A Killing Kindness (16 page)

'I've done nothing,' said the gypsy.

'No one's done nothing,' said Dalziel mildly,  wrapping up his treasure trove in the small khaki blanket which he used for a handkerchief. 'Off we  go. You too, love.'

Outside, the children paused in their play to  observe the passing trio.

Dalziel grinned at them, pulled a handful of  coppers from his pocket and tossed them into the  air. They fell upon them, and each other, yelling  wildly. A large lad, a stone or so heavier than his  playmates, got the bulk of it.

'That's always the way of it,' said Dalziel philosophically.

Greenall looked with some surprise at Dalziel's  companions when they reached the Aero Club.

'These two broke into the bar?' he asked.

'Mebbe,' said Dalziel.

'Are you sure? He couldn't possibly have got through that window, and it'd be a tight squeeze  for her.'

'They'll have done something,' said Dalziel indifferently. 'All gyppos are guilty of something. Can I  use your phone?'

He told the Lees to sit down in the bar and left  them there while he went into the office.

When he emerged he found the secretary looking distinctly unhappy.

'What's up?' he said.

'Are you going to be long?' asked Greenall.

'Not long. Why?'

'It's just that it's nearly twelve and there will be  members arriving shortly.'

'So? Oh, I see. The gyppos. I thought you didn't  mind them, Mr Greenall. Something about free  spirits, wasn't it?'

'Hardly free when they're in custody, Superintendent,' said Greenall acidly.

'That's a point,' said Dalziel. 'But don't worry.  They'll be picked up just now.'

'Picked up? You're not taking them yourself?'

'No way,' said Dalziel. 'I've got better things to do than chauffeur a pair of tinkers around. No,  they'll be safely locked away and I'll get round to  them by and by.'

'But you can't do that, can you?' protested  Greenall.

'Can and will,' said Dalziel. 'They're not going to  go squawking off to a lawyer, that's for sure. And a couple of hours locked in a cell's often worth a  day's questioning with a gypsy.'

Greenall regarded him with distaste and went  away.

Dalziel joined the Lees in the bar.

'You're not very jolly,' he said to them.

'He says you've hurt his belly,' said the woman.

'More likely it's eating all them hedgehogs,'  said Dalziel. But he went behind the bar and  poured a large brandy which he handed to Dave  Lee.

The police cars arrived at the same time as  Bernard Middlefield whose indignation when he  discovered the two gypsies in the bar was assuaged only slightly when he realized they were under  arrest.

'Not before time,' he said. 'The police cells are  the one part of this town that lot are welcome  to.'

Mrs Lee said something rapidly to her husband.

'What was that?' enquired Dalziel.

Lee answered, 'She says this loudmouth hangs  about the river bank where the kids swim and tries to give them money to feel him.'

Middlefield went such an interesting colour that Dalziel couldn't resist saying, 'You stay like that,  Bernard, and you'll have to resign from the golf  club.'

A more dangerous encounter occurred as he was giving his instructions to the constables from the cars. To one of them he handed a plastic bag  borrowed from Greenall's kitchen into which he  had transferred his floury finds.

'To the lab,' he said. 'I want to know all there  is to know. And I want it yesterday.'

As the other escorted the Lees to the police car,  a pale blue Lancia drew up and Thelma Lacewing  and Ellie Pascoe got out.

Thelma was wearing a thin cotton suit in cream  with a grey leaf pattern which ought not to have  suited her colouring but somehow did. She frowned  slightly at the sight of the police cars and went right  past Dalziel without a glance.

Ellie who looked hot and uncomfortable in a  smock which was stretched as far as it seemed  likely to go said, 'Hello, Andy. Checking on pilots'  licences, are you?'

'Hello, Ellie,' said Dalziel, beaming widely. 'You're  looking grand. There are some flowers that look  best in pod. Another business lunch, is it?'

'Another?'

'Aye. Peter told me about your last. You did  right to mention Mrs Wildgoose to us. We'll make  a snout of you yet.'

Ellie looked around uneasily but Thelma was out of earshot talking earnestly to Greenall.

'No, not business this time. Thelma just called  unexpectedly. She's off  this afternoon, thought she  might try a flight.'

'Oh aye?'

Dalziel shot her a questioning glance.

'You're never thinking of going up yourself,  lass?'

'I may do,' said Ellie. 'What about it?'

'In your state? Does Peter know about this?'

'Look, Andy,' said Ellie with growing indignation. 'What I do is my business. I make my own  decisions. I'm a big girl.'

