Exit Lines (26 page)

'Up to you,' said Dalziel. 'I'd be glad to get inside myself. It's getting a bit parky out here.'

It was true. With dusk, the wind had dropped but there was sharp edge of frost already in the air, turning breath to visible vapour.

Kassell spoke. 'Superintendent Dalziel, don't you feel the time has come to sit down and talk this over, before you and your friends get too deep in to step back. Sir William's a reasonable man, but once roused, well, he won't hold back, believe me.'

He sounded quietly confident, but Pascoe noticed he made no attempt to move away from Charlesworth and when he looked at the gun in the bookie's hands, he saw why. The hammers were cocked! He took a deep breath and glanced at Dalziel. The thought had occurred to him that if Charlesworth were doing this for the sake of his dead son, he wasn't going to be very happy to see Kassell walk away free.

The front door swung open and Pledger appeared on the threshold, presumably having settled his guests and probably having made his phone call.

He addressed himself to Kassell.

'Barney, what's happening out here?' he asked.

'Those gentlemen down among the pheasants seem to be searching for something, Sir William,' replied Kassell. 'I don't know what it is, but I gather they can't find it. Mr Dalziel and his friend here seem to be debating about whether to extend the search into the house, I myself am limited as to movement because the Superintendent has put me under restraint of Mr Charlesworth, whose gun, you will observe, is cocked and ready for action.'

'This is outrageous!' exploded Pledger. 'I have already made representation at the highest level and I've no doubt that in a very short time, you'll be hearing from your superiors. Meanwhile I demand that Charlesworth here be made to hand over his shotgun. No one is entitled to behave in this manner in this country, not even the police, without special dispensation. So, gentlemen, let's end this farce here and now.'

There was a grimness in his voice which made him, despite his lack of size, a formidable presence.

Everyone was looking at Dalziel.

With a sudden grasp of an essential truth, Pascoe saw that all the fat man's apparent off-loading of responsibility was nothing but a show for his own peculiar entertainment. When the crisis moment came, everyone focused on Dalziel. There was no way he could escape it. Nor, in all the time Pascoe had known him, had he ever shown any sign of wanting to escape it. The grey-haired Customs man called Freddie might be technically in charge of the operation, but the decision as to whether they went into Haycroft Grange and continued the search there would be Andrew Dalziel's.

The decision was delayed by a disturbance behind Sir William. A female voice was raised in a reboant cantillation of obscene abuse, cut off abruptly as Andrea Gregory found herself thrust out into the cold air by Sergeant Wield. The girl glanced round at the curious tableau before her, decided that there was nothing in it to concern her and, focusing on Pascoe, said calmly, 'He was old, what's it matter? They should get put down anyway once they get like that, all of 'em.'

She glanced at Dalziel now, clearly including him in her euthanasia programme. The fat man said to Pascoe, 'Peter, you'd best be getting along, I think.'

'Look,' murmured Pascoe, 'isn't there any way I can help?'

'No. Just get off, that's an order. No need for you to be around when the sparks start!'

Reluctantly, Pascoe gestured at Wield and the Sergeant, who had the girl's arm in a vice-like grip, propelled her down the steps and across the courtyard towards the car.

'Super's in bother, is he?' said Wield.

'Could be,' said Pascoe.

They reached the car and Wield pushed the now quiet and blank-faced girl into the back seat and got in beside her. The driver opened the front passenger door for Pascoe but the Inspector didn't get in.

He was looking towards the stable block, beyond the dead and eviscerated pheasants, with the group of Customs officers standing by, their attention fixed on the house; beyond the more distant group of beaters, also watching the unfolding drama with keen interest; to a shadowy coign of the stable wing where the black, drug-sniffing labrador seemed to be trying to mount some struggling and reluctant partner.

Suddenly the dog let out a long and triumphant howl. Pascoe grabbed the driver's flashlight from the glove compartment and moved swiftly towards the strange couple whose relationship he had already decided was not amatory.

The Customs men too had been attracted by the dog's call, but Pascoe got there first, sending a beam of light thrusting at the dog's new-found friend.

'Hector!' he exclaimed. 'Constable Hector!'

It was indeed Hector, accoutred in an incredibly shabby gaberdine which must have been made for a creature of even greater length.

Guilt and alarm were on his face.

'It's all right, sir,' he cried, trying to push away the dog. 'Mr Dalziel knows I'm here.'

