‘It still needs barking up,’ said Pascoe. ‘Woman’s in the middle of getting her runaway husband declared officially dead so she can inherit his estate and remarry. She thinks she sees him in or around the same place as Shirley Novello spots a man who’s bugging your table. This man is later found murdered. He is wearing a wig, presumably to disguise his appearance. The woman had possibly overheard you passing on this man’s address to Novello. What would you do, Andy?’
‘I’d want to ask her what she’d been doing all afternoon,’ admitted Dalziel.
‘Of course you would. Right, let’s go and talk to the Duttas.’
Inclusive, but not subordinate. Go with the flow, Andy, till you see where the flow is going, he told himself as he eased his bulk out of the car.
Behind the caravan they found an Asian man standing alongside a woman seated on a fold-up canvas chair. The man, dressed in a Technicolor beach shirt and off-white Nadal-style shorts, looked rather anxious, but the woman, bright-eyed and beautiful in a shot-silk kaftan under which she was heavily pregnant, could have been relaxing in a holiday caravan park.
‘Mr and Mrs Dutta, this is my colleague Detective Superintendent Dalziel,’ said Pascoe. ‘Perhaps you could tell him what you told me earlier. Excuse me, Andy, I’ll be back in a minute.’
The cunning bastard’s leaving me stuck with this lot while he gets on with God knows what! thought the Fat Man. But he wanted to hear it anyway.
Mr Dutta began to speak rapidly.
‘Yes, on Sundays we go to have lunch with my mother. She lives in Bagley Street near the post office, and usually we would stay there all afternoon, sometimes into the evening, but Devi was not feeling so good when we arrived, so we hardly had any lunch at all and came home early only for all this to happen and I am very worried about Devi who should not be put under any strain because of her condition as you can see.’
Devi, from Dalziel’s observation, did not look to be suffering from anything other than a keen desire to find out what was going on and a certain amount of excitement at being at the centre of it. His guess was she was milking her condition for all it was worth to minimize contact with her mother-in-law.
He said, ‘Right, we’ll keep it short then. Tell me about Mr Watkins. Did you know him well?’
‘Not very well,’ began Ravi Dutta.
‘Not very well?’ his wife cut in. ‘I think I’ve seen him once! Number 39 was empty when we moved in six months ago; we looked at it because the rent was much cheaper than our flat, but that was because it is so small, and we needed the extra room with baby on the way, and Ravi has a good job so we can afford it even though his mammy did not want us to leave-we used to live with her, you see, and that was bad enough when there were just the two of us but soon as I knew I was carrying, I said to Ravi, this will not do at all…’
Dalziel said, ‘So how long has number 39 been occupied?’
‘I am not precisely sure…’ began Ravi.
‘Four months ago I started hearing noises, television and radio, the walls are very thin, but not so loud I needed to complain,’ said Devi. ‘In any case, it was not every day; a lot of the time there did not seem to be anyone there, then I would hear the TV again, then another few days or a week and nothing. I thought he must travel a lot…’
‘So tell me what happened today.’
Now Mr Dutta got a short innings. To save his wife the walk, he had gone to get the car, which he kept in a lock-up a minute’s walk away. He’d expected to find her waiting outside the Villas. When she wasn’t there, he had gone back inside to fetch her.
‘See anyone hanging around outside?’ asked Dalziel.
‘No, I do not think so. Though I think someone came into the building behind me.’
Now Devi took over again.
‘There was noise from the TV next door, it was a movie, it sounded an exciting movie, lots of shouting and shooting and loud music, and I was thinking how nice it would be to sit and watch a movie this afternoon instead of making a visit, and then there was a noise like someone falling and a big bang and voices and suddenly the music and everything got much louder, and I said to Ravi, What is that? And he said, It is the television, come on we are late, and I said, It sounded different from the movie, but he was so anxious not to be late at his mammy’s that I did not have time to knock on the door and ask if everything was all right.’
Lucky you, thought Dalziel.
‘But when we came back early because I was not feeling well, while Ravi was parking the car, I went up to the flat and the TV next door was still playing as loud as ever, so I knocked at the door but no one came, and when Ravi came up he knocked too, but still no one come, so I said, Now we must tell someone. Ravi did not want to cause a row but I said, No, this we cannot put up with, in any case maybe Mr Watkins is ill, so I went into our flat and rang 999. Soon your men came, they made us stay in our flat then they brought us out here. What is happening, Superintendent? Is Mr Watkins dead? Did he attack the lady they carried out? When shall we…’
‘Hold on, luv,’ said Dalziel. ‘What you’re saying is very important, I think mebbe we need to get you down to our headquarters so you can make a proper recorded statement. Excuse me.’
He walked away and climbed into the caravan.
Pascoe and Wield were standing together looking at a creased and soiled copy of MY Times open at the page containing the picture of the loyal citizens cheering the royal visitor.
‘By God, Wieldy that were quick,’ said Dalziel admiringly.
‘There’s some recycle dumpsters round the side of the building,’ said the sergeant. ‘I set a couple of lads to go through the paper skip. Take a look, sir.’
He held it up alongside the page that Gina Wolfe had received through the post to show that, in the genuine copy, the face in the space occupied by Alex Wolfe was that of a balding middle-aged man.
‘Mick were right then,’ said Dalziel.
‘Why would someone go to all the trouble of faking this?’ wondered Pascoe.
‘Not much trouble,’ said Wield dismissively. ‘Kid could do it with a decent scanner and printer.’
‘Purdy reckons someone might be wanting to have a pop at him,’ said Dalziel.
‘Blowing a man’s face off and putting a cop in hospital’s a bit more than a pop,’ said Pascoe. ‘I think it’s time to have a long chat with Mrs Wolfe.’
A phone rang. The constable who answered it called, ‘Sarge-Seymour for you.’
‘So what do you make of the Duttas, Andy?’ asked Pascoe.
‘You got a problem. Keep them here and they’ll drive you mad and she’ll be into everything. Turn ’em loose and she’ll be on every channel, spilling everything she’s seen and heard. I’d get her taken down to HQ and let her talk her head off to some poor sod. Paddy Ireland’s a good listener. With a bit of luck, eventually she’ll go into labour, then we’ll be shut of her for a while.’
‘Andy, you’re all heart. But it’s not a bad idea. I’ll get Wieldy to sort it.’
But the sergeant had other things on his mind as he rejoined them.
‘That were Seymour from the Keldale,’ he said. ‘Seems Mrs Wolfe checked out half an hour back.’
Pascoe turned on Dalziel.
‘Well, Andy,’ he said. ‘How’s your instinct feeling now?’
‘Bearing up,’ said the Fat Man. ‘Likely it means nowt. Decided she wanted to get out of reach of everyone to consider her options.’
It sounded so feeble he almost smiled apologetically as he said it.
Pascoe said, ‘Wieldy, put out a call. You should be able to get the details of her car from the hotel…’
‘No need,’ said Wield. ‘Call’s out. I knew the details already. Super asked me to check them this morning.’
‘So he did. Lucky to have him around, aren’t we?’ said Pascoe savagely.
But this chunk of heavy irony fell short of its mark.
Dalziel had moved away and was talking urgently into his mobile.
‘Mick,’ he said. ‘When you get this, don’t care if you’re saving the fucking universe from aliens, ring me!’
13.35-17.30
