The man looked at him blankly, then said in a faraway voice, 'I had to come back . . . one last secret, then it's all over . . . life can begin again
'Gosh,' said Dalziel. 'Not something else to tell us? Not another uncoerced and purely voluntary statement? I'm thinking of publishing a collected edition!'
But Swain was not to be thrown from his part, if part it were. Slowly he advanced till he could see into the hole. When he could make out the blonde tress, he let out a little cry of shock or of pain.
Then he dropped to his knees, flung back his head, and shrieked, 'Gail! Gail! Gail!
CHAPTER THREE
It should have been Dalziel’s greatest triumph, and for a little while that's how it came over, marred only by the need of explaining to Chung that he'd jumped the gun by consigning her Lucifer to the nether regions a fortnight before the Mysteries opened.
'Bail?' he said in answer to her question. 'I'd love to help, luv, but there's no way a magistrate would wear bail, not in a serious case like this.'
When he said this, he was at least half sincere, but within a very short space of time it became apparent to all concerned that it was mainly the sheer bulk of Dalziel’s objections that stood between Swain and a limited freedom. Challenged by Chung, he growled, Makes no odds. You don't think I could act with that bugger now, do you? If he was back the cast, I’d be out. I'm saving you a problem, keeping him inside '
'Don't do me any favours, Andy,’ said Chung steadily. 'I've made harder choices than that.'
Abashment was a new experience for Andrew Dalziel, but he felt it now.
But abashment was no part of his reaction when Dan Trimble brought up the case.
'Andrew, I'm a little worried. You've given the magistrates' court the impression that the charges against Swain will be so serious that turning him loose would be like sending Jack the Ripper back into Whitechapel. I presume this means you're confident you can overturn his statement...’
'Statement!' exclaimed Dalziel. 'That thing ought to be short-listed for the Booker!'
'You think so? Then perhaps you can separate the fact from fiction for me, with supportive evidence, of course. I have a copy here. Let's go through it, shall we?'
He began reading, pausing now and then for Dalziel to intervene. But during the early part of the statement which consisted of a description of the arrival of Arnie Stringer with news of his son-in-law's death, the fat man listened in silence. Only when Swain laid claim to motives of loyalty and friendship for agreeing to help did he let out a derisive snort.
'You dispute his motives?' said Trimble.
'Aye, do I! This loyalty and friendship didn't stop him running a JCB over the bugger to shut him up, did it?'
'You have proof of that allegation? Eye-witnesses? Forensic evidence?'
'No! But it stands to reason ...'
'No, it doesn't, Andrew. To continue. 'My wife, Gail, had gone to bed early as she was leaving on her trip to see her sick mother in the States the following morning. I should say now that though I admit we had had our differences about the future, there was the very real possibility of a compromise, and I certainly believed her visit to the States was going to be temporary. Arnie's arrival had woken her and after I'd calmed Arnie down and sent him home, she came into the room and told me she'd heard most of what we'd said. She couldn't believe that I was really going to help conceal Appleyard's death. If she'd talked purely in terms of right and wrong, I might have listened, but it soon became clear that this tragic accident seemed to her to provide the perfect excuse for me to break my partnership agreement with Arnie, whom she had never liked. I tried to explain my feelings, but she just grew progressively angrier, ending up almost hysterically demanding that I should leave with her the following day and fly to California, ready to take up the Delgado job offer. I said that though I'd by no means finally made my decision about the job, her proposal was manifestly impossible, but by now she was past reason and into hysteria. I slapped her face to try to get her to recover control but it just made her worse. She rushed at me, I stepped aside, I didn't mean to trip her, but she stumbled over my foot, and next thing she was lying across the hearth quite still. The side of her head had struck the old stone hearth. There was scarcely any blood, but she was quite clearly dead. I remember her once saying that in her childhood, her American doctor had warned her mother she had an abnormally thin skull and needed to be kept clear of the rough and tumble of the playground. I know I should have rung 999 but I wasn't thinking straight . . .' Yes, Andy?'
'That story's so old it's got grey hairs,' exclaimed Dalziel. 'If I had a penny for every time I've heard some punter tell me his missus slipped accidentally and banged her head on the hearth, I'd be better off than you!'
Trimble drew another paper from the pile on his desk.
'The post-mortem report states that Mrs Swain died from a blow to the side of her head not incompatible with the claim that she struck it against the corner of an upraised hearth. There was no sign of any other violence. And it was confirmed that she did have a very thin skull which might have been a contributory factor. Contra-evidence, please?'
'Forensic's checked out the hearth, found nowt,' said Dalziel.
'There is a cleaning woman who confirms she washed and polished the hearth at least twice a week,' said Trimble. 'Anything else? No? Then let's go on. '. . . thinking straight. All I could think was that if I summoned an ambulance and the police, Arnie was bound to hear the sirens, and in his state, he'd be certain I'd betrayed him, and that might tip him right over the edge. I sat in that room and I thought and thought, and in my confusion there seemed no other way out of my predicament but to do with Gail what I had undertaken to do with Appleyard. And that is what I did. It was stupid, it had tragic consequences, and I regret it with all my heart. But when someone you love dearly has died in a tragic accident, and when at the same time a man of the quality of Arnie Stringer has put his whole life and happiness in your hands, it is hard to think straight. So in the end, I wrapped Gail up in a blanket and hid her body in the pick-up, and next day on the site, I dug the hole while Arnie mixed the concrete. We were working on the section behind the coroner's offices which were empty on a Sunday, and no one from the Police HQ showed any interest in us. Nevertheless I told Arnie to stand watch while I buried Appleyard and naturally I used the opportunity to bury Gail too. I nearly stopped then and told Arnie I couldn't go on, but Gail was dead and perhaps mistakenly I felt my higher duty was to the living, to the needs of my old friend. So I said a simple prayer and laid her to rest.' Andrew, you're making strange noises again. Surely whatever else you think of Swain, you have to give him some credit for wanting to help a friend in need?'
