Death's Jest-Book

by Reginald Hill

Proximity to the seat of law being no guarantee of security, he squatted to wrap a length of chain around the rear wheel and pillion, and as he did so he noticed a big black Lexus in one of the public bays.

  Its number plate read JUS 10. There was a man in the driver’s seat talking into a phone, difficult to identify through the tinted glass. But as Wield snapped his lock shut, the man got out and headed into the building and there was no mistaking that Roman head, those sculpted locks.

  It was Marcus Belchamber.

  Straightening up, Wield once again felt that acid uneasiness in his gut.

  Belchamber had disappeared by the time he reached the front desk. Des Bowman, the duty sergeant, looked up and said, ‘How do, Wieldy. What fettle?’

  ‘Grand, Des. Weren’t that Belchamber I saw just come in? What’s he doing?’

  ‘He’s acting for Yasher Asif, you know him? Runs that caff called Turk’s by the station. They brought him in for questioning about some illegals-smuggling racket.’

  ‘Thanks, Des. Let me through, eh?’

  The sergeant released the security lock and Wield went through the door and hurried up the stairs to CID. He glimpsed Pascoe through the open door of his office and went in.

  The DCI was studying a letter whose handwriting Wield identified at a glance. Franny Roote’s. Shit, he thought, is the silly sod still letting himself be distracted?

  Before he could speak Pascoe looked up and said, ‘Wieldy, what do you know about the Elsecar Hoard?’

  It was like having his mind read.

  ‘A lot more now than I did an hour ago,’ said Wield. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘No reason … just an idea … oh shit, what am I tiptoeing around for? It’s something Roote says in this letter.’

  ‘Giving you tips now, is he? I thought it were all hidden confessions.’

  ‘I think I may have got another of those too,’ said Pascoe grimly. ‘But that’s between me and him. Anyway, he mentioned the Hoard apropos a conversation he had with what sounds very like a high-class fence. And I got to thinking. It’s in Sheffield at the moment and it’s coming here soon …’

  ‘The twenty-sixth, week tomorrow,’ said Wield.

  ‘You’re well informed.’

  ‘Some of us get places by honest police work that other idle sods reach by imaginative leaps,’ said Wield. ‘If you’re talking about this job Mate Polchard’s planning, that is.’

  Now it was Pascoe’s turn to feel mind-read.

  ‘What else? Tell me about this honest police work. You interest me strangely.’

  Quickly Wield filled him in on his conversation with Lubanski.

  ‘It was this bit about the crown that got me thinking. That and wondering why the hell Belchamber should have got so personally involved in this job. Then I remembered seeing a poster at the Centre about the Hoard being on exhibition in January. And I recalled there was some article fulminating over the sale that Belchamber had written in the Gazette. Didn’t read it myself, but Edwin gets hot and bothered about such things and he kept quoting bits at me over the dinner table till I told him that the moral indignation of a dipstick like the Belch weren’t good for my digestion. Anyway, I went down to the reference library to look it up in the back numbers. Took a closer look at them posters too. They’ve got Belchamber giving a lecture on the Hoard on the exhibition opening day. Odd that.’

  ‘Why? He’s really involved. I saw him on the telly the other week. He might be a shitbag, but he knows his Medes from his Persians.’

  ‘It’s odd because of the way he’s blown hot and cold. I’ll show you what I mean. Yon lass of Bowler’s was very helpful. Hadn’t seen her since that scare at New Year.’

  ‘How’d she look?’

  ‘Bit pale maybe, but full of the joys of spring otherwise.’

  In fact, Rye had greeted him rather frostily till it was established that his motive in appearing there had nothing to do with her. Then she had thawed and to his enquiry after her health, she’d replied, ‘Never better. Just some virus that’s going around, but I’m over it now. How about you, Mr Wield?’

  ‘I’m fine. At least nothing that a bit of spring sunshine won’t cure. Roll on, eh?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait.’

  Which for some reason she seemed to think of as funny and her laughter was so infectious, he found himself joining in.

  ‘This article …’ prompted Pascoe.

  ‘Articles. There were two of them. It was Rye put me on to the other which appeared way back when Belch were on better terms with the Elsecars. I’ve got copies. This is the earlier one.’

