the swift and at the moment that didn't include him.
Briefly he explained what had happened and Shorter went out and collected the cans while Pascoe replaced his shoe laces.
'John! John! What's going on?' called a panicky female voice from the open front door.
'Nothing, dear. It's all right. Better come up to the house,' invited Shorter.
In the light of the hall, the impression of their voices was confirmed, Shorter looking fit and (plasters apart) well, his wife pale and strained.
Pascoe explained again what had taken place and Shorter banged the cans down on the telephone table. One was weed-killer, the other red paint.
'The bastard!' he said.
'I don't think he had time to use the paint, but I'm afraid you might have something nasty written on the lawn in a couple of days,' said Pascoe.
'The lousy bastard. And you've let him get away!'
There's something wrong with this picture, thought Pascoe as he met Shorter's accusing glare.
'Only temporarily,' he said. 'I saw his bike and I reckon I can remember most of the number. We'll have him in half an hour.'
He picked up the phone, but Shorter's hand went over the dial.
'No,' he said.
'What?'
'I'd rather you didn't.'
'Why on earth not?'
'It's obviously linked with this other business,' said Shorter. 'You catch him, he'll be charged and up in front of the magistrate in a couple of days. I don't want that. I'm going to beat this thing, Peter, but it may take a bit longer than that and I don't want some stupid moron shooting his mouth off in court.'
'A minute ago you were cursing me for letting him get away,' observed Pascoe.
'Yes, I was. I'm sorry. It was a stroke of luck, I see now. OK? You'll forget it?'
'No,' said Pascoe. 'I won't forget it. But I'll postpone action for a while.'
'Thanks,' said Shorter. 'Emma, give Peter a drink, will you? I'll just see if I can dilute that bloody stuff with the hose pipe.'
'You'll probably just spread it,' warned Pascoe.
'At least I'll blur the letters a bit,' said Shorter as he went out.
'He seems to be in reasonable spirits now,' said Pascoe, following the woman into the lounge. It was a cold white clinical room that made Shorter's surgery seem the epitome of Edwardian fussiness by contrast. He settled gingerly into an aluminium cage dangling from the ceiling and Emma Shorter poured him a Scotch from a pyramidal decanter into a hexagonal glass.
'He's been better since he talked to his solicitor this morning,' she said, adding as she gave him his drink, 'Inspector – may I call you Peter? – Peter, I'm sorry about the pub at lunch-time. I was overwrought.'
She remained close to him, staring fixedly into his face. She didn't exactly seem underwrought now, he thought. The silence finally became too intense for him.
'Mrs Shorter,' he said.
'Please call me Emma. I don't feel up to formalities at the moment. I'm so grateful to you for coming.'
She gave him a grateful smile and he disliked himself for seeking calculation in it. But there was no denying the reality of the strain she must be under.
'I can only stay a couple of minutes,' said Pascoe. 'I just wanted to say hello. I was a bit worried, you know.'
And not without cause, he thought. Suddenly he saw himself in the witness-box being led on to make broader and broader claims about Shorter's probity and basic decency, while Dalziel glowered at him from behind the prosecutor.
'We have a good life together, you know,' said the woman, turning away abruptly as if he'd somehow disappointed her.
'Yes, yes, I'm sure you do,' agreed Pascoe, looking round the room which, notwithstanding its lack of appeal, had obviously cost a few gold fillings.
'No. I don't just mean money,' she said acidly.
'I mean, every way. Physically we have a good life.'
Pascoe sipped his whisky. He lacked Dalziel's discriminatory nose but it tasted expensive.
'Yes,' he said, seeing that a response was expected and thinking a bare affirmative, ludicrous though it might be, was the least he could offer.
'There would be no need for John to… I'd say so in court if I had to.'
She spoke defiantly.
'Good, good,' said Pascoe. 'Let's hope it doesn't come to that.'
He observed Emma over his glass and wondered cynically if their solicitor had planted these seeds. Dalziel had met her last night and his first impression had been like Pascoe's – a cold, self-contained woman. By lunch-time today she had begun to crack, and now here she was in the evening offering to reveal details of her sex life in her husband's defence.
Shorter re-entered.
'I've left the sprinkler on,' he said. 'It might do some good. Let's stiffen that for you, Peter. What's new from the Inquisition?'
'Just a social call, Jack,' said Pascoe evenly.
'Your man, Dalziel, was round again this afternoon,' said Shorter. 'I saw him this time. Not a social call.'
'I didn't know,' bed Pascoe. 'I mean, I knew someone would be round to talk to you, but I didn't know Mr Dalziel had been again.'
'Oh, I thought you might have cooked something up over your lunch-time beer,' said Shorter.
So Emma had told him about her approach earlier that day. Or perhaps it had all been done by collusion. There were situations where it became important to react as normal ordinary people would react – or rather, would expect you to react.
Whatever the truth, it didn't make Shorter any more or less suspect.
'There are other crimes to investigate, Jack,' said Pascoe.
'No doubt. Glad you could drag yourself away.'
'John!' protested his wife. 'We're very grateful to you for coming, Inspector… Peter. We need friends at a time like this.'
'Yes,' said Pascoe, using the non-committal affirmative again. 'How've things been today? No other trouble?'
'Other?' said Shorter.
'I'd call that mess on your lawn trouble,' said Pascoe. 'You haven't had any phone calls? Either nasty or the Press?'
'Same thing,' said Shorter.
'Not so,' said Pascoe. 'If Burkill's been on to the papers, they'll just be doing some preliminary sniffing. You can't blame them, but they won't – daren't – print mere speculation. I'd be friendly, but say as little as you can, and tell your solicitor. He'll know how to make sure they keep the top screwed on if it's necessary. As for the other kind of approach, well, you've found out already how this kind of case soon works up a fine head of indignation.'
'Are you trying to frighten us?' said Shorter.
'Somebody else might, that's all I'm saying. A phone call, a letter. It's best to be prepared.'
'People are vile!' exclaimed Emma Shorter.
'But not all the time, fortunately,' said Pascoe.
He fell silent now and sipped his drink. He would have liked to be talking to Shorter alone, but was uncertain how to suggest it. Shorter, however, seemed to have reached the same conclusion.
'Would you make us a pot of coffee, love?' he suggested. 'I don't want this business to drive me too deep into drink.'
She rose and left instantly. Whatever their usual relationship, this explosion in their lives had temporarily at
