Underworld (23 page)

'Most,' admitted Ellie. 'It explained a lot.'

'Like what?'

'Like Col going on last night about bones and blood in the pit. He wasn't talking about Satterthwaite at all, he was talking about the dog!'

'Was he? Does this mean you'd like to put it in your statement now?'

She looked at him angrily, decided the grounds of her anger were unsafe, made herself relax.

He said, 'Walk you to your car?'

'All right. I'd best get home and pick up Rose.'

Pascoe glanced at his watch. Four-thirty. It felt later.

'It's been a long day,' he said. 'For both of us. Your blood test was negative, by the way.'

'What? Oh, that. It seems years ago.'

'Does it? Perhaps. Ellie, if you rush to meet trouble, you usually find it, so I'm not rushing. But shouldn't we talk?'

'Here? Now?'

He looked around. The terraced houses of Clay Street stretched away on both sides, the façades grey with indifference, their windows like blind eyes. But he guessed their indifference was delusive and their blindness like a professional beggar's.

Ellie's car, parked round the corner, was now in sight. They could sit in it and talk, but it wasn't the place, this wasn't the time. A wise man picked his own ground for a battle.

'No,' he said. 'I'll see you at home.'

'Don't tell me. You'll probably be late.'

'I wouldn't be surprised,' he said.

'I'll try to be awake,' she said.

'Just try to be at home,' he replied before he could stop himself.

She shook her head in disbelief.

'If you want to know the time, ask a policeman,' she said, 'It's always the Middle Ages. I'll see you when I do.'

She marched away towards the car and got in. He noticed she'd left it unlocked. Demonstrating her implicit trust in these knights of the dusty face, he thought savagely.

As she accelerated past him, he looked for some sign of softening, for at the very least that expression of humorous irony with which she had once laced her indignation.

But her face was set and cold and unrelenting and she drove by him without even looking in his direction.

He turned away sadly and went to update Dalziel.

And in the car Ellie said, 'You can sit up now,' and watched in the mirror to see the smiling face of Colin Farr rise into view behind her.

Chapter 4

'Why'd you not turn me in?' asked Colin Farr.

'God knows.’ said Ellie. 'I don't.'

She'd turned off the road as soon as they were out of sight of the village, bumping the car a few yards along a deep-rutted, bracken-fringed track before switching off the engine.

She lit a much-needed cigarette. The effort of not screaming when she first glimpsed him lying in the back, the greater effort of not looking at Peter in silent appeal as she drove by him, had left her nerves in tatters. Now she did let out a smoky gasp as suddenly he slipped with practised ease through the narrow space between the passenger seat and the roof and sat beside her, saying, 'There. That's cosier, isn't it?'

Reacting against her nervousness, she demanded aggressively, 'Did you kill Satterthwaite?'

'Now why should I do a thing like that?' he mocked.

'Because he was screwing lovely little Stella,' she snapped.

'Oh aye? Nowt to do with me,' he said.

'It was something to do with you when you were still engaged!'

'Here, your ears have been flapping, haven't they? Aye, that did surprise me a bit.'

'That she could prefer another man to you?'

'That it had been going on so long. Mebbe it stopped when she got wed, then started up again when she got bored with Gav, which'd be about twenty minutes, I'd say.'

'How did you know about them? Did she tell you?'

'Oh no.' He grinned. 'We're not on such close terms as that. I put two and two together, with some help from a "friend" who left me a note on my lamp-hook. Then I paid Stella a visit unexpected, like, and I felt she were expecting me somehow and there were only one bugger I could think of who could have warned her. Then just as I was leaving there was a phone call. No one spoke, but I could feel that bastard on the other end of the line. Just feel him. And suddenly a lot of other little things came together.'

'What did you do?'

He smiled wickedly, 'I left Stella a little going-away present.'

Behind them a lorry sped along the road. Ellie turned to look at it in alarm, Farr remained indifferent.

'Anyone sees us, they'll just imagine there's a bit of quiet humping going on,' he said.

'Not if it's the police,' she said fearfully. 'And they're probably checking cars along this road by now.'

