'Fucking snoop around, would you? What's your game, fatty?' said a rough voice close to his left ear.
Too close.
Dalziel jerked his great cannon-ball of a head to the left. There was a sickening clash of bone and flesh. The grip on his arms slackened. He shrugged it off and turned to the thickset, dark-skinned man at his side.
'I'm a police officer,' he warned. 'Who are you?'
The man rushed at him.
Well, he'd been warned, thought Dalziel, and hit him in the stomach. Once was really enough, but it was as well to be sure, so he hit him again in the same spot.
Then he stood back and waited for the man to show signs of being ready for communication.
'I'll ask you once more,' he said finally. 'Who are you?'
'You've bust my gut,' gasped the man.
'Name!' snarled Dalziel.
'Lee. Dave Lee.'
'I might have guessed. It's a hobby of yours, assaulting policemen.'
'I didn't know you was police. I thought you was another of them council snoopers.'
'And it's OK to thump council officers, is it?' queried Dalziel. 'Well, you may be right. This your caravan? Let's have a look.'
He went up the steps, thrust open the door and entered. A woman in an inadequate shift was standing in the narrow living area. Dalziel ignored her and looked around. The place smelt of sweat, tobacco and sex, but it looked clean and tidy enough. There was a richly coloured carpet on the floor and a sense of extra space was given by two large, ornate, cut-glass mirrors. One wall was almost covered by a mahogany display cabinet which held a strange variety of traditionally patterned china, crystal bowls and vases and some goblets and smaller objects in what looked like silver.
'Who the hell's this?' demanded the woman.
'Mrs Lee?' said Dalziel, turning his attention to her as if he hadn't noticed her till now. He let his eyes move slowly up from the rather flaccid breasts clearly visible through her shift to her face, the left side of which was stained with a fading bruise.
'That's nice,' he said. 'You'll make a matching pair.'
Behind him Lee spoke sharply in what he took to be Anglo-Romany and the woman retreated to the sleeping area and began to pull some clothes on.
Dalziel moved around the trailer opening drawers and cupboards, looking under cushions and behind curtains.
'What's your game, mister?' demanded Lee.
'Thought you were never going to ask, Dave,' said Dalziel cheerfully. 'I'm looking for stolen property. I haven't got a warrant, so why don't you shoot off and call your lawyer?'
'What stolen property?' demanded Lee.
'Break-in at the Aero Club last night. Bottles of booze,' answered Dalziel.
Lee laughed harshly. And with relief? wondered Dalziel.
'No stolen booze here, mister. Look all you like.'
Dalziel returned to the living area and stood in front of the display cabinet.
'I believe you, Dave,' he said. 'Your gut's too big for the window. You ought to watch that. I nearly lost my fist in there just now. This is nice stuff. The gypsy bank, they call it, don't they? Worth a pretty penny, I'll be bound. Good investment, no bother with the tax man.'
He opened the cabinet and took down a plate.
'What rank did you say you was, mister?' demanded Lee with sudden suspicion in his voice.
'Detective Superintendent,' answered Dalziel.
'And you says you're looking for a couple of bottles of booze?' said Lee incredulously. 'Here, watch that stuff!'
A cup had nearly slipped from Dalziel's hand.
'Sorry,' he said. 'That's sharp of you, Dave, spotting that. You've got to be sharp in your line of work, no doubt. Whatever it is. Me too. Spot what's not quite right. Now, I'd say this is not quite right, but I'm no expert.'
He had taken down from the extreme end of the topmost shelf a plain stone jar.
'Here, copper, you've got no right!' protested Lee. 'You said you'd no warrant. Right, you can just fuck off and get one before you touches another thing here!'
Dalziel opened the jar.
'Flour,' he said. 'Looks the real stuff. Not this modern muck with all the goodness bleached out of it.'
He took out a handful and sniffed at it.
'Oh yes,' he said to the woman who was dressed now and standing watching him with a look of complete indifference.
He held it out to her. She looked away. He opened his hand, spread his fingers, let the flour filter through on to the rich red carpet.
