Ever a pragmatist, Wield had decided to relax and enjoy it, and discovered rather to his surprise that he did. Even his initially reluctant attendance at the midnight service had been a pleasure. The whole village had been there, and as Corpse Cottage, the Wield’Digweed residence, now festooned with winking fairy lights, snuggled handily under the churchyard wall, it seemed natural that most of the villagers should drop in for a festal warmer on the way home, and very quickly huge inroads were made into what had seemed their excessive provision.
'I was very pleased to see you at the service’ said Justin Halavant, art collector and critic in whose medieval hand a poppy or a lily would not have looked out of place. 'It's so important to demonstrate the solidarity of our faith, don't you think?'
'Oh aye?' said Wield, a touch surprised as he'd have put Halavant down as an aesthetic rather than a devout Christian. 'Look, don't be offended, I enjoyed it, but I'm not what you'd call a true believer
'My dear chap, what's that got to do with anything?' laughed Halavant. 'All I meant was, anyone who doesn't show up in the church at Christmas is likely to end up in the Wickerman at Beltane. Lovely candied kumquats, by the way. I may have some more.'
Later he'd shared the exchange with Digweed, who'd laughed, not his ho-ho-ho but his usual dry chuckle, and said, 'Justin likes his jest. But he's right. Enscombe takes care of its own, one way or another.'
Christmas morning had been going well till among the presents beneath the tree Wield had found a padded envelope marked Not to be opened till Xmas day in a childish scrawl.
'Came with the post yesterday,' said Digweed with an overstudied lack of interest.
Wield opened it to find a card with all the most sucrose elements of Christmas greetings combined in one glutinous design and something wrapped in tissue paper.
The card was inscribed To Edgar the best from your friend Lee.
He unwrapped the tissue to reveal a pair of silver cuff links engraved with his initials.
Edwin asked no questions, but questions hung in the air so Wield gave answers in his most brisk and precise style.
Digweed listened then said, 'You did not think to mention this boy to me earlier.'
'It was police business.'
'So,' said Digweed, glancing at the links and the card, 'it would appear. Isn't there a name for gifts that policemen receive from criminals?'
Oh dear, thought Wield. To a cop, family squabbles leading to domestic violence were a commonplace of Christmas Day. He hadn't anticipated getting personally involved.
'He's not a criminal,' he said. 'But I'll be giving it back to him anyway.'
'And break the little darling's heart? Don't be silly. If you don't want the links, I'll have them. I'll tell people the initials stand for Eternally Worried, that's me.'
He turned away, his shoulders shaking as if at some barely restrained emotion.
'Edwin, there's no need for you to worry . . .' Digweed turned to face him, still shaking but now the emotion was clear and audible.
'My dear Edgar, what do you take me for?' he said, laughing. 'I may shoot you but I will never play the sulky jealous type. And besides, you say this young man is nineteen but could pass for ten or eleven? I can see you looking appreciatively at a good-looking yunker, but I have never detected the smallest morsel of paedophilia in your make-up. Also, in my experience, cuff links are not the kind of gift a lad gives to his lover. They are more what a son gives to his dad. So, no jealousy, believe me. But some concern. You may not be attracted to young Lubanski, but you are sorry for him and, to a man in your position, that can be more dangerous than sex. You will take care, won't you?'
'He's at risk.'
'No. You are. Don't confuse the apparent child with the real adult. But that's for the morrow. Carpe diem, dear Edgar. And here's a little something to help preserve it too.'
He tossed over a package which Wield ripped open to reveal a mini camcorder.
'Jesus,' he said with real feeling. 'Thanks a million. This must have cost a fortune.'
'Self-interest,' said Digweed. 'I understand that you with your computer expertise will be able to make films of me, then doctor them so that I look and move twenty years younger. I can hardly wait for the experiment to begin.'
And after that Christmas had been everything Lee's card claimed it should be.
Wield could not remember a time in his life when he'd been happier. And because he was happy, he wanted everyone else to be happy too, but this he knew was not even a possibility in that other uncontrollable world that lay in ambush for him whenever he ventured east of Eendale. So now as he approached his rendezvous, his mind rilled with foreboding as he spotted the pale-faced boy who stood in wait for him like Cathy waiting for Heathcliff, outlined against the scudding clouds of a wild and wintry Yorkshire sky.
