Deadheads

'So we're just to forget all this, are we, Mr Elgood?' he said.

'I thought I'd said so,' said Elgood impatiently.

'Goodbye then,' said Pascoe.

As he opened the door, Elgood added in a quiet voice, 'And, Inspector, I mean, forget it. It embarrasses me even to think about it, and I don't want to find myself on the end of a defamation action. So no more nods and winks, eh? No more ugly buggers from the CID prowling around Aldermann on some trumped-up business that wouldn't fool a child. I just went neurotic for a bit. It won't happen again. I'm sorry you've been bothered.'

'That's all right, Mr Elgood,' said Pascoe. 'Best of luck with your negotiations. Watch how you go.'

In the corridor he was making for the stairs, when he heard lift doors rattling open at the other end. So Miss Dominic had deliberately exercised him. Perhaps he hadn't been so far wrong about the whip!

He retraced his steps. Out of the lift stepped four overalled men and Miss Dominic herself. Clearly she did not care to match her strength with the work force. He nodded at her and stepped into the lift. On the way down it stopped at the second floor and a man entered. He was in his thirties with an oval face, watchful brown eyes and neat black hair. He wore a dark blue business suit of conventional cut. His only departure from executive sobriety was a beautifully formed lilac-blue rose in his buttonhole.

Pascoe had never seen him before but he reminded him of someone. When they reached the ground floor, Pascoe motioned the man out ahead of him. He smiled his acknowledgement and strode away, permitting Pascoe to glimpse the initials P. A. monogrammed on his briefcase.

Perhaps this explained the sense of familiarity - not a physical resemblance, but a resemblance to a mental image. This had to be Patrick Aldermann.

Outside, the man got into a Cortina parked almost in front of the door. Pascoe's car was round the side in the works car park. As he walked past the Cortina, the man looked at him through the still open door and said, 'Can I offer you a lift?'

'No, thanks,' said Pascoe. 'I've got my own car. Excuse me, I couldn't help noticing your rose. What a fascinating colour.'

'You like it? It's a Blue Moon. Here, please take it.'

To Pascoe's surprise he plucked the flower from his lapel and put it into the inspector's hand.

'But I can't . . .' said Pascoe, taken aback.

'Why not? Blue Moon means improbability. Everyone needs a little improbability in their life, don't you agree? The thing is, having the courage to accept it. Goodbye.'

The door closed, the car started up almost silently and purred away.

Pascoe watched it go, then resumed his walk to the car park thinking that these words of Aldermann's, though perhaps the most enigmatic, were far from the most thought-provoking utterances he'd heard that day.

9

 

ESCAPADE

(Floribunda. White rosy-flushing blooms, single, hanging together in large bunches, sweet-smelling when open.)

Police Cadet Singh realized with a sinking heart that the situation was beginning to get out of his control.

Passing through the central shopping precinct on his way to the station, he had not been altogether displeased to run into a trio of old school acquaintances, particularly as the girl in the group showed a disposition to be turned on by his uniform, and the boys (both out of work) though more diffident of manner, were equally interested in what he thought of the job.

Unfortunately the precinct was a popular stamping ground for the young unemployed, of whom there was a tragic plenitude. A couple more old acquaintances joined the group, then one or two other youngsters he didn't know, till suddenly he found himself surrounded by at least a dozen.

The atmosphere was still amiable enough, but an element of horse-play was entering into it. There were now four girls, very audience-conscious, and their admiration was becoming exaggerated to the point of parody. One had 'borrowed' his hat and tried it on. Envious of the applause, one of the boys had taken it from her and gone into a heel-rocking 'ello-'ello-'ello comic policeman routine. Singh preserved a forced smile while his mind raced to work out the best solution to the problem. Any attempt to retrieve the hat could easily result in a game such as was often played in the old school yard, with a cap being hurled from one hand to another as its owner made desperate attempts to grab it. Also, in the middle of the precinct was a very tempting fountain around which the old folk sat exchanging stories and cigarettes. The thought of having to paddle among the floating fag-packets to retrieve his hat made his dark skin burn with shame.

But something would have to be done. The excited little group was already drawing the attention of passers- by.

'Excuse me, Officer,' said a woman's voice, very clear without being over-loud.

Singh turned. Behind him stood a tall, slim woman with a small child in a papoose-basket on her back.

'Yes, madam,' Singh stammered.

'I wonder if you could direct me to the Chantry Coffee House?' said the woman.

'Certainly, madam,' said Singh. 'Now, let's see . . .'

'I know it's somewhere near the Cathedral,' continued the woman, 'but all those little winding lanes are so confusing. Perhaps if you're going that way, you could show me?'

'Yes, of course,' said Singh. He held out his hand, the hat was put into it, he placed it carefully on his head.

'See you around, lads,' he said. 'This way, madam.'