by Reginal Hill
Inside the flat a phone rang.
Molly said, "Excuse me. Keep an eye on Feelie, would you?"
He squatted on the floor and took the leaflets the little girl handed him.
Felicia. Named by Dorrie after her lover. Who next time he got someone pregnant had married her. That must've been a slap in the face.
Up till then, Dorrie had probably convinced herself she was a modern liberated woman, able to take care of her own kid, though seeing no reason why her lover shouldn't shoulder his share of responsibility by paying for a nice flat and using his influence at Freeman's to get her a promotion. She might even have got her head round things if Naysmith had been married when first they met. But for him to get married after the event... The guy must have done some real sweet talking to keep her quiet. But left alone at Christmas, thinking of him and his wife, that had been too much, provoking the irritated message with its implied threat. See me, or else.
And the telephone number ... genuine error because Merv's happened to be close to Naysmith's? Or spotting the closeness, had she deliberately put Naysmith's as a small act of revenge for real and imagined slights?
None of his business either way. Keep out of domestics, unless very well paid.
Molly was talking in the background. She sounded agitated. The phone went down and she came back into the hallway.
That was Dorrie," she said. "Telling me not to worry, she might be a bit late to collect little Feelie."
"Yeah, well, youngsters
But her face told him this was more than just the usual lack of consideration.
"She's down at the nick, Joe," she burst out. "She was picked up trespassing in someone's garden, I can guess who's. Joe, why the hell should they be hanging on to her just for trespassing? I think there's more to this than she's saying."
Oh shoot, thought Joe, remembering his wise advice to the lad Sandy to patrol round the back of Naysmith's house. Why didn't he keep his big mouth shut? On second thoughts, it was probably better this way. If she'd made it to the house,
who knows what would have happened. Lucy Naysmith might have brained her!
Wise thing now was to play dumb, make sympathetic noises, walk away from it, none of his business, keep out of domestics.
Molly McShane wasn't even asking for help. But her warm confident face was suddenly careworn with uncertainty.
He said, "No, it's OK. She's just walked into something that doesn't have anything to do with her, but the police will be hoping to squeeze something out of it."
He gave a brief expurgated outline and Molly said, "Oh Jeez. That's my Dorrie, if there's a complication she'll get tangled in it. I'd better get on down there."
"Bad move," said Joe. "Especially with the little girl. All they'll do is start questioning you and get the Social in to take care of Feelie. No, Dorrie needs a lawyer."
"You're joking! That's how all her trouble started in the first place!"
This time we'll try a woman," said Joe.
He was lucky. Butcher had decided to close at midday because it was New Year's Eve, which meant that she was just about finished halfway through the afternoon. Her first response was No wayl but when she heard the details she said, "Oh hell. Poor Lucy. OK, I'll come."
He met her outside the police station to fill her in on detail he hadn't wanted to bring up in front of Molly.
She said, The bastard. I always knew he thought with his dick but I let Lucy persuade me he was beginning to give his brain a chance."
This did happen before he got involved with Lucy," Joe pointed out. "And at least he didn't walk away from the girl when she had his kid."
"And that makes it OK? Joe, look at the facts. He takes care of Dorrie and the child, uses his influence to make sure she stays in work, sets them up in a nice flat, probably picks up a lot of the tabs. So why's she ringing him up and going round to his house and trying to see him in hospital that was her tried to get in, I bet why's she doing all this, Joe?"
"Yeah, I got there too," said Joe. "He's still banging her and feeding her the one-of-these-days-we'll-be-together line."
"That's right. Whether he's serious or not, either way he's a lying conniving bastard, and after all Lucy's been through, losing the baby, the operation, everything, what is this going to do to her when she finds out, think about that!"
"I've thought about that," said Joe. "Wouldn't surprise me if she doesn't know already."
"Sorry?"
He told her about the woman in the park watching Molly and her granddaughter.
"Not much of a description, but it fits Lucy Naysmith," he said.