He had changed their meeting spot partly because regular encounters even somewhere as anonymous as Turk's could draw attention, but mainly because he didn't want any audience if Lubanski got upset with what he was about to hear.
For this was definitely their last meeting.
Dalziel, impressed by the accuracy of the tips so far, had urged Wield to get his new informant signed up properly. Wield knew this wasn't going to happen, but he didn't mind making the proposal because he reckoned this would draw a line under their relationship. The idea of simply continuing to take advantage of the boy's vulnerability and emotional instability filled him with revulsion. Before they parted, he would do his best to persuade Lee out of the dangerous and degrading life he was leading, though, being a realist, he had little hope of success. But no way was he going to let the boy's evident misconceptions about their current relationship continue.
Now Lee turned and saw him, and his change of expression from abandoned puppy dolour to here-comes-master delight struck Wield to the heart and turned the stern words he'd prepared bitter in his mouth, and he heard himself saying, 'Hi, Lee. Good Christmas?'
'Yeah. Made a bundle.'
'I didn't mean trade, Lee’ said Wield, thinking what a stupid question it had been. 'Listen, I've got something to say to you.'
'Me first,' said the youth. 'There's something real big going down in the New Year.'
'Lee’ said Wield, steeling his resolve. 'It's time we put a stop.’
'No, listen, this is really good. I made some notes after. I've got them here.'
Proudly he handed over a sheet of cheap writing paper covered with a childish scrawl.
Tear it up, Wield told himself. Tell him you don't want to know, it's all over, you're washing your hands of him. He's got his own life to live and if you can't make it any better, the least you can do is not make it any worse.
But even as the voice of the man inside spoke these words in his head, the eyes of the cop outside were reading the words on the paper.
B said that things were OK and man in Sheffield shuddunt worry and man in she fsaid that was for him to deside and there's been plenty to worry about already how did B explain that. And B said coincidence and it hadn 't made a difference had it and everything was on as planned for January and the upfront many would be deposited as arranged. And man in Shefsaid it had better be and he rang off.
Now Wield was all cop.
He said, 'This B . . . he's your source for these tips, is he? You do business with him?'
'Yeah, that's right. Regular. He really goes for me. And he's got one of them speaker phones and he seems to like talking to people while we're, like, doing it ...not about it, though he does that too on the net, but real business talk, and the others've got no idea that I'm there doing it. . .'
Oh God. The Oval Office syndrome. Some guy full of a sense of his own importance and getting a kick out of...
His imagination shut out the picture of the act just as Lee's misplaced delicacy had refused to put it into words.
He said, 'So this man in Sheffield, there was no name mentioned?'
'No. Well, not really.'
Something there? May
be. But concentrate on facts before you start chasing fancies.
'How do you know he was in Sheffield?'
Lee screwed up his eyes in thought then said, 'Because Belchy asked if he was still in Sheffield and he said yes.'
‘Belchy?
‘B for Belchy.
Oh shit. If what he was thinking was true, there was no way Andy Dalziel was ever going to let this boy go.
Grasping the nettle at once he said, 'Belchy would be Marcus Belchamber, right?'
Lee didn't answer but he didn't need to. Alarm was twisting his boyish features.
'Right?' insisted Wield.
'I didn't tell you that!'
Wield felt a mingling of pity and exasperation. The stupid boy thought it was safe to pass on information as long as he didn't name names. As if it would make the slightest difference to Belchamber that his name had been guessed rather than betrayed. But it clearly made a difference to Lee, and that was something a good cop could play on.
‘Despising himself, Wield said reassuringly, 'Of course you didn't, Lee. Whatever happens, we'd make that quite clear. We've known all along, you see. It's always that way, we know a lot more than we ever let on.'
The upside of giving an impression of omniscience, besides calming the boy's fears and making him more malleable, was that it might make him start thinking of Wield as a part of the huge legal machine rather than an individual.