  He handed it over. Pascoe scanned it quickly then read it again at a more leisurely pace.

  This described a visit Belchamber and other officers of the Mid-Yorkshire Archaeological Society had been permitted to make to view the Hoard. It was fulsome with expressions of gratitude to the Elsecars for their kind condescension in allowing the visit. The style when he described the content of the Hoard was scholarly and objective, but later it became personal and familiar as he started theorizing, or perhaps romancing was a better word, about the provenance of various items and the background of their owner and the circumstances of their loss.

  Readers of some previous pieces of mine on Roman Yorkshire may recall that on one occasion I traced my own ancestry back, reasonably legitimately, to the fifteenth century and then, rather more fancifully, to Marcus Bellisarius, an official of the Provincial Governor’s commissariat, briefly mentioned by Tacitus. Now when I was permitted to hold the serpent coronet (or Cartimandua’s Crown as the Victorians mistakenly dubbed it) I must confess to feeling a thrill at my contact with the smooth twists and folds of gold that seemed more than just the natural pleasure of an amateur of ancient history. The thought popped into my mind: suppose the collector of these wonderful things was in fact my putative ancestor Marcus Bellisarius? Suppose the serpent coronet came to him as part of the dot of the Brigantian princess that he married (such alliances were not uncommon in the older Romano-British families), and suppose that, though the Hoard was lost beyond recall in flight from God knows what peril, he or his children survived and flourished and founded the family of which this undeserving scion, sixteen centuries later, was permitted to hold this symbol of that union?

  Then someone took the coronet from me and I was back in the world of reality.

  ‘Two snakes intertwined. Good symbol for the Belchamber family,’ said Pascoe.

  ‘You see how completely obsessed he seems to be with the Hoard and in particular the coronet?’ said Wield. ‘So it’s no surprise to find him really pissed off when he hears it’s going to America. Here’s the second article, the one that got Edwin going.’

  Pascoe scanned it quickly. In measured prose whose orotundity did not disguise real feeling, it expressed huge indignation that a weak and time-serving government should allow such treasures as these to leave the country. It concluded:

  My professional work brings me in contact with all sorts and conditions of men who have committed all sorts and conditions of crime, but rarely have I confronted an action as criminal as this. As a lawyer I must take care how I describe the family who propose it and the politicians who permit it, but I will say that, though of course I subscribe to that basic tenet of our legal system that every accused is entitled to a defence, I think that I personally would draw the line at defending such as these.

  ‘That’s really telling them,’ said Pascoe.

  ‘It certainly is. Which makes it odd that he’s made it up with the Elsecars since then. Giving lectures and helping them arrange this tour.’

  ‘The aim of which is to help raise enough money to keep it here,’ said Pascoe. ‘Which is what he wants.’

  ‘Oh aye. That’s what he wants right enough,’ said Wield. ‘But anyone who can add up knows there’s not a cat in hell’s chance of making enough from admission fees to get anywhere near the Yanks’ price.’

  Pascoe hid a smile, recognizing that w
hat he was now alleging everyone knew the sergeant had probably not even thought of until a couple of hours ago.

  He said, ‘So what you’re saying is, the reason Belchamber threw his weight behind this tour is because he wants the Hoard out in the open where he can get his hands on it? That’s a big leap, Wieldy. This is Belchamber we’re talking about, the guy who doesn’t fart without studying precedent.’

  ‘Guy gets an obsession, he’ll do anything,’ said Wield a little pointedly. ‘And he’s an arrogant bastard, that’s clear. Put the feeling you get in both those pieces with his change of heart, then add what Lee overheard …’

  ‘You could be right, Wieldy. If so … Look, has Lubanski told you everything, do you think? Or is he holding something back to get more Brownie points from you later?’

  ‘I think he’s told me everything,’ said Wield, his worries reawoken by mention of Lee’s name. ‘You know that Belchamber’s here?’

  ‘Yeah. I met him outside, brought him in. We had a nice chat, but I don’t think he’s forgiven me for what I said to him after young Linford’s committal. Seems he’s representing some guy Uniformed just brought in on a smuggling illegals charge.’