"Come on, Joe, it fits Maggie Thatcher too, and Princess Di," said Butcher. "You're really reaching. I know Lucy. She's not the type to go stalking her husband's mistress through the park."
The mistress isn't there," Joe pointed out. "Maybe that's significant too. It's the baby she wants to see, her husband's baby. Maybe seeing her without seeing Dorrie, she can imagine it's her baby too, the one she lost."
"Jesus, Joe, have you been reading those women's mags at the dentist's again?" mocked Butcher. But there was no real force in her scorn.
They went inside. The desk sergeant, who knew Butcher, didn't hang about but got on to the custody sergeant straightaway, who, equally alert to the consequences of messing with the fiery little brief, sent word up to CID. A minute later Willie Woodbine himself appeared.
"Joe, how're you doing? And Ms Butcher. What can I do for you both?"
"I believe you're holding Doreen McShane," said Butcher. "I'd like to see her, please."
"Would you indeed? Well, as you know, the important question is, would she like to see you?"
"Her mother has instructed me to act as her solicitor," said Butcher.
Woodbine was on to the second her in a flash.
"Her mother isn't in custody, Ms Butcher," he said, smiling.
"And Ms McShane being past her majority is entitled to nominate her own lawyer."
"And has she done so?" asked Butcher.
"In a manner of speaking. The trouble is, every time the subject comes up, she says she wants Mr. Felix Naysmith, which gives us a problem, as technically speaking he is in fact the complainant here."
"Don't think so," said Joe.
"Sorry, Joe?"
"If you ask him I don't think he'll be making a complaint about trespass," said Joe.
Woodbine's smile grew a little tenser and he said, Thank you for that, Joe, but as you know, the grounds on which we are holding Ms McShane are potentially rather more serious than trespass."
"Superintendent, are you going to tell Ms McShane that I'm here or not?" demanded Butcher.
Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to bring her along, thought Joe. She was great when she had a legal toehold, but at the moment she had no standing at all. All it needed was Woodbine to go and tell Dorrie that her loving mam had sent a brief along to take care of her fractious child, and that fractious child would probably say, tell her to get knotted! and that was Butcher scuppered.
Joe said, "Quick word, Willie?"
He could see Butcher didn't like it but for once she was going to have to lump it.
He and Woodbine moved out of earshot though not of sight.
Joe said, "Look, you must have sussed it by now, Dorrie McShane and Naysmith had a thing going, still have from the look of it, and she's got herself in a twist 'cos she read that he'd been hurt, and she wanted to see him, that's what this is all about."
"Oh yes, we know all about that because she's been telling us all about it for the last hour," said Woodbine. "Also that she believes he's going to leave his wife and take up with her permanently."
"Yeah, well, that's what guys like him always tell girls like her, isn't it?"
"Don't know, Joe. Haven't had your experience of playing around," mocked Woodbine.
Joe, who knew enough about Woodbine's wife to have made a smart answer, sighed patiently and went on, "I know the girl's mother. Socially. Look, I
can't see how this can have anything to do with the Poll-Pott business, can you?"
"Why not? It was you who heard Naysmith say What are you doing here? when he opened his back door. Someone he knew, we guessed. Well, Ms Mcshane is certainly someone he knew. And from the sound of it, someone who might have had good cause to think she was being messed about by Naysmith."
"Come on, Willie," said Joe. "You're not really saying it was her that beat him up?"
"Why not? She's a well-made piece. What was it the poet said? Her strength was as the strength of ten because she'd been given the elbow."
It sounded like Simeon Littlehorn to Joe.
He said, "When Naysmith's memory comes back
"Don't think it will, Joe. Not if he's protecting someone. Or rather, protecting himself by protecting someone. I mean, he'd hardly want to point the finger at the girl if it meant having the whole affair blow up in his face, and his wife's face too."
Joe tried to find a counter argument It sounded like a lot of baloney to him, but finding the words to express his disbelief rationally wasn't easy. Then Woodbine's face relaxed and he laughed out loud.