'Does he indeed? But does he know you have this strong attraction for dogs?'

He looked at the terror-stricken constable with growing speculation. Surely he looked fatter than he recalled? Less of a beanpole? Perhaps it was just the gaberdine . . .

'Hector,' he said. 'Open your coat.'

The constable sighed, like the exhalation from a reed-pipe, looked almost relieved, and obeyed.

'I thought it was fair do's, sir,' he explained. 'I mean, who's to miss 'em, and we do all the work. One was for me mam, the other for me Auntie Sheila.'

Hanging in poacher's pockets, which is to say two small sacks pinned to the inside of the voluminous coat, was a pair of fat pheasants.

Pascoe removed one of them and examined it. It had been split open round about the anus. A corner of plastic protruded.

'Hector,' said Pascoe gently. 'What did you imagine this was?'

Hector looked. Then he said in a puzzled voice, 'Giblets, isn't it, sir? They always come in little plastic bags.'

Pascoe began to laugh. He was still chortling quietly as he escorted the lanky constable, danced around by the excited dog, towards the group on the steps.

'Mr Dalziel, sir,' called Pascoe. 'Constable Hector here has made a remarkable discovery.'

He slowly drew forth a long thin plastic bag from the gut of the pheasant. Through the bloodstained transparent covering it was possible to see that it was packed with white powder, perhaps a pound and a half in weight. The sad-faced man came quickly down the steps, took it from Pascoe's hand and made a small incision with his pocket knife.

First he sniffed, then he put a couple of grains on his tongue.

Turning, he nodded at Dalziel.

Hector's face during all this was showing a complex of emotions. He was not yet certain whether he had committed a very great crime or performed a very meritorious deed. But now Dalziel's voice broke out, 'Hector, lad, I don't know how you've done it, but I love you!' And the long head slowly rose from between the hunched shoulders, like a flower roused by the warmth of the sun.

'Remember, you are mortal,' murmured Pascoe as he saw the joy and relief break out on the young man's face.

Dalziel turned back to Kassell.

'Major Kassell,' he said. 'I'm arresting you on suspicion of being involved in the smuggling of illicit drugs into this country. You do not have to say anything but if you do, it'll be taken down and may be used in evidence. Sir William, shall we all go inside now? There's things to be talked about, things to be done.'

With a shattered look on his face, Pledger turned away. Dalziel urged Kassell to follow him, but the Major looked first to the man with the gun. An expression crossed Charlesworth's face which might almost have been one of disappointment, then gently he uncocked his weapon.

'Well, thank God for that at least,' said Kassell with a smile of relief. 'Dalziel, I know nothing of this business, of course, but I realize you've got to do your duty. I should like to ring my solicitor before things go any further, however. I believe that's my entitlement.'

The gun came up so quickly that there was nothing anyone could do. The twin barrels swept up between

Kassell's legs and hard into his groin. He screamed, went grey with pain, doubled up.

'Arnie, for Christ's sake!' shouted Dalziel.

'I deserved one,' said Charlesworth.

'You bastard. I'll get you for this,' choked Kassell.

The bookie considered him for a moment.

'I wouldn't bet on it,' he said.

Chapter 29

'Tirez le rideau, la farce est jouée.'

It started snowing again during the course of the evening and by half past nine, when Pascoe with all loose ends carefully tied up or at least tucked out of sight was preparing to go home, it was settling in earnest.

He thought with alarm of Ellie's drive north the next day, and did not know whether he was more alarmed at the dangers of the drive or the prospect of being without her even longer if the weather was too bad for travel.

Dalziel he had not seen since leaving Haycroft Grange. Whether the fat man were in the building or not he didn't know and wasn't about to find out. There would be plenty of time to dot i's and cross t's over a reunifying pint; now all he wanted was to get back home and go to bed.

But the phone rang as he was leaving.

It was Dr Sowden.

'Just thought you might like to know Mrs Escott's fading fast,' he said rather curtly.

'Thanks,' said Pascoe.

What did it matter? There was nothing more she could tell them. It was probably better for her. What did the future hold but at best a few twilit years of being bullied by the nurses in a geriatric home? No, better by far for her to go now. And there was no point in his being there to see her go. None at all.

'You came, then,' said Sowden.

'Yes. ‘Didn’t sound very interested on the phone,' said the doctor.

'I'm not . . .
interested,''
said Pascoe wearily. 'Involved, maybe. Though Christ knows why.'

