A Cure for All Diseases

by Reginald Hill

  The smile didn't flicker for a millisec nor did the hand drop, so Hat shook it.

  "No need to apologize," said Parker. "I didn't spot you for a policeman. That must be useful in your line of work."

  Then his expression turned grave and he went on, "This is about that dreadful business at the hall, right? "

  "That's right, sir. Just a few questions."

  "Of course. Let's go inside. My room, if that's all right, then we won't be interrupted."

  A couple of minutes later they were sitting in Parker's room, which turned out to be a luxurious suite about twice the size of Hat's flat.

  "So what's your line of business, Mr. Parker?" said Hat, looking round.

  "You mean, what do I have to do to drive a car like that and stay in rooms like this?" said Parker, smiling once more.

  "Just for the record, sir," said Hat, keeping it formal.

  "I work for Harpagon's in the City. Here's my business card, and my private card. Just for the record."

  "Harpagon's," said Hat, looking at the card, which gave no information other than the name and address. "Doesn't say here what they do."

  "Sorry. It's not anticipated we'll be handing out cards to anyone who doesn't know. We're a finance house. I suppose the easiest way to think of us is as a private bank."

  "Yes. Are you here in Sandytown professionally, or is it a social visit?"

  "Bit of both, I suppose. It's home territory for me - the Parkers are old-established Sandytonians - so naturally I like to get back here whenever I can to visit my brother, Tom, and his family at Kyoto House. There is, however, a professional element, insomuch as I act as a financial consultant to Tom. Also to Lady Denham. And to them jointly in their role as cofounders of the Sandytown Development Consortium. But I'm sure a bright young detective like yourself will know all this already."

  This was said with such a pleasant smile that Hat had to work hard to resist returning it.

  "Is this consulting stuff a private arrangement, sir, or are you acting as an executive of Harpagon's?" he asked stiffly.

  "It's more of a personal arrangement than a private one. It's not the kind of area that Harpagon's gets involved in - rather small beer for them - but naturally I keep them informed of all my activities and they have no objection to my using my professional sources and contacts."

  Hat wasn't sure if this was an answer or not.

  "So this was why you were invited to the barbecue?"

  "Part of the reason, I suppose. Though even without the professional link, the fact that I'm Tom's brother and our family has long connections with this area would probably have merited an invitation - if I were in the area, that is. I admire your thoroughness, Mr. Bowler, but can't quite see how this relates to your inquiries into this ghastly affair."

  Hat looked at the elegant figure relaxing in a deep sofa, a long glass filled with some sparkling liquid in his hand. He himself was perched on the edge of an armchair that felt as if it could be very comfortable indeed if he sank back into it. He'd also refused the offer of a drink. In his place, he guessed Dalziel would have downed at least two by now and probably be lying at full stretch on the sofa. Pascoe and Wield he wasn't so sure of.

  Didn't matter. He'd learned the hard way that DCs needed to tread carefully if they weren't to sink without a trace. Time enough for eccentricity when he'd got the rank to support it.

  He said, "Just clearing the ground, sir. Now, I'd like you to take me through the events at the barbecue so far as you remember them."

  Twenty minutes later he was done. Sidney Parker's account of the party as he saw it was clear and succinct. Nothing in it, so far as Hat could see, was of any positive use to the investigation. His last sighting of Lady Denham had been as early as two thirty.

  "After that our paths just didn't cross," he said. "I daresay from time to time I heard her booming away in the background - she has . . . she had a very positive way of speaking - but I couldn't put my hand on my heart and swear to it. I suggest you look to Dr. Feldenhammer from the Avalon for a closer account of her movements."

  "Why Dr. Feldenhammer in particular?" asked Hat.

  Another smile but this one fleeting, private, and perhaps a touch malicious?

  "She had, I suspect, formed an attachment to him," said Parker, watching the young man keenly.

  "An attachment? You mean like a . . ." Hat dug for a word and Parker laughed.

  "I fear you're being a tad ageist, Constable Bowler. Lady D might have been, in your eyes, an oldie, but she was far from being a mouldie. A lady of strong appetite. But I speak only from hearsay, not experience. You must talk to others better placed and judge for yourself."

