And burst into sobs of terror which rapidly spread and could not be stemmed till Ms Pritchard reluctantly left the room.
Silvester Herne too supported Lee's story with some slight modification which reduced his role to that of innocent dupe, unwittingly involved through misplaced loyalty.
And finally the pathologist with the hindsight which is the basis of all great expertise confirmed that the circumstances described by Lee accounted precisely for the state of the body as described in his report and even managed to suggest that they were so clearly implied by his findings that he could not imagine how the police had overlooked them.
'Where's it leave us?' wondered Wield.
'Up shit creek,' said Dalziel.
'No,' argued Pascoe. 'We're a lot further forward. We must be. We now know very precisely where and when Brenda Sorby was killed. Someone strangled her on that river bank and was probably going to leave her nicely laid out like the others when he heard the kids coming. So he tipped her body, not quite dead as it happened, into the water and made off. So, question: did he force Brenda to go with him? Answer, unlikely, the final attack must have been so unexpected she didn't have time to scream, else the kids would have heard her. Conclusion: she knew the man, and trusted him.'
'Question,' said Wield. 'Even if she knew the man and trusted him, what was she doing strolling along the river bank with him when she should have been out shopping prior to meeting Tommy?'
'There's an obvious answer to that,' said Dalziel.
'Hardly!' protested Pascoe. 'She doesn't sound like a two-timer. And she'd just got engaged and bought the ring for Tommy, not to mention the watch.'
'Who said the watch was for Tommy?' asked Dalziel cynically. 'She wouldn't have been the first girl to run two men at the same time – one her own age, one a bit more mature, maybe, bit more exotic.'
'Like a tall, dark, handsome gypsy, you mean, sir?' said Wield.
'Why not?' said Dalziel.
Pascoe snorted in disgust, a noise which Ellie had taught him.
'You're not back to Lee. Is he that cunning?'
'It would be bloody clever,’ admitted Dalziel. 'I mean, the double alibi. And them buggers are all cunning enough, Peter. They're born with the art. Besides, if not Lee, there's plenty of others of his tribe. Come fair fortnight and there's enough golden earrings about the place to hang the Grand Theatre curtain on.'
'No,' said Pascoe vehemently. 'I don't see it. Not this girl, not at this time.'
'All right,' said Dalziel. 'If a bit of nooky's the most likely reason for being along that river bank on a summer evening, and if you think she was too bloody upright for a bit on the side, what's wrong with the legal tenant?'
'You mean Maggs, sir?' said Wield, incredulous.
'Why not? Has anyone asked him yet precisely what he was doing between six and seven that night?'
'No!' protested Pascoe. 'I'd find it easier to believe in Lee than that Tommy could carry something like this off!'
'Racial prejudice,' said Dalziel smugly.
'No, not just that,' said Pascoe, grinning. 'Some of my best friends are Yorkshiremen. But it's just that while I go along with the personal connection, I don't think we should confuse this with the personal motive. Now, Tommy or a secret lover might both have very good motives for murdering Brenda – jealousy, or fear of revealment for instance – but they're not Choker motives, if you follow me.'
'And what's a Choker motive?' demanded Dalziel. 'What that trick-cyclist – whatsisname? – Potty, says?'
‘Pottle,' said Pascoe. 'Perhaps. Something like that. But not personal, not in the strict sense. You know what I mean, sir.'
'Do I?'
'Oh yes. You were very sure, I recall, that Brenda was a Choker victim even though she was found in the water, just as you had doubts about Pauline Stanhope, even though she was laid out in the classic style.'
'I can change my mind, can't I?' said Dalziel. 'I mean, a man gets fed up of being right all the time.'
'It must be painful,' said Pascoe and tried not to respond to Wield's grin behind the fat man's shoulder.
He continued. 'I just wondered if you were thinking what I've been thinking. Perhaps Dave Lee wasn't the only one to get worried when Rosetta Stanhope got so near the mark. Perhaps someone went to the fairground on Wednesday to shut Madame Rashid up and didn't know enough to know that Pauline wasn't Rosetta.'
'Perhaps, perhaps,' said Dalziel irritably. 'But why should anyone but a pig-ignorant gyppo get so upset by this mumbo-jumbo? I mean, what did that newspaper report say?'
The offending paper was produced.
'Blue sky, golden sun, big birds, black faces,' itemized Dalziel. 'Makes it sound like a travel brochure.'
'That's what I thought,' said Pascoe.
'So what's to be scared of?' grumbled Dalziel. 'This was that Duxbury woman, the neighbour? Oh yes, here she's mentioned. She says it was definitely the girl's voice.'
'The mother thought so too,' said Pascoe. 'But of course the situation was hysterical.'
‘Aye. I bet old Wield here was falling about, pissing himself,' grunted Dalziel in the sergeant's direction.
'Perhaps I should have let that pair of linguists have a listen,' said Pascoe.
'For what? Experts, I've shit 'em,' announced Dalziel. 'What have they done for us so far, tell me that?'
'They've analysed those phone voices. Why don't we get every man connected with the case on tape and pass them over for comparison?' suggested Pascoe.
'That implies that (a) you trust that pair of Midsummer Night Dreams and (b) you're certain the Choker made one of those calls. It wouldn't be admissible evidence in any case.'
'No, but it's surely worth a try,' urged Pascoe.
Dalziel continued to look doubtful. He glanced at his watch.
'Christ, it's after two o'clock,' he said. 'And I haven’t had my dinner. Peter, I think we may have gone as far as we can today. Why don't you push off home, take your rest day as scheduled? You've earned it.'
'Oh no,' said Pascoe firmly. 'The bargain was, I get next Friday and Saturday, guaranteed. Try to wriggle out of that and Ellie'll twist your arm off and hit you with the soggy end. I'll just give her a ring and see how she is, though.'
But the phone rang before he could reach it.
He picked it up and listened.
'For you,' he said, handing it over to Dalziel.
'Of course I wouldn't try to wriggle out of anything,' said Dalziel, aggrieved. 'I was saying you could take the afternoon off as a bonus, but seeing as you don't want it… Hello!
He bellowed into the receiver from which a tinny voice had been emerging unregarded as he spoke.
'Jesus!' said the voice. 'Why don't you just open the window and forget about the phone.'
'Who's that?' demanded Dalziel.
'Sammy Locke, Evening News. How's business?'
'Quiet,' said Dalziel suspiciously. 'What've you heard?'
'Well, one of our contributors has phoned in a piece about strange goings-on among the gypsies. Police raids, brutality, interference with traditional funeral rites.'
'What? Who the hell was that? You print that and you won't get within spitting distance of another crime story in this town.' promised Dalziel.
'We'll see,' said Locke indifferently. 'And nothing else has been happening?'
'No. Why? Should it?'
'You tell me. Listen to this.'
There was a click, a pause, then a voice said wearily. 'Oh God! I could be bounded in a nut-shell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.'
There,' said Sammy Locke, 'Perhaps you'd better start looking for a body.'
