A Killing kindness

Pascoe said quickly, 'No comment.'

The reporter said, 'How's the Choker hunt going on? Is it true you're calling in the Yard? Or is it back to the crystal ball?'

'Same thing,' grunted Dalziel. 'They'll none of 'em work without their palms being crossed with silver.'

'Can I quote that?' grinned the reporter.

'Quote what?' said Pascoe. 'Who said anything? On your bike, Beaverbrook.'

'They love it,' said Dalziel as the man moved away. 'Seeing us look stupid. Bastards.'

'We won't look so stupid if he starts up again,' said Pascoe.

'Is that likely, sir?' asked Wield.

'Pottle says that his motivation is unique in his experience. He reacted to the idea of a young girl being spoilt by marriage, with the engagement ring acting as a kind of trigger. It's quite possible, he says, that being held in custody'for so long will have effected a cure, given him time to think the thing through and come to terms with it.'

'You don't see many young girls with engagement rings in the nick,' said Dalziel.

'If he does that, perhaps it'll get to his conscience and he'll be ready to confess again,' said Wield.

'Pottle thinks not,' said Pascoe. 'He wanted to confess in the first place because of the unnecessary killings – that is, those that were motivated by simple self-preservation. It was a confession in the religious sense. He's a Catholic, remember. Pottle says I was the priest, but I turned out to be fraudulent. Real priests don't duck out of the confessional and send a curate in to finish things off. So, end of confession.'

'Fuck Pottle,' said Dalziel. ‘I’ll tell you one thing. That bugger won't pick his nose without me knowing about it from now on.'

'What?'

'Aye. Young Preece is on him now.'

'But he knows Preece,' said Pascoe.

'He'll know a lot of us before we're done,' said Dalziel. 'Day and night. ‘He’ll be after us for harassment,' protested Pascoe.

'You reckon?' Dalziel looked at Pascoe curiously. 'Bothers you, does it?'

'A lot of things bother me, sir,' said Pascoe.

'I'll tell you something, Peter,' said Dalziel seriously. 'When I started this job, there was us and them and their weapons were brutality and deceit and not-giving-a-sod and our weapon was the law. Now the law's their weapon too, or haven't you noticed? So me, I'll use whatever I can lay my hands on.'

'Even if it's something they have discarded?' wondered Pascoe.

'Dog turds, if necessary,' said Dalziel. 'I'm off. If I see them lawyers coming out, all arm in arm and friendly, I may thump their bloody wigs together.'

Pascoe and Sergeant Wield watched as the fat man stumped down the steps.

'He's not happy,' said Wield.

'I'm not happy,' said Pascoe. 'But what the hell?'

'Mr Pascoe,' said a woman's voice.

They turned. Rosetta Stanhope was standing on the step above them.

'Hello,' said Pascoe. 'I noticed you in court. You know Sergeant Wield, I think.'

'Yes,' said the woman. 'We were talking earlier.'

'I'd best be off,' said Wield. 'See you later, sir. Goodbye, Mrs Stanhope.'

They watched him go.

'Nice man,’ said the woman. 'He's been very unhappy lately, I think.'

'Has he?' said Pascoe. Somehow the states of happiness and unhappiness did not seem to relate to Wield.

'You haven't noticed? No, he wouldn't show much. He'll be happy again, eventually, I think. But you've got a lot to be happy about now, so he was telling me, Inspector. Congratulations.'

Pascoe returned the woman's warm smile and suddenly felt a surge of delight rising in him which drove out all the post-trial despondency.

'Yes,' he said. 'Thank you. Last week. It's been very worrying. Ellie, that's my wife, was ill for a long time. We thought she was going to lose it. She spent weeks in hospital. And it came a couple of weeks early.'

'It?'

'She,' said Pascoe. 'I haven't got used yet. She wasn't very heavy, but she's fine. She's OK. Perfect, I mean.'

'And your wife?'

'Fine too. She'll be all right soon. It's been very hard for her. Very hard.'

Pascoe frowned as he spoke and Rosetta Stanhope put a thin brown hand on his arm.

'Don't worry,' she said. 'It'll be all right. I feel it.'

'Yes. Well, thanks,' said Pascoe. 'And you? How are you? Look, I'm sorry. About all this, all being for nothing, I mean.'

'Don't worry,' she repeated, smiling. 'That will be all right too. I feel it. It will be as Pauline would have wanted it. I visited Dave the other day.'

'Lee? How is he? He should be out early next year if he's been behaving himself. He might even have got away with probation if it hadn't been for his record.'

'Yes, you were very gentle with him in the end. Perhaps the fat man has a bit of a conscience, eh? I explained this to Dave when he asked me to curse him.'

'Curse Mr Dalziel?' said Pascoe, amused.

'All of you, but especially Mr Dalziel,' said Rosetta Stanhope without amusement.

'But you wouldn't do it?'

'With your troubles, who needs curses?'

'Thanks anyway,' grinned Pascoe.

This time she smiled back. She was very smart in a tweed coat and elegant brogues.

'You're right not to be frightened of an ordinary old woman like me,' she said. 'But don't forget I'm pure-bred Romany under this outfit. I've been away a long time but you can't be away for ever.'

'You're not really thinking of going back?'

'To end my days sitting on the vardo steps puffing away at an old pipe to keep off the flies, you mean? Well, it may not seem a bad option when the spring's back in the air and the green's among the trees. I'd be someone there, at least. Here… well, I miss her, Mr Pascoe. She stopped me missing him and now she's gone, I miss them both.'

'I'm sorry,' said Pascoe helplessly. 'About everything.'

'It's going to be all right,' said Rosetta Stanhope. 'It's taken care of. Let me have your little girl's date and time of birth, if you like. I'll cast her horoscope. It'll be a fortunate one, I feel it. Everything's going to be all right. Everything.'

'Yes,' said Pascoe.

Chapter 27

Austin Greenall went straight to the Aero Club from the courtroom, but news of his acquittal had preceded him. Bernard Middlefield had been in court too and had had no lawyers and journalists to delay his departure.

It was late afternoon and the shadows were long. The only glider in the sky was making its approach, but in the club house were a dozen or so members who had presumably managed to organize their work so that they could enjoy their flight earlier in the afternoon. Perhaps not coincidentally they included three other committee members besides Middlefield. A quorum.

There was silence as he entered, then someone said, 'Congratulations, Austin.' This started a small spatter of yes, well done, never doubted for a minute, hardly felt before quickly drying up.

Middlefield said, 'Can we go into the office?'

'By all means,' said Greenall. 'Go ahead.’

‘No; with you, I mean,' said Middlefield exasperatedly. 'There's business to do. We've had a committee meeting…’

'A very brief one, surely?'

'Not just now. Earlier this week. We had to make decisions.'

'Contingency plans? In case I got acquitted?'

'All we want is to find out what you plan to do.'

'I thought, first, a little flight. Just to clear the mind, stretch the muscles. Roger. Peter. Would you give me a hand?'

'It's a bit late, Austin,' protested the first man addressed, Roger Minstrel, his assistant, who had been running the Club single-handed for the past few months.

'I'll give you a hand,' said Thelma Lacewing from the doorway. She looked very fetching in boots, pink cords and a light blue anorak. 'Assistance is getting hard to find round here. I thought I'd hit the deserted village when I came down just now.'