There had been a period of reappraisal. Bitterness and self-disgust had brought him close to the point of throwing discretion to the winds and coming out into the open. But he had pulled up short, as always. The price of openness was his job. He knew all about his legal rights and all about modern liberated attitudes, but he also knew that as far as Mid-Yorkshire CID went, his career would be at an end. What else did he have at the moment? Nothing. He did his job, pursued his conventional social life such as it was, worked for his next police examination, watched television and sought imaginative release in his one literary passion, the novels of H. Rider Haggard, particularly those featuring the ugly little hunter, Alan Quartermain, who always seemed to be surrounded by strikingly handsome young men. He didn't think of it as sublimation for he didn't think in such terms. Ultimately he felt in perfect control of his life; in an emotional limbo, yes - but in control.
One day there would be someone else. Wield was certain of that. But he was not a man for rapid or temporary attachments. One day there would be someone; someone his equal in age and maturity; someone his equal in discretion.
And now the horror of finding his emotions assaulted by the simple sight of a mere boy! And for it to happen at the very centre of that area of his life he kept most separate from his deepest emotions signalled the gravest danger.
So now here he was once again playing the hard-nosed cop, and not even certain why. Pascoe had spoken to Dalziel on the telephone the previous evening and this morning had announced that the youths had to be brought in.
'Come on, lad,' said Wield. 'Don't muck about. These lads need to be questioned by someone who knows what he's at.'
'But that's all?' said Singh, looking for a crumb of comfort. 'Just more questioning about what they saw? You're not going to do them for damaging the car?'
It would have been easy for Wield to say no. But he was far from sure it was true, not if they copped an admission. And in any case the boy had to learn to face up to that shift in the centre of balance of loyalties that took place when you joined the Force.
And finally it might teach him to duck out of sight when he saw Wield coming, which would cool things down all round.
'There's no saying what Mr Pascoe'll decide,' he said heavily. But touched beyond bearing by the boy's unconcealable worry, he heard himself adding, 'But it'd need an admission before there was any chance of a case, and they'll likely know better than that if they watch a lot of telly, won't they?'
Singh's face cleared slightly.
'I only know two of them by name,' he said. 'They were mates of mine at school. Mick Feaver and Jonty, that's John, Marsh.'
'Feaver and Marsh,' said Pascoe. 'Anything known.'
'Nothing on Feaver. A bit of juvenile stuff on Marsh, nothing serious. But his family's always been a bit on the wild side, and you'll likely know one of his older brothers, Arthur.'
'Arthur Marsh. Rings a bell. Fill me in.'
Wield, anticipating the questions, produced a file.
'Lots of juvenile stuff again. Then got done for nicking things from houses where he'd been called in as a TV repair man. Sacked from his job, suspended sentence, started breaking in and nicking the TV sets themselves. Sent down for eighteen months. Out, another repair job, firm went bust, redundant, dole, six months ago he got done for an unemployment fiddle, claiming full benefit when he was doing a bit of work on the side.'
Wield ran his eye down the sheet and grinned.
'He had a bit of bad luck there,' he said. 'He was doing a bit of labouring work, helping lay a lawn for a fellow who turned out to be someone important at the Social Security office. He sees Arthur and his mates getting down to work that morning, then later the same day he spots him in a queue for benefit!'
'Tough,' said Pascoe. 'What did he get?'
'Fined,' said Wield. 'Likely he'll claim supplementary benefit to pay for it.'
'This confirms what young Singh thought,' Pascoe said. 'Marsh'll be the harder nut. Let's see him first, leave Feaver to stew a bit.'
'Right,' said Wield, interview room?'
'No,' said Pascoe. 'Bring him up here. And don't mention his brother or anything like that. Let's follow the road Cadet Singh opened up and get him believing he's got us believing he's just a good citizen, right?'
A few minutes later, Jonty Marsh strutted in, cocky but watchful.
'Sit down, Mr Marsh,' said Pascoe. 'Thank you for coming.'
Over the next couple of minutes, Pascoe carefully fed the youth's cockiness by playing up the important witness angle till eventually the watchfulness had almost faded away.
Wield sat quietly by, admiring Pascoe's technique, while the Inspector took the youth through the events in the car park up to the moment when Daphne Aldermann got out of her car. Then by the flicker of an eye, he invited Wield to take over. Wield wasn't quite sure why, but he continued along the obvious lines, pressing Marsh about the car that Mrs Aldermann had got into. Marsh affirmed it was a BMW, but under Wield's probing rather sulkily admitted that he wasn't sure and was merely echoing Mick Feaver's certainty. But he now did recall that it was a dark blue car and confirmed what he had told Singh, that it had tinted glass windows.
When he had taken the questioning as far as the disappearance of the dark blue BMW, he paused and Pascoe produced a packet of cigarettes, and offered the youth one.
'That's good, Jonty,' he said approvingly. 'All right if I call you Jonty? First rate. I wish all our witnesses were as clear. So, to get it straight, you can positively identify the green VW Polo that the woman got out of as the same Polo that got scratched?'
'Oh, yeah,' said Marsh puffing at his cigarette. 'Definitely.'
