Pascoe stood up abruptly. Dalziel, he thought, would probably have offered his hand to see if the bugger would fall over.
He said, 'Thank you for your co-operation, sir. I'll leave my card, if I may. I'd appreciate it if you could give me a ring should Mr Youngman get in touch with you.'
'Of course,' said Kewley-Hodge. 'Could you see yourself out? Have a look around first, if you want. Not much to see by way of ornament, but the house itself is not without interest to a student of vernacular architecture. And you might bump into your good-looking young assistant, if he's survived Mama's ministrations.'
He spoke with a faint hint of mockery as if to say he knew exactly what Rod was up to.
'Let's hope he's saved me a slice of seed cake,' said Pascoe.
10
mother love
In fact by the time Rod had finished, there wasn't much cake left. One of the consequences of getting up so early had been he missed breakfast and Pascoe's summons hadn't left any space to fit it in.
'Sorry,' he said, looking at the sparse remains of a once-bulky seed cake.
'That's all right,' said the woman with a smile. 'Young men need to keep their seed level high. And you did help me with rubbing down my son's horse.'
He smiled back at her. He had rapidly sussed two things that Pascoe on his admittedly briefer contact had missed.
One look at her eyes had told him she was undoubtedly related to Kewley-Hodge, a relationship she'd just confirmed. The second thing he'd assessed instantly was that she was a very sexy woman, and after a few minutes in her company he added bright, lively, with a sense of humour. And a great baker.
So he relaxed and prepared to enjoy himself. If information came, well and good. But instinct told him it would be useless to try to force the game. Also he knew from experience that, when he relaxed, it was often infectious.
'I'm Rod, by the way,' he said.
'Edie. So how long have you been in the Service, Rod?'
'How do you know I'm not a copper?' he asked.
'You didn't say "Hello, hello," and rock back on your heels.'
'Inside I did when I saw you,' he said boldly.
'Think I'm in the market for a toy-boy, do you?' she said, smiling. 'I'll need to know a lot more about you first. So how did you become a spook? And don't tell me you answered an ad in the Church Times.'
He saw no reason not to tell her the story of the way he'd been recruited, though he was careful not to mention Komorowski's name. She seemed genuinely interested and ten minutes later he realized he was still talking about himself in answer to her questions, whereas it should have been the other way round.
'Time out,' he said. 'Now you know everything interesting there is to know about me, it's your turn. Fair's fair.'
'You want everything interesting?' she said. 'That could take a long long time or a couple of seconds. Depends what interests you.'
'You do,' he said, meaning it.
'OK. I'll give you the full history, shall I? Only slightly expurgated because you're so young.'
She was as good as her word. Most of the early stuff he'd heard from Pascoe as they drove from Manchester, but hearing it from the woman's own lips gave him a charge which meant he didn't have to feign interest. She told him about her father, Matthew Hodge, the construction king; about growing up as the swinging sixties merged into the sybaritic seventies; about going to boarding school-about marrying Alexander Kewley at an age when most of her friends were planning university careers. She didn't say she was pregnant when she married, but that was the implication.
Whatever her intention had been when she embarked on this voyage through her past, she seemed borne along on an irresistible current and needed only the gentlest of interlocutory zephyrs to keep her on course.
She told him of her joy and pride in her son, and her father's pride in his grandchild who he hoped would grow up to take over the family business. But before he could do so, Hodge Construction, a victim of its own success, was taken over by a huge American conglomerate, which was perhaps just as well as the teenage Luke showed little sign of wanting to become anything but a soldier. So off he went to Sandhurst, and passed out with huge distinction.
Here a pause. Knowing the rocks and reefs ahead. Rod offered his gentle zephyr.
'Edie, this must be so painful to you, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that you should . ..'
'It's OK,' she said. 'You get used to pain. You've still got that to discover, Rod. My boy went into the army and his career continued as it had begun, a real Boy's Own story. Till the day the news came that he'd been hurt.'
And now the story changed from Boy's Own to dark tragedy.