'So you knew all this stuff I've given you?'
'Most’ said Wield. 'But what you told us was great for tying up loose ends. In fact, I don't know what we'd have done without it. You've done really well.'
The boy looked so pleased that Wield felt his old guilt well up. However this played, this was definitely the last time, he assured himself.
But he was getting way ahead of the game.
He said, 'So, no names, you say? What about when they said cheerio?'
'The man in Sheffield just hung up. Then Tobe got on the net..."
'Tobe? Who the hell's Tobe?'
'It's Belchy's web name, the one he uses when he talks to his mates on the net.'
'How do you know that?'
'Sometimes he's been online while we're . .. you know. Likes to send messages to say what's happening.'
Belchamber, you are a nasty piece of shit! thought Wield.
He said, 'This is a chat room he uses then?'
'Yeah, but it's real complicated to get in, passwords, and all kinds of shit. You want me to find out more about it?'
'No,' said Wield firmly. 'You mustn't do anything that makes him suspicious. So when he went online was this something to do with the call to the man in Sheffield?'
'I think so. I saw this message he left on the noticeboard. LB call Tobe.'
'LB?'
'Yeah, it's one of these pervs in the chat room, but this one Belchy knows personal and sometimes he'll just leave a message there.'
Someone whose line he doesn't trust to be secure, thought Wield.
'And did this LB ring?'
'Yeah. A bit later. Didn't need to make a note of that, it were really short. LB said what? And Belchy said he'd told his mate the money was through and was it? And LB said he always did what he said he'd do and mebbe Tobe should remember that. End of call.'
'Doesn't sound very friendly.'
'No,' said the boy. 'Come to think of it, when I've heard 'em before, Belchy and LB, I mean, they've always sounded a lot more friendly.'
'And the man in Sheffield didn't sound like a close friend either from what you say.'
'Him? No, definitely not.'
'But you said that Belchamber talked about "his mate's money" when he was talking to LB. Why should that be, do you think?'
'Don't know. Yeah, it is a bit funny. I mean, old Belchy's really posh. Not the kind of guy goes around calling people mate, know what I mean? But he did call the Sheffield guy mate a couple of times. Mebbe he was trying to suck up to him, do you think?'
'Yes,' said Wield softly. 'Maybe he was. Lee, you've done well, picking all this up.'
The boy's face lit up.
'You reckon?
‘Well, you know. Keeps your mind off the job, doesn't it?'
'And how long have you been working for old Belchy?'
'Few weeks now. Real regular. It's good money and no hassle.'
'You sound like you sort of like him?'
Lee looked at Wield blankly and said, 'Like him? He's a punter. I mean, someone like you I can like, but not a punter . . . liking don't come into it ... and he treats me like a kid
'Sorry?'
'Well, he goes on like I'm just a kid, you know, ten or eleven or such. He's got these clothes he likes me to put on, school uniform, green blazer with yellow edging, grey shorts and a cap, all that crap, and he gets narked if I say owt that a grown-up would say. Other times he dresses up like them soldiers in that film Gladiator and I've got to run around bare arse like I'm a slave or summat. Still, it's his money and you gotta give what you get paid for, that's how things work, right?'
'I'm afraid it is, Lee,' said Wield with infinite sadness. 'I'm afraid it is.'
‘Let me get this straight,' said Dalziel. 'While this lad's under the table chewing his dick, Belchamber's chatting away with his dodgy clients on the phone? Or else he's on his computer giving a running commentary to some other sad shirt-lifters? God, that makes the bastard thick and sick!'
'Wouldn't call him thick,' said Wield. 'It's a power thing. The lad doing this to him is a Roman slave. Or else he's a ten-year-old schoolboy. That uniform Lee mentioned sounds like Thistle Hall Prep School to me. I checked. That's where Belchamber went. Mebbe something bad happened to him there.'
'Not bad enough. He's a disgusting excuse for a human being,' said Pascoe fervently. 'I've never liked him. It will be a pleasure to send him down.'
