'Association of ideas,' he said. 'Maurice Arany's name came up when I was talking with Penny Latimer of Homeric. I just put two and two together when you mentioned a Maurice.'
She laughed disbebevingly.
'Look,' she said. 'I had Lorraine the year after that first film job. Times were hard. Bert and me had a lot of financial commitments. Well, Maurice subbed me while I couldn't work. He got it all back, mind you. I didn't want charity. But there's not many as would have bothered in our game. Afterwards he helped me get back in as quickly as possible. I used to take Lorraine with me in her carrycot. I felt right daft at first, but Maurice said it'd be all right. Everyone'd love the kid. Having a baby around made them feel sort of respectable. He was right. Any road, what I'm saying is, I'm not about to say owt that could harm Maurice Arany. So you can bugger off somewhere else with your sneaky questions!'
She had raised her voice and before Pascoe could reply, there was a series of bangs on the floor above.
'Now you've woken Bert up!' said Linda Abbott.
'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' said Pascoe. 'You've got it all wrong..’
'Just shove off,' said the woman wearily. 'No wonder they call you pigs! You revel in muck.'
Pascoe rose. At the door he said in a quiet, reasonable voice, 'Lady, you get annoyed because people think that running around without your clothes on makes you a dirty, immoral woman. Well, policemen get annoyed too when people assume that running around trying to solve or prevent crimes makes them some kind of nasty animal. The only difference is, you can tell me to bugger off and all I can say in reply is thank you very much and good morning.'
It was feeble and plaintive, thought Pascoe. And also only partly true. Under Dalziel's patient tuition, he'd learnt when to tell people to bugger off and when to keep his mouth shut. Now he felt almost as guilty as before when Linda Abbott caught up with him in the hall and said, 'I'm sorry I said that. It's your job. I shouldn't blame a man for his job. Women especially shouldn't.'
'Yes,' said Pascoe. 'A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.'
'That film,' she said. 'Really, there wasn't another girl. Just me. And it was put on.'
'I believe you,' he said. But he didn't move; he sensed there was the possibility of something else.
'Mr Toms was very economical,' she said finally. 'He'd always want to get it right first time.'
'Just the one take, you mean,' said Pascoe.
'That's right. I think he was quite proud that all he had to do was more or less stick his shots together to make the film.'
'No editing?'
'Oh aye. I suppose he had to do a bit, but what I'm getting at is, if owt went wrong, he didn't have a lot of other takes to fall back on. I don't know much about it, mind. Just what I heard some of the others say when we were chatting during dinner break or whatever. One of the girls reckoned she'd gone to see one of the films she was in and there was a bit from another film in it, if you follow me. She wondered if she could get an extra payment.'
'And did she?'
Linda Abbott laughed.
'Some bloody hope!' she said. 'They're as careful with cash as with film. Oh God, there's Bert banging again. I'd best take him a pot of tea, see if that'll quieten him.'
'Goodbye then, Mrs Abbott,' said Pascoe. 'And good luck.'
She wished him goodbye in return but nothing was said about luck.
About two hundred yards from the house there was a telephone-box. He stopped the car, entered the box and dialled Linda Abbott's number which he had noted as they stood talking in the hallway. He got the engaged signal. Replacing the receiver he next dialled the number of Maurice Arany's agency. That was engaged too.
Finally he dialled Ray Crabtree.
'All those naked bodies too much for you?' asked Crabtree cheerfully.
'I didn't stay long enough to see. Ray, just a couple of points you might be able to help with. You don't happen to know how Homeric get their films processed, do you?'
'Not off hand,' said Crabtree. 'Is it important?'
'I don't know. I just wondered if there was a gap in a film, you know, something went wrong in the processing, could you slot in a bit from another film fairly easily?'
'Hang on,' said Crabtree. 'There's a lad in our lab who's pretty hot on camera stuff, I'll give him a buzz.'
There was a lengthy pause during which Pascoe had to feed another couple of ten-p pieces into the slot.
'Hello? Still there? Good. Yes, dead easy. And also he reckons Toms does most of his own stuff.
