'Yes,' admitted Pascoe. 'He was mistaken. But he could have found an easier way of putting himself in my way, as you put it. Why link himself with the Calli at all?'
'Suppose he knows the girl's going to talk? They all do eventually. We investigate him, find out his favourite hobby's watching skin-flicks. It doesn't look good, does it? So he clears the decks. It's in the open. I bet his wife knows all about it.'
'Yes, she does,' said Pascoe. 'I met her.'
'Did you? I wonder how long she's known. Did she look the type who'd like a bit of way-out thrill?'
'Not really. But you never can tell.'
'I'll be able to tell by the time I'm done,' said Dalziel grimly.
'I'm sorry,' said Pascoe. 'Frankly, I think this is all half-baked. It's too tortuous by half.'
'To you, aye. It's not your problem. But think on, when you're in dead lumber and things start looking black, any idea that seem to offer a chance of getting out comes on you like a flash of light. It doesn't matter how daft it is. How many poor sods have we put away who hit on the brilliant notion of solving their money troubles by borrowing a few hundred from the till, putting it on a horse and then replacing the borrowed money from their winnings? Now, that's daft, but it still gets done.
‘I’m not convinced,’ said Pascoe. 'Anyway, that was two. Is there a three?'
'Oh aye. Three. When I talked to him just now, I got a feeling he'd been up to something.'
'A feeling!' mocked Pascoe.
'That's it,' said Dalziel. 'A feeling. There's something there. Last time I had this feeling…'
'Yes?' prompted Pascoe as Dalziel finished his Scotch.
'I lost fifteen quid on the Leger. But there's more important things than dirty dentists. There's this Haggard business. What are you on today?'
'I'm seeing Blengdale this afternoon. Three o'clock.'
'And what are you hoping from that?'
'Well, he's possibly the last person to see Haggard before the attack…'
'So what? I mean, that's usually a lot of bloody use, isn't it?'
'I won't know till I see the man!' snapped Pascoe in exasperation.
'No. Of course you won't,' said Dalziel pacifyingly. 'But you watch him, Peter. He's a hard bugger and if he thinks his public image is being tarnished… any road, you'll see for yourself.'
'Yes,' said Pascoe, rising. 'About Shorter…'
'I'll keep you posted,' said Dalziel. 'Don't worry. It'll be done proper. Like I said, I'll see the girl myself. If it looks straightforward, I'll pass it on to some nice safe Puritan like Inspector Trumper. You keep clear unless I say otherwise. It wouldn’t surprise me if Shorter didn't try to get to you somehow, so be ready. Choke him off.'
'Policemen mustn't have friends,' said Pascoe bitterly.
'Oh no, lad. Nowt to do with that,' said Dalziel. 'Be as friendly as you like. It's just that I want to save you up till he's sweated a bit and might be ready to cough. That's when a friendly shoulder comes in really useful!'
The business at the dentist's had taken a large slice out of the morning and it was one o'clock before Pascoe knew it. He didn't feel particularly hungry but he had learned early that in detective work only a fool voluntarily passed up a meal break.
At least he wouldn't be seeing Shorter today, he thought as he entered the Black Bull.
Sergeant Wield was there, sitting alone, and Pascoe joined him. They sat in silence for a while. Wield didn't seem disposed to talk, so Pascoe didn't bother him. He did not know the man very well and to tell the truth, he found him rather intimidating.
'Well, I'll finally see Blengdale this afternoon,' he said to break the ice.
'Want me along, sir?' said Wield.
'Not this time. Informality's the thing. Merge with the background till I see what's going on. If anything.'
'Oh aye. I doubt if Priory Farm's a background I'd merge easily with,' said Wield. 'Not inside anyway.'
He looked hard at Pascoe.
Oh Christ, he thought. Is it a joke or a social comment?
He took the plunge and grinned broadly. To his relief Wield's craggy face landslipped into a wide smile.
'Any ideas yet what's behind all this?' asked Wield. 'If it's not just tearaways, I mean.'
'Not a clue. I don't really understand Haggard, that's the thing. Diplomat, schoolteacher; old ladies love him. Runs a dirty film club and gets his kicks from having his bum beaten. How's that for complex? And how did he and Arany come into partnership? It's a curious relationship.'
'I've known curiouser,' said Wield. 'Tell you who might know something. Johnny Hope.'
'Who?'
'Pub and Club man for the Courier. What he doesn't know about the club people we're not going to be able to find out.'
'Fine,' said Pascoe. 'I'd like to meet him. Straight after lunch we'll call round.'
'Oh no,’ said Wield, 'He'll be in bed. You'll make an enemy for life of Johnny Hope if you disturb his sleep. Best thing is to meet up with him on his rounds. How're you fixed tonight, sir?'
Pascoe began to nod, then recalled Ellie and her promise of duck and more besides.
'Make it tomorrow night,' he said. 'Here. Something else since we're on about the clubs. Do you know a man called Burkill? Concert Secretary at the Westgate Social.'
'Bri? Works at Blengdale's? Aye, I know him.'
'What sort of fellow is he?'
'Hard but honest. He really puts himself heart and soul into that club. You don't get bad turns there, not more than once.'
'Yes. The super said that,' he said, adding as a memory popped up toast-like into his mind, 'Would he know Arany?'
'Oh aye. He'll book acts through him. Not only that, though,' said Wield, chuckling like a subterranean stream. 'The one time Arany appeared at the Westgate when he was still trying to peddle his act, Burkill switched off the mike after five minutes and pulled him off. Literally.'
'Ah,' said Pascoe. 'So there'd be no love lost?'
'Well,' said Wield. 'Burkill's a fair man. If he thinks someone's not trying, he'd refuse to pay and like as not thump 'em. But if he reckons someone's just got no talent, he'd slip 'em a quid and advise them to get out of the business. That's just as bad for some fellows, I know, but Arany's sharp. He'd begun to get the message anyway. That's more or less when he turned to agenting. And he's been pretty pally with Burkill since.'
'Has he now? And his family?' said Pascoe, remembering the gift-wrapped packet he'd seen at the Calli. 'Friendly enough to buy the girl a birthday present?'
'Wouldn't surprise me,' said Wield.
'You know the family?'
'I've seen Mrs Burkill at the Social Club. And I saw the girl once in the Club office waiting for her dad. Come to think of it, Arany was there too.'
'What's she like, this girl?'
'Just a girl. Can't tell the difference between 'em nowadays. Her mam's a fine-looking woman though. Are we interested?'
He sounded reproving. Oh God, thought Pascoe. I'm doing it again, keeping the poor sod in the dark. Quickly he explained about Shorter and Sandra Burkill's allegations; also about Dalziel's theory that Shorter had somehow been paving the way for this revelation by inventing the Droit de Seigneur story.
'Bit far-fetched that,' said Wield, to Pascoe's delight. 'Mind you, Shorter, the Calli, Arany, Burkill, Shorter. It's a bit of a coincidence, don't you think, sir?'
'You're not suggesting some kind of frame, are you?' said Pascoe incredulously. 'You're worse than Mr Dalziel!'
'When it comes to catching villains, most of us are, sir,' said Sergeant Wield.
Priory Farm was a long, low, whitewashed building, tastefully extended and beautifully maintained and it gave Pascoe great pain. He was not an overly envious man, but this house felt so right for him that it was as if Blengdale had tricked him out of it.
Blengdale was not there and his wife invited Pascoe to wait in a room furnished with quiet (and expensive)