'That's what I mean,' said Dalziel.

But further discussion was prevented by the  return of Thelma Lacewing.

'Those people you have just despatched, Superintendent, have they been charged?' she said in  her quiet, rather over-precise voice.

Dalziel scratched his neck, winked at Ellie who  turned away from this attempt at conspiratorial  familiarity, and said, 'No, Ms Lacewing. They have  not.'

'Are they going to be charged?'

'They're helping with enquiries. At this time I am not in a position to forecast the possible outcome of these enquiries,' said Dalziel, deliberately  self-parodying.

'Not till they've been questioned, you mean?'

'Right.'

'By you?'

'Right again.'

'Starting when?'

Dalziel looked reproachfully towards the club  house but Greenall was no longer in view.

'After lunch,' he said. 'What's the food like  here?'

'Let's stick to the point, Superintendent. Just what are you questioning these people about?'

'There was a break-in here last night, did your  friend not tell you that?'

'Yes. A couple of bottles. Hardly work for one of  your eminence, I shouldn't have thought.'

'I look into crimes. You look into gobs. Neither of us can be selective,' beamed Dalziel. 'What's  your interest anyway? The Lees are just a pair  of gyppos. You don't strike me as a candidate for  a bit of rough.'

Ellie shuddered. Peter wouldn't believe this. On second thoughts, alas, yes he would.

'I dislike abuse of power, especially against  women,' said Thelma. 'What you're doing here  is on the face of it fascist, racist and sexist.'

'Not sexist,' said Dalziel cunningly. 'I'm treating  both of 'em the same.'

'I have a friend who is a solicitor. Adrienne  Pritchard, you may know her? I shall instruct  her to visit your station as soon as may be this afternoon to ascertain the position regarding the  illegal holding of Mr and Mrs Lee and to act on  their behalf if they so desire.'

'Well, that's settled then,' said Dalziel. 'Grand!  I think I will stay here for a spot of lunch. It's not  a bad little place, is it? Ladies, will you join me in  a drink?'

Thelma Lacewing said coldly, 'As a policeman,  you should be aware that non-members are not  allowed to purchase drinks on club premises.'

'Is that right?' said Dalziel, placing one huge  hand against each of the women's backs and  urging them forward. 'In that case, it looks like  your shout, lass. Mine's a pint.'

Chapter 14

Mark Wildgoose's flat was in a district of old Victorian terraces where you were more likely to find  nests of students than solitary teachers.

Not that he was solitary when Pascoe arrived.  Directed up the stairs by a bearded youth with a  beatific smile, he arrived on the first floor landing  just as a door opened and a girl emerged. She  didn't look to be out of her teens. There was a  man behind her and she turned to give him a  parting kiss. It was an uninhibited affair on her  part, almost exhibitionistic, but his eyes remained open and fixed on Pascoe who after a cursory  glance at the other two doors had worked out  this must be the one.

The girl finished, slipped past Pascoe and flew  down the stairs with the lightness of youth and  joy.

The man began to close the door.

'Mr Wildgoose?' said Pascoe.

He nodded.

'I'm Pascoe. Detective-Inspector Pascoe. My warrant card. Could we talk?'

Wildgoose studied the card carefully, then ushered him into what must once have been a morning room. Like good bone structure, its dignified  proportions had been able to absorb the ravages  of age, neglect and even student taste. It contained  an unmade bed, a scarred mahogany wardrobe, a  couple of dilapidated armchairs, a table with the  remnants of breakfast on it, three folding chairs, a  washbasin and an electric hotplate. Some makeshift bookshelves, planks on stacks of bricks, were  packed to danger point, and an overspill pyramided in one corner.

Bad to heat in winter, thought Pascoe looking up  at the leafily corniced ceiling. But at the moment  it was warm enough, too warm in fact, stuffy  with a rich mingling of smells. He sniffed. Coffee,  perspiration, tobacco . . .

'There is a bit of a fug,' said Wildgoose, flinging  open windows. The girl must have looked up as  she left the house for he leaned out and blew  a kiss. Pascoe could see his face in the pane  of glass.

'It's about your allotment, Mr Wildgoose,' he  said, and watched the tension come into the  averted face.

But when the man turned, there was nothing  but alert frankness there.

Small, dark, sharp, mobile, it was a good face for a French singer of disillusioned but not despairing ballads. The children got more of their looks here  than from their mother.

'Wasn't that your wife I met yesterday?' said  Wildgoose.

'I believe so.'

'Coincidence?' His eyebrows added their own  double question mark.

