'Doesn't look like you need a solicitor after all,' he said heartily. 'Willie, before you go ...'
The superintendent paused in the doorway.
'Something you want to tell me, Joe?' he said.
Joe went towards him. The girl would have to take her chances. Finding out what Chivers had said was more important.
He crossed his fingers and gave Woodbine his best smile. The superintendent was a natural trader. As long as Joe fed him the odd useful bit of information, such as who'd killed who and with what, he went along with the pretence that they were mates. But at the moment Joe had nothing to trade. Except his best smile and a little lie.
'Just wanted to tip you off about Mr. Pollinger,' he said. 'He reckons you're letting yourself get obsessed with Victor Montaigne. He says he's sure Montaigne will turn up any day now from his skiing trip and you're going to have to start over from scratch. And he said something about going to the same party as the Chief Constable tonight. Thought you ought to know, Willie.'
Aunt Mirabelle used to tell him that little boys who told lies would find their tongue turn black and swell up like a rotten squash. He shut his lips tight and hoped the crossed fingers antidote would work.
Woodbine said, 'Is that what he says? And I daresay you're happy to go along with it, Joe. I mean, he's only going to keep you on his books so long as there's something to investigate, right? Well, it's back to the Social Security, I'm afraid. We've just heard that Montaigne's car's been found with a body in it in a flooded gravel pit in Nottinghamshire. Tyre tracks straight in. Note in his wallet.'
'Shoot,' said Joe. 'You mean he topped himself?'
'Looks like he took off from here after attacking Naysmith, headed up the Al, got to thinking the game was definitely up now that Naysmith could positively identify him, and said, Sod it! But we'll need a PM and a coroner to confirm that, so not a word, Joe, or I'll have your guts.'
'But I can't keep taking Mr. Pollinger's money now I know the case is closed,' said Joe, who'd been hurt by Woodbine's implication that he'd milk an investigation for his own profit.
'You'll just have to force yourself. I've told you more than I should have done, Joe. Don't break my trust!'
He turned and left. Some trust! thought Joe. Only told me to put me down after my little white lie about Pollinger and the Chief. Gingerly he touched his tongue. Seemed all right. Maybe lies in a good cause didn't count.
He turned his attention to the two women and was relieved to see no blood. In fact, they looked like they were getting on fine.
He should have known Butcher was no bully, especially when she could get what she wanted by sweetness and light. As he moved towards them he caught the tail end of their conversation.
'People can change,' urged Dorrie. 'No point in life otherwise.'
'Maybe,' said Butcher. 'OK, yes, we can all be surprised. When he got married that surprised everyone. Of course, I
knew Peter better. I'd have said he was more likely, which just goes to show. But remember what I say, there's another woman involved here. It's you two ought to talk. I can fix that.'
So Butcher was being true to her principles after all. Nothing wrong with a man that two women sitting down together and talking couldn't sort out. Except that he didn't reckon Dorrie had learnt much about sexual reasoning and compromise at her mammy's knee.
'I'll see,' said Dorrie unconvincingly. 'I'd just like to get back to my kiddie now.'
She turned to Joe as she spoke, electing him chauffeur. He grinned at Butcher and said, Thanks for coming. Have a great New Year.'
'Yeah, yeah,' she said, heading for the door. She was already burning rubber out of the car park when they emerged.
When Dorrie realized they were making for the Magic Mini, she said, 'Is this yours? Hey, this is really something!'
Joe, more used to you-don't-really-expect-me-to-get-in-something-like-that? reactions, was surprised and pleased. Whitey's reluctance to move from the passenger to the rear seat lowered the temperature a bit, but the atmosphere was still warm enough for him to launch a gentle probe.
'None of my business, I know, but we've sort of crossed tracks, with me being mixed up in this murder investigation. You must be wondering what's going on there.'
Offering a trade, see if she'll bite.
'What do you mean, mixed up?' Wary but unobtrusive.
'Your friend's senior partner, Mr. Pollinger, has hired me to look after the firm's interests,' he said, laying it on thick. 'I was up on the Heights earlier today, interviewing Mr. Naysmith.'
'You spoke to Felix? How is he?' she asked eagerly.
'You didn't get to see him then?'
'No! I was just coming out of the woods into the garden when this Scotch git grabbed hold of me,' she said bitterly. 'I took a swing and ran for it but I tripped over a sodding root.'
'You hit the cop?' said Joe, wondering why there'd been no mention of assaulting a police officer, still the nearest thing to a capital offence in the constabulary book.
'Yeah. He should have tartan balls by now,' she said with some satisfaction.
Case explained. Young Sandy hadn't wanted the mock sympathy of his macho mates enquiring after his first in- the-course-of-duty injury.
