Good Morning, Midnight (45 page)

Pal asked how long this went on and Jase said not long, he never let these things go on long enough to get serious. He tried to sound real casual about it, but somehow I got the impression it was really her who’d done the dumping and she’d made it hurt.

Then Pal asked if it hadn’t been awkward when he started going out with Helen. Jase said that in fact there was no way he’d have started with Helen if he’d realized who she was, but he’d met her in a club, they had a great time, good enough to make him look out for her the following night. This time they exchanged rather more information, but even when she mentioned she’d just left Weavers a few weeks before and had always fancied him, he didn’t make a connection between this Helen Maciver and the Kay Kafka he’d had a fling with, otherwise, he said, he’d have run a mile.

Whatever Kay had done to him, she’d left her mark.

Jase boasted he was used to being fancied by the older girls at school but he made very sure he kept them at arm’s length or even further. He really likes his job and he doesn’t want to risk losing it for something that’s in plentiful supply in the outside world. His words. Once the girls left Weavers, though, they were fair game for a couple of sessions on the training track. His words again.

But after he’d been out with Helen three or four times, he began to think this one might be different. He really liked her. He sounded rather surprised when he said it, as if really liking a woman he’d bedded was a novelty. He listened to her talking about the two of them as an item and found he didn’t mind. Still no notion of her connection with Kay. Helen told him later that her stepmother’s approval meant so much to her, she kept putting off inviting him home for fear things might go wrong. But she was far too close to Kay to keep it secret for long that she’d met the man she loved and wanted to marry, and one day Jase answered the bell to his apartment and found Kay on the doorstep .

When he realized she was Helen’s stepmother, he said he felt the world was coming to an end. What she said made such a deep impression he was still able to quote it verbatim. Me too. I’ve always had a fantastic memory.

She said, “Mr Dunn, I know what you are capable of, in every sense. Helen finds you irresistibly attractive and has got it into her head that you are the man she wants to marry. I think this would be a huge mistake. I haven’t told her this, nor my reasons for so believing, because of the damage it would do to our relationship. In fact I suggested she should invite you round to tea next time you meet. When she does, I would like you to tell her, no way, you’ve no desire whatsoever to get your feet under the table, this thing between you is a casual fling and if she’s got other ideas she’d better disabuse herself. If you fail to do this, I will have to intervene, whatever the consequences. And by the way, one of those consequences would be the loss of your job as I should make it quite clear to the education authorities that this relationship had begun while Helen was still a pupil at Weavers.”

Jase said he was scared shitless-his words-but what was even more scary was he heard himself telling Kay that he didn’t give a toss, she must do whatever she felt she had to do, but even if it meant losing his job and having to start over, Helen was the only girl for him and he was going to marry her, come what may.

He said Kay didn’t speak for a long time, just sat there looking at him, so still and intense he began to think maybe she was going to turn him into a frog.

Then she said, “OK. In that case when she asks you to tea, you’d better come.”

Pal let out a great whoop of laughter and said, “That’s my girl! Nothing but the best for her beloved little Helen. Good stud line, lovely mover, beautifully schooled, top-class foals guaranteed. Only thing she didn’t reckon on was how frisky you might get if deprived of your regular oats.”

Then Pal laughed again, only in a more friendly fashion this time, and said, “No need to look so worried, my son. I know this is just a bit of fun while my kid sister’s out of commission, no harm done. And there won’t be any tales out of school. Dolores and I are as discreet as a pair of dodos, and that’s dead discreet.”

So things went on as before, until last time.

We all used to meet up in the sports centre car park, at the dark end near the river. Jase and I would get into Pal’s car and he’d drive us off to Moscow House so that his was the only car anyone would see going up the drive. Only this night our usual time went by and there was no sign of Pal. Finally I got into Jase’s car so we could decide what to do. I tried to ring Pal on his mobile, but it was switched off. Then I tried the shop, but got no reply. After that Jase used my phone to ring Pal’s home number. He spoke to Sue-Lynn, who had no idea where Pal was. After that we drove to the Avenue and went slowly past the entrance to Moscow House in case Pal had gone directly there for some reason. But it was very misty and, even if it hadn’t been, you can hardly see the house from the road. We turned and came back and this time as we approached we saw a police car turn into the driveway .