  So to family and finance we can add sex! thought Hat. Or maybe Parker had just tossed sex in as a diversion.

  He said, "As her financial consultant, do you have any idea how much she was worth, sir? I mean, just in general terms. Rich? Very rich?"

  "That depends on the circles in which you move," said Parker. "In the City, I think she'd be rated as very well off. In Sandytown terms, stinking rich."

  "She ever indicate who might get it when she died?" prompted Hat.

  "Afraid not, and if she had, I'd have taken it with a pinch of salt.

  She was not a woman who enjoyed spending money, so she had to concentrate on one of its other pleasures."

  "Which are?"

  "Two, principally. The first is giving it away to deserving causes. This, I assure you, was not high among Daphne's priorities. Rumour has it that on Remembrance Sunday, the poppy she sported had been purchased by her father in 1920."

  "And the second?"

  "Making people close to you jump through hoops in the hope of inheriting it. Of course, part of this sport is never being too specific about your intentions. I mean, if people know they are definitely not in your will, why should they continue jumping? "

  "So you've no idea who'll benefit."

  "Well, it is generally known, because it was part of her first husband Howard aka Hog Hollis's will, that her brother-in-law from that marriage, Harold aka Hen Hollis, will acquire Millstone, the Hollis family farm."

  "Harold Hollis, you say?" said Hat, looking at his list. "Why did he get Hen?"

  "He concentrated on raising poultry while his brother favoured pigs. Hence Hen and Hog."

  "I've got an Alan Hollis on my list, but no Harold."

  "Alan runs the Hope and Anchor in the town. Same family, but he had the wit to remain on good terms with Daphne. Unlike Hen. He and Lady D were definitely not on visiting terms."

  "So they didn't get on. And he'll definitely benefit from her death . . ."

  He hadn't meant to speak the words out loud, and certainly not so eagerly, but out they came, causing Parker to smile broadly.

  "The impetuousness of youth," he said. "It would be nice if the solution turned out as simple as that, wouldn't it, Mr. Bowler? I hope for your sake it might."

  Hat frowned and tried to retrieve the situation by saying sternly, "One last question, Mr. Parker. Why did you leave the hall when you did?"

  "I had already decided it was time to leave before the . . . discovery. I had just asked if anyone knew where I might find Lady Denham to offer thanks when the uproar broke out, and my question was answered. Of course I joined in the general expression of shock and horror, but it soon became apparent that there was nothing practical for me to do. Others were leaving. I saw no reason not to join them. In fact, to tell the truth, I felt that the farther I put Sandytown Hall behind me, the better."

  "Not all that far, sir," observed Hat. "About a mile and a half."

  "You are being literalist," said Parker, frowning. "I just wanted to be away from that atmosphere. Besides, I could hardly go farther, not when I knew that eventually someone like yourself would want to interview me."

  "Very responsible of you," said Hat.

  It came out slightly mocking.

  Parker said, "Yes, wasn't it? Tell me, Mr. Bowler, did you really not know who
I was out in the car park?"

  "No. How could I?"

  "So your interest in the Maz was genuine?"

  "Oh yes. Very much so."

  "Then my offer to look inside, or under the bonnet, still stands. In fact, if you care to take a ride before you go . . . ? I should tell you, by the way, that when I hit the one-fifty mark, I was on the circuit at Brand's Hatch. I have a friend who pulled a string."

  I bet you did, thought Hat. Lots of friends, lots of strings.

  "No can do, sir," he said. "Things to do. Sorry."

  "Of course. It was silly of me. You'll be worked off your feet. But if you do have a respite over the next couple of days, don't hesitate to get in touch."

  "No, sir. We never hesitate to get in touch," said Hat.

  Then, thinking that was a bit sharp, he grinned and said, "But it would be nice, if I had the time."

  "Good," said Parker, rising. "Mr. Bowler, it's been nice to meet you."

  He offered his hand again.

  This time Hat took it without hesitation.

