There was a circular dent nearly half-an-inch deep in the wood. 'That's public property,' observed Dalziel. 'Also you're making forensic's job more difficult.'
Pascoe returned the gun to the box.
'I've told them it'll be coming down.'
That's a nasty bit of machinery,' said Dalziel.
'It's an old-fashioned bit. I don't know if they make them like that any more. It's years since I had an airpistol. What now, sir?'
Dalziel scratched his navel.
'I think we'd better have another talk with Connon.'
'Do you believe young Curtis?'
'Yes,' said Dalziel, and added surprisingly, 'and I sympathize with him a bit. When you're that age, it's all sex, isn't it? I've seen him hanging around Gwen Evans at the Club too, wishing he dared. He does like 'em big, doesn't he? I think we all discovered the comic-obscene possibilities of the telephone in our teens, didn't we? If Mary Connon had shouted at him, told her husband, started drawing her curtains, that would have been an end to it. But she wasn't like that, Mary. She always liked to be controlling people.' 'What about. this other man? Lover? Or what?' 'How the hell should I know? But you're not the only one who's been out detecting today, Sergeant. I had a long talk with Evans, remember?'
I think he's really hurt I didn't ask, thought Pascoe.
'What did he say?' 'He said he met Mary Connon at her invitation. He said she wanted to discuss with him the relationship between his wife and her husband which was causing her considerable distress.'
Pascoe shook his head in amazement.
'That woman. I'm beginning to be glad I didn't know her.' 'Not much chance of that now anyway, lad. It's the living we're after. I've got a man sitting outside Evans's door. He won't go far. But there's a few questions Mr Connon's got to answer first of all. Let's hope he's cooperative or we'll never get to Jacko's party.' The television was on in Connon's lounge when they arrived. It was Christmas Eve fare, a selection from the old silent film comedies. Antony had turned the sound down to cut out the nauseating superimposed American commentary and the only sound for the past half hour had been his and Jenny's chuckles. Even Connon had smiled from time to time, Jenny had observed with pleasure. The doorbell's chime was an unwelcome interruption. Nor were the visitors it harbingered any the more welcome. 'Privately, please,' said Dalziel. 'We'd like to see you alone, Mr Connon. Perhaps we can leave these two young people to their television.' Jenny rolled her eyes at the unctuous condescension of Dalziel's tone. Pascoe laughed as the Keystone policewaggon lost another half dozen incumbents.
'Come into the dining-room,' said Connon.
He and Pascoe sat opposite each other at the diningtable. Dalziel stood in the bay, blocking out the light.
'Superintendent,' said Connon.
'Yes?' 'Stan Curtis. We saw what happened earlier. What has he got to do with my wife's death?'
'Should he have anything?'
T cannot imagine so for one moment. Where is he?' 'He's at the station at the moment, sir, helping us with our enquiries.'
'How?'
'He has admitted being illegally present in your house on the night of your wife's death. More serious charges against him are at present under review.' Nasty old Dalziel, thought Pascoe. What a little liar he is. 'No,' said Connon. 'No. Not Stanley. It was Stanley who was here?'
He sounded amazed.
That's right. Why not?'
'I didn't think…'
Connon tailed off. 'Didn't think what? Never mind. There'll be time for that later.' Connon was rubbing the side of his head. Dalziel suddenly wheeled round, sat down beside Connon and began speaking urgently, in a low voice to him. 'Come on, Connie. Tell us about it. Make it easy, boy. It's got to come out now. Got to. Just fill in the gaps.'
Connon sat silent. He looked really ill.
'For God's sake!' exploded Dalziel. 'Don't you believe us? We don't know it all, but we know enough. All we want are the little things. Why did you clean up the bathroom windowsill and close the window, for instance? And drop the pistol into the pond on the Common? What were they doing when you came downstairs? What were they up to? Making love?' Tut, tut, thought Pascoe. He's at it again. He read the pathologist's report as closely as I did. 'Come on, Mr Connon,' he said. 'It'll help everyone to get it out in the open. You. And Jenny. Who was it downstairs? Arthur Evans?' Connon sat looking blankly ahead. Outside the telephone rang. The door opened and Jenny came in. 'It's for you,' she said to Pascoe. 'Daddy, are you all right? What's going on anyway?'
Pascoe went out to the phone.
It was the desk-sergeant down town. 'Pete?' he said. 'Alan here. Sorry to interrupt whatever I'm interrupting but you did say you wanted anything new at once. Well, it's probably nothing, but a chap called Johnson just rang up for you. Landlord of a boozer, the Blue Bell. He said you'd been asking about Gwen Evans, whether she'd been in on the sixth. None of his lot could remember her, he said, and then it had gone out of his mind, till they started talking about her leaving her husband. News gets round. Then he mentioned it again and one of his women, a temp, only comes in at weekends, says she was definitely in that night, for at least an hour. She served her twice. She remembers clearly she says, because she went sick on the Sunday after and was laid up for the next two weekends.'
'What's she doing there now then? It's not a weekend.'
'It's Christmas Eve. Remember? Lots of people actually go out and enjoy themselves. Big crowds in pubs. Merry Christmas.'
'You too, Alan. Thanks.'
So Gwen had been in the Blue Bell that night as she said at first, not lying spread out on the counterpane as she was willing to admit later. Later, when Dalziel had had a go at… He went quickly back into the lounge. He'd been dimly aware of background noises as he took his call. Now they stopped, but the little tableau that greeted him – Jenny, flushed, standing with her hands on her father's shoulders; Antony, concerned, just behind her; Connon, blank, staring at the empty rose-bowl in the centre of the table; and Dalziel, hands spread out in front of him, with his injured, professional footballer's what-haveI-done expression on his large face – this was enough to tell him there had been some kind of row. He didn't need to be a detective to guess the details. But he was a detective, and he was too near the truth now to be deterred by considerations of health, feeling, or sentiment. 'Tell me, Mr Connon,' he said harshly. Tell me, why had Mr Felstead come to see your wife that night?' The tableau remained the same. Only the expressions changed. But it was Connon's alone that he watched. For a second it froze into an even greater withdrawal, a kind of desperation. Then slowly it dissolved, the life and movement came back and something very like relief rose to the surface of the eyes. He let out a long sigh and glanced round at his daughter and Antony.
'May they stay?' he asked.
'If you wish it,' said Dalziel.
'Yes. It's best. I'll do my best to be brief.'
'No need to hurry, Mr Connon,' said Pascoe.
He smiled.
'Once you decide to have a tooth out, Sergeant, don't you want to run to the dentist? It's not all that complicated really, not any more than human beings are, anyway. Though that's enough I suppose. What happened was this. Everything I told you about my going home and passing out was true. Only I woke up again much earlier. Shortly after eight I should think. I went out on to the landing. There seemed to be some kind of disturbance downstairs, but I was still too dazed to pay much attention. I went into the bathroom and bathed my face in cold water. That woke me up a little. I noticed the window was wide open and the fresh air helped clear my head as well. Then I set off downstairs.' 'How long had this taken?' asked Dalziel. Jenny looked at him angrily. 'Five minutes. Longer. I don't know. Anyway, I came downstairs and opened the lounge door. The television was still on, no other lights. Mary was still in the chair with its back to me. In front of her stood Marcus. He had this pistol in his hand. I could hear Mary laughing, it was as if something very funny had happened. The pistol was sort of hanging loose.