This really bothered Jase and he headed back to the sports centre. He dropped me in the car park. He was going to go into the club and do a bit more phoning around to see if he could track down Pal. He said he was sure everything was all right, but I could tell he was worried. He said I should just go home, wherever that was. I almost told him it was the vicarage at Cothersley, just to see his face, but that would have been very silly. I got into my little Fiat. Usually I change in there and get my make-up off, if the car park’s quiet, but tonight I was worried too, so I decided to take another drive down the Avenue.

I got there just in time to see an ambulance with its siren wailing turning into Moscow House. I could see what looked like a police car’s flashing lights up by the house. I parked around the corner and got out and walked back. I knew that a lot of prostitutes hung out along the Avenue, so I thought a woman walking by herself wouldn’t attract any attention, but the place seemed deserted and I realized that at the first sign of the police most of the pros must have realized that business was over for the night and headed off elsewhere.

Gosh it was eerie, but I had to find out what was going on. There was a policeman stationed at the gate. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw me, and realizing that he was even more scared than I was gave me confidence. I put on my best Dolores voice and pretended I was one of the Avenue girls rather put out at having her evening’s trade ruined. What he told me really chilled my blood. He said they’d found a dead man in the house, looked like suicide but they didn’t know for certain yet, and the body was still to be identified. I knew it was Pal, I don’t know how, but from the start I was sure.

Some other cars came and I hid. Then I made my way back to my own car and drove back to Cothersley as quickly as I could. I was in such a state I almost forgot to get out of my Dolores gear. Gosh, what a shock it would have given David if I’d walked in dressed like that!

As far as I was concerned that was the end of Dolores. I only got the phone out last night to throw it away and if I hadn’t checked for messages, I wouldn’t be here. But then I suppose you would have come round to the vicarage and that would have been far worse.

Please, I’ve told you everything I know. It hasn’t been easy, but I didn’t want to leave any reason for you to need to question me again ever.

So I’ve done what you asked, as full and frank as I can make it. You look like a good and honest man, to me, Mr Pascoe. Please, can I have your assurance again that this is the last I’m ever going to hear of this business?

Pascoe paused to get his breath before he passed through the general CID room en route to Dalziel’s office. He didn’t want his subordinates to think he’d been running up the stairs because he was late, but Novello’s welcoming grin gave the impression that she knew anyway.

To his surprise, Hat Bowler too was sitting at his desk, gazing vacantly at the wall. He looked pale and unhappy.

“Hat, what are you doing here?” asked Pascoe, concerned.

“Super said he thought it would be a good idea, sir. Break myself back in gently.”

“But you’re still on the sick list.”

“Yes, sir. But I’ll be seeing the doc on Monday to get signed off.”

“I think that will be for the doctor to say,” said Pascoe gently.

Now he recalled Dalziel’s concern lest the lad was somehow getting mixed up with funny-bugger business by spending time at Lavinia Maciver’s cottage. And the fat sod accuses me of flights of fancy! thought Pascoe.

But today did not seem a good time to start countermanding orders from the Godhead.

He said, “Well, don’t overdo it,” a comment which brought a cynical snort quickly modified into a sneeze from Novello. Pascoe shot her an admonitory glance and went to meet his doom.

The Fat Man was replacing his phone as Pascoe entered.

“Sorry I’m late, sir, but…”

“Bugger buts. Late’s late,” said Dalziel without any real force. “I’ve just been talking to Kay and told her we’d be out to see her a bit later.”

“But we didn’t have an appointment,” protested Pascoe. “In fact I’d have preferred to take her by surprise.”

“You’d need to get up a bit earlier to do that, lad,” said Dalziel. “Any road, I didn’t ring her, she rang me.”

