wouldn't be noticed.'
A little comforted by this, Arkwright let himself be led to coffee which comforted him even more.
'Penitent left, I suppose?'
'Yes, I think so.'
'Shithead,' said Arkwright. 'I hate that bloody man. He always wants me on a job with him. I'm his liberal credential.'
'I think he'll be after a divorce this morning,' said Dalziel.
Arkwright laughed, regretted it, suddenly sat upright as though at a memory returned and said, 'You put me to bed? Whose bed was I in?'
'Why?' asked Dalziel. 'Have you spewed or something?'
'No. It's just, I remember now, some time in the night, I was woken up. Some guy was pulling at the blankets and saying, 'Annie, Annie.' So I sat up and said, 'Sir, you are mistaken,' and this guy shrieked like he was wetting his pants and ran.'
Dalziel thought about it for a moment, then as the image of Arkwright's coal black face emerging from the blankets sharpened in his mind he began to laugh. After a while with great care, Arkwright began to laugh too.
'This man,' said Dalziel finally, wiping his eyes with the khaki awning he used as a handkerchief. 'Did you recognize him? Was he one of the men you met yesterday afternoon?'
'I can't say,' said Arkwright. 'Might be. But it was dark and I was still very drunk. It must have been pretty early. He sounded urgent. I suppose I was lucky he didn't just climb in and get on with it.'
Dalziel smiled and nodded. The obvious interpretation of the intrusion would do for Arkwright, but he was by no means sure that the intruder's purpose had been sexual.
But the more interesting question was, who in this house had not heard last night of the discovered theft and Annie Greave's disappearance?
13
Cross arrived shortly before ten bearing with him a preliminary autopsy report which indicated that Spinx had died from drowning and that the injury on his head was consistent with his having struck the wooden support as he fell. With grim amusement Dalziel recognized in Cross the mixture of relief and disappointment an over-worked, middle-aged but still ambitious detective sergeant ought to feel.
'Never mind, lad,' he said. 'Perhaps there'll be an outbreak of double parking in the town square. No sign of Mrs Greave?'
'No, sir. Nor of Papworth either. Do you reckon they might have gone off together?'
'Without his clothes?' said Dalziel. 'I doubt it. And I can't see 'em as the great lovers somehow. Where'd they go anyway? He'd be as out of place in the middle of Liverpool as she was in the country.'
'That's what I thought,' said Cross. 'Makes you wonder how they met.'
'It does that,' agreed Dalziel who had been wondering this same thing for two days.
'I wonder if Mrs Fielding could help us there,' said Cross diffidently. 'She'd be the one who hired her, I suppose. What do you think, sir, knowing her as you do?'
Dalziel shot him a sharp glance. Christ! he thought. Could the rustic tom-toms work this quick? What did they do round here? Hide seismographs in the mattress?
'Why not ask her, Sergeant,' he said. 'And less of the us. I'm on holiday, remember?'
'Yes, sir,' said Cross.
Dalziel left him and strolled out of the room trying to look like a man whose only care in the world was whether to have one or two double scotches before lunch.
He met Bonnie in the hallway.
'Can we have a word together, Andy?' she asked. She looked very attractive in pea-green slacks and a tight silk blouse which would have gone seven times round Louisa and left enough to blow your nose on.
'Sergeant Cross is in there,' said Dalziel with a jerk of his head. 'I think his need's greater than mine.'
Again his rudeness only seemed to amuse her.
'I didn't realize you were a once-a-month man,' she said. 'Later then. Say in an hour? In my room.'
She brushed by him. The brief contact disturbed him more than he would have thought possible.
He wandered into the back of the house and looked in Papworth's room. Still empty, but now it bore signs of having been searched. Cross obviously didn't mind leaving traces of his passage.
Dalziel mused on Cross as he continued his stroll. He looked a good competent man, perhaps a bit long in the tooth for a sergeant but not yet hopeless of promotion. Perhaps he himself might put in a word …
Christalmighty! he suddenly laughed at himself. Lord sodding Dalziel dispensing bounty to the plebs! No. Cross could find another fairy godmother. Middle-aged superintendents needed belated christening gifts just as much as sergeants, though the one Dalziel wanted most of all just now had in fact been bountifully bestowed all those grey years ago and was only now beginning to run short.
Clarity of purpose.
Out in the yard he lit a cigarette and walked slowly past the so-called Banqueting Hall. It felt derelict. A white elephant, a folly. Unless someone coughed up some cash. He thought of his own deposit account. Not insubstantial. He hardly gave it a thought till he wanted cash for something special. Like the set of crystal decanters and glasses he'd given Pascoe and Ellie. Looking after your own interests she'd mocked. But she'd been pleased. So she should have been too, it cost a bloody fortune even with the big discount his cash in hand and his bonny blue eyes got him. Still, there was plenty left. Last night as he lay on Bonnie's bed, he'd even thought about suggesting an investment, but had put it off. At that moment it might have looked a bit like tucking a fiver behind the clock. Besides there was still the business of the missing gear to resolve. Risking your money was one thing, chucking it away quite another. And after Bertie's revelation… no, she'd have to find another fool.
The sound of a vehicle approaching interrupted his thoughts. He reached the end of the hall, stepped out and was almost knocked down by a large truck which rattled past him into the cobbled yard. He turned to harangue the driver, and saw the legend on the opening door. Gibb and Fowler, Builders.
Little Mr Gibb jumped out and the men on the back began to disembark.
'Hang around, lads. Have a smoke till I see what's what,' commanded Gibb.
He looked around as if in search of somebody and showed his teeth in a gothic smile when he spotted Dalziel.
'Hello there,' he said. 'You were right then.'
'Was I?' said Dalziel. 'What about?'
'Me being back on the job sooner than I expected. You drop into my place before you go. There's a big bottle there for my friends.'
He winked knowingly. Dalziel looked at him bewildered. Could he actually have spoken his thoughts about putting money into the venture last night? And if he had, could Bonnie have taken him seriously after what happened?
He didn't believe it. Anyway, one thing was clear. Gibb wasn't going to start work just on a promise.
'Mr Gibb!' a voice called imperiously.
They turned. Standing in the doorway of the main house was Hereward Fielding.
'Would you step inside for a moment, please.'
'Right. See you around,' said Gibb happily to Dalziel.
So, thought Dalziel. Mystery solved. But a bigger one put in its place. What had produced this complete turnabout by the old man?
He approached the men sitting on the tail-board of the truck who looked at him incuriously.
'What do you think of it then?' he asked jerking his head at the Banqueting Hall.
'Think?' said a venerable grey head wearing overalls overlaid with paint to the consistency of armour. 'There'll be fancy prices, no doubt.'