He's evidently pretty hot on the technical side. I suppose he doesn't care to let the stuff he's working on get far out of his sight.'
'Thanks a lot, Ray.'
'Anything else?'
'I don't think so.'
'Just one thing from this end, Peter,' said Crabtree apologetically. 'You will keep us posted about what you're up to? I mean, in case of any overlap.'
It was a reproof and a justified one, Pascoe had to admit.
'Of course. And I'm sorry, Ray. You know how it is. Any trespass on other people's land will be signalled in advance. OK?'
'Great. Watch how you go. My love to the Great Buggernaut. Cheers!'
Before leaving the box, Pascoe dialled Linda Abbott's number again. It was still engaged.
The road was full of long slow lorries and it was mid-morning before he got back to the station. He was guiltily aware that he was still a long way from being able to justify the time he had spent on the Droit de Seigneur business and it was with a sigh of relief that he gained his office without bumping into Dalziel.
Now he turned his thoughts to Haggard and what had emerged the previous night. Haggard and Arany. Haggard and Blengdale. Why should Haggard go into partnership with the Hungarian?
Why should the rotund councillor want to set Haggard up as the manager of the proposed Holm Coultram Country Club?
It would be interesting to know the story behind Haggard's resignation from the Diplomatic Service, but he guessed that official channels would be locked by all manner of protocol, closing of ranks, pleas of confidentiality, etc.
On the other hand, there was almost certainly someone in the Met who would know someone in Whitehall who could look in a filing cabinet during his lunch-hour . . .
He picked up the phone and a few moments later was speaking to Detective Chief Inspector Colbridge whom the previous summer at a police college course he had saved from being caught drunk and half naked in the ornamental fish pond of a local lady magistrate.
'Willie,' he said. 'Peter Pascoe. How are you?'
'Relieved,' said the voice on the other end. 'I've been waiting for this call for nine months. What do you want, you blackmailing sod?'
Pascoe told him. Colbridge said airily that he saw no difficulty there, leave it with him, always ready to help the provinces.
'If it's so damned easy,' said Pascoe, 'there's something else.'
'Oh God! Why don't I keep my big mouth shut? Go on.'
'A man called Toms - would you believe Gerry Toms? - claims he was staying at the Candida Hotel last Friday night. Could you check for me without treading on anyone's toes? Great. Fine. I'll buy you a pint of real beer next time you're up this way. Oh, and listen, while you're at it, if there was any way of getting a look at his bill . . . it's a phone call I'd be interested in. To Harrogate. Could you? Many thanks.'
As he himself had said earlier that day, it was always worth checking the obvious.
It was after one when he made his way to the Black Bull and he expected to find either Dalziel or Wield there already, probably both. But there was no sign of either. On the off-chance they might have opted for something a cut or two above their usual pie and peas, he glanced into the little dining-room where business executives could sit at tables with nearly white cloths and eat their pie, peas, and chips like real gentlefolk.
The first people he saw were Ellie and Ms Lacewing, drinking coffee and brandy.
'Hello!' he said. 'I didn't think the
y served unescorted ladies in here.'
Ellie rolled her eyes and groaned.
'I'm beginning to believe what Thelma tells me.'
'And what does Thelma tell you?' asked Pascoe, regarding the beautiful dentist distrustfully.
'That peaceful compromise isn't possible. Nothing but all-out revolution will do.'
'And the Black Bull dining-room was the nearest thing to a bastion of male chauvinism you could find!' mocked Pascoe.
'The nearest thing that sells the nearest thing to food,' corrected Ms Lacewing.
'Are you eating in here, Peter?' asked Ellie.
'No. Just looking for Andy Dalziel. I'll sit in the bar as usual and pick at a bag of crisps,' he said plaintively.
'I shouldn't wait too long for your colleague,' said Ms Lacewing. 'Not if he's that gross man with fleas.'
'That sounds like him,' said Pascoe. 'Why?'
'He turned up at the surgery just as I was leaving and arrested Jack Shorter.'
