'In any case,' continued Dalziel, 'you might have turned something up. You certainly stirred something up. At the Calli.'
The connection between Homeric and the Calli had been vague.
'We knew that Arany was tied up with Homeric in some way, but you've got to remember that they were openly in the porn game. Arany was an agent. Also he had got a share in a Film Club. So what was more natural? But just how much he was mixed up in the under-the-counter stuff we didn't know. All that fuss by the fuddy- duddies gave us an excuse to take a close look at the Calli and old Gilbert. But it was looking pretty well OK till two things happened. Miss Alice and you.'
'Look, sir,' said Pascoe. 'Can we just get two things straight. Who killed Haggard?'
'Arany, of course,' said Dalziel in exasperation. 'I don't think he meant to, but he did. And those stupid sods let him slip through.'
This was the only fly in his ointment. Despite Trumper's assurances, Arany had got out of the grounds of Hay Hall with no bother at all. On the credit side, his tip about the fireplace had proved very helpful and the boot of the car was laden with material they had found stored away there.
'Second thing,' said Pascoe. 'Why doesn't Burkill want to mangle Arany? They acted like old mates.'
'They are,' said Dalziel. 'Thing is, Arany knew nothing about Sandra doing that film, though he was instrumental in getting her involved. She'd met Toms and the Homeric lot a couple of times when Arany had taken her out to Hay Hall to see some filming in process. The clean bits, let me add. He was very careful of her morals, poor bastard. Toms spotted her potential, though. I suspect she very much played the little girl with Uncle Maurice, you know how ruthless kids can be, milking him for all he was worth. But with other men, she could be very different. And Toms, the big film man, all that glamour – well, it was a crazy thing to do on both sides, but they did it, made the film, then she came along and said she'd got herself knocked up.'
'Who by?' asked Pascoe.
'Who knows?' said Dalziel. 'She made it clear that if the balloon went up, she'd blame Toms or her fellow stars. He promised to fix up an abortion. Then her mother cottoned on.'
'So she dropped Shorter in it?'
'Aye. That might have been a fail-safe story devised by Toms. Probably was.'
Pascoe nodded vigorously and assumed an I-told-you-so expression.
'Don't get too cocky, Peter,' warned Dalziel. 'Ask yourself why they concocted that particular story.'
'For God's sake!' snapped Pascoe. 'You're not going to go on with that business, are you?'
'Of course not. No jury on earth'd convict him when this other lot came out,' said Dalziel. 'But that doesn't make him innocent. But where was I? Oh aye. You start probing. Toms rings Penny Latimer who's far from clean, but I don't think she's in the muck much beyond her thighs. Christ, can you imagine them thighs? One of those across you and you wouldn't be up for breakfast.'
'So Toms rings,' said Pascoe impatiently.
'Right. Penny tells him about you sniffing around. Toms is worried. First of all the film Droit de Seigneur does have something in it that he didn't think anyone would notice. He's evidently a great one for patching things together
'I told you that,' said Pascoe.
'So you did. Also he's worried about the actual film. Now Blengdale had this.'
'How do you know?'
The fat man chortled in glee.
'It's surprising how much he was able to spill out just for me keeping Brian Burkill from working him over again.'
This then was the explanation of Dalziel's long delay at Hay Hall. A little torture session in the woods. Pascoe knew he ought to feel disgusted.
'Next he rings Haggard. No answer. Alice cuts the wire. Finally he rings Arany, tells him what's up, says he's worried something may be going on at the Calli, would he slip round and take a look.'
Suddenly Pascoe comprehended.
'Ah!' he said. 'Miss Alice said, 'Some of the things I found there. Such filth!' I thought it was just an old woman's generalization!'
'She doesn't sound like the type to generalize,' said Dalziel. 'No, there were pictures. Blengdale had been looking at them that night. Pictures of Sandra. A kind of trailer. Or perhaps when we get close to it, we might even find that Blengdale himself was joining in the fun. Anyway Arany goes upstairs, finds the wrecked study, wonders what the hell's going on. Then he spots the photos. Sandra's like a daughter to him. He thinks of her as a child…'
'Which she is,' said Pascoe.
'Yeah,' said Dalziel. 'Arany goes a bit crazy, looks for Haggard, can't find him but guesses where he is. We can be pretty sure he knew all Haggard's little quirks. So he does a bit of wrecking off his own bat just to make it look good.'
'But he doesn't touch the kitchen because he doesn't want Haggard to get scared before he's right in the flat,' said Pascoe.
'I bet you're great at Friday's crossword puzzles on Saturday,' said Dalziel. 'Haggard comes in, all fresh and glowing, at least his bum is. And bang! the ceiling falls in on him. Arany doesn't mean to kill him – he'd have finished him there and then if he had – but I don't expect he's much bothered when the old pervert dies. But of course he doesn't know just who or what's involved, though he's got a pretty good idea. So he keeps a low profile, tells Toms some story about finding the Calli wrecked and Haggard dying when he got there, blames a gang of tearaways or something. Toms is worried, but ready to believe. After all, the only other people interested in Haggard and the Calli are the police and we're not likely to behave like that. Are we?'
'Not so near Easter,' said Pascoe.
'Right. He doesn't care to see Sandra, can't even bring himself to deliver her birthday present. Then she turns up, all hysterical in the early hours of this morning. It all comes out, about her being pregnant and everything. He dosed her with some pills and went out in search of Burkill, guessing he'd find him at the Club. They swopped information. This morning after his secretary had brought her some clothes, Arany took Sandra off to that woman, Abbott, in Leeds. The one you went to see. Very conventional in some ways, these pornographers. A child needs a woman's care.'
'She was a good choice,' said Pascoe.
'Mebbe. I reckon the idea was also to clear the decks for a bit of the old wild justice. But Burkill who was probably sleeping it off didn't want to wait when he woke up. He set out for a chat with Blengdale.'
'Yes, I'd worked that out,' said Pascoe. 'You reckon Heppelwhite was an accident then?'
'Oh yes,' said Dalziel. 'I mean, when Bri Burkill finally got round to Charlie, he wouldn't have stopped at a couple of fingers, he'd have pulled the whole arm off and hit him with the soggy end.
'Well, Arany finds Bri's jumped the gun, guesses he'll have headed for Hay Hall (God knows how he got out there!) and goes in pursuit. I think we saw most of the rest. Not a bad day's work, if they can lay hands on that Hungarian sod. He'll sing like a drunken Irishman, I reckon. Still with a bit of luck we've got enough in the boot to sort them all out. By God, it should be a good evening's entertainment going through this lot!'
It had seemed a not unamusing irony that Dalziel had picked on the Calli as the place for viewing their booty from Hay Hall. The officers gathered there had been in high spirits as news of the successful completion of other stages in this multi-force operation came through and there had also been something of anticipated pleasure in the air which only Dalziel had the honesty or the insensitivity to express openly.
But when the first film they showed proved to be the original from which the snippet in Droit de Seigneur had been taken, the atmosphere had quickly changed. Pascoe had tried to think of other, pleasant things, of Ellie waiting for him at home, of the bank of spring flowers he passed on his way to work every morning, of his holiday plans for the summer; but the best he could manage was Haggard bleeding to death internally, Emma Shorter swallowing pill after pill, Gwen Blengdale biting the stitching from her gloves as she peered through the breath-hazed window. And even with his eyes firmly closed, the images from the screen had still come through.
But now he was out of it. For someone else it might be a case. Track down the maker, the actors, the distributor. Perhaps Toms was at the centre of things, perhaps he was just peripheral. But for Pascoe it was over. A few loose ends, and then all over.
