without anaesthetic as a penance.'
'Oh, don't be so bloody patronizing!' yelled Ellie.
The explosion took Pascoe by surprise. There was a moment of quietness.
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I thought I was just being sarcastic.'
'And I thought I was just being helpful,' said Ellie.
'You are. And I'll look into it, I promise. It's just that I was trying not to track my work into the house too much, particularly this case.'
'A woman-killer? This is one case I want to see you solve,' said Ellie grimly.
'Yes. You and everyone. Hey, talking of help, I took your advice and got in touch with those linguists, Urquhart and Gladmann. They're coming in tomorrow.'
'Both of them? You'll enjoy that. They make a point of not agreeing with each other.'
'That is no barrier to true love,' said Pascoe sententiously. 'As we should prove.'
'Yes,' said Ellie. 'That's one way of looking at it.'
Chapter 10
One of Dalziel's maxims was that briefing sessions should be brief. Nevertheless, after the announcement of new developments and the disposition of forces, he allowed a general airing of ideas while he scratched whatever area of his large frame attracted his roving fingers that morning. End of scratch, end of talk.
The main news of Friday was that Tommy Maggs's Harlequin mini had been found with its big-end gone in the southbound car park of the Watford Gap service area on the Ml.
Dalziel said, 'He probably hitched a lift in a lorry. He'll be in the Smoke by now. The locals are checking for sightings at Watford Gap. We'll need to check with Maggs's family for likely contacts in London. Relations, friends, the usual.'
Pascoe made a note. It was his task to make a note of everything. This was Dalziel's idea of not wasting his university education.
The briefing continued. Dalziel was sarcastic about the linguists.
'We've got four calls on tape. We don't know if anyone of them is really the Choker, so it'll likely not help us much to know which street in Heckmondwike these four come from.' Pause for sycophantic laughter. 'But we'd be daft not to use any expert help we can get. I've asked Dr Pottle of the Central Hospital Psychiatric Unit to give us an opinion too. He's been given all the details we have. Mr Pascoe, perhaps you'd see he gets copies of the tapes as well.'
Pascoe made another note, concealing his surprise. He had encountered Pottle on another case, a small, chain-smoking, rather irritable man with a ragged Einstein-type moustache. Dalziel reckoned nothing to psychology and had the large man's distrust of little men. 'Has to be something missing,’ he opined. So there must have been pressure here.
The PM on Pauline Stanhope had confirmed the time of death as between eleven-thirty A.M. and one-thirty P.M. The heat in the enclosed tent had complicated things a little. The cause of death was two-handed strangulation. Bruising to the stomach was probably caused by a violent blow aimed at pre-empting struggle or noise. There were no signs of sexual interference. And wherever else she was going when Mrs Ena Cooper, the penny-roll woman, glimpsed her leaving the tent before midday, it wasn't to lunch. Traces of a light breakfast were all that were found in her stomach.
Co-ordinating the collection of statements from stall-holders and visitors to the Fair was Sergeant Bob Brady, a gum-chewing taciturn man who always looked more knowing than Pascoe suspected he ever was. But he had a reputation for being methodical and had also co-ordinated the statements from the allotment holders after the McCarthy killing.
As far as the Stanhope murder went, Brady's method so far had produced only the following: that no one had noticed anything or anyone about the tent during the significant time, and that after Mrs Cooper's sighting, no one had seen Pauline Stanhope till she was found dead.
'Just like the Sorby girl,' said someone.
'She could have come back with someone. Or someone got into the tent while she was gone and was waiting for her on her return,' said Brady, lengthily for him.
'Meaning he got in without being seen, she came back without being seen, he got out without being seen,' said Dalziel.
'Why was she killed anyway?' wondered Wield.
'Why were any of them?'
'I know that, sir. But there's a connection here for the first time.'
'The girl's aunt, you mean?' said Dalziel. 'You checked they never met, though, didn't you?'
'Yes, sir. I contacted Mrs Sorby. She says that she always visited Rosetta Stanhope, never the other way round because of her husband. Not until that last session, that is, and then Mrs Stanhope insisted because of the atmosphere.'
'And Brenda never went with her mother.'
'No. Brenda wasn't interested in that kind of thing. Practical, down-to-earth, sporting type of girl. More like her father.'
When it was clear that no more was going to come from this particular discussion. Pascoe said, 'Sergeant Brady, could we go back a bit to the June McCarthy case? You interviewed an allotment holder called Wildgoose, Mark Wildgoose.'
'I remember.'
'Anything special about him.'
'It'll be in my report.'
'It's just like the others,' said Pascoe adding, in case that sounded critical, 'Just what you'd expect, of course. Though in fact it's even slighter than the others. He only went down to work on his allotment once or twice a week, if that. He didn't know June McCarthy and had never observed anyone suspicious around the place.'
'Same as most of the rest,' agreed Brady. 'A few carrots stolen, that's about all the excitement previous.'
'A couple did recall June McCarthy from when she was on the day shift,' said Pascoe. Including Dennis Ribble whose shed she was found in.'
'Aye. But Ribble and t'other fellow are in their eighties. Couldn't choke a dead pigeon between 'em,' said Brady to laughter.
'What's your interest in Wildgoose?' demanded Dalziel. 'You've heard summat?'
'That he is odd. Potentially violent. And he teaches English and Drama at Bishop Crump Comprehensive which is, incidentally, Brenda Sorby's old school.'
'Oh aye,' said Dalziel. 'Was any of that on your report, Sergeant Brady?'
Brady shook his head.
'None,' he said with the laconic assurance of one who is not at fault.
'What's your source, Peter?'
'Information,' said Pascoe uncomfortably. He didn't mind telling Dalziel privately but saw no reason to label Ellie as a snout before all this lot.
'Malicious?'
'Possibly. But also authoritative.'
'Aye. Sergeant Brady?'
'Sir?'
'Come on, lad. You're the only one here that's met the bugger. Don't be coy.'
Brady lit a cigarette from the one he was smoking.
'Lives on Wordsworth Drive on the Belle Vue estate about half a mile from Pump Road. Detached house, just.'
'Garden?' asked Dalziel.
