'For the children's sake, I mean,' he said quickly. 'Once the press get on to it, they'll be round here straightaway. And they have the same notions of delicacy as a pack of wolves.'
'I'm beyond sensitivity, Mr Pascoe,' she said.
'But not your children, perhaps.'
'You may be right,' she said more soberly. 'Thanks for the advice.'
'If you do go, let us have an address,' said Pascoe. 'Goodbye, Mrs Wildgoose.'
He was glad to get away, less glad when he returned to Danby Row and found the Valentines had just returned from their holiday. They were a tiny couple, at first fragile in grief, but then growing fierce in anger and inclined to talk as if the police were the perpetrators rather than the investigators of the crime. Neighbours were summoned to placate them, neighbours who had already been questioned and had heard nothing unusual from inside the house the previous night though one thought she may have heard a rustling in the garden as she summoned her cat shortly after midnight.
The same woman had seen Wildgoose visit the house a couple of times, but only in daylight and never staying long enough for 'anything to happen'. Sin, she clearly thought, needed working at.
So Wildgoose had been most discreet, a sensible trait in a man of his profession. The sedated Valentines knew him only as one of Andrea's teachers. The suggestion that he might have been having an affair with their daughter seemed to take them aback almost as much as the murder.
Pascoe sneaked away now to ring Ellie. It was six o'clock already and he could see a long night unwinding before him.
There was a worrying delay before she answered the phone, but she assured him she'd just been sunbathing in the garden.
'People used to hire light aeroplanes to fly overhead in the hope of glimpsing my naked flesh,' she said in self-mockery. 'Now they use radar to avoid hitting it. What's new with you, darling?'
He was reluctant to puncture her light mood, but he couldn't stop her listening to the news on the radio.
'Oh Peter,' she said after he had told her. 'How old do you say? Oh Jesus. And Mark Wildgoose is definitely your man?'
'He's certainly top of the list at the moment!'
'Poor Lorraine. I must ring her.'
'Don't use up too much sympathy. I've just seen her. She's got a bad case of the I-told-you-so's.'
'She has to cover up somehow. Peter, listen, I don't know if you've found out yet or if it's useful, but I can tell you where Mark Wildgoose was last night. Presumably that poor girl too.'
'You can? Well, come on, Sherlock!'
'It was Thelma. She was round here today. We were talking about Lorraine and she said that last night she'd seen Lorraine's husband at the disco at the Aero Club. There's one every Friday and Saturday night, evidently.'
'And Thelma goes to discos!' said Pascoe disbelievingly.
'Why not? But no, not really. This was different. There's been a bit of trouble recently, suggestions that kids under eighteen were buying the hard stuff, that sort of thing. Well, Bernard Middlefield JP, you probably know him, he's on the Club committee and he took it on himself to conduct a personal investigation. Thelma heard about this and she doesn't much care for Middlefield or his attitudes, so she took it on herself to turn up too and provide an objective check on his conclusions.'
'Objective!' snorted Pascoe. 'And Wildgoose?'
'She noticed him late on. He didn't do much dancing. In fact she said he didn't seem too happy. Well, surrounded by sixteen-year-olds mainly from his own school, who'd blame him?'
'He could have stayed at home with a good book. Anyway, thanks, love. We'd have got there soon enough, but this saves a bit of leg-work. Now look, just take me when I come, OK? Don't wait up if you get tired. You're sure you're all right now?'
'Yes, I'm fine,' she said irritably. 'Take care, Peter. Don't beat up anyone I wouldn't beat up.'
'Ha ha,' said Pascoe. 'Bye.'
The technicians were finished with the house in Danby Row now and soon it was left to grief and silence. It was a relief to be back in the busy, functional Murder Room.
Dalziel had put the full national machinery of pursuit into motion. Locally, bus stations, railway stations, taxi and car-hire firms were checked thoroughly as were hotels and lodging-houses. Descriptions were issued to the media and, despite the fact that Wildgoose's passport, all visa'd for his approaching tour, was found in his flat, seaports and airports were alerted too.
‘You're sure he's our man?' said Pascoe uneasily.
'I'm sure I want to talk to him,’ said Dalziel, belching. 'Christ. It's after eight o'clock and I've not had a proper meal today. Why shouldn't he be our man?'
'Well, no reason. Except, maybe, the sex. I mean, before there's never been…'
'Before he's never killed anyone he's been screwing,' interrupted Dalziel. 'All right, he's not a sex killer, the killing and the screwing don't go together. But that's no reason why he shouldn't enjoy it. I mean, he's having an affair with this kid, with the others he wasn't.'
'Then why kill her at this moment?'
'For fuck's sake, Peter, you know a better moment, you show me it!'
'There was the ring,' stuck in Wield.
'The ring?'
'Yes, sir. On her engagement finger. Mr Pascoe said that Dr Pottle said…'
'Pottle snottle!' snarled Dalziel. 'What the hell can a ring have to do with it? Look, let's just find the sod and pull bits off him till he gives us a few answers.'
'Don't let it bother you,' said Pascoe as Dalziel moved away. 'It's the time of the month.'
'Or he's not so sure,' said Wield.
'He's right about the ring, though. I mean, if Wildgoose gave it to her, then he's not likely to kill her for wearing it!'
'And if he did give it to her, he was jumping the gun a bit, wasn't he?' added Wield.
'We'll probably find out at the Aero Club,' said Pascoe. 'Preece! Come here. I want to take you to a disco.'
As he explained in the car, his reasons for choosing Preece were that the DC could pass for a dissolute twelve-year-old in the dusk with the strobe behind him. But in the event, such diplomatic considerations proved unnecessary. As Pascoe had observed before, this younger generation who were supposed to hold the police in greater fear and distrust than any previous age certainly had strange ways of showing it. Though it was still relatively early, the Aero Club was crowded, the curtains drawn so that evening sunlight should not interfere with the electronic glories within, and the whole place throbbing to a violent beat. Once identified as the fuzz, they were rapidly surrounded by a throng of enthusiastic potential witnesses whose demeanour was far from fearful.
'Sergeant, you and Preece pick the bones out of this lot and I'll join my own age group,' said Pascoe.
'Not many bones here, sir,' said Preece, unambiguously enjoying the pressure of a pair of fourteen- year-old breasts whose fullness bore splendid testimony to the benefits of the National Health service.
Pascoe's 'own age group' consisted of Bernard Middlefield, Thelma Lacewing and Austin Greenall, the secretary, who were standing together looking far more distressed than any of the dead girl’s contemporaries. The first two had both heard the news on the radio, recognized its relevance to their own whereabouts the previous night, and been drawn here again by motives which were not yet clear.
'You know Mark Wildgoose, sir?' Pascoe asked Middlefield.
'Not at all. But I noticed him last night. He stuck out, that much older than the rest. I asked who he was.'
'And you know him, sir?' Pascoe addressed Greenall.
'No,' said the secretary. 'He hadn't been here before. But Thelma, Miss Lacewing, she knew him.'
'I'm a friend of his wife. As you probably know,' said Thelma Lacewing.
'Yes. How was he behaving?' asked Pascoe. 'Anything unusual?'
'What's usual at something like this?' asked Middlefield. 'I'm going to be suggesting to the committee that we put a stop to this kind of thing. This is a flying club, supposed to be, not a sex-maniacs' kindergarten!'
'Most of their parents are members, they are all potential members, and it subsidizes your cheap gin-and-
