Ferguson stood uncertainly for a moment. The thing was, when Dalziel gave you a choice, it was a real choice. When he wanted you to go, he just told you to shove-off.
Pascoe looked significantly at the door and Ferguson left as Mrs Crowther brought the coffee in.
Alone at last, but with none of the romantic overtones of the phrase, the two men sipped their coffee in silence for a while.
'Davenant's gone, sir?' prompted Pascoe.
'No, no. He's still at Culpepper's. I have a man watching, never fear. But there were one or two things I thought it worth discussing with you before picking him up.'
'In which of my capacities, sir?'
'I'm sorry?'
'As a police officer or…'
'I see! Or as a not very co-operative witness, which has been your usual role in Thornton Lacey! I'm not sure. I'm not at all sure!'
Backhouse settled more comfortably in his chair, placed his coffee cup on the floor, and touched his fingertips together in a parsonical gesture.
'First,' he said, 'let me tell you about Pelman. Naturally, even when it looked as if Colin Hopkins was very much a front runner, I was having a close look at other possible candidates. Pelman was, at best, only an outsider and I was pretty surprised when I found him pointing a smoking shotgun at you.'
'More surprised than you were to find Colin's body with a bellyful of shot?' asked Pascoe.
'Yes,' admitted Backhouse. 'Yes, I think so. That was always on, though I never thought he'd be so close. Anyway, the more I talked to Pelman, the less likely he seemed. I'd almost made up my mind before you left on Tuesday.'
'I thought there was something else,' said Pascoe.
'How perceptive. Anyway, when Mrs Culpepper confirmed the time he left the village hall that night, there was no more reason to hold him. He's very contrite about shooting at you. He's sensible enough to know the limits of a landowner's rights. Oh, by the way, one thing I did discover. It was Pelman who cut through the wire round the clay pit.'
'What?' exclaimed Pascoe.
'Yes. He's been using the pool as a dumping ground for all the chicken-dirt from his battery. Hence the vile smell. He's very contrite about that too.'
'I suppose it did strike you,' said Pascoe diffidently, 'that Mrs Culpepper's evidence might not be altogether unbiased here.'
'I should be very careful about suggesting such a thing,' cautioned Backhouse with a smile. 'Mr Pelman's contrition might not be enough to countenance the smearing of a lady's honour. In any case, you really must permit me to be the best judge of evidence here.'
'I'm sorry, sir,' said Pascoe.
'I'm just as ready to concede you the same superiority in respect of what happens in Yorkshire,' said Backhouse. 'Which is why I was intrigued to learn of your interest in Mr Davenant. Mr Dalziel gave me all the details. He's a great admirer of yours, as doubtless you know.'
'He does occasionally let me go home before midnight,' said Pascoe modestly.
'So it seems that Davenant has managed to appear on the fringes of two murder cases. A striking coincidence, don't you think?'
'Why?' asked Pascoe. 'It happened to me. And to Miss Soper.'
Backhouse raised his eyebrows and smiled.
'You want to act the devil's advocate? All right. In your case, it's not so unlikely. Your profession puts you in constant proximity with crime. When you found yourself involved at a personal level, it was not strange that elsewhere you were engaged in a professional investigation. Indeed, it would have been strange had you not been. But Davenant…'
'Davenant too had a professional connection, sir. It seems likely he's a criminal. So the same applies.'
'Reasonable. There's still the coincidence that it should be the same crimes as you he's involved with. And, like you, professionally in Yorkshire, and here in Thornton Lacey – personally, emotionally, would you say?'
'Certainly. He was deeply involved with Timmy, it seems.'
'And the source of your information?'
Pascoe was puzzled.
'Well, I think… Davenant himself, of course, and Ellie, Miss Soper. He told her a great deal…'
He tailed away. Backhouse said aloud what he was leaving unspoken.
'On an occasion when he required a reason for being in your area, I believe. What did Miss Soper gather was the purpose of his visit?'
'It was all very vague,' said Pascoe. 'But why should he… he seemed genuinely concerned!'
'Perhaps so. I've been looking very closely at Mr Davenant. I took note of him when he first appeared, of course. And since the events of Tuesday I've been having a closer look at everybody. One or two interesting things emerge. Mr Davenant is, you would say, a homosexual?'
'Why, yes,' answered Pascoe.
'It sticks out a mile, you feel? Perhaps too far. Discreet inquiries made by some of my London colleagues seem to indicate that in fact his sexual interests are enthusiastically hetero. This might of course just mean that he is – what is the word? – not ambidextrous, you know what I mean. Certainly informed opinion seems to be that a grand passion for either of your friends was unlikely.'
Pascoe's mind was racing, but he felt that Backhouse still had some cards left unplayed, so he held his peace though the superintendent's quizzical gaze invited him to speak.
'Very well,' said Backhouse finally. 'So it wasn't love that brought him rushing to Thornton Lacey from Oxford. He was in Oxford, I checked that, of course. And he booked out of his hotel on the Saturday morning. What is more interesting, however, is that no one recollects seeing him on the Friday night. The hotel garage attendant is fairly sure that Davenant's car, a Citroen GS, still rather a distinctive car in this insular realm, was not in its place at eleven p.m. when he went off duty. Early enough, you say? I agree. However, in our efforts to check sightings of the Mini-Cooper around the village on Friday night, we asked a lot of questions about cars. A couple of people mentioned a strange Citroen. One of my brighter constables made a note. And I read every report anybody makes.'
Pascoe stood up and made for the door.
'Whither away?' asked Backhouse.
'I came to collect Davenant, sir. I think it's time I did just that,' said Pascoe. 'He's got questions to answer.'
'What is there about this place with turns you into such a sudden man?' demanded Backhouse helplessly. 'All these qualities Mr Dalziel finds in you, why do you leave them behind in the north?'
'I'm sorry, sir. What you've said seems to me to urge immediate interrogation of Davenant.'
'Sit down and listen!’ bellowed Backhouse.
Stony-faced, Pascoe obeyed.
'That's what's missing, is it? Andy Dalziel's fog-horn voice! I'll remember. Look, I haven't brought you all this way just to let you try to shake something or other out of Davenant. There are problems here, and many possible solutions. You're peculiarly well-equipped to help. Look at the facts. Davenant's in the area at the time of the murder. Davenant's alleged sexual connection with your friends seems likely to be a lie. Davenant is suspected of being a kind of travelling fence, a middleman between the thief and the purchaser of stolen objets d'art. As a policeman, what's your hypothesis?'
Now at last Pascoe saw it. He had been uncharacteristically obtuse. He remembered saying with pity of Mrs Lewis that death brought some strange surprises and here was Backhouse starting a few in his face.
'You think that Colin and Rose might have been involved in the Etherege-Davenant racket?' he said steadily.
'Or the other two. Or any one of the four. Or all of them. What do you think?'
'Was anything found?'
'No. But you wouldn't expect it to be, would you? Not if Davenant had anything to do with the killings.'
'Is there any piece of hard evidence I don't know about?'