'Incest, you mean?' said Pascoe horror-struck. 'And you say nothing was done?'
'You need complaint, you need proof,' said Dalziel grimly. 'One of these days it's all going to start coming out, things that go on behind closed curtains. My old boss, Wally Tallantire, used to say, "An Englishman's home is his knocking-shop, Andy." That's why the church and the Tories rabbit on about the family. Keeps it under wraps.'
This cold view of society chilled Pascoe to the marrow. He said, 'If you thought something like that was going on…'
'I didn't, 'cos apart from a few D and Ds, Thomas didn't really bother us. It weren't till Tankie got his call-up papers the family came to my notice. Came as a shock to Tankie. Everyone knew National Service were coming to an end and the clever buggers were finding six new ways of getting deferred before breakfast every sodding morning. Tankie just said he weren't going. That's when I came in the picture. I arrested him, told him not to be stupid and if he didn't let himself be handed over to the army he'd end up in a civvy jail for the duration, and while you could get home from the army, you didn't get leave from prison – though the way things are going, they'll soon be sending the buggers off to Majorca for a few days in the summer!'
Avoiding the temptation of an excursion into the interesting territory of penal philosophy, Pascoe said, 'Not the best advice you ever gave by the sound of it. Sir.'
'Aye, you're right there,' admitted Dalziel. 'The army took him, and once they'd got him, well, as long as he kept on breaking their rules, they were going to keep locking him up in their prisons.'
'But he gave them cause, didn't he?' said Pascoe, surprised by the sympathetic tone of Dalziel's voice.
'Oh aye. He weren't a tearaway, but he had a talent for violence. Not surprising, if you think about it. Kids learn from the way they're brought up, even if it's the wrong way. He hated his dad for being violent, but that was the only way he ever saw for getting the things you wanted from life.'
Pascoe knew sociologists who'd needed a whole lecture to make much the same point. Get Dalziel on campus and maybe they could have got through the degree course in a fortnight! Mind you, he doubted if they made mortarboards to fit heads like that.
'You keep on grinning, your face'll stay like that,' said Dalziel warningly. 'People may stop asking you to funerals.'
All the time he talked, his forefinger kept up its tiny circles on the toe of the boot. Occasionally he examined his progress and administered further salivary unction.
'Did Tankie try to stand up to his father, then?' asked Pascoe.
'Oh aye. But it were no contest. Might be different now he's broadened out and learnt a few dirty tricks. But back then, it took me all my strength to sort the bugger out.'
'You had a fight with him?' cried Pascoe.
'Aye, well, after the first couple of times Tankie bunked off from the barracks and headed home, I started getting some idea of the lie of the land. So I thought mebbe I could set the lad's mind at rest by having a quiet word with Thomas. By God. I'd not want many quiet words like that!'
'What happened?'
'I didn't want to talk in public – this were unofficial, fewer folk who saw us the better. So I waited for him in the ginnel that runs from back of their house to the main road. I spoke him fair. I said, "Thomas, tha's got to stop beating thy wife.
If tha wants exercise, there's plenty nearer thy own weight as'll be only too pleased to give it thee." And he said, "Name one." And I hit him.' ^
Puzzled by this apparent non sequitur, or perhaps even ignoratio elenchi, Pascoe said, 'You hit him? Why?'
'I reckoned if I'd said, "Me for one," he'd have hit me. So it seemed daft to waste time on the courtesies. Big mistake I made was giving him a fair blow on the chin. It knocked him back but it was a long way off knocking him out. Well, after that, he kicked me to one end of the ginnel and I kicked him all the way back. In the end it settled nowt. Don't know if thumping ever does, but you certainly don't get a man to see things your way by fighting a draw with him.'
Pascoe thought, John Wayne did in The Quiet Man, but this is the real Wild West up here.
He said, 'If you were going to these extremes to try and help Tankie's family, how come he hates you so much he's threatening to kill you?'
'I never told Tankie owt o' this!' said Dalziel indignantly.
'I weren't doing it to make some doolally kid love me. I just wanted to stop the stupid sod giving me grief by heading back here every two minutes. Also Thomas were overdue a good kicking. Like I say, a lot of good it did. Thomas still ruled his house like Godzilla on a bad day. And Tankie kept on heading for home and walking right over any poor sod who got in his way. My fault for being polite.'
Oh God, thought Pascoe. What have I done coming to this dreadful place? And if I get out of here, can it be undone? All the lies he'd told when he applied for transfer, could they be untold? Or would he have to think of a whole new set in order to move onward? Carry on like this and he'd end up on Orkney!
Dalziel was putting his boots on. Finished, he started restoring all the kit which Trotter had strewn over the floor to the bed.
'Best get yourself ready,' advised the Fat Man. 'Tankie said thirty minutes and that's what it'll be.'
'But what do I do?' appealed Pascoe desperately,
'Let's see,' said Dalziel eyeing him speculatively. 'There's all kinds of officers. Brisk efficient adjutant… mebbe not… Grizzled old warhorse… definitely not! Languid… aye, that's it. Languid and a bit poncey… has trouble wi' his "r"s, calls other ranks other wanks, and probably means it. That's you, lad. Call him Mr Trotter like he was an RSM and treat me like I don't exist. Stand by, he's here.'
His ears were definitely sharper than Pascoe's who once again had to move smartly out of the way of the door.
'Prisoner, 'SHUN!' screamed Trotter.
Dalziel snapped to attention.
'You horrid idle man! You paraplegic or what? Stan' atease! 'SHUN! Stan' atease! 'SHUN!'
Trotter enjoyed himself making Dalziel move from one position to another till the sweat beaded his huge brow. Pascoe didn't much mind the sight till it occurred to him that Dalziel dead of a heart attack might not bode well for his own future. He had a vision of himself digging a grave under the close supervision of the Trotter twins, and when he'd finally excavated a hole large enough for that gross body, hearing the instruction, 'Keep digging.'
He said as languidly as he could manage, 'Ready when you are, Mr Trotter.'
Trotter's head came round and those mad grey eyes focused on this intruder. For a second Pascoe thought the game was over and the man had decided he was after all merely surplus to requirements rather than a genuine buckshee, whatever that was.
Then Trotter stiffened, threw up a salute and said, 'Sir! Prisoner ready for inspection, sir!'
Slowly Pascoe advanced and with an expression of distaste not difficult to simulate he ran his eyes over the Fat Man's frame. Now what was it officers said as they went round the cookhouse? Oh yes.
'Any complaints, my man?'
Who was it who, asked the same question shortly after call-up in 1940, replied, 'Not one in the world, darling. Every thing's perfectly ducky'? He couldn't recall. He doubted if the Fat Man was about to make the same answer. ^
'Nosir!' bellowed Dalziel.
Pascoe found that, despite the underlying menace of the situation, he quite enjoyed this new relationship. He said, 'Good. Mr Trotter, has this man been shown the right way to lay out his kit or have regulations changed to permit a certain amount of idiosyncratic choice?'