The news that Luke had been injured had been a huge shock. But so used had his friends and family become to the with-one-mighty-leap-he-was-free sequel to all his perils that hope remained high till they got confirmation that the effects of the injury were going to be permanent.
This news was even more devastating than the first report.
On hearing it, Edie's father, Matt Hodge, collapsed with a coronary thrombosis and was dead before the ambulance arrived.
Alexander Kewley-Hodge was himself just out of hospital where he'd been receiving treatment for bowel cancer. How much his condition was affected by the news no one could say, but, subsequent to hearing it, he deteriorated rapidly and within a fortnight he too was dead.
'That's awful,' said Rod, genuinely moved.
'Yes, it was,' said the woman in a matter-of-fact voice. 'And it would have continued to be awful if it hadn't been for Luke. From the start he refused to be pitied. Help that sprang out of love he would accept, but let him get the slightest waft of pity and he'd throw it back in the helper's face. That applied to me and others close to him as much as anyone. As you've seen, his aim is maximum control, of his own life that is, not other people's. I'm here as his housekeeper, not his nurse.'
'And his mother too!' protested Rod.
'That goes without saying,' she said. 'So there you are, young man. Now you know everything interesting there is to know about me. Do finish what remains of that cake. In your job, heaven knows when your next meal may turn up.'
11
a change of direction
'And was she right?' asked Pascoe.
They were driving away from the castle. Having to report on his encounter with Mrs Kewley-Hodge as he drove cut Rod's speed by half and they were moving so slowly that pheasants crossing the road were able to pause and check the surface for nibbles before getting out of the way.
'Up to you, Pete. Are we going back for lunch or shall we stop somewhere on the way?'
‘I mean about knowing everything interesting about her, not about your cuisine,' snapped Pascoe.
'Of course. Sorry,' said Rod, grinning. 'No, I shouldn't imagine so. I suspect she told me exactly what she wanted me to know. But most women do.'
'And she showed no curiosity about our reasons for turning up here?' 'None whatsoever.' 'Didn't you find that odd?' 'Not particularly. I reckon she's got so used to
her control-freak boy calling the shots that she reckons he'll tell her if he wants to, and if he doesn't, then she doesn't need to know.'
'You think he has that amount of control?'
'Oh yes. She worships the ground he doesn't walk on,' said Rod. 'What about you, Peter? What did you make of the galloping major?'
Pascoe looked at him reflectively and said, 'You didn't take to him, did you?'
'Hardly saw him,' said Rod negligently. 'But from what I did see, and certainly from what I heard about the guy, I got the impression he might make a big thing about being master of his fate and all that stuff while he's at home in a controlled environment, but once he's away from here, he's just another poor sod in a wheelchair, right? Is it really possible he could be involved with the Templars?'
Pascoe said, 'Know what I think, Rod. I think rubbing down that horse with Edie has turned you all chivalric. You're pissed off with Luke because you reckon he's mucking
his dear old mum about. You're sorry for the poor old bird. Unless . . . don't tell me you fancied her?'
The young man grinned.
'A bit maybe. Think it was mutual,' he said. 'That's why we got on so well. She's taken care of herself, you can see that. Must have been a real stunner. Yes, I liked her and I wouldn't have said no. What about you? No, sorry, of course you go for the young stuff like Ffion.'
Rod laughed, inviting Pascoe to join in the fun.
When he didn't, the young man said seriously, 'You really think he could be involved, don't you?'
'Oh yes,' said Pascoe. 'Up to his fucking neck.'
Rod was so surprised by the force of the affirmation that his gaze momentarily flickered from the road to Pascoe's face.
'Careful,' said Pascoe. 'You'll have us in the ditch. Eventually.'
To tell the truth, he too was a little surprised by the positiveness of his own response. Maybe Ellie was right and, because the Fat Man wasn't around, he felt it necessary to speak his lines. But having spoken this one, he realized he believed it absolutely.
'But Edic ... I mean, if she was mixed up in something like this, she would hardly have been so forthcoming. Would she?'
