‘Still unconscious, but active signs are good. They’ll let us know soon as there’s any change. Sir…’
‘Save it, lad. Need to take a look for myself first.’
The DCI hadn’t demurred, merely produced a couple of white sterile cover-alls from the caravan and said, ‘We’ll need these. SOCO’s up there already.’
So, agreement, obedience, just what a senior officer arriving at the scene expected. But as they made their way up to the second floor, Dalziel had a sense of being escorted rather than being in charge.
The feeling had persisted in the flat. Pascoe, usually the sensitive plant when it came to gore, had taken him through the details of the fatal injury without a tremor, his gaze fixed on the Fat Man as if determined to register every reaction.
What’s he want? A confession? Dalziel asked himself. But he knew that if the circumstances were reversed he’d be doing exactly the same.
He said, ‘Who found him?’
‘Two uniforms. A neighbour called in to say she was worried, the TV set was on playing very loud but when she knocked at the door to ask Mr Watkins…’
‘Watkins?’ interrupted Dalziel. ‘That the dead man?’
‘Alun Watkins is the name of the man renting the flat,’ said Pascoe carefully. ‘As I was saying, when she couldn’t get a reply, she decided to ring the emergency services. Couple of uniforms turned up. They couldn’t get an answer either. Then one of them thought he smelled gas, which was odd as there isn’t any gas connected here…’
‘Probably the drainage,’ said Dalziel. A sensitive nose came in handy when you needed to get into premises without a warrant.
‘Whatever, it was as well they did. First thing they saw was Novello lying on the floor, bleeding from the head. They reacted by the book, one of them did what he could for her while the other called up an ambulance, told them exactly what the situation was so they came prepared. Their quick actions probably saved her life.’
‘Thank Christ we’ve got a few buggers we can trust,’ said Dalziel fervently.
‘Yes, that is a comfort, isn’t it?’ said Pascoe, looking at him pointedly.
Fuck, thought Dalziel. He’s not going to make this easy.
He made himself concentrate on the body.
He said, ‘Any identification?’
‘Nothing found. He had no ID on him.’
‘Nothing at all? No wallet. Meaning mebbe it were stolen?’
‘Possibly. So, probably Watkins, but we’ll need to wait for positive identification.’
‘You’ll not be asking his mum,’ said Dalziel, forcing himself to look unblinkingly at the ruined face.
‘Dental records should do the trick if there’s enough of his teeth,’ said Pascoe. ‘Or fingerprints maybe.’
Dalziel stooped lower.
‘Hey, look at this,’ he said. ‘I think the bugger’s wearing a rug.’
‘So it would seem,’ said Pascoe neutrally.
The Fat Man delicately tweaked the black wig to reveal the true close-cropped blond hair beneath. Then he straightened up with a sigh.
‘Pete,’ he said, ‘are you going to tell me everything you know, or are you going to play clever buggers to see if I let slip summat I couldn’t know without knowing a lot more than I’m letting on to you?’
‘Don’t think I need to play clever buggers to reach that conclusion, sir,’ said Pascoe.
‘Because of the address, you mean?’
‘That will do for starters. Why don’t we step outside and let these good people get on with their work?’
Dalziel took a last look round the room. There were signs of a search, drawers open, papers scattered, a rack of CDs emptied on to the floor. Just inside the door a body-shaped outline had been marked on the carpet. He stepped carefully over it and went out. Behind him the CSIs who had been waiting patiently recommenced their painstaking examinations.
Outside as they took off their cover-alls, they saw Ed Wield come out of the caravan. Pascoe made a beckoning sign, then opened the door of his car. Dalziel got the message. There’d be other officers in the caravan and the DCI wasn’t sure he’d want them to hear everything his boss was going to say.
He sat in the back seat with Pascoe next to him. Wield got into the front passenger seat and twisted round. At least, thought Dalziel, they haven’t locked the doors.
‘So fill me in,’ said the DCI.
Wonder what he’d do if I said, No, you go first? thought Dalziel. Arrest me? Wouldn’t put it past the bugger!
He said, ‘That woman you saw me with at the Keldale, her name’s Gina Wolfe…’
He told the story fairly straight, though he did omit his confusion about the day, and glossed over the fact that he and the woman had met in the cathedral.
His involvement of Novello in the business, his subsequent phone contact with her, the whole sequence of events at the Keldale he described in exact detail. With the lass in hospital, glossing over things wasn’t an option here, not even if they made him look foolish or irresponsible. But he found himself over-stressing that when he passed on Watkins’s address to Novello, he’d told her to find out anything she could about the man but to avoid any direct contact.
When he finished, Pascoe said peremptorily, ‘This photograph you mentioned, you’d better let me have it.’
Have it, not see it.
He took the envelope out of his inner pocket. Pascoe put his gloves back on before taking it.
‘Blond hair,’ said Pascoe. ‘But not wearing a wig. Though, if what you say about Gina Wolfe thinking she saw him watching her at the Keldale is correct, it wasn’t much of a disguise anyway. Of course we’re only guessing that Watkins is Wolfe.’
‘Same initials,’ said Dalziel.
‘Andy, Wieldy’s got the same initials as Esther Williams but that doesn’t mean you want to see him in a figure-hugging swimsuit.’
That was better. First name, a joke, altogether more relaxed. Or mebbe it was just part of the clever bugger’s technique.
He said, ‘Any road, Mick Purdy thinks this is likely a fake.’
‘But you haven’t checked yet?’ said Pascoe.
‘Not had time,’ said Dalziel defensively.
‘No, you have been rather busy. Eating and sleeping,’ murmured Pascoe.
Before the Fat Man could decide how to respond to this piece of insolence, Pascoe handed the magazine page to the sergeant and said, ‘See if you can check this out, Wieldy. Who’ve we got at HQ?’
‘Seymour’s there.’
‘Just the man. Tell him to get himself a WPC then head off to the Keldale to bring Mrs Wolfe in. And we’ll need a team to look at her stuff. Car, clothes, the lot. What was she wearing when you last saw her, Andy?’
‘A sort of negligee,’ said Dalziel. ‘I explained…’
‘I don’t mean that,’ said Pascoe. ‘Though her having a shower might be significant. So what was she wearing last time you saw her fully dressed?’
Dalziel bit back an angry response. In Pascoe’s shoes, he’d be asking the same.
He described Gina’s dress as best he could.
‘Right. Particular attention to that, Wieldy.’
‘Right,’ said the sergeant. ‘By the way, what are we going to do with the Duttas?’
‘They still here? I thought he was taking her back to his mother’s till SOCO got finished going over the corridor.’
‘She’s not keen to go. Don’t think she cares for her ma-in-law and she’s loving being at the centre of things here. I got her out of the caravan after taking their statement, but they’re still sitting round the back.’
‘I’ll have a word.’
The sergeant got out of the car and headed for the caravan.
Dalziel said, ‘Pete, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree about Gina Wolfe…’