"You should see your expression, Joe! Yes, I agree, it's very probably bollocks, but when that's all the bollocks you've got, you want to hang on to them."
"Got a moment, guy?"
It was Sergeant Chivers. Woodbine looked at him irritably, as if minded to tell him to take a hike, saw something in his expression which made him change his mind, and said, Try to keep your friend from punching holes in the walls, Joe. Back in a minute."
He went out with the sergeant. Joe rejoined Butcher, who said, "Got it sorted, have you? Just dragged me here for a bit of all-boys-together humiliation, did you?"
"You don't look humiliated to me," said Joe.
"So I'm a good actor. What's going on?"
"Don't know," said Joe. "But from the look on Chivers's face, something big has broken. I'd love to know what."
She looked impatiently at her watch.
Joe said, "I'm sorry. Look, if you've got a heavy date, don't feel obligated. I'll say you've gone to bribe a judge or something. Just the memory of you being here should be enough to persuade Willie to cooperate."
"Thank you for that," said Butcher. "But I'll hang around. I'm curious to see what it is that's going to screw up Lucy's life."
Joe scratched his nose reflectively. Butcher's usual line in maritals was that the man took all the blame with wife and mistress being equally abused. Obviously cases altered when it was your mate's marriage.
"What are you scratching your nose for?" demanded Butcher.
Joe was saved from having to reply by the arrival of Doreen McShane, escorted by Woodbine. To Joe's surprise she looked quite pleased to see him. Though why was he surprised? Luton's old police station was about as user-friendly as the Tower of London. While the walls of the interview rooms weren't actually stippled with blood and festooned with green slime, in Joe's dreams they were. Couple of hours in there and you were glad to see your tax inspector.
"We're letting you off with a caution this time, Ms McShane," said Woodbine rather stagily. "Please to remember that the trespass laws are much tighter now. You can't just go roaming at will over other people's property."
Dorrie ignored him completely and came straight to Joe.
"Hello," she said. "They said Mam sent you. Is Feelie all right?"
"Fine," said Joe. "Your mam would have come herself but she didn't think this was the place to bring the kiddie."
"She's right there," said the girl with feeling. "It's not the place you'd want to bring a sick parrot!"
While the detail of her judgement was blurred, its force was undeniable.
"Who's this?" said Dorrie, looking at Butcher. "You from the Social, or something?"
This was more like her old aggressive mood. To a young single mother, a visit from the Social was on a par with finding algae in your beer.
"No, I'm a solicitor," said Butcher.
"Solicitor!" Dorrie sneered. Joe, who was no good at sneers, observed the technique with envy. It was all in the lips. He rehearsed sometimes while he was shaving but it always came out like an apologetic smile.
"You have something against solicitors?" said Butcher sweetly.
Dorrie looked ready to describe at some length what she had against solicitors, but Joe moved in quickly. Yeah, the girl had a bright future in the slagging-off game, but this was a mismatch which could destroy her hopes of being a real contender.
"Doesn't look like you need a solicitor after all," he said heartily. "Willie, before you go ..."
The superintendent paused in the doorway.
"Something you want to tell me, Joe?" he said.
Joe went towards him. The girl would have to take her chances. Finding out what Chivers had said was more important.
He crossed his fingers and gave Woodbine his best smile. The superintendent was a natural trader. As long as Joe fed him the odd useful bit of information, such as who'd killed who and with what, he went along with the pretence that they were mates. But at the moment Joe had nothing to trade. Except his best smile and a little lie.
"Just wanted to tip you off about Mr. Pollinger," he said. "He reckons you're letting yourself get obsessed with Victor Montaigne. He says he's sure Montaigne will turn up any day now from his skiing trip and you're going to have to start over from scratch. And he said something about going to the same party as the Chief Constable tonight. Thought you ought to know, Willie."
Aunt Mirabelle used to tell him that little boys who told lies would find their tongue turn black and swell up like a rotten squash. He shut his lips tight and hoped the crossed fingers antidote would work.
