Dalziel said, “First time I set eyes on Denham and Fester together, Ted whistled that song and old Fester nearly blew a gasket. I reckon when Ted first let Fester know he knew, he rounded it off by singing the song, and thereafter whenever he wanted to wind him up, he’d whistle the tune.”
“That sounds as if it might be a motive for getting rid of Denham too, but as far as I know, he’s alive and well.”
“Pete, what’s happened to that sharp mind of thine? It’s talking to Roote that’s done it. Always acted on you like salt on a slug.”
“I don’t quite care for the slug image, but do put me straight, Andy.”
“Last thing Teddy would want is for Daph to get Fester down the aisle. What might that do to his hopes of inheriting? So Ted would use the Indian maid to warn Fester he’d better keep his hands off Daph or else. Randy Daphne were likely doing the opposite, using the Indian maid to pressure Fester into laying his hands on her! Poor sod. Two blackmailers, neither of ’em he can satisfy without pissing off the other! Must have felt like they both had their hands on his bollocks and were pulling different ways!”
“So you’re saying that, with Lady Denham gone, Feldenhammer would have no more need to worry about Ted?”
“Well done, lad! Long time coming, but you get there in the end…”
“…as the actress said to the very old bishop.”
“By the cringe, stealing my lines now!”
“You once told me, Andy, if it’s useful, use it, doesn’t matter how polluted the source. Miss Heywood!”
Charley looked in their direction, then finished off what she was saying to Gordon Godley before walking slowly toward them. Pascoe, who knew how to manage these things, didn’t let her come all the way but took a few steps to meet her.
“Miss Heywood,” he said. “I’d like to say that I’m sorry if I have appeared rather cavalier in the way I’ve dealt with you.”
“Not cavalier. I’ve got you down more as a roundhead,” said Charley. “If you think it’s right, do it, and to hell with other people’s rights and feelings!”
Pascoe ran his hand through his hair as if to check it hadn’t all been shaved off.
“Perhaps, but more protestant than puritan, I hope. I certainly think it’s right now that I should apologize for listening in on your conversation with Mr. Godley without your consent.”
“That’s nice. He’s here too, you know. You going to apologize to him as well?”
“No,” said Pascoe. “If he’d been open with us from the start, the situation would not have arisen.”
Then he grinned his famous boyish grin, which Dalziel claimed could charm warts off witches, and added, “I think in any case he may be inclined now to regard it as felix culpa, seeing that it seems to have brought him rather closer to yourself.”
Charley felt herself blushing.
“What is it with you people?” she demanded. “I thought this was a murder investigation you were running, not a dating agency!”
“Sorry again. Yes, that was a rather archly cavalier sort of thing to say, wasn’t it?”
He put on his rueful self-mocking look and Dalziel saw the girl stifle a smile.
Then the entertainment was interrupted by the sound of a car. Not that it made much sound. It was a dove-gray Daimler with tinted glass that made it hard to see the inmates. The driver when he got out was perfectly cast. Tall, slim, wearing a dark suit that came close to being a uniform, an impression confirmed when he put on a peaked cap before going to the rear door and opening it.
“You didn’t say the Queen were coming, Pete,” said Dalziel.
The passenger’s legs appeared. Unless her majesty had taken to gray pinstripes, this was not going to be a royal visit.
And now the man himself appeared and stood upright. But not very far upright. He was broad and squat and had a bushy black beard, trimmed square. And he came up to the chauffeur’s third rib.
“It’s Gimli from The Lord of the Rings,” said Charley.
At the same time, almost unnoticed, a slightly built young woman, wearing a heron gray business suit and carrying a black leather briefcase, slid out of the other passenger door.
PC Scroggs once more advanced officiously and addressed the man. Words were exchanged, Scroggs looked chastened. He pointed toward the group in the garden, and the man marched toward them with a step that, though not actually ground shaking, gave the impression that if it wanted it could be.
As he got near, he graveled out a single word.
“Beard!”
Pascoe’s susceptibility to sudden strange fancies was sometimes a plus in his profession, but just as often it could be a potentially fatal distraction. Now instead of concentrating on seeking a stratagem to identify the newcomer, who looked important enough to be a new home secretary (or even an old one-who the hell was home secretary anyway?), he found himself thinking that maybe this was one of those magical encounters when failure to utter the correct counter-word could bring disaster. He was still vacillating between bareface! and sporran! when the Fat Man stepped forward and said fulsomely, “Good to see you, Mr. Beard. We’ve been expecting you. I’m Dalziel, and this is Detective Chief Inspector Pascoe who is in charge of the inquiry.”
Pascoe came back to earth. This was Lady Denham’s lawyer, Mr. Beard of Gray’s Inn Road, and Dalziel was keeping his promise of keeping his place, even though it meant being polite to a solicitor, quite something from a man who regarded Dick the Butcher’s proposal to kill all the lawyers after the revolution as an act of clemency.
“I’m glad to meet you, sir,” said Pascoe, shaking hands. “And your colleague.”
He glanced toward the woman. Beard didn’t.
“Secretary. Sorry I didn’t get here earlier. Roadworks.”
His voice was so deep and vibrant that it almost massaged you, thought Charley. Talk to this guy on the phone and you’d date him anytime, even though he did use the same dismissive tone for both secretary and roadworks.
“Let’s step inside,” said Pascoe.
As they set off he glanced round at Charley, made a rueful face, and murmured, “Sorry. The will. Hang about and we’ll talk later. If you can, that is. Thanks.”
What had Dalziel called him? Old silver tongue. Well, she’d never been a pushover for a smooth talker. On the other hand, if his smooth talking was going to include some gobbets of info about the will, she certainly wasn’t going to miss the chance to hear that.
She turned round to find Godley standing so close to her she took an involuntary step backward. At the same time he did a backward hop of twice the distance.
She said, “Mr. Godley, if you’re going to make a habit of sneaking up on me, you’re really going to have to do something with that beard.”
“Yes. Sorry.”
He looked so hangdog, she felt as guilty as if she’d given him a kick.
Thinking only to make amends she said, “I was wondering-you must have heard all about Tom Parker’s plans for Sandytown from your sister…half sister…Doris. Right?”
“Yes. Doris was very enthusiastic about the festival and everything.”
“But you weren’t?”
“Not really. Not my kind of thing. Don’t like a lot of people around. Don’t like a fuss. And with Doris being…well…being Miss Lee…”
She saw what he was saying. He loved his half sister very much, but he didn’t do deception. Being around her professionally must have been a real trial.
“So what made you change your mind?”
Silly question. She knew the answer even as she asked it, but it was too late.
He wouldn’t look at her but stared at the ground and gabbled something inaudibly.
Inaudible was fine by her, so she didn’t say, “Pardon?” or “What?” but he took her silence as, “Sorry, I didn’t get that,” and straightened up and looked her in the eyes.
“Because when you and Mr. and Mrs. Parker called at the mill and Mr. Parker said you were going to stay with them for a few days, I thought if I accepted his invitation I might get to see you again. That’s why I came.”