But the question was irrelevant in the present circumstances. Moody was merely a witness who, honest or not, was under orders to cooperate.
'Ordinary sort of fellow,' he said. 'About twenty-five. Medium height. Stocky. Light brown hair, a bit of a moustache. He was wearing one of those lumberjack jackets, sort of green tartan. He said the medals had been his uncle's. I didn't pay much heed. I mean, it's not like something really valuable when you need to establish ownership and all that, is it?'
Sutton nodded approval.
'But when I saw them this morning, I remembered the circular, Inspector,' said Sutton. 'You're a bad boy, Paul, you should've remembered the circular too. Perhaps you'll pay more heed another time.'
'Yes, Mr Sutton.'
'How did he talk?' asked Pascoe.
'He didn't say much,' said Moody. 'And most of that was monosyllables. Accent? Ordinary. Like most people round here.'
'When you made him your offer, what did he say?'
'He said, Is that all? and I said I couldn't do any better and I didn't think anyone else would, but he was entitled to try. And he said no, he'd take it.'
'And how much was it?'
'Five pounds,' said Moody.
Five pounds. The price of Bob Deeks's death. What Hitler's Panzers had not been able to do, some mindless thug had achieved for the sum of five pounds.
It wasn't much, and it was a very small sum indeed for Edwin Sutton to pay to buy himself into the CID's good books. This was clearly his motivation. At this price good citizenship came very cheap. Pascoe looked at his smiling face with concealed revulsion.
'I hope this helps you clear up this awful business, Inspector,' said the dealer. 'It's a terrible world, isn't it? Terrible.'
'Yes. Thank you for your help. Much appreciated,' said Pascoe.
'No more than my duty. That's what I always tell the youngster here. You meet with some dicey characters in our line of business, it's part of the game, isn't it! But when in doubt, call for the Law. Always cooperate with the Law and you can't go far wrong. Isn't that what I tell you, Paul?'
'Indeed it is, sir,' replied the young man.
'I'm glad to hear it,' said Pascoe. 'Mr Moody, could you call in at the Central Police Station at, say, two o'clock to look at some photos and help with an Identikit picture? I'm sure Mr Sutton, being so civically minded, won't mind filling in for you for an hour or so!'
On his way back to the station he was very silent in the car.
'What now, sir?' asked Wield.
Pascoe yawned. He'd got back on time this morning, but only with a double effort of will, the first to wake up and the second, having woken up, to drag himself away from the sleep-soft warmth of Ellie's body.
'We'd better show the medals to the Frosticks, I suppose.'
Wield glanced at his watch.
'I'd leave it till later, sir. The funeral's today. They'll be getting ready, then afterwards there'll be the family back at the house, that sort of thing.'
'Yes, of course,' said Pascoe.
Bob Deeks's funeral. Philip Westerman's inquest. And with luck (though could you call the invocation of another tragedy luck?) the solution of 'Tap' Parrinder's death.
He said, 'I didn't much care for Edwin Sutton.'
'No, sir.'
'I don't believe in his conversion to the good citizen. What say you, Sergeant?'
'It doesn't seem likely, sir,' agreed Wield.
'No. People don't change much on the whole. Not by choice. Sometimes when they can't help it, perhaps, but even then, deep down, they'll be the same. Wouldn't you say, Sergeant?'
'I'd say so,' said Wield. 'Except that circumstances…'
'Yes?'
'Well, mebbe we don't always know what other people really are. Or even ourselves, not till circumstances force us to know. Or admit.'
Pascoe brooded on this for a moment, then shook his head in irritation. Dalziel was right – too much brooding and you grew hair on your mind! This metaphysical sensibility which fused thought and feeling was of little use to a working cop. Thought and action was the only possible union even if it had to be a shotgun wedding.
He said savagely. 'Do me a favour, Sergeant. When Moody comes in to look at the pics, try to find out from him when Sutton will next be away, preferably far away, on a buying trip.'
'Sir?'
'And then we'll go in, remind anyone who objects of Sutton's publicly declared eagerness to help the Law, and turn his fucking shop inside out!'
The day which had dawned bright as Pascoe drove north from Lincolnshire had turned sullen by noon and by mid-afternoon the wind gusting down from over the Pennines was driving flurries of snow to sprinkle the moorland plain. Bob Deeks's mourners had a cold time of it as the keening blasts saw to it that there was not a dry eye to be found about the graveside.
Afterwards Charley dropped behind his parents as they returned to the cars and spoke with Mrs Gregory, whose usual careworn appearance was not materially affected by the weather.
'Andrea all right, is she?' asked the young soldier.
'Yes, Charley. I think so,' said the woman. 'She's moved to her new job, she's living in, you knew that? She would've been here today, Charley, pay her respects and all that, but it'd be awkward, her just starting, and they have different people coming most weekends, important people from the sound of it, and they have to clear up after the last lot and get ready for the next. I'm sorry about you and her, Charley, I always thought how nice it'd be, when the pair of you were little, but, well, it's not to be, and mebbe after all it's for the best.'
'Mebbe,' Charley agreed.
When they reached the car, he didn't get in.
'Come on, Charley,' said his father. 'Let's get this heater going before we all freeze to death!'
'You go on,' said Charley. 'I fancy a bit of a walk.’
‘Charley!' protested Mrs Frostick. 'You'll catch your death.'
'I'm in the right spot then,' said her son. 'No, I'll be all right, Mam. I just don't fancy all them cups of tea and people chatting and all that. I'll have a bit of a blow and see you later.'
He shut the door on further argument.
'Alan, can't you make him come?' demanded Mrs Frostick of her husband.
But he looked not without pride at his son's retreating figure and said, 'Let the lad be, Dolly. He's lost a lot these past few days. But he'll be all right. Give him time, he'll be all right.
Dalziel and Arnold Charlesworth came out of the coroner's court together and met the icy blasts with the indifference of strong men, which was more than could be said for the thin figure of Sammy Ruddlesdin who came panting up behind them.
'Happy with the verdict?' he yelled into the wind.
'Happy? A man's dead. How should that make me happy?' said Charlesworth.
'I meant, do you think it was a fair verdict?'
'Death by misadventure,' said Dalziel. 'That's what they said. And that's what it was.'
'And will the police be taking any further action, Mr Dalziel?' yelled Ruddlesdin.
'Who against?'
'Against the driver.' He paused, perhaps significantly, perhaps just to catch his breath. 'Against Mr Charlesworth.'
'Not for me to say, Mr Ruddlesdin,' said Dalziel. 'But you heard what was established. Mr Charlesworth hadn't been drinking, wasn't speeding, and was driving on the correct side of the road. Coroner said that no blame could be attached. You did hear that?'
