tonics the rest of the week,' flashed the woman.
'He was a bit unusual,' said Greenall, ignoring the other two. 'You sometimes get an older man in. Usually he's trying to show that he's as good as any of the youngsters. Wildgoose hardly danced at all. They came late. I got the impression it was the girl's idea and it came as a bit of a shock to him to see who was here. I heard one or two of the kids calling him 'sir'. They must have been pupils at the school he taught at.'
'And what about the ring?'
'Ring?'
'The girl was wearing an engagement ring. A large red stone.'
'No, I didn't notice anything of that,' said Greenall. 'Excuse me. The barman's looking a bit distressed. Ages are a bit difficult. I'd better go to the rescue.'
'A bit difficult!' said Middlefield. 'Inspector, you ought to bring some of your squad down here one weekend just to check this lot!'
'Perhaps I will, sir,' said Pascoe mildly. 'Any irregularities could, as you must know, mean that the club's licence might be completely revoked.'
'I saw the ring,' said Thelma Lacewing. 'It looked like a piece of costume jewellery. I noticed the girl showing it to a group of other girls.'
'And was Wildgoose with her?'
'No. He was at the bar. He didn't seem to want to know.'
The picture that emerged when he cross-checked with Preece and Wield confirmed Thelma Lacewing's impression.
Andrea Valentine had been dropping large hints for some time to her contemporaries about her conquest of Wildgoose. More recently she had been talking in terms of a permanent liaison when he finally unshipped his wife. Last night she had clearly set out to demonstrate in public the truth of the present closeness and the hoped-for permanence of their relationship.
'Yeah,' one girl had said to Preece. 'I thought she were just trying it on, like. I mean she could've bought the ring herself, couldn't she? And Wildgoose, he didn't seem all that pleased, did he?'
'Mebbe that's why he killed her?' suggested another girl.
'Yeah,' said the first, bright-eyed, pressing close against Preece. 'Is that why he killed her, mister! And how did he do it, mister? What did he do to her?'
Preece had retreated in disarray.
Before they left the Aero Club, Pascoe got Thelma Lacewing to herself and asked, 'Why did you come back here tonight?'
She answered. 'Another woman killed, this is probably the last place where she was seen alive, where else should I go, Peter? I should have said something to him last night. Perhaps if I had.. .'
'Forget it,' said Pascoe gently. 'You've got enough worries that aren't yours resting on your shoulders without looking for more. Thanks for looking in on Ellie, by the way. She needs company, I think, and I'm very tied up at the moment.'
'So's she,’ said Lacewing. 'So's she.'
At midnight there was still no trace of Wildgoose and in the Murder Room they were running out of jokes about his name.
'Let's wrap it up,' said Dalziel wearily. 'He'll have to show soon. Penny gets you a pound he's spotted in the morning.'
No one took him up, which was as well for the taker would have lost his penny.
Not that Dalziel was precisely right either. Wildgoose was certainly spotted, but not quite as he had implied in his forecast.
Ted Agar cycled slowly into the forecourt of the Linden Garden Centre early on Sunday morning. The dew still sparkled along the lines of rosebushes and the church bells had not yet begun to summon the good people of Shafton to their Sabbath duties of car-washing, lawn-mowing and the like.
Agar was only paid to keep the place ticking over for half a day five days a week, but he liked to keep a closer eye on things, especially at weekends when potential customers, on discovering the Centre was closed, were not above excavating a couple of young bushes and tossing them into the boot before driving off. The previous day, Saturday, he had been otherwise engaged, watching Yorkshire prod their way to a draw in a County Championship match. Today however there was only a one-day game on offer and Agar believed that if God had wanted cricket to end in a day, He'd have rested on Tuesday instead of waiting till the end of the week.
As he propped his bike against the side of the house, his eyes were already checking the rose-plantation. So familiar was he with the silhouette of each row that he instantly spotted someone had been mucking about. Not that there was a gap, but out there in the middle where the orange-vermilion of his Super-Stars ran alongside the dappled apricot of his Sutter's Golds something was awry, the line had somehow altered.
Perhaps just a couple of stray dogs who imagined that no one would disturb the earth except to bury bones.
Dogs, however, didn't put the earth back after digging it out. Nor did they scatter earth regularly and evenly between the rows as though disposing of a surplus.
Four of the Super-Stars were looking a bit the worse for wear compared with their neighbours, a bit askew. A bit raised up.
He prodded the earth with the hoe he had instinctively picked up from the lean-to behind the house. He saw something small and white just alongside the union of one of the bushes. Like the end of a freshly pruned sucker.
He stooped and looked closer. Looked for a long time. Touched. Let out a long breath.
It was a little finger.
He backed slowly away for five or six paces before turning and hobbling rapidly towards the house.
Chapter 24
It didn't take long to identify the body. The name in the wallet was Wildgoose, Pascoe recognized the face instantly, and finally in the interests of bureaucracy Lorraine Wildgoose was asked to make it official.
'Was it suicide?' she asked afterwards, almost casually.
Not unless he could knock himself unconscious, strangle and bury himself, thought Pascoe.
He shook his head.
'No,' he said and when that produced no response, added gently, 'He was killed, I'm afraid, Mrs Wildgoose. But it does mean he probably wasn't the Choker.'
'Does it?' she said indifferently. 'I don't see why.' Then as though making an effort to find a more acceptable response, she added, 'But I'm glad for the children's sake.'
'Well, she's not going to toss herself on to her old man's pyre,' commented Dalziel after a WPC had taken Mrs Wildgoose out to the awaiting car.
'I think she's really broken up inside,’ said Pascoe.
'Like my guts,’ said Dalziel, beating his belly and belching. 'You didn't find out what she was doing early yesterday morning, between say midnight and four A.M.?'
'No,' said Pascoe. 'You don't really believe that… no, I'm sorry, sir. I didn't think.'
'You're probably right. Any road, I've told that lass with her to check as best she can, talk to the kids, that sort of thing. Better safe than sorry. She did hate the poor sod and she looks tough enough. That'd be the best solution too. He's the Choker, runs home for solace after killing the Valentine girl, wife bumps him off and buries him. End of case.'
'And who phones the Evening Post on Saturday afternoon?' wondered Pascoe.
'Who knows? Mebbe we've got a Joker as well as a Choker,' said Dalziel. 'We've got at least four voices on tape so far according to Laurel and Hardy, haven't we?'
'Urquhart and Gladmann,’ said Pascoe. 'Yes. But yesterday afternoon only the Choker knew the girl was dead.'