Pascoe sat by himself and ate some salted peanuts. Ms Lacewing's news had taken him aback. She had been unable to give him any details beyond the bare facts that Shorter, having turned up in mid-morning and occupied himself with paper work (his appointments having been cancelled), had been on the point of going out to lunch when Dalziel arrived and took him away. Emma Shorter had appeared soon after, evidently expecting to eat with her husband.
'I was on my way out to meet Ellie then, so I left her in the hands of Alison. They have a lot in common, those two. Well, something.'
'What's that?'
'Usability,' said Ms Lacewing. Upon which Pascoe had left.
He no longer felt hungry. The peanuts were merely something to ease the burning the beer caused in his guts. Perhaps he had joined the club and was getting his first ulcer. He thought of Burkill and Shorter, Arany and Haggard, Toms and Penny Latimer. Everything had the smell of disaster.
‘For a man who's avoided both Dalziel and this place's food, you look strangely down in the mouth.'
Ellie sat beside him. She had brought her brandy glass with her, newly replenished, and her eyes sparkled with the after-fire of a boozy lunch.
'You'll fall asleep during your lectures,' said Pascoe.
'If you can't beat 'em,' said Ellie.
'Where's Mary Wollstonecraft?' asked Pascoe.
'Gone to scour a few more mouths. I told her to let the bastards rot, but she's very conscientious. And pretty, don't you think?'
'Yeah. She'll fill a nice cavity in some lucky man's life,' said Pascoe cynically, adding thoughtfully, 'Or woman's. She's not a high-flier, is she?'
Ellie looked blank.
'I mean, what do you think she was after? Your sharp mind or your shapely body - or just your fat purse?'
'My energies, I think. She wants me to join, well, not join because she doesn't believe in the concept of joining. She wants me to discover that I'm one of her lot, these Women's Rights Action Group people.'
'WRAG,' said Pascoe. 'And are you?'
'I think I may be,' said Ellie solemnly.
'Yes? You try Lysistrating around me, I'll fetch you one round the ear,' said Pascoe in a heavy Yorkshire accent.
'You've been watching those films again. How was your morning, by the way?'
But Pascoe wasn't listening. Over Ellie's shoulder among the ruddy puffy cheeks of the double-gin-and-tonic boys he had spotted a pale set face with dark and desperately questing eyes.
It was Emma Shorter and he had no doubt who she was questing after. Last night he had seen the strain in that face, but there had been action to take, motions to go through. Jack was up and about and full of aggression. But now Dalziel had laid hands on him, taken him in for all the world to see. Now the strain was all on her.
'Oh shit,' he muttered to himself. He felt desperately sorry for the woman, but there was nothing he could do, nothing he could tell her. He just didn't feel equipped at this moment to take any more pressure himself.
'Look, love,' he said. 'Someone I don't want to see. Must dash anyway. See you later.'
He got up and went out via the dining-room, keeping his head bowed low and resisting the temptation to glance back. Outside in the car-park he took a deep breath and for a moment felt the exhilaration of escape. He set off towards his car, then stopped so suddenly that a man behind him cannoned into his back.
What the hell am I doing! wondered Pascoe.
In his mind he saw again the woman's face. She was seeing her life collapse and desperately looking for whatever slender comforts anyone could offer. A face falling apart on celluloid had haunted his thoughts for days now and sent him back and forward across the county looking for something to scour away the image. But a real face, a life falling apart before his eyes, a few feet away, a few seconds away, had put him to flight.
He turned round and walked back to the pub. But when he re-entered the bar, there was no sign of Emma Shorter and Ellie was just going out of the main door.
Full of shame he resumed his walk to the car.
Chapter 17
Back in the office he tried to see Dalziel but the fat man was still busy with Shorter. Pascoe knew his technique well; periods of intensive questioning building up to a climax, then a break, then a recommencement of the questioning as though the previous bout had not taken place, then another break, then the questioning again.
Pascoe did not doubt that Shorter could stand up to all this, or rather that the man would imagine he had stood up to it all. But Dalziel would know this too. He would merely be probing for weaknesses at this stage, not expecting a quick breach.