'The real stuff,' he repeated taking another handful. 'But it can't be all that valuable, can it, Dave? I mean, it's in with the family antiques here, though.'
The second handful followed the first.
He dipped in again.
'Hello,' he said. 'I think it's getting lumpy.'
He withdrew his hand. In it was a gent's gold-plated digital watch with an expanding bracelet. Carefully he blew the flour off it.
'Still going,' he said. 'It's like a telly ad, isn't it?'
In went the hand again. And out.
This time his find was a tight roll of five-pound notes.
He put them down beside the watch.
In again.
'I think that's it,' he said. 'No, hang about. Nearly missed that.'
That was a gent's gold signet ring. He tried it on his stubby little finger and looked at it admiringly.
'There it is,' he said. 'I was CPO once, Dave. Crime Prevention Officer. Persuading people not to leave their valuables in silly places was one of the jobs. Oh, these are your valuables, aren't they?'
The man and woman exchanged glances.
'Never seen 'em in my life,' she said.
'And you, Dave?'
Lee swore foully and said nothing more but looked around with a kind of wild contemplation.
'Aye, lad,' said Dalziel cheerfully. 'I'm on my own, so you could try thumping me, but I thought we'd settled all that already. Or you could run, in which case either I catch you and break a leg so you can't run no more, or else I send for some of my lads who'll break both your legs when they catch you. Best thing is to have a quiet stroll with me back to the Aero Club and on the way you can tell me all about the ponies of yours that keep on straying.'
'I've done nothing,' said the gypsy.
'No one's done nothing,' said Dalziel mildly, wrapping up his treasure trove in the small khaki blanket which he used for a handkerchief. 'Off we go. You too, love.'
Outside, the children paused in their play to observe the passing trio.
Dalziel grinned at them, pulled a handful of coppers from his pocket and tossed them into the air. They fell upon them, and each other, yelling wildly. A large lad, a stone or so heavier than his playmates, got the bulk of it.
'That's always the way of it,' said Dalziel philosophically.
Greenall looked with some surprise at Dalziel's companions when they reached the Aero Club.
'These two broke into the bar?' he asked.
'Mebbe,' said Dalziel.
'Are you sure? He couldn't possibly have got through that window, and it'd be a tight squeeze for her.'
'They'll have done something,' said Dalziel indifferently. 'All gyppos are guilty of something. Can I use your phone?'
He told the Lees to sit down in the bar and left them there while he went into the office.
When he emerged he found the secretary looking distinctly unhappy.
'What's up?' he said.
'Are you going to be long?' asked Greenall.
'Not long. Why?'
'It's just that it's nearly twelve and there will be members arriving shortly.'
'So? Oh, I see. The gyppos. I thought you didn't mind them, Mr Greenall. Something about free spirits, wasn't it?'
'Hardly free when they're in custody, Superintendent,' said Greenall acidly.
'That's a point,' said Dalziel. 'But don't worry. They'll be picked up just now.'
'Picked up? You're not taking them yourself?'
&
nbsp; 'No way,' said Dalziel. 'I've got better things to do than chauffeur a pair of tinkers around. No, they'll be safely locked away and I'll get round to them by and by.'
'But you can't do that, can you?' protested Greenall.
'Can and will,' said Dalziel. 'They're not going to go squawking off to a lawyer, that's for sure. And a couple of hours locked in a cell's often worth a day's questioning with a gypsy.'
Greenall regarded him with distaste and went away.
Dalziel joined the Lees in the bar.
'You're not very jolly,' he said to them.
'He says you've hurt his belly,' said the woman.
'More likely it's eating all them hedgehogs,' said Dalziel. But he went behind the bar and poured a large brandy which he handed to Dave Lee.
The police cars arrived at the same time as Bernard Middlefield whose indignation when he discovered the two gypsies in the bar was assuaged only slightly when he realized they were under arrest.
'Not before time,' he said. 'The police cells are the one part of this town that lot are welcome to.'
Mrs Lee said something rapidly to her husband.
'What was that?' enquired Dalziel.
