The Price of Butcher's Meat (35 page)

But the effect would be the same as if I called Sergeant Whitby.

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Nay, hang about. I know the chief ’s only three foot tall and he comes
from Cornwall, but that’s no reason to say he’s a nincompoop too . . .

That’s not what I’m saying. Only that if I make an official complaint,
then this becomes . . . official! Policemen about the place, statements, everyone noticing and asking what’s going on. That’s one
thing I know about Sandytown: If they don’t know your business before you do it, they’ll certainly find out the day after. I don’t want
whoever’s trying to kill me to be alerted. I thought that someone like
you, who comes with the most glowing testimonials . . .

Must be them rough towels they give us here. Who’s been talking
about me, Daph?

I’m not at liberty to say, but I’ve been assured you are one of the best
detectives in the country. I think the exact phrase was, If Sherlock
Holmes’s elder brother had had an elder brother, it would be Andy
Dalziel. There, what do you think of that?

I think you shouldn’t take everything Franny Roote says as gospel.

I didn’t say it was Mr. Roote.

Aye, and the pope doesn’t say he goes to church on Sunday. Listen,
here’s what I’ll do. You tell me what’s on your mind and if I think it’s
worth bothering busy bobbies with, I’ll pass it on. Don’t worry. I’ve got
this lad I’m training up. He’s minding the shop while I’m away and he’s
so discreet he’s got murderers serving life who don’t know yet he’s arrested
them. That’s the best I can do. Otherwise it’s Jug Whitby.

You don’t leave me much choice.

Don’t fret. It’s overrated, choice. So what’s the tale?

For a start, I’d like you to know you’re not dealing with a silly hys-terical old woman. Over the years I have grown used to being threatened. Antihunt demonstrators and animal rights extremists have
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been attacking my property and threatening my person almost as
long as I can remember. It’s water off a duck’s back. I take precau-tions, I am not foolhardy. But I don’t let them spoil my sleep or my
appetite. In addition, when Hollis, my first husband, died—

Him that got et by his pigs?

That’s right. I sometimes think if he’d died trying to save the Queen
from drowning, people would have been more likely to forget the circumstances. When he died, I received phone calls and hate mail
containing foul accusations and personal threats. Again, when Denham, my second, died—

Remind me. Trying to save the Queen, were it?

A hunting accident. Once more there were phone calls and letters,
not the same as before . . .

Well, they wouldn’t be, luv. Better class of abuse when there’s a title
involved.

I hope you are taking this seriously, Superintendent.

Of course I am. And stop calling me superintendent. Andy’ll do. And
you’re Daph, right? So can we speed things up a bit? I’ve not been
well lately and it’s hard to concentrate.

I’m sorry. I’ll try. Eventually the spate that followed Sir Harry’s death
became a trickle. The trickle is always there. Graffiti, animal parts
through the post. The odd phone call. Those I choose to ignore. Then
recently these onslaughts began to take another form, much less aggressive on the surface, but somehow I found it more disturbing.

Oh aye. What were that then?

I started getting communications through the post from various animal charities, the mainstream ones, not just the extremists. They said
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they were delighted to hear I was interested in remembering them in
my will and enclosed their bequest packs to show the best way of going about this.

We all get that kind of stuff, luv.

Perhaps. But I must confess it was upsetting. Then last week I got a
letter. Its tone was mild, yet I felt more threatened by it than anything
else I’d ever received. It said the writer hoped I’d taken the chance of
modifying my will along the lines suggested in recent mail shots.

But no specifi c threat?

Judge for yourself. I have it here. I thought you might need it for examination.

Didn’t know I were going to sit one. No, I’m not up to close reading so
early in the morning. Just give us the gist.

It says: We all owe a debt to God, and the longer we live, the closer
the reckoning comes. A woman of your age would be well advised to
have her affairs in order. Then here it says: . . . it is likely that the
door by which you will make your exit from this world already stands
unlatched. Is that threatening or not?

Poetic, and that can be a bit of a menace. I can see how it might
bother someone with a nervous disposition. Can’t see it worrying you
overmuch, luv.

You’re right. I put it aside and went about my business. Then a few
days ago, the brakes on my car failed. I was coming down the hill
from North Cliff and braking to turn into my drive. I managed to
change down and come to a halt by sliding into one of my rhododendron bushes.

That’s what the gods invented rhododendrons for, upper-class traffic
control. That it?

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No, it’s not. A couple of times recently I have glimpsed a trespasser on
the grounds of the hall. I realize that these days the law is almost
toothless when it comes to dealing with trespass . . .

Aye, not like the good old days when a couple of mantraps and a blast
with a shotgun would have got things sorted.

Just so. Nevertheless, I would certainly have confronted this person,
but he or she took off very quickly when I shouted.

There you are then. No harm done. Likely some poor peasant taking
a shortcut.

Perhaps. But yesterday morning I was going down the cliff path from my
garden to the beach. It’s an easy descent to start with, then you reach a
long ledge where the cliff falls away sheer for fifty or sixty feet. A guardrail starts here and then follows the path for the rest of its descent. I’d
just reached the ledge when I heard a noise and looked up to see a large
lump of rock bouncing down the path toward me. I leaned back on the
rail to get out of the way, it broke free from its support, and I found myself hanging on for grim life looking down at the rocks below. Fortunately the next support held and I was able to pull myself back onto the
path without too much difficulty. I am lucky to have a strong constitution. A frailer woman would almost certainly have fallen.

