'Haven't you asked enough questions, for God's sake? Last time we spoke, I told you to drop the matter. But since then from all sides I hear you're still snooping around!'
Elgood sounded angry, but Pascoe thought he detected a note of anxiety as well. ‘I’ve got a job to do, Mr Elgood,' he said solemnly. Ellie had once remarked that the main perk of being a cop was that you could talk entirely in cliches and no one dared throw rotten eggs. 'It's not an easy job,' he continued, warming to his banalities, 'and it has this peculiarity. Once you start on something, you take it as far as you can until you're convinced that no crime's been committed. It doesn't matter who says yea or nay. You carry on regardless.'
'Is that right?' sneered Elgood. 'Even when it means setting your own wife on to spy on people?'
Pascoe sat upright, jerked out of his role-playing.
'You'd better explain that, Mr Elgood,' he said quietly.
'What's to explain?' said Elgood. 'Except if you're going to say it was coincidence that the day after I spoke to you at the station, your wife struck up an acquaintance with Mrs Aldermann.'
'I'm not sure I need say anything about that,' said Pascoe, 'except to wonder how you're so familiar with Mrs Aldermann's affairs.'
‘It's not only the police who hear things in a town this size,' answered Elgood challengingly.
He wants me to say what I know, thought Pascoe, still slightly off-balance as a result of the crack about Ellie. It could only mean Daphne Aldermann had mentioned her new acquaintance to Elgood. Damn. It must look suspicious, to say the least. Not that that bothered him, but the thought of the embarrassment to Ellie if the Aldermann woman took it wrong . . . perhaps it had happened already; there'd been something in Ellie's manner last night ; . . a restraint ... on the other hand, she had said she was having coffee with Daphne this morning, so . . .
He shook the wisps of thought out of his head. Wisps. A good word for most of his thoughts on this case. Everything vague, nothing to grasp at.
Perhaps it was time to hit Elgood with a few facts.
'Let me tell you what we know to remove any temptation you may feel to lie,' he said. 'We know that the day before you spoke to me at the police station you met Mrs Daphne Aldermann in the top floor of the multi-storey car park. We know that she transferred from her car to yours and you drove away together. We know that she did not return to her car until approximately five hours later.'
'Your wife told you all this, did she?' said Elgood.
'No,' said Pascoe wearily. 'My wife has told me nothing about you. As far as I'm aware, she
Elgood shook his head, stood up and began to walk round the room with his graceful dancing step. He didn't look at all like Fred Astaire, yet there was in his simplest movement that same quality of lightness. He was immaculately suited in Oxford blue mohair with a striped claret and gold waistcoat with mother of pearl buttons.
'I'm not denying I met her. Why should I? My private life's my own affair, isn't it?'
‘It seems to me you made it mine when you complained that the husband of the woman you had this private rendezvous with was trying to kill you,' said Pascoe in exasperation. 'For God's sake, in simple terms of motive alone, it alters everything.'
'Because he's jealous?'
Elgood began to laugh. It sounded fifty per cent genuine.
'What's so funny?'
'You are, Pascoe,' said the little man. 'You keep on getting it wrong! Aldermann's not the jealous type, believe me. Any road, there was nowt to be jealous of. It was the first time me and Daphne had met, apart from a couple of lunch-time drinks where anyone could see us. Come between him and his precious roses, that might be a different matter!'
'Isn't that what you are doing, by blocking his advancement?' answered Pascoe, trying a different tack.
'Mebbe,' said Elgood, serious again. 'But that's for him to decide. Me, I'm just doing what's best for the firm. It'll all be sorted next Wednesday, by the time he gets back.'
'Back? From where?' asked Pascoe.
'He's going off on Monday to that fancy school near Gloucester that his lad goes to. No wonder he's short of a bob or two, paying out on them places! I've brought the next board meeting forward till Wednesday, so he should be safely out of the way.'
He spoke with the satisfaction of absolute authority, but Pascoe was much struck by the disproportionate influence this (by all accounts) quiet, unassuming man Patrick Aldermann seemed to have over the lives and decisions of others.
'Out of the way? Yet you say you don't feel threatened?' he mused aloud.
'No. I want that forgotten,' said Elgood. 'How many times do I have to tell you? My private life's my private life. Keep out of it! I've seen you today, Mr Pascoe, to give you a last warning. Any more prying by you, or your men, or your missus for that matter, I'll treat as police harassment. And I'll go a long way over your head, aye, and over Andy Dalziel's too, to get it stopped. I've got friends in most high places, Mr Pascoe. So think on.'
Pascoe rose slowly.
'Friends,' he said. 'High places. Threats. Nasty sneers about my wife. I quite liked you when first we met, Mr Elgood. I thought you were . . . natural. Unspoilt. An original. But suddenly the mould is beginning to look very familiar.'
To his credit, Elgood looked uncomfortable.
'Listen, Pascoe. About your wife, I meant no offence. The rest stands, but a man's wife's a different
