colleague,' said Ms Lacewing. 'Not if he's that gross man with fleas.'

'That sounds like him,' said Pascoe. 'Why?'

'He turned up at the surgery just as I was leaving and arrested Jack Shorter.'

Pascoe sat by himself and ate some salted peanuts. Ms Lacewing's news had taken him aback. She had been unable to give him any details beyond the bare facts that Shorter, having turned up in mid-morning and occupied himself with paper work (his appointments having been cancelled), had been on the point of going out to lunch when Dalziel arrived and took him away. Emma Shorter had appeared soon after, evidently expecting to eat with her husband.

'I was on my way out to meet Ellie then, so I left her in the hands of Alison. They have a lot in common, those two. Well, something.'

'What's that?'

'Usability,' said Ms Lacewing. Upon which Pascoe had left.

He no longer felt hungry. The peanuts were merely something to ease the burning the beer caused in his guts. Perhaps he had joined the club and was getting his first ulcer. He thought of Burkill and Shorter, Arany and Haggard, Toms and Penny Latimer. Everything had the smell of disaster.

‘For a man who's avoided both Dalziel and this place's food, you look strangely down in the mouth.'

Ellie sat beside him. She had brought her brandy glass with her, newly replenished, and her eyes sparkled with the after-fire of a boozy lunch.

'You'll fall asleep during your lectures,' said Pascoe.

'If you can't beat 'em,' said Ellie.

'Where's Mary Wollstonecraft?' asked Pascoe.

'Gone to scour a few more mouths. I told her to let the bastards rot, but she's very conscientious. And pretty, don't you think?'

'Yeah. She'll fill a nice cavity in some lucky man's life,' said Pascoe cynically, adding thoughtfully, 'Or woman's. She's not a high-flier, is she?'

Ellie looked blank.

'I mean, what do you think she was after? Your sharp mind or your shapely body - or just your fat purse?'

'My energies, I think. She wants me to join, well, not join because she doesn't believe in the concept of joining. She wants me to discover that I'm one of her lot, these Women's Rights Action Group people.'

'WRAG,' said Pascoe. 'And are you?'

'I think I may be,' said Ellie solemnly.

'Yes? You try Lysistrating around me, I'll fetch you one round the ear,' said Pascoe in a heavy Yorkshire accent.

'You've been watching those films again. How
was
your morning, by the way?'

But Pascoe wasn't listening. Over Ellie's shoulder among the ruddy puffy cheeks of the double-gin-and-tonic boys he had spotted a pale set face with dark and desperately questing eyes.

It was Emma Shorter and he had no doubt who she was questing after. Last night he had seen the strain in that face, but there had been action to take, motions to go through. Jack was up and about and full of aggression. But now Dalziel had laid hands on him, taken him in for all the world to see. Now the strain was all on her.

'Oh shit,' he muttered to himself. He felt desperately sorry for the woman, but there was nothing he could do, nothing he could tell her. He just didn't feel equipped at this moment to take any more pressure himself.

'Look, love,' he said. 'Someone I don't want to see. Must dash anyway. See you later.'

He got up and went out via the dining-room, keeping his head bowed low and resisting the temptation to glance back. Outside in the car-park he took a deep breath and for a moment felt the exhilaration of escape. He set off towards his car, then stopped so suddenly that a man behind him cannoned into his back.

What the hell am I doing! wondered Pascoe.

In his mind he saw again the woman's face. She was seeing her life collapse and desperately looking for whatever slender comforts anyone could offer. A face falling apart on celluloid had haunted his thoughts for days now and sent him back and forward across the county looking for something to scour away the image. But a real face, a life falling apart before his eyes, a few feet away, a few seconds away, had put him to flight.

He turned round and walked back to the pub. But when he re-entered the bar, there was no sign of Emma Shorter and Ellie was just going out of the main door.

Full of shame he resumed his walk to the car.

Chapter 17

Back in the office he tried to see Dalziel but the fat man was still busy with Shorter. Pascoe knew his technique well; periods of intensive questioning building up to a climax, then a break, then a recommencement of the questioning as though the previous bout had not taken place, then another break, then the questioning again.

Pascoe did not doubt that Shorter could stand up to all this, or rather that the man would imagine he had stood up to it all. But Dalziel would know this too. He would merely be probing for weaknesses at this stage, not expecting a quick breach.

Why the Superintendent was interesting himself so closely in this relatively minor case when there were more important matters, including a murder, on hand, Pascoe did not know. Perhaps he owed Burkill a favour. He seemed to think highly of the man. One thing was certain - he'd have a good reason.

At three o'clock, Colbridge rang back.

Pascoe had not expected a reply till the following morning at the earliest, but Colbridge obviously saw this as a chance to keep his provincial friends in due awe of metropolitan efficiency.

'Haggard was dead easy. The pubs round Whitehall are full of gossipy, old, disappointed civil servants who'd tell you anything for a sympathetic ear and a gin and tonic.'

'I'm sure,' said Pascoe.

'According to my source, Haggard was bent in every sense. Little black boys were his downfall in the West Indies, so they shipped him out. They don't object to that kind of thing in the Diplomatic as long as you don't do it on the Queen's Birthday. But Austria was different. When the Hungarians started coming across the border in 'fifty-six, Haggard seems to have set himself up as a private travel agency. It's pretty clear he'd been in a lot of fiddles before this - Vienna was still a pretty hairy place in those days - but he went too far this time. Again, no drama. They know how to look after their own! Just the invitation to resign. That any good to you?'

