'What's he been saying to you?' demanded Mrs Heppelwhite of her son.
Pascoe answered.
'I've been questioning your boy about two offences, Mrs Heppelwhite. One involves an assault on a girl under the age of consent. The other involves trespass and wilful damage, to wit, entering upon the property of Mr Jack Shorter and applying weed-killer to his lawn. This offence he has admitted, the other he can hardly deny.'
This reduced Mrs Heppelwhite to silence momentarily and during the moment, her husband came in.
'Where's Sandra?' asked Deirdre Burkill.
'At home,' said Charlie. 'It's all right. I made her a cup of tea.'
'I'd better go,' said the woman.
'Hold on just a second,' said Pascoe. 'I'll come with you. I'd like a quick word with the girl, if you don't mind.'
'I wanted to send for Bri,' said Mrs Heppelwhite to her husband. 'But Deirdre wouldn't let me.'
'Probably best,' said Charlie. 'Let things settle first.'
'They'll be a while settling,' said Pascoe. 'I'm taking your son down to the station with me to make a statement.'
'You're what?'
'He says something about Colin putting weed-killer on that dentist's garden,' said Mrs Heppelwhite.
'Is that right, Clint?'
To Pascoe's relief the boy nodded miserably. If he had started denying it now, it could have made things difficult.
'The dirty bugger had it coming to him,' said Deirdre Burkill savagely. 'And worse.'
'He's got worse,' said Pascoe. 'His wife could be dead by this time. She took an overdose.'
His words turned off all sound as firmly as the television switch.
'Oh God,' said Charlie Heppelwhite finally.
'Yes,' said Pascoe. 'Remember that. There's no way of getting at just one person. Others have to suffer too. Mr Heppelwhite, I'll leave Clint here with you for a couple of minutes. I'm sure you'll be able to persuade him it'd be pointless and futile to take off. Mrs Burkill, ready?'
'For what?' said the woman, but she accompanied him out of the house without protest.
There was a gap in the hedge between the two back gardens and after they had pushed through it, Mrs Burkill stopped and turned to Pascoe.
'Is it right what you said about that fellow's wife?' she asked.
'Yes,' said Pascoe.
'What'd she do a thing like that for?'
'Who knows?' said Pascoe.
'It makes you bloody wonder, doesn't it?' said the woman wearily. She took a deep breath and looked up at the sky and shook her head. Pascoe looked up too. The stars were at their old confidence trick. As they watched, on the western horizon one fell.
'Make a wish,' said Deirdre Burkill and opened her kitchen door.
Sandra was sitting in the living-room with the television on. The room was like Burkill's front garden, neat and tidy enough, but untouched by the hand of enthusiasm. The furniture belonged to the early fifties and a coal fire burnt in the original old black range. Only an onyx clock, presented for fifteen years as secretary at the Westgate Club, brought a touch of modernity to the decor. And it was wrong.
'You all right?' asked Deirdre.
The girl didn't answer and her mother angrily pulled the television plug from its socket.
'I were watching that!' protested Sandra.
Pascoe didn't want another domestic battle and walkout, so he intervened swiftly.
'Sandra, I'm Detective-Inspector Pascoe. I'd like a chat with you if you don't mind.'
He sat down beside her on the sofa and wished he had a WPC with him and Mrs Burkill out of the room. He studied the girl carefully. Apart from her fully developed figure, there was nothing remarkable for her age, and these days even that wasn't very remarkable. She wore no make-up; her hair was long, brown and straight, apparently untouched by rollers and setting lotions; her plain white blouse (now buttoned up) and straight grey skirt belonged in the old tradition of school uniform.
There must be thousands like her, he thought. Except that there was something else, a kind of sensuous aura, which he would have dismissed as a simple masculine response to knowledge of her experience and condition (Clint's defence, he recollected) had it not been for his strong sense of the same quality in her mother.
'I want to ask about you and Clint, Sandra,' he said gently. 'Has it been going on long?'
'Has what?' she said.
'How long's he been playing about with you?' demanded Mrs Burkill.
'He hasn't!' denied Sandra.
'What the hell was he doing tonight then? Giving you driving lessons?'
'Please, Mrs Burkill,' said Pascoe.
'Please, nothing. You want her to answer questions, don't you? There's only one way with this one. I should know. Come on, girl, or you'll get the back of my hand!'
Pascoe sat back in resignation. What am I doing here? he wondered. Looking for truth? Truth like the light from those sodding stars. By the time it reached you, it had taken so long that it lit up nothing and its source was probably an empty lifeless shell.
'Me and Clint never did anything before,' the girl was saying. 'It was just tonight, that's all. We were just mucking about.'
'Mucking about? Haven't you had enough mucking about to last you? Listen, how far's it gone with him? Has be been all the way with you, Sandra?'
'Don't be daft! I'm telling you…'
'I think it's a pack of lies you're telling me!' shouted Deirdre Burkill. 'Do you know that dentist’s wife’s killed herself? Do you know that? So I'm asking you. Was it Clint put you in the club? Was it? Was it?’
'No no no no no!' screamed the girl. 'It wasn't, it wasn't. And don't ask me any more bloody questions!'
She jumped up and rammed the television plug back in.
'You wait till your father gets home,' threatened her mother.
'Yeah,' said Sandra. 'I'll wait.'
And she made that sound like a threat too.
There was nothing more in this for him, realized Pascoe. Mrs Burkill's approach might have been outside the range of the police training manuals, but she'd put the questions he wanted putting.
He stood up.
'I'll say good night then, Sandra.'
'Night,' she said.
Deirdre Burkill went with him to the door.
'Thanks for your help,' he said, only half ironically.
'I'll get it out of her,' she said. 'If there's owt to get out.'
'Don't press her too much,' answered Pascoe. 'She must be pretty mixed up inside.'
'She'll be mixed up outside if I haven't had some sense from her by Brian gets home,' she said grimly.
The ultimate deterrent, that was our Bri, thought
Pascoe as he stood alone between the two houses and wished he was safe in his bed with a day at the office, or the shop, or the factory, or the classroom, to look forward to tomorrow, anything to justify the pain of waking up.
With a sigh, he re-entered the Heppelwhites'.
Chapter 19
Next morning was lightly covered with a perfect spring sky, pale blue but vibrant with sunlight and sparsely