Woodbine said, "Is that what he says? And I daresay you're happy to go along with it, Joe. I mean, he's only going to keep you on his books so long as there's something to investigate, right? Well, it's back to the Social Security, I'm afraid. We've just heard that Montaigne's car's been found with a body in it in a flooded gravel pit in Nottinghamshire. Tyre tracks straight in. Note in his wallet."
"Shoot," said Joe. "You mean he topped himself?"
"Looks like he took off from here after attacking Naysmith, headed up the Al, got to thinking the game was definitely up now that Naysmith could positively identify him, and said, Sod it! But we'll need a PM and a coroner to confirm that, so not a word, Joe, or I'll have your guts."
"But I can't keep taking Mr. Pollinger's money now I know the case is closed," said Joe, who'd been hurt by Woodbine's implication that he'd milk an investigation for his own profit.
"You'll just have to force yourself. I've told you more than I should have done, Joe. Don't break my trust!"
He turned and left. Some trust! thought Joe. Only told me to put me down after my little white lie about Pollinger and the Chief. Gingerly he touched his tongue. Seemed all right. Maybe lies in a good cause didn't count.
He turned his attention to the two women and was relieved to see no blood. In fact, they looked like they were getting on fine.
He should have known Butcher was no bully, especially when she could get what she wanted by sweetness and light. As he moved towards them he caught the tail end of their conversation.
"People can change," urged Dorrie. "No point in life otherwise."
"Maybe," said Butcher. "OK, yes, we can all be surprised. When he got married that surprised everyone. Of course, I
knew Peter better. I'd have said he was more likely, which just goes to show. But remember what I say, there's another woman involved here. It's you two ought to talk. I can fix that."
So Butcher was being true to her principles after all. Nothing wrong with a man that two women sitting down together and talking couldn't sort out. Except that he didn't reckon Dorrie had learnt much about sexual reasoning and compromise at her mammy's knee.
"I'll see," said Dorrie unconvincingly. "I'd just like to get back to my kiddie now."
She turned to Joe as she spoke, electing
him chauffeur. He grinned at Butcher and said, Thanks for coming. Have a great New Year."
"Yeah, yeah," she said, heading for the door. She was already burning rubber out of the car park when they emerged.
When Dorrie realized they were making for the Magic Mini, she said, "Is this yours? Hey, this is really something!"
Joe, more used to you-don't-really-expect-me-to-get-in-something-like-that? reactions, was surprised and pleased. Whitey's reluctance to move from the passenger to the rear seat lowered the temperature a bit, but the atmosphere was still warm enough for him to launch a gentle probe.
"None of my business, I know, but we've sort of crossed tracks, with me being mixed up in this murder investigation. You must be wondering what's going on there."
Offering a trade, see if she'll bite.
"What do you mean, mixed up?" Wary but unobtrusive.
"Your friend's senior partner, Mr. Pollinger, has hired me to look after the firm's interests," he said, laying it on thick. "I was up on the Heights earlier today, interviewing Mr. Naysmith."
"You spoke to Felix? How is he?" she asked eagerly.
"You didn't get to see him then?"
"No! I was just coming out of the woods into the garden when this Scotch git grabbed hold of me," she said bitterly. "I took a swing and ran for it but I tripped over a sodding root."
"You hit the cop?" said Joe, wondering why there'd been no mention of assaulting a police officer, still the nearest thing to a capital offence in the constabulary book.
"Yeah. He should have tartan balls by now," she said with some satisfaction.
Case explained. Young Sandy hadn't wanted the mock sympathy of his macho mates enquiring after his first in-the-course-of-duty injury.
"So Mr. Naysmith's Felicia's dad?" he said casually.
"Who told you that?" she demanded. "Mam?"
"I'm a detective," he said wearily. "Her name. You going along to Poll-Pott's with the Freeman stationery order. Your voice on his answer phone saying an order was ready for collection when your firm was shut down for the hols
"You heard that?"