'Hang about’ said Dalziel. 'Let's not get ahead of ourselves. OK, one reading of this is that Belchamber's put a toe over the line and may be acting as a bagman for one of his dodgy clients, though I can't for the life of me understand why he should. In fact it seems so unlikely that I reckon we take a long cold look at things afore we go steaming in on the basis of some scribbles that a rent boy has given to Quentin Crisp here.'
One thing about the Fat Man, he didn't wrap things up in fancy paper.
Or perhaps (mind-boggling thought!) he believed he did.
Pascoe said, 'Let's wire Lubanski up, get something we can produce in evidence. In any case it'll be better if we can assess what's being said for ourselves.'
'No,' said Wield very firmly.’I’ll not have that.'
'Oh?' said Pascoe, taken aback. 'Do you intend arguing that or merely asserting it?'
Dalziel looked from his sergeant to his chief inspector and for a moment thought about settling back to enjoy a rare public confrontation between them.
Then both personal regard and professional responsibility kicked in and he said dismissively, 'Doesn't need arguing. Lad's got to strip off to change into his school uniform. I bet the Belch watches, so while he's running around in the buff, where's he going to keep a wire hidden? Could try for a phone tap, but doubt we'd get it. Things go wrong, no one's going to fancy having Belchamber shitting on us from a great height. No, we'll have to stick with the lad. What's his motive giving you this stuff anyway, Wieldy?'
It was with great reluctance that Wield had let Lee get into the Fat Man's rattle-bag. Though even Dalziel probably found the notion of sex slavery abhorrent, he drew the line at human rights for snouts. Belchamber's involvement plus his sense that this latest bit of info related to something really big had made it impossible to preserve the boy's anonymity. But no way was he going to discuss the true nature of Lee's motivation. He tried to imagine the landslip of emotion running down that Beachy Head of a face if he replied now, 'He wants me for his dad.' Almost worth it just to see. Almost. He said, 'He hates Belchamber's guts.'
It wasn't true. In fact Lee seemed almost as indifferent to Belchamber as a human being
as the lawyer was to him. But it would do for the Fat Man.
'Does he now?' Dalziel shuddered. 'Jesus! If you ever get a notion that I'm letting some bugger who hates my guts get his teeth anywhere near my dick, be sure to let me know! So let's see what we've got. Mate. You think this guy in Sheffield could be Mate Polchard. Rings a bell, we were talking about him just the other day, weren't we?'
'Was in the Syke with Roote. They played chess together,' said Pascoe, who suspected the Fat Man remembered full well and was merely testing his reaction.
'That's it. Don't think young Franny could be masterminding this job, whatever it is, do you, Pete?' said Dalziel with heavy jocularity. 'Fits your Mr Big profile to a T.' .
‘I’ll wait till we're certain that it is Polchard who's involved before making up my mind, sir,' said Pascoe, po-faced.
'Good thinking. Wieldy, you've checked Polchard out?'
'Christmas at his cottage in Wales. Left on Boxing Day. Spotted in Sheffield the week before Christmas.'
'Spotted where? Doing what?'
'The shops,' said Wield. 'Christmas stuff. Nothing furtive. Looked like he was shopping till he dropped, then off back to the countryside for Christmas.'
'So he'd have been around same time as this DI Rose was getting a sniff of a big job overspilling on to our patch. Pete?'
‘I’ve spoken to Rose. Low key. Didn't want to get him too excited.'
Which had been difficult. His sense of exultation had come bubbling down the line and Pascoe had had to work very hard to keep the cork in.
'Listen’ he'd urged, 'this could be nothing. My advice, don't go shouting round the office. If it comes to nothing, you'll look dafter than before. If it comes to something big, then someone bigger than you will lift it out of your lap. Good security too. Fewer people who know, less chance of some idiot blowing things. Walls have ears, remember?'
This argument seemed to impress. Perhaps Rose had suffered from idle gossip.
'You're right there,' he said. 'Round here they've got bloody tongues too!'
'Anything more from your snout?'
'Still no sign of the bugger. His cronies say he's still in London, but nobody has an address. I bet he's too scared to come back. Someone's really put the frighteners on him.'
D&P20 - Death's Jest-Book Page 26
