Dalziel 06 A Killing Kindness

by Reginald Hill

  Wield felt as indifferent to this possibility as he had done during the recent battle between the motorway planners and the city's premier golf club. His ideas of recreation were oriental in every sense. Judo, kung-fu, karate - his fondness for these martial arts had the official seal of approval. Every good policeman should be able to take care of himself.

  And every good policeman should be able to make connections too. He thought of the coincidence of Lee's use of the Cheshire Cheese. Could it be significant?

  He pulled the car to a halt by the side of the road. From here he could see the open expanse of the old airfield. A bright orange windsock hung flaccid from its pole.

  Wield took out his map of the city and its environs and studied it for a while. Then he carefully drew circles round the Cheshire Cheese, Charter Park and the Pump Street allotment. Next he put a cross against the north-east corner of the airfield where the gypsies had their encampment.

  Apart from its comparative proximity to the Cheshire Cheese, it had no apparent significance. Now he put squares round the murdered women's homes. Again nothing. They were widely scattered. Only June McCarthy had been killed near her home.

  Wield frowned. Much more of this and he'd run out of shapes. He began to set triangles round the victims' places of employment.

  That was better. That was what had been niggling away.

  Two of the triangles, McCarthy's factory and Sorby's bank, were situated not too far from the airfield, in the Avro Industrial Estate and the adjacent Millhill residential suburb respectively. Mrs Dinwoodie's Garden Centre was several miles out of town and, for the purpose of the enquiry, Pauline Stanhope's place of work would have to go down as Charter Park. But a fifty per cent statistic might be significant.

  Though, he thought gloomily, gypsies were hardly famed for using banks or indeed seeking employment in the factories.

  He started his engine again. As he did so, his radio crackled into life with his call sign. He replied and was told to contact Inspector Pascoe as soon as possible. There was a call-box only a hundred yards ahead.

  'Sergeant, where are you?'

  Wield explained and also gave a brief run-down of his talk with Furniss and his subsequent geographical musings.

  Pascoe said doubtfully, 'It might mean something. I'll toss it around. Meanwhile, on your way in, call at the Wheatsheaf Garage. You probably heard Tommy Maggs is still missing. He didn't arrive home yesterday and he's not at work this morning. See if anybody can give us a line, particularly that lad, Ludlam. Watch him. If he's covering up for Tommy, he can be slippery. You know about Ludlam, don't you.'

  'Oh yes,' said Wield gravely. 'I know.'

  Ludlam, like Maggs, had had some juvenile problems with the police, but a little more serious - shop-lifting, robbing a phone-box, taking and driving a car without permission. Since his mother died when he was seventeen, he had lived with his married sister, Janey, who had been glad of his company two years ago when her husband, Frankie Pickersgill, had been jailed for his part in an off-licence robbery. Frankie was a careful, clever and previously unconvicted criminal. The police had been delighted to get him at last, disappointed that his clean sheet got him off so lightly as a 'first offender'.

  What few people knew, especially not Frankie and his wife, was that a few days before his arrest, Ron Ludlam had been picked up trying to flog some cheap Scotch round the pubs and after a couple of hours alone with Dalziel he had been ready to co-operate fully in return for a guarantee of anonymity.

  Dalziel's guarantees usually made the South Sea Bubble look firm and substantial, but this time enough evidence materialized to convict without Ron's appearance in the box.

  'On the other hand, if he knows anything about Tommy, a bit of pressure and he'll give. We know that,' continued Pascoe. 'Now, to kill two birds with one stone. We've got so many of the lads tied up on the Choker case that Mr Headingley's finding himself a bit thin on the ground. He's going down a list of possibles for the Spinks's warehouse break-in. Frankie Pickersgill's on it, of course. He's been out three months now, might be feeling the pinch though it doesn't sound like his style. Anyway he says he was home that night watching telly with his wife and brother-in-law.'

  'We know Ron was at the Bay Tree at half eight,' interposed Wield.

  'Yes, I know. This is after ten we're talking about,' said Pascoe. 'Well, Janey and Ron, it's not the best of alibis. And while Mr Headingley doesn't really reckon Frankie, it might be worth pressuring Ron ever so lightly at the same time as you ask about Tommy.'

  'Right,' said Wield.

  When he got to the Wheatsheaf Garage, he wandered around for a while chatting to all and sundry and got confirmation of the story as told before. Tommy had worked normally in the morning. He was not his old chipper self, but that was only to be expected in the circumstances. At midday he had cleaned himself up and driven away.

  Wield found Ludlam half in, half out of an Austin Princess, working under the dashboard. He climbed into the passenger seat and said, 'Very nice.'

  'You reckon? Me, I like something with a bit more zip.'