Lee answered, 'She says this loudmouth hangs about the river bank where the kids swim and tries to give them money to feel him.'
Middlefield went such an interesting colour that Dalziel couldn't resist saying, 'You stay like that, Bernard, and you'll have to resign from the golf club.'
A more dangerous encounter occurred as he was giving his instructions to the constables from the cars. To one of them he handed a plastic bag borrowed from Greenall's kitchen into which he had transferred his floury finds.
'To the lab,' he said. 'I want to know all there is to know. And I want it yesterday.'
As the other escorted the Lees to the police car, a pale blue Lancia drew up and Thelma Lacewing and Ellie Pascoe got out.
Thelma was wearing a thin cotton suit in cream with a grey leaf pattern which ought not to have suited her colouring but somehow did. She frowned slightly at the sight of the police cars and went right past Dalziel without a glance.
Ellie who looked hot and uncomfortable in a smock which was stretched as far as it seemed likely to go said, 'Hello, Andy. Checking on pilots' licences, are you?'
'Hello, Ellie,' said Dalziel, beaming widely. 'You're looking grand. There are some flowers that look best in pod. Another business lunch, is it?'
'Another?'
'Aye. Peter told me about your last. You did right to mention Mrs Wildgoose to us. We'll make a snout of you yet.'
Ellie looked around uneasily but Thelma was out of earshot talking earnestly to Greenall.
'No, not business this time. Thelma just called unexpectedly. She's off this afternoon, thought she might try a flight.'
'Oh aye?'
Dalziel shot her a questioning glance.
'You're never thinking of going up yourself, lass?'
'I may do,' said Ellie. 'What about it?'
'In your state? Does Peter know about this?'
'Look, Andy,' said Ellie with growing indignation. 'What I do is my business. I make my own decisions. I'm a big girl.'
'That's what I mean,' said Dalziel.
But further discussion was prevented by the return of Thelma Lacewing.
'Those people you have just despatched, Superintendent, have they been charged?' she said in her quiet, rather over-precise voice.
Dalziel scratched his neck, winked at Ellie who turned away from this attempt at conspiratorial familiarity, and said, 'No, Ms Lacewing. They have not.'
'Are they going to be charged?'
'They're helping with enquiries. At this time I am not in a position to forecast the possible outcome of these enquiries,' said Dalziel, deliberately self-parodying.
'Not till they've been questioned, you mean?'
'Right.'
'By you?'
'Right again.'
'Starting when?'
Dalziel looked reproachfully towards the club house but Greenall was no longer in view.
'After lunch,' he said. 'What's the food like here?'
'Let's stick to the point, Superintendent. Just what are you questioning these people about?'
'There was a break-in here last night, did your friend not tell you that?'
'Yes. A couple of bottles. Hardly work for one of your eminence, I shouldn't have thought.'
'I look into crimes. You look into gobs. Neither of us can be selective,' beamed Dalziel. 'What's your interest anyway? The Lees are just a pair of gyppos. You don't strike me as a candidate for a bit of rough.'
Ellie shuddered. Peter wouldn't believe this. On second thoughts, alas, yes he would.
'I dislike abuse of power, especially against women,' said Thelma. 'What you're doing here is on the face of it fascist, racist and sexist.'
'Not sexist,' said Dalziel cunningly. 'I'm treating both of 'em the same.'
'I have a friend who is a solicitor. Adrienne Pritchard, you may know her? I shall instruct her to visit your station as soon as may be this afternoon to ascertain the position regarding the illegal holding of Mr and Mrs Lee and to act on their behalf if they so desire.'
'Well, that's settled then,' said Dalziel. 'Grand! I think I will stay here for a spot of lunch. It's not a bad little place, is it? Ladies, will you join me in a drink?'
Thelma Lacewing said coldly, 'As a policeman, you should be aware that non-members are not allowed to purchase drinks on club premises.'
'Is that right?' said Dalziel, placing one huge hand against each of the women's backs and urging them forward. 'In that case, it looks like your shout, lass. Mine's a pint.'
Chapter 14
Mark Wildgoose's flat was in a district of old Victorian terraces where you were more likely to find nests of students than solitary teachers.