'Thank you,' said Pascoe. 'It's confirmation. What about the other business?'

'Hang on. I got one of my lads to check that. Here we are. Yes, a fellow called Toms was a guest at the Candida that Friday night. Yes, he rang Harrogate. You want details?'

'If you've got them.'

Evidently the number called plus time and duration of the call were all on the bill. Pascoe noted them down, listened to a short digression on the extortionate charges these hotels made for phone calls and was about to give his thanks and ring off when Colbridge said, 'Are you interested in his other calls?'

'Other?'

'Yes. You just asked about the one to Harrogate, but after that he made three other calls, all to your part of the world.'

'Might as well have them,' said Pascoe with affected indifference.

They were all local numbers. None of them meant anything to Pascoe but he suspected they were going to. And with the second of these there came an extra bit of information, coaxed from the hotel switchboard girl (besides being efficient, the bastards want us to know they're sexy too! thought Pascoe). The call had been put through, the telephone lifted at the other end, then everything had gone dead and subsequent enquiries through the exchange had merely produced the reply that the line was out of order.

'Toms made a lot of fuss, that's why they remembered. Probably that's why they charged the poor sod for it too. One second, no conversation, you know what they charged? Go on. Guess.'

Pascoe guessed and finally, full of excitement, got the phone down. Quickly he checked the numbers with the local exchange.

The Harrogate one was Penelope Latimer's. The other three in order of phoning belonged to Godfrey Blengdale, Gilbert Haggard and Maurice Arany.

'Well, well, well,' said Pascoe.

When Dalziel walked into his office ten minutes later, he was still examining the implications of what he'd got.

'Nice of you to drop in,' said Dalziel. 'Thought you might spend the day wandering round on other people's patches.'

So there'd been something in Crabtree's warning.

'I've been back since the middle of the morning,' protested Pascoe.

'Have you now? If I'd known, you could have helped me with this mate of yours. God, he's a hard nut.'

'Have you charged him?' asked Pascoe.

'Not yet. I just thought the time was ripe to have him in.'

'Ripe?'

'Well, first the bugger went back to work, so he couldn't play sick any more. And I didn't have that wife of his on my back when I picked him up at the surgery. Though she found out quick enough.'

'Has Mrs Shorter been here?' asked Pascoe.

'Too bloody true,' said Dalziel. 'I can't abide hysterical women. Wanted to know what right I had to arrest her man. I told her I had more than a right, I had a duty. That shut her up.'

'Duty?' said Pascoe.

'Like any right-thinking man,' said Dalziel ponderously. 'These buggers need sorting out.'

'But you said you hadn't charged him.'

'Not yet, but I will. I reckon we've got enough now, though,' he added wistfully, 'an admission's always nice for tying things up.'

'Enough?'

'Oh aye. There's the girl. She'll not be budged. Then there's her friend, Marilyn. Detailed observation there, and when it comes to sex, she knows what she's talking about. Then there's that lot at the surgery.'

'Who do you mean?'

Dalziel laughed meaningfully.

'His friends and colleagues, people he'd expect to rely on as character witnesses. Some help they'll give! Old MacCrystal doesn't want to know. Washes .his hands of the fellow. La Lacewing reckons he's capable of anything. I think he probably tried his charms on her when she arrived. Well, she's a good-looking lass, that's what's behind these half-baked ideas of hers. What she wants is a month with a squint and buck-teeth, that'd soon put her right. Any road, put either of these in the box, and he'd be lucky to escape lynching.'

'But his nurse. Alison Parfitt.'

'Oh yes. I read that statement carefully. Then when I went to the surgery this morning, I had a chat with her myself. That's what made me decide I was right to bring him in.'

'But surely her testimony will favour Shorter. A bit biased, perhaps . . .'

'Biased! Bloody right it's biased! All the weight on one side and that's her backside. He's been screwing the arse off her this twelvemonth, you knew that?'

'You're sure?' said Pascoe, knowing full well Dalziel must be sure. Bitterly he recalled Shorter's man-to-man totally convincing denial. 'I did wonder, but . . .'

'I did more than wonder, I found out. You know what it's like round here. If you do it in ditches wearing a hood, you might just about keep it quiet for a week. But once you start having the cocktails before or the little dinner afterwards, you soon get spotted. She didn't deny it long, they never do if you press 'em. That's what they all want, these fancy women. To be found out. Get it in the open. It's their only hope if you look at it right. So no one'll pay much heed to any testimonial she gives.'

'But her evidence about time?'

'Vague,' said Dalziel. 'Only significant date is the day Sandra says the deed took place. Remember, Alison went off to pick up some X-ray plates? Well, she had to sign for them, with a note of the time. Twelve-fifteen she got 'em, and it's a good quarter of an hour from the surgery. Sandra had a double appointment that day. Tricky job, said Shorter. No doubt, said I. So tricky you send your nurse off. That shut him up. Well, I suppose I'd best go and finish him off. I've wasted too much time on this as it is. What about you? What have you been wasting your time on?'

Quickly Pascoe gave an outline of his own investigations.

'If I take you right, lad, you're now thinking there's a link between Homeric and this affair at the Calli?'