  Ludlam was a fresh-faced youth of about twenty with shoulder-length blond hair that obviously got nothing but the best treatment, wide-set blue eyes and good teeth. There was a smudge of oil on his cheek. Wield, looking down on him with an undetectable pleasure, was tempted to erase the smudge, but resisted easily.

  'You still living at your sister's place, Ron?' he asked.

  'That's right.'

  'Frankie's out now, isn't he?'

  'Yeah. He's working as a driver. He only did sixteen months with the remission.'

  'Only sixteen months? I expect it seemed long enough to him. You're good mates, are you?'

  Ludlam wriggled out of the car then climbed back into the driver's seat.

  'Yeah. Fine. Why not?'

  'I can think of a reason, Ron,' said Wield gravely. 'Frankie never suspected though? That's good. But you must feel you owe him a favour, like. I mean even though it was only sixteen months, you must feel you owe him a favour. And your sister too. You owe Janey a lot, I should think.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'The night Brenda disappeared. What were you doing. Ron?'

  'Nothing. I went home early. Sat and watched a bit of telly with Janey and Frankie.

  ‘You left the Bay Tree, didn't go into the disco, didn't pull yourself a bird, just went home for a quiet night? Not your style.'

  '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. Y
ou'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.

  'We've got four calls on tape. We don't know if anyone of them is really the Choker, so it'll likely not help us much to know which street in Heckmondwike these four come from.' Pause for sycophantic laughter. 'But we'd be daft not to use any expert help we can get. I've asked Dr Pottle of the Central Hospital Psychiatric Unit to give us an opinion too. He's been given all the details we have. Mr Pascoe, perhaps you'd see he gets copies of the tapes as well.'

  Pascoe made another note, concealing his surprise. He had encountered Pottle on another case, a small, chain-smoking, rather irritable man with a ragged Einstein-type moustache. Dalziel reckoned nothing to psychology and had the large man's distrust of little men. 'Has to be something missing,’ he opined. So there must have been pressure here.

  The PM on Pauline Stanhope had confirmed the time of death as between eleven-thirty A.M. and one-thirty P.M. The heat in the enclosed tent had complicated things a little. The cause of death was two-handed strangulation. Bruising to the stomach was probably caused by a violent blow aimed at pre-empting struggle or noise. There were no signs of sexual interference. And wherever else she was going when Mrs Ena Cooper, the penny-roll woman, glimpsed her leaving the tent before midday, it wasn't to lunch. Traces of a light breakfast were all that were found in her stomach.

  Co-ordinating the collection of statements from stall-holders and visitors to the Fair was Sergeant Bob Brady, a gum-chewing taciturn man who always looked more knowing than Pascoe suspected he ever was. But he had a reputation for being methodical and had also co-ordinated the statements from the allotment holders after the McCarthy killing.

  As far as the Stanhope murder went, Brady's method so far had
produced only the following: that no one had noticed anything or anyone about the tent during the significant time, and that after Mrs Cooper's sighting, no one had seen Pauline Stanhope till she was found dead.

  'Just like the Sorby girl,' said someone.

  'She could have come back with someone. Or someone got into the tent while she was gone and was waiting for her on her return,' said Brady, lengthily for him.

  'Meaning he got in without being seen, she came back without being seen, he got out without being seen,' said Dalziel.

  'Why was she killed anyway?' wondered Wield.

  'Why were any of them?'

  'I know that, sir. But there's a connection here for the first time.'

  'The girl's aunt, you mean?' said Dalziel. 'You checked they never met, though, didn't you?'

  'Yes, sir. I contacted Mrs Sorby. She says that she always visited Rosetta Stanhope, never the other way round because of her husband. Not until that last session, that is, and then Mrs Stanhope insisted because of the atmosphere.'

  'And Brenda never went with her mother.'

  'No. Brenda wasn't interested in that kind of thing. Practical, down-to-earth, sporting type of girl. More like her father.'

  When it was clear that no more was going to come from this particular discussion. Pascoe said, 'Sergeant Brady, could we go back a bit to the June McCarthy case? You interviewed an allotment holder called Wildgoose, Mark Wildgoose.'

  'I remember.'

  'Anything special about him.'

  'It'll be in my report.'

  'It's just like the others,' said Pascoe adding, in case that sounded critical, 'Just what you'd expect, of course. Though in fact it's even slighter than the others. He only went down to work on his allotment once or twice a week, if that. He didn't know June McCarthy and had never observed anyone suspicious around the place.'

  'Same as most of the rest,' agreed Brady. 'A few carrots stolen, that's about all the excitement previous.'

  'A couple did recall June McCarthy from when she was on the day shift,' said Pascoe. Including Dennis Ribble whose shed she was found in.'

  'Aye. But Ribble and t'other fellow are in their eighties. Couldn't choke a dead pigeon between 'em,' said Brady to laughter.