'I'm not going any further by car,' he said. 'Up there I'm going, and it'll take more than a few flat-footed bobbies to catch me, over or under the ground.'

He was staring ahead at the tree-clothed ridge above them, incandescent in the declining sun.

'They'll have dogs, helicopters . . .'

He laughed at her.

'I'm not Lord Lucan!' he said. 'Just an ordinary pit-lad who's got in a bit of bother.'

'Did you kill him?' she asked once more.

'I suppose I did, in a manner of speaking,' he mused. 'But that's not the bit of bother I'm worried about. My dad's dead and I'd got so muddled and muddied with this bloody place that I actually got to thinking that mebbe he was a killer, aye, and a child molester too. God, I must have been near on mad! But I got to thinking lying in that hospital this morning, everything so quiet and light and clean, I got to seeing how daft I was. I didn't need Mam to come along with explanations. I knew as I should have known all along that Dad couldn't harm any living thing! He didn't much like it if Jacko caught himself a rabbit. And as for my dad hurting Jacko . . . you should have seen the poor little sod's skull...'

   'I did.'

'What?' said Farr, jerked back to the present. 'When? How? Oh, they searched the house, did they? Bastards.'

'That's what you were talking about when you started rambling about blood and bones last night, wasn't it? Jacko.'

'I went on about blood and bones, did I? I don't recall.' He looked at her speculatively. 'Did you tell your husband's mob, then?'

Ellie shook her head.

'Secrets? Best not to have secrets, Ellie,' he said. She felt their ages reversed, distorted, he the elderly experienced sage, she the youthful naïve disciple.

'No,' she said. 'Colin, come back with me now. There's no need to run. There's nowhere to run to.'

'Who's running?' he said. 'But I'm not coming back, not just yet.'

He opened the door and got out.

'Colin,' she said. 'Why did you ring Stella when you came out of the pit yesterday?'

'Ring her first, you mean.' He smiled. She found him insufferable but had to persist. 'Why?'

'I owed her a warning,' he said. 'That much at least I owed her. Do me a favour, Ellie. Ring my mam and tell her I'm OK.'

"Surely,' said Ellie, disproportionately pleased at this request for help. 'But I won't ring. There's a copper there. He'll listen in. I'll go back and pretend that I forgot something. Col, is there anything I can get you while I'm there? Food, clothes, anything? I could drop it off here as I pass.'

'No,' he said. Too dangerous for you to try to bring owt from home and I'm not going to hang around by the roadside anyway. But you're right, a bit of grub and something to drink wouldn't come amiss. You could mebbe get someone else to fetch it for me.'

'All right. Who?'

He thought a moment, then smiled.

'Arthur,' he said. 'You'll have met him, Arthur Downey, always hanging around our house, trying to be useful. Now's his chance. He lives in the street backing ours, number thirty. Tell him to bring whatever he can up to the White Rock. But not turnips. I hate his bloody turnips!'

'The White Rock? He'll know where that is?'

'Oh aye. Even Arthur'll know where the White Rock is. Right, I'm off.'

'Colin,' she said urgently as he turned away. 'What was it you warned Stella of?'

He turned back, his face troubled.

'I met Gav on the way out of the pit. He were his usual charming self. He warned me to keep away from Stella. I didn't really know what I was saying. All I wanted was to get out. So I told him not to fear, I'd not be messing with Harold Satterthwaite's leavings. He wanted to kill me then, I think, but I just didn't have the time to fight. So I ran off shouting at him to ask Satterthwaite himself if he didn't believe me. When I got up on the bank and started thinking straight, I knew I shouldn't have told him so I rang Stella to warn her. She deserved that.'

'But Colin, that means . . .'

He leaned through the window and kissed her full on the lips. She responded with a passion that frightened her. Finally he broke away and regarded her with a smile that hardly mocked at all.

'Goodbye, Mrs Pascoe,' he said. 'You've come off lucky. Not many do as have much to do with me.'