  On his way out he stopped at the reception desk. The young woman there had clearly heard all about the murder and her eyes shone with excitement when he showed her his ID.

  Hat leaned over the desk and said, "You local, are you?"

  "Yes. Why?"

  " 'Cos if you were one of these Czechs or Poles you get working in hotels, you'd probably not be able to help me. You sure you're local? I mean, you look a bit exotic to me, those high cheekbones and classy figure . . ."

  The girl laughed and said, "Nice of you to notice, but my family have lived round here for hundreds of years, or so my gran says."

  "Then you're the girl for me. Chap by the name of Hen Hollis, I was wondering where he lived? "

  4

  Dennis Seymour drove slowly along Seaview Terrace.

  Nice, he thought. Narrow Edwardian houses, one big bay window apiece, lovely outlook over the sea, just a short step across the road (a safe cul-de-sac) and over the shallow wall to the beach, would suit Bernadette and the twins very nicely. Wonder how much they charge in the season? Might not be professional to bring it into a witness interview, but no harm in checking later.

  He'd watched the byplay between his younger colleagues with quiet amusement. There'd been a time when he too had strutted and pecked in the cockpit of ambition, but not anymore. He was long resigned to the knowledge that what he had was all he was going to get. But how could he be unhappy about that when it included lovely twin daughters and a gorgeous wife whose fiery Irish temperament dovetailed perfectly with his own laid-back easy-over nature? Financially there was no problem either. Bernadette's job as manageress of the restaurant in the city's largest department store meant the family had more than enough coming in to satisfy their needs.

  So let Novello and Bowler go scurrying off in search of the subtle clue that was going to unravel the case. Seymour was more than content to be down here on the seafront to interview the oddball sister.

  The door was opened by a small, neatly packaged woman who studied his ID with a keen eye, identified herself as Diana Parker, and said, "Please, step inside. This is a dreadful business, quite dreadful. It threw everyone into disarray. I could see that chaos was likely to ensue without a controlling hand at the rudder, and I would have stayed at the hall and offered my services, but my constitution is a delicate machine, easily thrown off balance by any shock or violent turn of events, with deep and long-lasting physical consequences. I needed to be back here in reach of my medicaments. I might not have made it, but happily my friend Mrs. Griffiths was by my side, giving me support. Here she is now. Sandy, this is Detective Constable Seymour come to question me as a witness to the terrible events at Sandytown Hall."

  This outburst, delivered at a pace which could have got her a job as an announcer on Five Live, had filled the space between the doorstep and a comfortable parlour in which a well-built woman with a strong face and short, curly black hair was standing by an open sash window smoking a cigarette. She took a last drag, flicked the butt through the opening, and turned to greet Seymour with a brusque nod.

  Diana Parker went to the window and pulled it down with great force.

  "Drafts kill," she said accusingly.

  Resisting the temptation to quip, But not in the case of Lady Denham, Seymour said, "All right if I sit? Thank you. Now what I'm particularly interested in is any conversation with or sightings of the deceased, Lady Denham, either of you may have had during the course of the party."

  And Diana was off.

  Seymour quickly recognized that close questioning wasn't an option. All a man could do was sit with his pencil at the ready and try to bag any potentially significant fact as it flew by.

  The one he underlined in his notebook was Diana's assertion that in the middle of the afternoon she had seen Lady Denham having an argument with one of the guests.

  "His name is Godley - he is a healer - my brother introduced us earlier - dear Tom suggested that Mr. Godley might be able to alleviate some of my chronic symptoms - I said firmly I doubted it - to be honest, experience has taught me that I have to trust to my own knowledge of my own wretched constitution for any relief - but I drift from my story - this Godley and Lady Denham had words - not polite words either, from the look of her after they parted and she passed close to me - she had a high flush - I have always assessed her temperament as choleric and this with her age makes her peculiarly susceptible to the perils of high blood pressure. Concerned, I took it on myself to offer help - not from myself, you understand - I would not be so presumptuous - though with my long experience of illness I think in an emergency I might prove very useful - no, what I did was offer to summon Nurse Sheldon, who was present at the party. I fear Lady Denham did not take my offer in the spirit in which it was given. She said, "I am perfectly well, Miss Parker - and as for summoning that lump, I'd as lief see an undertaker!' "

  When the deluge finally abated, Seymour did not care to risk provoking a renewal with questions but said, "That's fine, Miss Parker. Now, Mrs. Griffiths, I wonder if you have anything you'd like to add?"

