A Killing kindness

'I just felt like it,' insisted Ludlam. He sounded agitated.

'Tell you what, Ron. We're going to be asking questions down at the Bay Tree. We get one sniff that you were having your usual knee-tremble in the back lane at the time you say you were home, you'll be in real trouble, son. You knew Brenda pretty well?'

The change of direction disconcerted Ludlam.

'Yeah.'

'She'd been round to your place?'

'Yeah, but with Tommy, I mean. And Janey was there!'

'But you fancied her? I mean, you wouldn't have said no.'

'What do you mean? She was Tommy's bird. We were friends!'

'Friends. So if you'd been driving along and you saw her walking, you'd stop and give her a lift?'

'Yes. I mean no. I mean, I told you, how could I, I was home that night and anyway I haven't got any wheels!'

Wield gave what Pascoe had once described as his Ozymandias sneer and made a gesture which took in the car-packed garage.

'We're worried about Tommy,' he said abruptly. 'It's not like him, his mam says, just going off like this.

‘I’m worried too,’ said Ludlam. He sounded as if he meant it, though whether he was referring simply to Tommy's disappearance was another matter.

'If you know anything, better tell us,' said Wield. 'He seemed really cut up about Brenda. He's in no fit state to be off by himself.'

'He wouldn't do anything like that.'

'Like what?'

'Like hurting himself.'

'I'm glad to hear it. You should know. You're his mate. How'd he seem yesterday morning?'

'Quiet, like. He'd just come back to work. The boss said he could have longer off, but he seemed to want to be occupied. When he didn't turn up after dinner, we just thought he'd taken the boss up on his offer.'

'Don't you usually have your eats with him?'

'Yeah. We usually have a pie in the Wheatsheaf across the road. But it got to midday and he just took off.'

Wield got out of the car and walked round to the driver's side.

'You hear anything, you tell us now, Ron. You remember anything, you tell us. All right?'

'Sure, yeah. I will.'

He couldn't keep the look of relief off his young fresh open face. It seemed a pity to do anything to spoil that beauty but Wield knew his job was not to bear comfort but a sword.

'Be sure you do, Ron,' he said, his face close to the boy's. 'We helped you once. We reckon you still owe us. And we like to keep the books balanced. One way or another.'

Worry put five years on Ludlam's face at a stroke. At least, thought Wield as he walked away, features like his own could take the hobnailed march of time and trouble with scarcely a trace.

He felt troubled now, without knowing why. Pascoe would have approved the obliquity of his interrogation, Dalziel the threat, but he did not feel satisfied. He glanced at his watch and wondered if he'd get away early enough that evening to drive up to Newcastle. It was his friend's birthday and he'd promised. But he knew that in the police the strongest oaths were often straw to the fires of duty. He glanced at his notebook. One more call to make, on Mrs Sorby, and then he should be done. He crossed his fingers.

As it turned out, everyone got away early that evening. Nothing was happening, the investigation was in the doldrums, and Dalziel, who had no qualms about dragging his men on holiday out of their hotel beds at midnight if a case required it, said, 'That's it. Everyone sod off, get a bit of rest while you can.'

Wield headed up the A1 at seventy mph, Dalziel opened a bottle of Glen Grant and grimly settled down to read all those reports and statements which he had hitherto ignored, while Pascoe went home to a quiet non-constabulary evening and found his wife much concerned with murder.

'She was practically telling me she thought he'd done it!' she said excitedly. 'Honestly, Peter, she came as close as damn it to saying, "You want the Choker? He's outside in the car with the kids!"'

'Wildgoose,' mused Pascoe. 'I knew I'd seen the name. Sergeant Brady did the interviews with the allotment holders. Just a formality to check if they'd noticed anyone hanging around in the past few days.'

'He's a teacher. English and Drama!' said Ellie triumphantly.

'So?'

'So, Hamlet!'

'Well, yes. But it is the most famous play in the language. Even Andy Dalziel had heard of it.'

'And he's gone odd.'

'Who? Dalziel?'

'No, you twit. Mark Wildgoose. Lorraine says she thinks he hates her. She's frightened of him.'

'She sounds a bit odd to me,' grunted Pascoe, looking at the Radio Times. 'Hey, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance is on tonight. Didn't we go to see that in our distant student days?'

'Did we?' said Ellie. 'I sometimes forget we were once young together.'

'What are we now?'

'You are showing many of the symptoms of senility. Such as deafness. Mark Wildgoose I'm telling you about. He's going to Saudi Arabia in a mini-bus. He wears a T-shirt saying I'm the Greatest, and God knows when he last had a bath.

‘For Christ's sake, love,' said Pascoe. 'What's that you've got in your belly? Tory twins?'

'What's that mean?'

'Well, suddenly you're sounding like a large Conservative majority.'

'Ha ha. Well, how about this? Do you know which school Brenda Sorby went to?'

'The pterodactyl girl? Sorry! No, I don't.'

'The Bishop Crump Comprehensive!' said Ellie triumphantly. 'Which is where Wildgoose teaches.'

'And did he teach her?' enquired Pascoe.

'I don't know. I don't see why not.'

'There are upwards of two thousand kids at that school,' said Pascoe. 'These places are so big that some kids never even find out who the headmaster is.'

'Teacher,' said Ellie.

'What?'

'Head-teacher. Not headmaster.'

'All right. Head-teacher. I'm sorry. I'll go round to see Thelma in the morning and get her to drill all my teeth without anaesthetic as a penance.'

'Oh, don't be so bloody patronizing!' yelled Ellie.

The explosion took Pascoe by surprise. There was a moment of quietness.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I thought I was just being sarcastic.'

'And I thought I was just being helpful,' said Ellie.

'You are. And I'll look into it, I promise. It's just that I was trying not to track my work into the house too much, particularly this case.'

'A woman-killer? This is one case I want to see you solve,' said Ellie grimly.

'Yes. You and everyone. Hey, talking of help, I took your advice and got in touch with those linguists, Urquhart and Gladmann. They're coming in tomorrow.'

'Both of them? You'll enjoy that. They make a point of not agreeing with each other.'

'That is no barrier to true love,' said Pascoe sententiously. 'As we should prove.'

'Yes,' said Ellie. 'That's one way of looking at it.'

Chapter 10

One of Dalziel's maxims was that briefing sessions should be brief. Nevertheless, after the announcement of new developments and the disposition of forces, he allowed a general airing of ideas while he scratched whatever area of his large frame attracted his roving fingers that morning. End of scratch, end of talk.

The main news of Friday was that Tommy Maggs's Harlequin mini had been found with its big-end gone in the southbound car park of the Watford Gap service area on the Ml.

Dalziel said, 'He probably hitched a lift in a lorry. He'll be in the Smoke by now. The locals are checking for sightings at Watford Gap. We'll need to check with Maggs's family for likely contacts in London. Relations, friends, the usual.'

Pascoe made a note. It was his task to make a note of everything. This was Dalziel's idea of not wasting his university education.

The briefing continued. Dalziel was sarcastic about the linguists.