Not that he was solitary when Pascoe arrived. Directed up the stairs by a bearded youth with a beatific smile, he arrived on the first floor landing just as a door opened and a girl emerged. She didn't look to be out of her teens. There was a man behind her and she turned to give him a parting kiss. It was an uninhibited affair on her part, almost exhibitionistic, but his eyes remained open and fixed on Pascoe who after a cursory glance at the other two doors had worked out this must be the one.
The girl finished, slipped past Pascoe and flew down the stairs with the lightness of youth and joy.
The man began to close the door.
'Mr Wildgoose?' said Pascoe.
He nodded.
'I'm Pascoe. Detective-Inspector Pascoe. My warrant card. Could we talk?'
Wildgoose studied the card carefully, then ushered him into what must once have been a morning room. Like good bone structure, its dignified proportions had been able to absorb the ravages of age, neglect and even student taste. It contained an unmade bed, a scarred mahogany wardrobe, a couple of dilapidated armchairs, a table with the remnants of breakfast on it, three folding chairs, a washbasin and an electric hotplate. Some makeshift bookshelves, planks on stacks of bricks, were packed to danger point, and an overspill pyramided in one corner.
Bad to heat in winter, thought Pascoe looking up at the leafily corniced ceiling. But at the moment it was warm enough, too warm in fact, stuffy with a rich mingling of smells. He sniffed. Coffee, perspiration, tobacco . . .
'There is a bit of a fug,' said Wildgoose, flinging open windows. The girl must have looked up as she left the house for he leaned out and blew a kiss. Pascoe could see his face in the pane of glass.
'It's about your allotment, Mr Wildgoose,' he said, and watched the tension come into the averted face.
But when the man turned, there was nothing but alert frankness there.
Small, dark, sharp, mobile, it was a good face for a French singer of disillusioned but not despairing ballads. The children got more of their looks here than from their mother.
'Wasn't that your wife I met yesterday?' said Wildgoose.
'I believe so.'
/>
'Coincidence?' His eyebrows added their own double question mark.
'Coincidence?' echoed Pascoe. 'A funny thing, coincidences. On the other hand, less funny because less rare than many people believe. It's noticing them that's rare.'
'I don't follow.'
'And you an English teacher,' smiled Pascoe. 'That was a coincidence, wasn't it? I mean you actually taught Brenda Sorby, didn't you?'
'Brenda . . . ?'
'Sorby. Choker victim number three. The girl on your allotment was number two.'
'Not my allotment, Inspector. And no, I can't remember teaching a Brenda Sorby, though I'm willing to accept I did, if you tell me so. Is that it? For coincidences, I mean?'
'Not quite. You drink at the Cheshire Cheese, don't you?'
The man sat down in an armchair and lit a cigarette. His face was thoughtful now. He used the smoke as a mask.
'I have done,' he said.
'What about the fairground, Mr Wildgoose? Have you been to the Fair this year?'
'Yes. I always go. I like fairs.
‘When were you there?'
'Last week. Thursday night if you like.'
He smiled and Pascoe felt irritated. But it had been his own idea to start playing this game. He couldn't blame the other for joining in.
'What about lunch-time two days ago? Wednesday, that is?'
'I think I was out walking,' said Wildgoose after some thought.
'By yourself?'
'I believe so.'
'And where did you walk?'
'Oh, here and there. I expect I strolled along the river bank. It's so pretty down there, don't you think?'
'Along the bank, and through Charter Park, you mean.'
'That's where the river flows, Inspector,' said Wildgoose. 'Now, how are we doing for coincidences?'
He doesn't give a bugger! thought Pascoe. He's mocking me.
Yet there had been something there when we started. Where had they started?
'If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at your allotment, Mr Wildgoose,' he said abruptly.
That was better. The tension had flickered back momentarily.
'It's a stretch of wasteland, Inspector,' he said lightly. 'I haven't bothered much with it this year. In fact, I'm not sure it's even still mine, officially. The rent could be overdue.
Dalziel 06 A Killing Kindness Page 12
