'Dear me, Andy, what do your underlings do nowadays? He's a lover of the good life, or was. Wine, women and song. So they tell me, I hasten to add. I have never been involved in any of his excesses.'
'Don't sound so regretful,' said Dalziel, rising and making for the door. 'And Sturgeon?'
'Pleasant chap. Self-made man, rose from having nothing to owning a nice little timber business. His wife talked him into selling up and retiring I believe; he didn't want to sit back and do nothing, you know what these blasted Yorkshiremen are like!'
'None better. Thanks. I must be off. You'll send me a bill?'
'Too bloody true,' said Grainger, picking up the diet sheet which Dalziel had replaced on the desk. 'And pay it quick if you're leaving this behind you. I don't want all the trouble of making claims against your estate.'
'Oh, give it here!' said Dalziel, taking the paper and thrusting it carelessly into his jacket pocket. 'Don't do too many illegal operations. Cheers.'
He left noisily. Grainger shook his head, smiling. But there was a shadow of worry in his eyes.
Chapter 8
Pascoe seemed to have spent the entire morning on the telephone, preserving a steady balance between official and unofficial business. First call was to Sergeant Lauder of Lochart who recognized his voice instantly.
'It's nice to hear from you again, Sergeant Pascoe,' he said. 'The day isna' complete without it.'
'Should auld acquaintance and all that,' said Pascoe. 'This time it's a man called Lewis, Matthew Lewis. He had a cottage somewhere near Lochart, I believe. Now why was I just pondering that?' inquired Pascoe.
'Because I am by the way of being a distruster of coincidence, Sergeant, and when I have to tell a woman called Mrs Lewis who has a week-end cottage in Lochart that her husband had been murdered, and when my colleagues in Yorkshire start ringing me up twice or thrice a day, why then I suspect a connection.'
'I hope this means you've anticipated my inquiries.'
'Perhaps so. The man Lewis has been coming here for nearly three years now. Week-ends and longer in the summer. He keeps himself to himself as far as the locals are concerned. He's usually with his wife and family.'
'Usually?' asked Pascoe, alert.
'Aye. But there have been others. Men and women. Such things are noticed. One other woman in particular.'
Dirty old Lewis, thought Pascoe.
'Anything else?'
'Nothing much. Some people in the village are looking after their dog. Mrs Lewis just wanted to get home as quickly as possible that night, you'll understand. Perhaps you might inquire about returning the beastie.'
'I will. Many thanks, Sergeant.'
'Just one more thing. Since you were so interested in this man, Atkinson, who stayed at the hotel, I went back through the hotel register just to see if anything else struck me. I made a note of one or two names, people with addresses from your part of the world who'd stayed there this summer. Would you be interested?'
'I certainly would.'
The list was not very long. Only one name was notable and Pascoe was less than surprised. Mr and Mrs E. Sturgeon. He checked the dates. They had been there for three nights early in the summer; clearly the holiday during which their house had been burgled.
'Thanks, Sergeant,' he said. 'I've no doubt we'll be in touch again.'
Doncaster Royal Infirmary was next on his list. Sturgeon's condition was unchanged. It was impossible to say whether or not a visit would be worthwhile – The tone used here was clearly disapproving. But they had never heard Dalziel's disapproval, thought Pascoe as he replaced the receiver. He would have to go.
Finally he contacted the garage to determine the results of the examination of Sturgeon's car.
He thought of this some time later as he drove by the scene of the crash. Not that there was anything to see. Sturgeon's car had, of course, been lifted away, and at Pascoe's speed, a broken hedge and ploughed-up grass were hard to spot.
The car was being closely examined, and according to the reports which he had got via the telephone, there seemed to be little reason for the crash. Tyres were all OK and the steering was absolutely sound. No evidence had yet been discovered of mechanical failure. The full report might show otherwise, but Pascoe's uneasy feeling was getting worse.
The doctor he spoke to confirmed it. So far as they could tell there had been no physical explanation of the crash in Sturgeon himself. All damage had clearly stemmed from the accident, not contributed to it.
'What are his chances?' asked Pascoe.
'Pretty slim, I'd say,' answered the doctor. 'He was badly knocked about, lost a lot of blood. But it's not just that. He doesn't seem to have the least interest in staying alive.'
'How can you say that?' protested Pascoe. 'He's only been here twenty-four hours. You can't expect much joy and laughter after what he's been through.'
'Listen,' said the doctor, 'I won't arrest any motorists if you don't make diagnoses. All right? And I'll tell you this. If it wasn't for the fact that I believe he might well be dead before morning, you wouldn't be going to see him now.'
What there was to see of Sturgeon's face confirmed the doctor's words. It was deadly pale and pinched- looking, as though the blood had been squeezed out of it by force. His eyes miraculously had escaped the onslaught of shivered glass which had gashed his scalp and brow as he pitched forward into the windscreen. But the flicker of recognition as they stared up at Pascoe was a mere movement on the surface of despair.
It was no time for social exordia.
'Mr Sturgeon, I rang Lochart,' said Pascoe deliberately. 'The constable there says there's no one called Archie Selkirk in the district.'
There was no response.
'He told me you'd phoned as well. What did you want with this man, Selkirk?'
Sturgeon closed his eyes, but he was still listening.
'What about John Atkinson then?' asked Pascoe. 'What's your connection with him? Do you know James Cowley? Did you know Matthew Lewis?'
The eyelids perceptibly pressed down more tightly on the eyes. This was getting them nowhere. A passing nurse pushed the door open, peered assessingly at Pascoe, and went on her way.
'Listen, Edgar,' urged Pascoe leaning closer, 'this is doing you no good. I want to help. You wanted me to help. Just tell me what it's all about and I'll try to sort things out. Is it something to do with the robbery? Your stamps?'
Still nothing. It was difficult to know where to go from here. The man was in no state to withstand the kind of shock being questioned about a murder could give him. Pascoe could hardly believe that a man like Sturgeon could have had the will or the strength to kill Lewis, but his innocence would possibly just increase the shock.
'All right, Edgar. I'm going now,' he said to the closed eyes. 'I'll come again.'
He rose to leave. The eyes opened.
'Mavis?' whispered Sturgeon.
'Mavis? Yes, I've been to see her.'
'To see?' Sturgeon was puzzled. Of course, he doesn't know she's in hospital as well, thought Pascoe. He's wondering why it's me standing here, not her.
'I'll tell her,' he said reassuringly, eager to get out now.
'Let her come. I want to explain.'
The words were almost inaudible. The door opened and the doctor and nurse appeared. Pascoe ignored them.
'Explain what, Edgar?'
'I can see you've cheered him up,' said the doctor. 'What's he said?'
'He was asking for his wife.'
'His wife? For God's sake man, you didn't tell him she was in hospital too, did you?'