'You mean just because she has something to hide doesn't mean she'd try her damnedest to persuade you she hasn't? That's an interesting view of criminal psychology. I must remember to put it into my next CID seminar paper.'
Rod flushed rather becomingly and Pascoe pressed on.
'As for her son being just another poor sod in a wheelchair, as you so sensitively put it, first off, there's sods in wheelchairs running everything from their own businesses to the London Marathon. And if there are times when, like all of us, they require a little help from their friends, where better to look for it than from a devoted mumsy who thinks the sun shines out of your paralysed arse?'
For the next minute, which meant rather less than the next half-mile, they drove in silence. Then Rod said, 'Yes. Of course. I'm sorry.'
'No need. You did really well,' said Pascoe, feeling guilty that he'd gone over the top to score points and put the youngster back in his place. But there was one more point it was necessary to make. 'Stop the car.'
The young man checked his mirrors, signalled, and carefully drew into the side of the road, which was empty as far as the eye could see in both directions.
'Now get out,' said Pascoe.
Rod hesitated, then obeyed.
Pascoe slid over into the driver's seat and looked up at the youngster's anxious face. Maybe he thinks I'm going to make him walk home, he thought.
'Don't just stand there,' he said wearily. 'Get in the passenger seat. There are only twenty-four hours in the day, so I'm going to drive. You can cover your eyes if you like.'
Rod climbed in and fastened his seat belt with showy precision. He didn't cover his eyes but sat in a stiff silence till they reached their junction with the main road.
He glanced towards Pascoe as he gunned the engine to propel the car into a rather narrow gap in the traffic.
'Peter/ he said. 'I hate to tell you this, but I think you just turned the wrong way.'
'You think so? What if I was taking a short cut back to Manchester via the Ml and M62?'
‘I don't think you'll find that's a short cut,' said Rod.
'It is if you want to visit Bradford,' said Pascoe.
12
prison
'Hugh.' 'Bernard.'
'De Payens.'
'De Clairvaux.'
one thousand two thousand three thousand
'Bernard, it would have been a kindness to warn me that PC Plod was going to pay a visit.'
'Ah. That's where he is. I wondered. But I didn't worry. Should I have worried?'
'Whether I'd be able to deal with a country bobby? I hope you know me better than that.'
'Don't underestimate him. I thought we had corralled him, but I see we have not. Don't worry, I'll deal with it. So how did it go?'
'He asked me about Andre while his acolyte chatted up Mummy.'
'And?'
'And he went away as he arrived, which is, I'd say, uncertain but extremely suspicious. I could find nothing to say to allay his suspicions. In fact. to have attempted to be other than I am would itself have been suspicious, don't you think?'
'You're probably right. He's no fool, and he's been an irritation since he first appeared. And of course it's through him that the hunt is on for Andre.'
'Yes. Maybe I should have sent Andre after him rather than the moron.'
'No. That was a mistake, my mistake, which has already proved costly. Let's not make any more. So far, unless the one in a coma dies, our hands are clean of our own side's blood. Andre is still holed up with Geoffrey O, I take it?'
'Yes. I spoke to him yesterday. He was still keen to go ahead with taking the Sheikh out. He seemed amused when Omer admitted to having taken that pot-shot and said he'd like to demonstrate how the job should be done.'
‘I hope you told him that's a definite no. After Omer's stupidity, Sheikh Ibrahim is going to be particularly difficult, and the last thing we want is Andre exposing himself. It's too great a risk.'
'He enjoys risk. And surely now he's been blown, he's the one we could afford to keep active? The others have been signalled to go to earth for the time being. And if the worst happened and he was taken, he is at the same time completely loyal and completely unbreakable.'
'No one is unbreakable.'
'I am, Bernard. OK, Andre could lead them to me, but I don't believe he ever would
'He has already.'
'Not directly. That was that smart Alec cop. Anyway, my point is, even if I did get blown, there's no way I would ever lead them to you, if that's what's worrying you. Sorry. I shouldn't have said that.'