'Coincidence?' echoed Pascoe. 'A funny thing, coincidences. On the other hand, less funny because  less rare than many people believe. It's noticing  them that's rare.'

'I don't follow.'

'And you an English teacher,' smiled Pascoe. 'That was a coincidence, wasn't it? I mean you  actually taught Brenda Sorby, didn't you?'

'Brenda . . . ?'

'Sorby. Choker victim number three. The girl on  your allotment was number two.'

'Not
my
allotment, Inspector. And no, I can't remember teaching a Brenda Sorby, though I'm  willing to accept I did, if you tell me so. Is that it?  For coincidences, I mean?'

'Not quite. You drink at the Cheshire Cheese,  don't you?'

The man sat down in an armchair and lit a  cigarette. His face was thoughtful now. He used  the smoke as a mask.

'I have done,' he said.

'What about the fairground, Mr Wildgoose?  Have you been to the Fair this year?'

'Yes. I always go. I like fairs.

‘When were you there?'

'Last week. Thursday night if you like.'

He smiled and Pascoe felt irritated. But it had  been his own idea to start playing this game. He  couldn't blame the other for joining in.

'What about lunch-time two days ago? Wednesday, that is?'

'I think I was out walking,' said Wildgoose after  some thought.

'By yourself?'

'I believe so.'

'And where did you walk?'

'Oh, here and there. I expect I strolled along the  river bank. It's so pretty down there, don't you think?'

'Along the bank, and through Charter Park, you  mean.'

'That's where the river flows, Inspector,' said  Wildgoose. 'Now, how are we doing for coincidences?'

He doesn't give a bugger! thought Pascoe. He's  mocking me.

Yet there had been something there when we  started. Where had they started?

'If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at your  allotment, Mr Wildgoose,' he said abruptly.

That was better. The tension had flickered back  momentarily.

'It's a stretch of wasteland, Inspector,' he said  lightly. 'I haven't bothered much with it this year.  In fact, I'm not sure it's even still mine, officially. The rent could be overdue.

‘All the same, I think I'll have a look,' said  Pascoe. 'Would you care to join me?'

Wildgoose stood up. His muscles were aggressively tensed.

'Where'd you get my address from, Pascoe?' he  asked. 'Have you been talking to my ex-wife?'

'Your wife, surely? There's no divorce yet, is  there?'

'Hardly. But there will be, whatever she thinks.  Even the law's delay doesn't last for ever these  days.'

Pascoe said, 'The law's delay. That's
Hamlet, 
isn't it?'

'I suppose so. So what?'

'Coincidence, that's all.'

Wildgoose laughed and relaxed and pulled on a  cotton jacket over his T-shirt which was not the  one described by Ellie, unless he was wearing it  inside out.

'Half the cliches in the language are Shakespeare  and most of the rest Pope,' he said. 'Not a very  valuable coincidence, is it?'

'That's what I've been saying about coincidences  all along,' said Pascoe. 'Isn't it?'

As they drove along the road which was the  quickest route to Pump Street, Pascoe said, 'Why aren't you coming all over indignant, Mr Wildgoose?'

'Why should I?'

'Well, for a start, you've obviously worked out I've been chatting to your family about you. That  would annoy a lot of men. And there'd be very few men indeed who wouldn't get extremely indignant  when they realized the police were trying to tie  them in with the Choker killings.'

'Including the Choker?'

'Perhaps especially the Choker,' said Pascoe.

'Then perhaps I'm busy establishing my innocence, Inspector,' said Wildgoose calmly. 'If you  turn down here, you'll cut off the traffic lights.'

Pump Street consisted mainly of two long rows of terraces opening on to the pavement. One  side had been built for railway workers in the  mid-nineteenth century, the other, still known  as the New Side although identical in style, had  been put up speculatively about ten years later as  the demand for low-cost housing exploded in this  area. What gave Pump Street some individual  character and even beauty was the ground contour which had made it easier to build on a curve,  and chance had produced an arc fit for a Nash  crescent. The allotments were situated in a break  in the New Side where a Dornier with its full load  had come down one still-remembered night in  '41 and reduced a hundred yards of terracing to  rubble, and thirty-nine men, women and children to corpses. There was no time for rebuilding  then, but gradually the site had been cleared,  and eventually planted on, by the garden-less  locals eager to plug some of the gaps in their  diet. Eventually, after complaints of piracy and  landgrabbing, the council stepped in and regularized matters, and so things continued for more than thirty years till the June morning when the  death toll rose to forty.