Then he turned again and began to run up the track, as lithe and fluid and lovely as a cat. She watched him out of sight. And still she watched and seemed to see him still. Finally a cloud caught the slanting sun and dulled the golden glow in Gratterley Wood.

She started the car and backed out on to the road and turned once more to Burrthorpe.

Chapter 5

After Watmough had finished, Dalziel rose and went to

the door.

'If I see any blind lame lepers, I'll send 'em in,' he said as he passed through it, leaving Watmough to sip his coffee uncertain if he'd been complimented or not.

Dalziel ran up the stairs, very light on his feet for such a big man. He opened a door and peered in. Alex Wishart was sitting at the far side of a desk facing Gavin Mycroft.

'Alex, a word,' said Dalziel.

The Scot got up and came towards the door. The deputy turned and said, 'Look, can I go home now? I've been here for hours and it's bloody nippy for one thing.'

He was still wearing the white overall they'd provided at the hospital.

'We'll have some of your clothes fetched in,' said Dalziel.

Wishart came into the corridor. He made to pull the door shut behind him but Dalziel's large foot got in the way. He looked in surprise at the fat man and was taken aback to see his pumpkin face wrinkle into a wink.

'She's coughed,' said Dalziel in a whisper Henry Irving would have been proud of. 'I told her we'd definitely be charging Farr and that did it. What he told her when he rang up last night was that on his way out of the pit, he'd blown the gaff on her and Satterthwaite to Gav. Poor sod. He must have flipped it. Straight off he went and thumped Harold. Overdid it. He'll likely get off with manslaughter if he plays his cards right. Don't be too rough on him. He's had a lot to put up with.'

Another wink for the upper balcony and Dalziel went noisily down the stairs.

Now he re-entered the room where Stella Mycroft was sitting puffing angrily at a cigarette. A WPC stood by the door while opposite her sat Sergeant Wield. He stood up as Dalziel entered and flickered his eyes negatively.

As Dalziel took the vacated chair, Stella began to rave, 'How long's this going on, for God's sake? Does Gav know I'm here? Does any bugger know I'm here? I've told you all I know which is bugger-all, so why'm I being kept stuck in here with you pair of ugly sods popping in and out like rats from a compost heap?'

As she raved Dalziel reached across the table and to Wield's amazement put his huge hand over the woman's delicate hand and peered deep into her eyes. It would have been beyond the will of Boadicea to keep on shouting in such circumstances and rapidly the indignant flow sputtered to a halt.

'It's over, love,' said Dalziel softly.

She tried to pull her hand away but he held it fast.

'You wha'?' she said.

'It's over. Gav's told us everything. The lad had no choice once Col started cooperating. But not to worry. I reckon it could come down to manslaughter, accidental killing, couple of years, suspended, on probation even, what do you think, Sergeant?'

'I'm not sure of the precise circumstances, sir,' said Wield, taking his cue.

'Farr lost his temper with Gav, told him that Stella here was having an affair with Harold Satterthwaite. Now I don't know if that's true or not, and it's none of our business anyway. But Gav went to talk it over with Harold. Well, he would, wouldn't he? Things got heated, it was dark, bang! Who can say exactly what happened?'

'Col's said ... I don't believe you!' burst out Stella.

'He felt sorry about letting the cat out of the bag,' said Dalziel. ‘That's why he rang you, of course, to warn you. But it's one thing feeling sorry, it's another carrying the can. I'm sorry too, love. All I can say from old experience is that these things seem terrible at the time, but it'll pass, you'll be amazed how quick it passes.'

She looked at him distrustfully, but when she spoke her voice was subdued.

'Can I see Gav?' she said.

'Of course,' said Dalziel genially. 'Just give your statement to the young lady here, then we'll ferry you along to have a nice chat with your husband. OK?'

One last bone-cracking squeeze of her hand and he rose and left the room. Wield followed. This time Dalziel made sure the door was firmly closed.

'Has he coughed?' asked Wield.

'I'm not sure, but he will the minute he sees her statement,' said Dalziel.

'Did you really get this from Farr?' asked Wield.

