'I rang up Nordrill, put on a bit of an act,' admitted Pascoe, feeling suddenly rather shame-faced as well as very foolish. 'There were some discrepancies, the date of the AGM and Sotheby’s sale clashed, for instance; other things. I thought I was being pretty clever.'
'It's cleverer than getting into fights, anyway. But I fear you've bowled over our genial host.'
Culpepper certainly looked unwell now. The little colour in his cheeks had ebbed away and he seemed able to pay little attention to the attempts at polite chat which the others were directing at him. Only Marianne was not joining in the general rally-round-Hartley movement. Presumably she had known – or had he imagined he had kept his insolvency a secret from her also? Impossible. Pelman knew and Pelman would surely have told her.
It was Pelman who returned to the attack now.
'We've had a lot of accusations and hints of accusations, Superintendent,' he said to Backhouse. 'I think it's time we saw some cards on the table.'
'A splendid idea. Perhaps you'd begin, sir, by telling us why, when you knew Mr Culpepper was in financial straits, you were so willing to lend him a thousand pounds?'
Pelman momentarily looked uncomfortable, but recovered quickly.
'Why, you've just said it! Because I knew he was in a bit of trouble financially, that's why. What better reason for giving a neighbour a loan? You don't lend money where it's not needed, do you?'
'I didn't realize you were such good friends, sir,' said Backhouse with a smile. There was a thoughtful pause.
Surely, thought Pascoe, he knows Pelman's got something going with Marianne. It's conscience money, if anything. The important thing is, what was Culpepper going to do with it? Davenant was still standing at the periphery of the group, apparently casual and very much at his ease. It would be a good idea to get him out of the room and isolate him from the present discussion. But before he could suggest this, Backhouse started talking again.
'The question still does remain,' he said, addressing himself to Culpepper who all this time had retained his statue-like pose by the doorway, 'what, in fact, were you going to do with the money?'
'I think I ought to clear up something first,' interjected Davenant. 'Everyone's entitled to have all the facts, don't you think so, Superintendent? I've already told you that I was at Brookside Cottage that night. Oh yes. Gasp gasp all round. But I left shortly after seven when all was still well and made my way to dear old Hartley's pad where we sat sipping his super whisky and talking of matters cultural until – when was it, Hartley, my love? – about half past ten?'
Damn! thought Pascoe. This is what he had been afraid, of. He couldn't understand Backhouse's policy. Separation of suspects and witnesses was usually as essential to a case as separation of yolks and whites was to a souffle. Now here was Davenant publicly inviting Culpepper to give him an alibi. Or reminding him of what they had agreed.
But Culpepper's response could have brought little comfort to Davenant. He stared coldly, almost unseeingly, at him, turned and left the room. Marianne, with a quick perfect-hostess's apologetic smile at the gathering, followed him.
'Well now, Mr Davenant,' said Backhouse. 'I'm sure Mr Culpepper will be able to confirm your story when he's feeling better. Or is there anyone else who can help us? Did Mrs Culpepper come home while you were there?'
'No. No. Not exactly,' said Davenant. 'At least, I didn't see her. For all I know, of course, she came in earlier, heard Hartley and me talking, decided not to interrupt and went up to her room. Now that's a possibility of course. Oh yes, that's a very distinct possibility.'
The cocky bastard! thought Pascoe. He's inventing alibis publicly as he goes along and putting them on display for all to see. Marianne's not here to hear it, of course. But her boyfriend is. And Davenant knows!
Slowly a picture was forming itself in Pascoe's mind. It was not yet complete, but its main outlines were clear. And as he examined it and found its composition more and more balanced, the ball of rage in his breast began to swell and swell till it was ready to burst in black hatred.
Against Davenant.
Against Davenant who had turned up at Brookside Cottage on that fatal Friday night. Against Davenant who had sat and talked and drunk with Rose and Colin and Timmy and Carlo. Against Davenant who for reasons still not clear had taken up a shotgun and blasted Timmy and Carlo out of this world. Who had met Rose in the garden and left her lying by the sundial, bleeding to death. Who had pursued and murdered Colin and stuffed his body into a dark oozy culvert for the flies to discover.
Think logically, he commanded himself. Think! All right. Davenant knew Culpepper lived locally, had visited him before on his 'fencing' trips. Perhaps he did go to see him that night. Perhaps it was just a useful invention to have in the background in case it was ever needed. And it had been needed. Pressure was on him from all sides. From Yorkshire where Etherege's little empire was crumbling. And down here where his car had been spotted in the area that Friday night.
So back he comes to Culpepper. He needs two things. An alibi and money. By threatening to reveal their business relationship – fence and receiver – he aims at getting both out of Culpepper. But Culpepper has no money. Borrow it, suggests Davenant. Who from? Why not try Pelman? says Davenant with a significant glance at Marianne. Yes, he would have dug up that bit of information pretty easily. And Pelman's willing to play ball. Conscience? Fear of scandal? To protect Marianne? Who knows? A detail to be filled in later.
But Davenant's plan was in jeopardy. The public revelation of Culpepper's unemployment had thrown the man off balance. Perhaps that had been an element in the blackmail threat also? Certainly it had seemed to matter a great deal to Culpepper, relegating to second place his concern for the immediate future. Now was clearly the time to be talking to him while he was still off balance and before he recovered sufficiently to support Davenant's story.
But Backhouse did not seem ready to make a move in that direction. He was talking to Pelman, Palfrey and Dixon, none of whom now seemed disposed to leave despite the casual reasons for their presence. The door opened and Marianne Culpepper came in. She looked worried.
'He's resting with his porcelain,' she said to the unspoken question which met her. 'He was a bit upset. He's been trying desperately hard for months now to find a new post, but only jobs in selling, or factory accounts offices, that level of thing, were ever available.'
'You could have helped, got a job yourself,' said Pascoe sharply, stung by the tone of that level of thing.
Marianne looked at him wearily, dismissively.
'Mr Pascoe,' she said, 'why don't you piss off?'
The expression uttered in those smooth-vowelled tones, was surprising, almost shocking. And worse, Pascoe felt himself somehow justly reproved.
'Perhaps you'd take Mr Davenant back into the study and see if you can get an ordered account of his movements from him,' said Backhouse.
At last he's woken to the danger, thought Pascoe. And off I'm sent to do the dirty work again.
'Yes, sir,' he said.
In the hall by the front door stood Ferguson, drinking a cup of coffee.
'The old lady made it for me,' he said defensively.
'You bring out the mother in us all,' said Pascoe. 'Is he still in there?'
He jerked his head at the porcelain room. Ferguson nodded.
'Good. In here please, Mr Davenant.'
'Do you ever get a feeling of deja vu?' asked Davenant as he entered the study once more. 'As the bishop said in the strip-club.'
'Let's cut the comics,' said Pascoe, closing the door. 'And you can drop the queer act too.'
'Don't you love me any more?' asked Davenant advancing coyly, hips wiggling, arms stretched out appealingly.
Pascoe poked him in the stomach, not hard, but hard enough to double him up and send him crashing into a chair.
'Jesus Christ!' gasped Davenant, holding his arms across his waist. 'So it really happens! The rubber truncheon bit. I never believed it.'
'I'm glad we had you fooled. Are you sitting comfortably? Then let's begin.'
'What the hell do you want?' asked Davenant, eyeing the door speculatively. Pascoe was interested to note