  The woman regarded him thoughtfully for a moment then said, "I'm sorry, no. I'm just a visitor here. Miss Parker . . . Diana . . . was kind enough to take me along to the party. I saw Lady Denham when we arrived, but thereafter I can't say I noticed her."

  "You didn't see this encounter she had with Mr. Godley then?"

  "Sorry."

  "Anything you did see that struck you as unusual?"

  "As a stranger, I'm hardly able to say what was usual, am I?"

  Seymour was not the most incisive of interrogators, but he knew when he was getting nowhere. He could also see that the other woman was trembling on the brink of another verbal avalanche.

  He closed his notebook decisively, stood up, and said, "In that case, thank you for your cooperation, ladies. If anything further does occur to you, don't hesitate to get in touch."

  Diana followed him to the door.

  "One more thing, Constable Seymour," she said.

  He halted and waited. Was this going to be the vital clue that enabled him to solve the case single-handedly and win battlefield promotion to the rank of detective sergeant?

  She said, "It is my experience that redheaded people are particularly susceptible to the evil effects of ultraviolet rays. I cannot help noticing that you are already showing signs of too much exposure to this strong sun. I have found aloe vera gel efficacious in alleviating the effects, but with a coarse skin like yours, you might find the simpler and less expensive remedies such as bathing the affected area in cold tea, or applying a vinegar compress - white vinegar, that is - would serve."

  "Well, thank you very much, Miss Parker," he said. "I'll make a note of that."

  As he got into his car he noticed that the sash window was open again and Sandy Griffiths was standing there, watching him, another cigarette in her hand.

  He smiled and drove away.

  5

&n
bsp; Pascoe stood and looked down at the mortal remains of Daphne Denham.

  The corpse lay on the ground where it had been placed after removal from the roasting cage. In fact, because it was fully clothed and the heat had not been strong enough to fire the clothing, the charring was limited, but with Pascoe a little visual horror went a long way. He'd tried everything from vacuous jocularity to Vedic mantras, but such sights still affected him deeply and later almost invariably replayed themselves on that inward eye which can be the bane of solitude.

  It was with relief that, duty done, he authorized removal of the remains and turned his attention to more practical matters.

  The scenes of crime officer was an old acquaintance, Frodo Leach, an energetic young man, blissfully happy in his work, whose detractors accused him of being on permanent audition for CSI Mid-York.

  "You've got yourself a real beauty here, Peter," he declared almost enviously. "Nerves of steel, whoever did this."

  "Why so?"

  "Think of the time involved. First he kills the victim, no indication where yet, so it could mean he had a long carry. Once here, he has to winch the basket back from the charcoal pit, remove the pig, replace it with the body, and push the whole damn thing back into place."

  "Could one man manage all that?"

  "If he were well muscled. Probably not one woman, though."

  "But wouldn't have taken so long with two or more perps, right?"

  "No, it wouldn't. Many hands make light work, but many feet make much mud, and there's been so many feet tramping around this damp ground, it's impossible to draw any conclusions about that."

  "Fingerprints?"

  "Not much hope. Anyway, he probably wore insulated gloves: We found a couple of pairs in the hut. Standard equipment, I should think. That cage must get pretty damn hot."

  "But if he didn't wear gloves, his hands could be blistered?" said Pascoe hopefully.

  "Oh yes, but I shouldn't snap the cuffs on anyone with blisters," said Leach cheerfully. "I daresay you'll find quite a few who helped get the old girl out got burned for their pains as well as leaving traces of themselves all over the body. One thing - you probably noticed - extensive red stain down the front of her blouse. I say red - brown now, after exposure to the heat. Thought blood at first, but no such luck. Wine, I think."