Sowden grinned and said, 'I'll be off duty in twenty minutes. Let me buy you that drink we keep talking about.'

'I'm a bit knackered,' said Pascoe. 'Anyway, have you seen the weather?'

'With a bit of luck we could get snowed in some comfortable saloon bar. No crime, no one dying. Two or three days of that would probably do us both the world of good. Still, if you're too tired . . .'

He led the way into the ward. A nurse was drawing the curtains around Mrs Escott's bed.

'Isn't there, well, somewhere else,' said Pascoe, glancing uneasily at the other beds.

'A kind of dying room, you mean? Afraid not. We're pushed for space, you see. In any case, with these old folk, once you start wheeling them out to die, every time they're taken out of the ward for any reason begins to feel like a death sentence!'

Mrs Escott lay so still and with her face so composed that Pascoe thought he had come too late after all. He stood helplessly by the bedside and repeated to Sowden, 'I really don't know what I'm doing here.'

'In some of the ancient religions, last words are meant to be redolent of significance and power,' murmured Sowden.

Pascoe looked at him in surprise.

'That doesn't sound too scientific to me,' he said.

'Scientifically speaking, death is the great debunker,' said Sowden, feeling the woman's pulse. 'There it is. A faint flutter, like a . . . like a . . .'

Perhaps some poetic comparison had suggested itself which embarrassed him for he let the words tail off.

'Aren't there any relatives? Or friends?' asked Pascoe.

'To be here, you mean? No, no relatives that can be traced. Friends at Castleton Court, probably, but too old and not close enough to be brought out on a night like this.'

'So we're it.'

'That's right.'

Pascoe shook his head.

'Not much to show for threescore and ten, is it?' he said half to himself.

Suddenly the woman's eyes were open.

She said, 'Mr Pascoe.'

'That's right. How are you, Mrs Escott?' Pascoe heard himself saying absurdly.

'Mr Pascoe,' she repeated with an injection of urgency.

'Yes?' he said. 'What is it?'

'I saw Tap,' she said. 'He spoke to me.'

'Yes? What did he say?'

She smiled radiantly.

'Winner,' she said. 'Winner. Tap says the winner is . . .'

She stopped.

Sowden monitored her pulse once more, then shook his head.

'That's it, I'm afraid,' he said.

'Dead?'

'I'm afraid so. Nurse!'

The nurse reappeared. Sowden and Pascoe emerged from the curtains and walked together down the ward. Pascoe felt completely drained of all energy as if these old and dying people were reaching out to draw it from him.

'Last words,' said Sowden. 'Exit lines. I wonder what her friend's tip was?'

'It's not knowing that makes horse-races,' said Pascoe wearily.

As they reached the door, a patient at the far end of the ward began to make a noise. At first it was just a kind of moaning sound, but finally words came out quite clearly.

'Teeny! Teeny! Where's my tea?'

Pascoe stopped.

'Who's that?' he asked.

'That? Oh, some old boy who came in this afternoon. Had a nasty fall downstairs.'

Downstairs? Pascoe thought of Mabel Gregory's old father lying on his bed in the front parlour. Thought also of the woman's tired face and of her blank-eyed husband sitting far down the garden, smoking a cigarette and looking at nothing.

And then he thought of the news which had reached the Gregorys that evening.

'Why? You interested in him?' asked Sowden.

Pascoe shook his head. Somehow it didn't feel quite such a betrayal as a spoken
no.
Betrayal of what? Of whom? He realized he didn't want to go home to an empty house. Tomorrow with luck it would no longer be empty. Ellie would be there. And Rose. One-year-and-one-week-old Rose. Perhaps they would give him the strength to contemplate what he ought to do about the Gregorys. Perhaps.

Meanwhile.

They had reached the lifts. Pascoe stepped in. Sowden stood back and watched him.

'Goodbye then,' he said.

The doors began to close. Pascoe racked his brain for something to say. Every parting should be treated as a rehearsal for the last one; everyone should have some piece of farewell wisdom or wit at his tongue's end; but, alas, for most, even the best prepared, this was probably how it would be; the doors closing, the light fading, the lift descending, with nothing said, nothing communicated.

The doors closed. His hand shot out and his finger pressed the
open
button. The doors parted and Pascoe stepped back out into the corridor. He grinned triumphantly at Sowden who looked at him mildly surprised.

'Some rehearsal, huh?' said Pascoe. 'Now, about that drink.'