“How convenient. What for?”

“Two things,” said Dalziel, ignoring the slight sneer. “One was to tell me about what went off at Moscow House last night. Seemed surprised I didn’t know about it. Not as surprised as me, but.”

He looked questioningly at Pascoe who said, “Sorry, sir, just heard what happened from Wieldy myself this morning. I was going to put you in the picture.”

“I really appreciate that, Pete. The other thing she rang about is she’s worried about her husband.”

“Like Mrs Dale used to be?”

“No joking matter, this, lad,” said Dalziel heavily. “Seems he went off to London yesterday so’s he could catch a morning flight to America from Heathrow.”

“Yes, I was there when he left,” said Pascoe. “I think he said he had to go in to Ash-Mac’s first.”

“That’s right. Well, she expected him to ring her some time last night…”

“So why did she go out?” interrupted Pascoe.

“You not heard of mobiles, lad?” demanded Dalziel with a scorn ill becoming in one who had once opined that if he wanted something that whistled in his pocket, he’d fill it with twigs and buy a canary. “And answer services? There was no call, no message. This morning she rang the airport hotel he usually stays at. He was booked in but he hadn’t showed. His flight goes in half an hour and he’s not checked in for that yet either. I got on to the railway car park and they went and had a look and they’ve just confirmed Kafka’s car is parked there.”

“So what do you think’s going on, sir?”

“Could be in the boot, I suppose, but I doubt it. Have you read your paper this morning?”

“Haven’t had time, sir.”

“No? Coming in at this hour, I’d have thought you’d have had time to read War and sodding Peace. Bit in it about Ashur-Proffitt in the States. Seems the authorities are taking a long close look at the business like they did with that Enron mob. And it seems one or two of their top execs saw what was coming and have taken to the hills.”

Pascoe said, “And you think that Kafka…?”

“Why not? You go out scrumping apples and you see the farmer coming, you run like hell.”

“Just like that? Leaving your wife to fend for herself. Or do you think she might know something, sir?”

Two days earlier, even yesterday, he would have expected such a suggestion to trigger a violent rebuttal, but now the Fat Man just glowered at him. He felt no triumph at having been party to sowing seeds of doubt, only a sense of loss.

He said, “The reason I was late, sir, was Dolly Upshott came to see me. This is her statement.”

He took the microcassette out of his pocket and pressed the “play” button.

When it finished, Dalziel said, “And what did you tell her?”

“I told her that if she thought we had an agreement she was mistaken,” said Pascoe, unhappy at the memory.

“Oh aye? I bet that bleeding heart of thine were leaking like a sieve.”

“She was very upset,” said Pascoe.

“Didn’t try any of her Dolores stuff on you, I hope?”

“Of course not,” snapped Pascoe. “I advised her to go home and get on with her jumble sale and try to put it all out of her mind and, with a bit of luck, she might not hear from me again.”

“God, you’re a bigger liar than I am,” complimented the Fat Man. “This turns into a murder case, how’re you going to keep Dolores out of it?”

“Yes, but if it stays as a suicide case, there’s no reason to involve her.”

Dalziel did his gobsmacked face.

“Am I hearing right? After running around squawking like a headless chicken these past days, you’re saying you think this might be suicide after all?”

“I never said it couldn’t be,” protested Pascoe, slightly indignant at the characterization. “All I know is there’s a lot of oddities, and a few pointers to suggest that Mrs Kafka might have been involved in some way. There’s a history of bad blood between her and Maciver, and now Miss Upshott’s statement suggests she might have had a more immediate motive for wanting rid of him.”

“Which is?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, Kay Kafka seems to make a hobby out of putting young men through the ringer. I’m sorry, sir, but it seems there’s been quite a stream of them.”

He paused to make room for a Dalzielesque explosion, but none came. Why should it? If the Fat Man was interested in you, it was hard to do a lot in Mid-Yorkshire that sooner or later wouldn’t come to his notice.

He went on, “It’s not hard to understand her motivation after listening to that tape you gave me…”