Why the Superintendent was interesting himself so closely in this relatively minor case when there were more important matters, including a murder, on hand, Pascoe did not know. Perhaps he owed Burkill a favour. He seemed to think highly of the man. One thing was certain - he'd have a good reason.
At three o'clock, Colbridge rang back.
Pascoe had not expected a reply till the following morning at the earliest, but Colbridge obviously saw this as a chance to keep his provincial friends in due awe of metropolitan efficiency.
'Haggard was dead easy. The pubs round Whitehall are full of gossipy, old, disappointed civil servants who'd tell you anything for a sympathetic ear and a gin and tonic.'
'I'm sure,' said Pascoe.
'According to my source, Haggard was bent in every sense. Little black boys were his downfall in the West Indies, so they shipped him out. They don't object to that kind of thing in the Diplomatic as long as you don't do it on the Queen's Birthday. But Austria was different. When the Hungarians started coming across the border in 'fifty-six, Haggard seems to have set himself up as a private travel agency. It's pretty clear he'd been in a lot of fiddles before this - Vienna was still a pretty hairy place in those days - but he went too far this time. Again, no drama. They know how to look after their own! Just the invitation to resign. That any good to you?'
'Thank you,' said Pascoe. 'It's confirmation. What about the other business?'
'Hang on. I got one of my lads to check that. Here we are. Yes, a fellow called Toms was a guest at the Candida that Friday night. Yes, he rang Harrogate. You want details?'
'If you've got them.'
Evidently the number called plus time and duration of the call were all on the bill. Pascoe noted them down, listened to a short digression on the extortionate charges these hotels made for phone calls and was about to give his thanks and ring off when Colbridge said, 'Are you interested in his other calls?'
'Other?'
'Yes. You just asked about the one to Harrogate, but after that he made three other calls, all to your part of the world.'
'Might as well have them,' said Pascoe with affected indifference.
They were all local numbers. None of them meant anything to Pascoe but he suspected they were going to. And with the second of these there came an extra bit of information, coaxed from the hotel switchboard girl (besides being efficient, the bastards want us to know
they're sexy too! thought Pascoe). The call had been put through, the telephone lifted at the other end, then everything had gone dead and subsequent enquiries through the exchange had merely produced the reply that the line was out of order.
'Toms made a lot of fuss, that's why they remembered. Probably that's why they charged the poor sod for it too. One second, no conversation, you know what they charged? Go on. Guess.'
Pascoe guessed and finally, full of excitement, got the phone down. Quickly he checked the numbers with the local exchange.
The Harrogate one was Penelope Latimer's. The other three in order of phoning belonged to Godfrey Blengdale, Gilbert Haggard and Maurice Arany.
'Well, well, well,' said Pascoe.
When Dalziel walked into his office ten minutes later, he was still examining the implications of what he'd got.
'Nice of you to drop in,' said Dalziel. 'Thought you might spend the day wandering round on other people's patches.'
So there'd been something in Crabtree's warning.
'I've been back since the middle of the morning,' protested Pascoe.
'Have you now? If I'd known, you could have helped me with this mate of yours. God, he's a hard nut.'
'Have you charged him?' asked Pascoe.
'Not yet. I just thought the time was ripe to have him in.'
'Ripe?'
'Well, first the bugger went back to work, so he couldn't play sick any more. And I didn't have that wife of his on my back when I picked him up at the surgery. Though she found out quick enough.'
'Has Mrs Shorter been here?' asked Pascoe.
'Too bloody true,' said Dalziel. 'I can't abide hysterical women. Wanted to know what right I had to arrest her man. I told her I had more than a right, I had a duty. That shut her up.'
'Duty?' said Pascoe.
'Like any right-thinking man,' said Dalziel ponderously. 'These buggers need sorting out.'
'But you said you hadn't charged him.'
'Not yet, but I will. I reckon we've got enough now, though,' he added wistfully, 'an admission's always nice for tying things up.'
'Enough?'
Dalziel 05 A Pinch of Snuff Page 16
