At his front door he turned back and re-entered the flat.
'That was Dalziel on the phone,' he said. 'I'm going to Thornton Lacey to pick up Davenant. He's at the Culpepper's. Goodbye, love.'
He left feeling happier. The future might hold plenty of things not to talk about and plenty of times when there would be no time to talk. But not now. Not yet.
Chapter 8
The journey to Thornton Lacey was swift and uneventful in objective terms. Detective-Constable Ferguson pleased to be out of the office routine for a while, chattered away with the brightness of one who feels no career height to be unscalable, and the radio filled in the few gaps left by his near-monologue.
Pascoe drove. (He was a bad passenger. Fortunately Ellie was a good one.) Ferguson's voice did not bother him. He hardly heard it. It was a glorious morning and a light mist rose to the sun from the roadside fields. The car seemed to be moving more and more slowly through a world where sound was deadened as though by winter snow. He drove by instinct; in fact the car seemed to drive itself, drifting round bends, floating over the crests of hills, as though in some relationship quite other than mere movement with the countryside around it.
His mind, not usually given to the wilder flights of imagination, was strangely supine, ready to accept that this journey should somehow go on for ever in a region of non-time. Or that time should have been tricked and that once more they were on the road that Saturday morning twelve days earlier with nothing to fear at the end of their journey.
'Thornton Lacey,' said Ferguson approvingly. 'You've made good time, Sergeant. Sorry, sir.'
'Yes,' said Pascoe.
He drove directly to the police station. Crowther was behind the desk.
'Morning,' he said.
'Morning,' said Pascoe. 'I believe you've got someone for us.'
'Mr Backhouse is having a cup of coffee in the sitting-room sir. Shall I have Mrs Crowther bring one through for you?'
'That would be kind,' said Pascoe without enthusiasm. He had hoped he might be lucky enough just to pick up Davenant and get away.
'Hello, Peter. It is Peter, isn't it?' Backhouse rose, smiling, like a gentleman farmer welcoming a luncheon guest.
Suddenly it's Christian names all round, thought Pascoe. Perhaps the word's out that I'm earmarked for Commissioner.
'Yes, sir,' he answered. 'This is Detective-Constable Ferguson. Do you have Davenant here for us?'
'No. No, in fact we don't,' said Backhouse. 'Sit down, will you? Ferguson, perhaps you'd like to see how a small country station like this functions, would you? Constable Crowther would be delighted to show you round, I've no doubt.'
Ferguson stood uncertainly for a moment. The thing was, when Dalziel gave you a choice, it was a real choice. When he wanted you to go, he just told you to shove-off.
Pascoe looked significantly at the door and Ferguson left as Mrs Crowther brought the coffee in.
Alone at last, but with none of the romantic overtones of the phrase, the two men sipped their coffee in silence for a while.
'Davenant's gone, sir?' prompted Pascoe.
'No, no. He's still at Culpepper's. I have a man watching, never fear. But there were one or two things I thought it worth discussing with you before picking him up.'
'In which of my capacities, sir?'
'I'm sorry?'
'As a police officer or…'
'I see! Or as a not very co-operative witness, which has been your usual role in Thornton Lacey! I'm not sure. I'm not at all sure!'
Backhouse settled more comfortably in his chair, placed his coffee cup on the floor, and touched his fingertips together in a parsonical gesture.
'First,' he said, 'let me tell you about Pelman. Naturally, even when it looked as if Colin Hopkins was very much a front runner, I was having a close look at other possible candidates. Pelman was, at best, only an outsider and I was pretty surprised when I found him pointing a smoking shotgun at you.'
'More surprised than you were to find Colin's body with a bellyful of shot?' asked Pascoe.
'Yes,' admitted Backhouse. 'Yes, I think so. That was always on, though I never thought he'd be so close. Anyway, the more I talked to Pelman, the less likely he seemed. I'd almost made up my mind before you left on Tuesday.'
'I thought there was something else,' said Pascoe.
'How perceptive. Anyway, when Mrs Culpepper confirmed the time he left the village hall that night, there was no more reason to hold him. He's very contrite about shooting at you. He's sensible enough to know the limits of a landowner's rights. Oh, by the way, one thing I did discover. It was Pelman who cut through the wire round the clay pit.'
'What?' exclaimed Pascoe.
'Yes. He's been using the pool as a dumping ground for all the chicken-dirt from his battery. Hence the vile smell. He's very contrite about that too.'
'I suppose it did strike you,' said Pascoe diffidently, 'that Mrs Culpepper's evidence might not be altogether unbiased here.'
'I should be very careful about suggesting such a thing,' cautioned Backhouse with a smile. 'Mr Pelman's contrition might not be enough to countenance the smearing of a lady's honour. In any case, you really must permit me to be the best judge of evidence here.'
'I'm sorry, sir,' said Pascoe.
'I'm just as ready to concede you the same superiority in respect of what happens in Yorkshire,' said Backhouse. 'Which is why I was intrigued to learn of your interest in Mr Davenant. Mr Dalziel gave me all the details. He's a great admirer of yours, as doubtless you know.'
'He does occasionally let me go home before midnight,' said Pascoe modestly.
'So it seems that Davenant has managed to appear on the fringes of two murder cases. A striking coincidence, don't you think?'
'Why?' asked Pascoe. 'It happened to me. And to Miss Soper.'
Backhouse raised his eyebrows and smiled.
'You want to act the devil's advocate? All right. In your case, it's not so unlikely. Your profession puts you in constant proximity with crime. When you found yourself involved at a personal level, it was not strange that elsewhere you were engaged in a professional investigation. Indeed, it would have been strange had you not been. But Davenant…'
'Davenant too had a professional connection, sir. It seems likely he's a criminal. So the same applies.'
'Reasonable. There's still the coincidence that it should be the same crimes as you he's involved with. And, like you, professionally in Yorkshire, and here in Thornton Lacey – personally, emotionally, would you say?'
'Certainly. He was deeply involved with Timmy, it seems.'
'And the source of your information?'
Pascoe was puzzled.
'Well, I think… Davenant himself, of course, and Ellie, Miss Soper. He told her a great deal…'
He tailed away. Backhouse said aloud what he was leaving unspoken.
'On an occasion when he required a reason for being in your area, I believe. What did Miss Soper gather was the purpose of his visit?'
'It was all very vague,' said Pascoe. 'But why should he… he seemed genuinely concerned!'
'Perhaps so. I've been looking very closely at Mr Davenant. I took note of him when he first appeared, of