  ‘I know. Asif. He runs Turk’s caff. I was there when they nicked him.’

  ‘You mean, with Lubanski?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Pascoe digested this, saw the worry in Wield’s eyes, guessed its source.

  ‘Ah. But this Asif doesn’t know you’re a cop, I presume?’

  ‘Didn’t till Hector opened that great gob of his. Yon bugger’s not fit to be let out!’

  It was rare that Wield expressed his opinion of a fellow policeman so forcibly.

  ‘But is there anything to make you think Asif might know of the link between Lubanski and Belchamber? Not likely, is it?’

  The phone rang. Pascoe ignored it. Sorting Wield was his priority at the moment.

  Not that Wield looked ready to be sorted.

  ‘You know as well as I do, Pete, that a lot of stuff we have to pay good money for can be common knowledge if you move in the right circles. Lee knew Turk was into smuggling illegals, for instance. No, he didn’t give me a tip, it was just a joke he made that I took no notice of. He assumed everyone knew! Pete, just now you said you met Belchamber and escorted him in. But I saw him a few minutes ago in the car park …’

  Pascoe picked up his phone and spoke briefly to the desk sergeant.

  Putting the receiver down he said, ‘Yes. They’re waiting for some hotshot to arrive from Immigration. Belchamber had a couple of minutes alone with Asif then came out. Seems he’d left something in the car. Went out for it, came back. That’s when you must have seen him.’

  Wield digested this, didn’t care for the flavour.

  ‘The bastard was on his car phone. Shit, I don’t like this.’

  Pascoe, concerned to see his usually phlegmatic friend so agitated, said, ‘Come on, Wieldy. Don’t make something out of nothing. What do you think happened down there in the cells? Asif said to Belchamber, “Oh, by the way, putting aside my natural concern that I am in deep shit here banged up on suspicion of a serious offence which is why I called you, thought you might like to know I’ve seen that kid who sucks your dick cosying up to a cop in my caff a few times.” Then the Belch takes off to his car and rings some hardmen he knows and says, “I’d like to fix up a hit on Lee Lubanski, action immediate.” Is that what you’re thinking, Wieldy?’

  If he’d thought to mock the sergeant out of his concern, he’d miscalculated.

  ‘You’re a mind-reader, Pete,’ said Wield savagely. ‘Tell me why I’m wrong.’

  ‘Because this is Mid-Yorkshire, not the Mid-west. Because a guy like Belchamber might not be too chary about the way he makes his money, but the civilized, respectable face he shows is more than just a face. He may do a lot of things, but I doubt he’s capable of having another human being killed!’

  ‘Pete, you’re missing the point. Men who use boys the way Belchamber uses Lee don’t think of them as human beings. They’re toys. That’s how he feels able to carry on talking about his business on the phone with Lee there. He’s negligible. He has a function and outside that function he doesn’t exist. And if it turns out he does, then all that that means is this particular toy is broken, so you throw it away and get a new one!’

  Wield’s voice had climbed close to shouting level by the time he finished and Pascoe was staring at him in alarm when Dalziel’s voice boomed from the doorway.

  ‘What’s all this then? Lovers’ tiff? Have some consideration, eh? There’s folk trying to sleep in this building.’

  Quickly Pascoe explained.

  The Fat Man listened intently then said, ‘So what are you hanging around here for, Wieldy? Go and find the lad. Offer him protection, and if he don’t want protected, put him in protective custody and bring him in. Off you go, chop-chop.’

  Wield didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t permission he needed, just affirmation that he wasn’t letting his emotions run away with his reason.

  Dalziel closed the door behind him and turned to Pascoe.

  ‘I hope this lad’s worth all the bother. Come up with owt interesting this morning, did he?’ he asked.

  Pascoe filled him in and showed him the two articles. The Fat Man read them with little sign of interest then said, ‘So what garden path’s this stuff leading us up then?’