Aye, lot of frail women around, thank God. So what did you do?

I had a look at the rail. The support is a metal stanchion, but the rail
is made of wood. There was some sign of wood rot, but it looked to me
as if someone had carefully eased the rail from its support, then put it
back so that it looked completely safe.

Don’t know why you need a detective, Daph, when you’re so good
yourself. Can we hurry this up? I’m beginning to remember an urgent
appointment. What next?

I rang my nephew, Teddy.

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That ’ud be the good- looking lad who fancies himself? So why’d you
ring him?

Well, I’m a woman living alone, more or less, so I suppose I naturally
turned to a close male relative in time of stress . . .

Bollocks! He’s hot favorite in the inheritance stakes, right? So when
you got it into your noddle someone had fixed your guardrail and was
hoying rocks down at you in the hope of making you fall, you thought,
I wonder where young Ted the Heir is?

Mr. Dalziel, that’s outrageous . . .

No it’s not, and you know it’s not. And it’s Andy. And were he at
home?

Yes, he was, though why he was at home when I pay him good money
to be at work, I’m not quite sure.

No sense of responsibility, these modern kids. So did you mention
your concerns?

No. I got distracted by various things. He told me, I mean he reminded me, about the get-together at the Avalon so I said I’d meet
him and Esther there. That’s his sister.

Aye, I met her. What about the broken rail? You get anyone to fix it?

Ollie Hollis was at the hall. I asked him to take a look.

Ollie Hollis? Who’s he? A visiting relative?

Not really, though he is a member of my first husband’s rather exten
-

sive family. He was getting the machinery ready for my hog roast tomorrow.

So what is he? Carpenter? Mechanic?

No. He’s a gate man at the pig farm.

By God, you know how to pick your experts, luv! So what did he say?

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I didn’t ask his opinion. I had no desire to set tongues clacking. He
bound it up with strong twine and put a warning notice on it. Hardly
necessary, as it’s a private path and anyone else uses it at their own
risk. But with my grounds full of guests for my hog roast tomorrow,
it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Good advice, Daph. I think mebbe you should try taking it.

I’m not sure what you mean, Super . . . Mr. Dal—Andy.

What I mean is, likely this is all much ado about nowt. But in the
unlikely event someone were trying to top you, I’d say from long experience most likely motive is money. So, though I suspect you’ve nowt
to worry about, just to be on the safe side, simple thing is to take away
the motive. Change your will, and make sure you let every bugger
interested know! That way it makes more sense for them to keep you
alive long enough to change it back again! And that’s it, luv. No
charge. Now it’s time for me to take a shower and get dressed. No
need to rush off, I’m too old to be embarrassed.

Good day to you, Mr. Dalziel!

12

The Fat Man switched off the recorder.

“There we go,” he said. “Don’t know if I’d have said much different if I’d been really on the ball when she came to see me. But I felt right guilty when I heard the news.”

“You sound as if you rather liked her,” said Pascoe.

“Aye, mebbe I did. She were a big bossy woman, used to rolling over folk who got in her way, like an anker of ale, but she must have been a bonny lass once, and she still had a gallon of jimp left in her.

It were a lousy way for anyone to go. For someone like Daph Denham, it were a right shame.”

Pascoe said, “She had a record, you know. Laid into a hunt protester with her riding crop. Fined and bound over.”

“And that means she deserved to end up being grilled on her own hog roast?”

“I didn’t say that, as you well know. I’m just saying there could be more people out there than we think with motives. Did she leave the letter she mentioned?”

“Aye, here it is. Not much good for forensics—I just stuffed it in me dressing gown.”

“Still worth a try,” said Pascoe, taking the crumpled sheet by one corner and slipping it into an evidence bag. He smoothed it out inside the clear plastic. Ink-jet printer he guessed, on good quality A5 paper.

No date, no preamble, just the message.

You should by now have had time to study the options for
leaving legacies to some of the major animal charities, thereby
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making in death a small atonement for the many cruelties
you have inflicted on the animal kingdom in life. Time is
short, do not delay. We all owe a debt to God, and the longer
we live, the closer the reckoning comes. A woman of your age
would be well advised to have her affairs in order, for by the
time you recieve this letter it is likely that the door by which
you will make your exit from this world already stands unlatched.

“Interesting,” said Pascoe.

“That the best you can do?” said Dalziel scornfully. “So what’s next, mastermind? Bring me up to date. This has been one- way traffi c so far.”

Pascoe was tempted to point out that this was the usual direction of flow between witness and investigator, but decided not to force the issue. It was hard enough not to sound as if he were seeking approval as he outlined the situation.

The Fat Man said, “What’s this Ollie Hollis got to say for himself?

He was in charge of the roast, right? What was he doing when poor old Daph got stuck in the basket?”

“I haven’t caught up with him yet,” said Pascoe. “Like most of the guests, he’d gone walkabout by the time we got there.”

“He weren’t a guest. And why didn’t Jug Whitby make sure he stayed?”

“I presume he’d already gone by the time Whitby showed. He’s out looking for Hollis now. Why do you call him Jug? Has he got big ears?”

“Whitby, Dracula, jugular, do you know nowt? You need to get a grip on things, Pete. Three hours in and you’ve still got key witnesses wandering around loose. Pin the buggers down, that’s the fi rst rule, and don’t let ’em loose till you’ve squeezed ’em dry!”

“Always good to have your input, sir,” murmured Pascoe, determined not to be provoked. “And thank you for bringing me up to speed about these threats.”