'No way. That mad bugger's still missing as far as I know. No, it were a combination of things, a few hints that Pedley let drop when I talked to him earlier, and then a bit of help from my old chum, Nev Watmough, a few years late, true, but we've all got to move at our own speed. I'd been wondering why Mycroft went to see Farr in hospital and why he helped him escape. It were obviously a put-up job, weren't it?'

'Oh yes,' said Wield. 'Obviously. But why didn't Farr just speak out when he woke up this morning and realized what we were after him for?'

'Because he's bloody mad, because he wants to be on the run, because ... I don't know, Sergeant, and I doubt if he does, either.'

'But we can call off the hunt for him?' said Wield.
⁽
I mean, what do we want him for?'

'Impeding a police inquiry,' said Dalziel. 'All right, it's not much and it's certainly not worth the dogs and helicopters and appeals on the telly. But I'll tell you something, Wieldy. My piles are aching again and I'll not rest comfortable while yon mad bugger's running round free!'

He headed back up the stairs to check on Wishart's progress. A uniformed constable intercepted him.

'Sir, Mr Pascoe's been on the radio, says he needs to talk to you.'

'Has he found Farr?'

'Don't think so, sir.'

'Then what's he playing at? Whistle him up again and tell him to meet me at Mrs Farr's house in half an hour. And straighten yourself up, lad! Haven't they found a cure yet for rickets down here?'

Pascoe got Dalziel's message as he came out of the Welfare Club. Pedley had been very cooperative, which made Pascoe guess his search was a waste of time. So it had proved. Next he and Sergeant Swift went to Neil Wardle's house, but could get no reply. Tommy Dickinson lived just a couple of streets away. Swift told him, not without pride, that even for Burrthorpe, this was a rough area. When he started reeling off a list of folk-heroes who'd drawn their first blood here, Pascoe cut him off brusquely. Alex Wishart's ironies were one thing, but he didn't have to take ancient sergeants implying that life in Mid-Yorks was a pastoral idyll.

The door was opened by a wirily muscular man with greying hair and watchful eyes.

'Hello, Neil,' said Swift. 'We've just come from your house.'

'I hope you left it like you found it,' said the man.

'Mr Wardle?' said Pascoe.

'Aye. You must be Pascoe. You're with yon other bugger, right? The one who could cut coal with his teeth.'

A man would need the skill of a Scarlet Pimpernel to lead a private life here, thought Pascoe.

'We're inquiring about your friend, Colin Farr?'

'I've nowt to say about Col,' said Wardle.

'Or
to
him?'

Wardle thought a moment then said, 'He's buggered off, then?'

'Very sharp,' said Pascoe. 'You wouldn't happen to know where?'

Wardle didn't even bother to reply.

'It'll do him no good,' said Pascoe, irritated. 'Running away never does.'

'You reckon? Ever been a thousand feet under and heard the timbers cracking over your head?'

Pascoe was further irritated by this easy assumption of a risk-given moral superiority. The sods really believed their own myths!

'Is Mr Dickinson in?' he asked.

Wardle stood aside and beckoned him in with mock courtesy. On an inadequate sofa, a stout young man sprawled and snored. A plastic bucket rested close to his hand.

'If you care to hang on a bit he'll likely make a statement,' said Wardle.

'What are you doing here, Mr Wardle?'

'Tommy's mam had to go out so I said I'd sit here with the lad and make sure he came to no harm.'

'How long will Mrs Dickinson be? We'd like to look round just in case Mr Farr has got in, without anyone's knowledge, of course.'

'I'd not wait till his mam comes back, then. Sergeant Swift here'll tell you she sucks coppers' blood.'

Upon this hint, Pascoe and Swift went quickly through the house.

Unless he'd wriggled under the floorboards, Farr wasn't here. They returned to the parlour.

'Just in time,' said Wardle. 'His mam's coming down the street.'

On the sofa, Dickinson stirred, opened his eyes, smiled up at Pascoe.

'Mr Dickinson,' Pascoe began. 'I'm a policeman . . .'

The stout youth turned his head away and was comprehensively sick into the bucket.

'There,' said Wardle. 'I told you he'd make a statement.'