  Pascoe, knowing from experience that Dalziel’s dumb-ox reaction was usually a provocation to precise exposition, marshalled his thoughts and said, ‘We have two things. DI Rose’s tip that something big is being planned which straddles South’s patch and ours, and Lee Lubanski’s report of stuff he’s overheard while servicing Belchamber. Conversations involving possibly Mate Polchard and certainly Linford also point to something being planned which may well be the job in question. Puzzle: why is Belchamber involved at the criminal end instead of merely standing by in readiness in case he’s needed at the legal end? Possible answer: because he himself initiated the job.’

  ‘The job being heisting this Hoard thing ’cos, like a good little patriot, he wants to save it for England?’ said Dalziel, sounding like the Pope being told God was a woman.

  ‘I’d say from these articles that that was certainly his initial reaction. Something had to be done, anything was worth doing, to keep the Hoard in the country. But at some point, perhaps as he began to realize the appeal to the country for money and to the Elsecars for patriotic sacrifice was going to fail, he began to ask himself, does the country deserve to have the Hoard saved for it?’

  ‘And his answer was … ?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t because it doesn’t value its heritage sufficiently. I, on the other hand, do. So why not save it for myself? But how to do it? And now his years of crawling in the mud with the pondlife come in useful. He needs experts, he knows where to find them, and he knows how the system works.’

  ‘Which system’s that?’

  ‘The finance system,’ said Pascoe impatiently. Sometimes the Fat Man took his dumb elenctic act too far. ‘He needs the best. Also he wants to keep control. He’s not offering a share of profits. This is not a profit-making job. So this means paying top dollar. I don’t know what level of remuneration gets Polchard out of bed these days, but I expect it’s a little over the National Minimum Wage. And, profits or not. Mate will be well aware of the notional value of the stuff he’s being asked to heist.’

  ‘So why not go for it himself?’

  ‘Because he’s a cash man. Because he knows how hard it would be to move stuff like this. And also because he knows that Belchamber’s often been the only thing between him and a lot more years in the Syke.’

  ‘Gratitude, you mean?’ said Dalziel sceptically.

  ‘No. Chess. Sacrifice everything except your queen.’

  ‘So why bring in Linford? Belchamber must be pretty well heeled.’

  ‘Certainly. But with most of it well tied up. Also, he doesn’t want to draw attention to himsel
f by the sudden realization of assets. So he turns to Linford, who is expert in the supply of large quantities of used banknotes.’

  ‘He’ll want payback with interest.’

  ‘He’ll get it from the profits.’

  ‘Thought you said there weren’t going to be any profits? Thought the idea was Belch would keep the Hoard in his cellar and go down there and have a wank from time to time.’

  ‘No. If you read his articles, the first one, a large part of the Hoard consists of golden coin, hugely valuable but by its nature hardly unique. I don’t think he’d have any problem moving most of this. Also I suspect that, in terms of personal ownership, what he really lusts after is the snake coronet. A lot of the other stuff he might be very willing to share with similar bent collectors for a price.’

  ‘And you and Wieldy got all this from someone making some crack about the Belch wearing a crown?’ said Dalziel sceptically.

  ‘There’s also the fact that the Hoard Exhibition is currently in Sheffield on DI Rose’s patch and it’s transferring up here to the Centre on January twenty-sixth.’

  ‘It’s still a hell of a leap,’ said Dalziel.

  ‘You got a better shell-hole in mind, why don’t you just jump into it?’ snapped Pascoe.

  The Fat Man grinned with satisfaction.

  ‘Nay, lad, you believe in it enough to get stroppy, that’s good enough for me.’

  There was a tap at the door and Novello’s head appeared.

  ‘Ah. You’re both here,’ she said.

  ‘Isn’t that what I always say about Ivor, Pete? Smart as a whip,’ said Dalziel.

  ‘Sergeant Bowman downstairs has been trying to get hold of one of you. Some Immigration official’s turned up,’ said Novello.

  ‘Oh aye. Tell ’em to sit him down and fetch him a cup of tea.’ The Fat Man grinned. ‘Better still, tell Bowman to get Hector to fetch him a cup of tea.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Pascoe said, ‘Shirley, I seem to recall you’re an expert on saints.’

  Novello remembered Sister Angela who wielded a ruler edge-on like a broadsword if you got a detail wrong.

  ‘Know a bit, sir,’ she said.