'Why not? Of course it worries me. And it should worry you too. You may not mean to do it, but as our persistent Mr Pascoe has demonstrated, these people are no fools. And if Andre did crack, then they'd have you in their chosen environment. Don't imagine your wheelchair will keep you out of prison.'
'Where do you think I am now?'
‘I assume you're sitting on that horse of yours? No riding in prison. No filet mignon and fine wines, no hi-tech to smooth your path, no loving hand to smooth your brow. Think about it.'
'I'll think about it. But whatever happens, I wouldn't give you up any more than I think Andre would give me up. We were trained in the same school, remember?'
'But not one that Geoffrey B went to.'
'Forget Geoffrey B. At the worst he might think of giving himself up, but he can't do that without giving O up too, which, being a true English gentleman, he will hardly do.'
'I prefer not to rely too heavily on the code of the Woosters. Worst-case scenario - if he snapped, what damage can he do?'
'Nothing, except point them to Andre, and they're after him already. But why should it happen? So let's forget Geoffrey B and concentrate on keeping up the momentum.'
'Momentum is what a hand-cart heading down to hell has. For the time being, let's just keep things on an even keel, at least until I get Pascoe out of the way. Tell Andre he needs to keep his head down till arrangements are made for him to get out of the country. It may be short notice. He needs to be available at all times. Make that clear to him. We do things my way.'
'Without you, Bernard, it would hardly be possible to do anything all.'
13
girls and boys
They stopped for a sandwich at the Woollcy Edge service station on the Ml. Pascoe went off to the loo and when he came back to his table. Rod was on his mobile.
He finished his call as Pascoe sat down and said. Thought I'd better let them know we'd be keeping the car longer than I said.'
'Do they charge by the mile or by the hour?' said Pascoe, gently mocking. 'Never answer questions till they're asked, didn't they teach you that at Hogwarts?'
Hogwarts, he'd picked up, was their generic term for training courses.
He ate hal
f a sandwich, washed it down with coffee, which wasn't at all bad, and said, 'Can't sit here enjoying ourselves all day. Come on.'
On his way back from the toilet he had popped into the shop and picked up a Bradford A to Z. In the car, he handed this to Rod and said, 'We're looking for a suburb called Marrside - 16 Blackwell Road.'
Rod studied the map closely for the next fifteen minutes or so, then set it aside and gave crisp incisive directions as they turned off the motorway.
Marrside had probably once been a small village, but at least a hundred years had passed since Bradford had reached out and buried its rural identity under a grid of long terraces, many of which opened straight on to the pavement. But for the most part these terraces had avoided, or recovered from, that sense of dereliction which had hung over the house in, say, Mill Street. They looked well kept, there were cars parked along the kerbs, the small shops were bright and busy, and where there were buildings boarded up or half destroyed, it was because of the ongoing reconstruction programme advertised, with apologies for inconvenience, on billboards.
Sarhadi, according to Pascoe's information, was a part-time student who paid his way by sharing shifts on his father's taxi cab. Unmarried, he still lived at his parents' house in Blackwell Road, which Rod brought them to with no hesitations or diversions.
There was a taxi parked outside the house. Pascoe drew in behind it and sat for a moment taking stock.
Always have a good look at a door afore you kick it down, was one of Dalziel's more useful tips. You can tell a lot from a door. Like, is it going to break your toe?
This door looked solid enough to do just that.
He told Rod to stay in the car while he got out. Closer inspection revealed the door to be not only solid but freshly painted, with a gleaming brass letter box and a matching knocker buffed to such a high degree of shine he found himself wiping his fingers on his trouser leg before he grasped it.
There are many types of knock a policeman uses. The dawn-raid knock which sends a thunderous summons through a house, the gentle knock which wouldn't disturb a nervous cat but counts in evidence as a genuine attempt to gain conventional admittance before you kick the door down, the reluctant knock which presages sharing of bad news, and the polite but firm knock which just means you'd like a friendly chat.
Death of Dalziel - Dalziel & Pascoe 22 Page 30
