Bones and Silence

'Her name's Mrs Martin. Babs to her friends. She's in charge of the kitchen,' said Seymour. 'There's a hatch from the kitchen into the members' lounge. I doubt if there's much said in there that she doesn't hear.'

They got into Pascoe's car. He started the engine and pointed it back towards the centre of town.

'And?' he said.

'Mrs Swain was always around till about eighteen months ago. Since then she's dropped out of all team and social events and when she did come, it was purely to fire off a few rounds and usually at the quietest time of the day.'

'Damn. Mitchell said she'd dropped out of the competition team and I forgot to ask him why,' said Pascoe, annoyed.

'No need to ask Mitchell when you've got Babs,' said Seymour. 'It seems that after Swain started his own building firm, he was so keen to make a go of it, he wasn't averse to canvassing old chums for jobs. Meaning anything from grouting a gazebo to getting them to use their influence to swing a small council contract his way. Babs says from what she overheard it was the general opinion that Gail Swain was highly embarrassed by this. Before, she'd come across as the high-powered Californian jet-setter injecting a bit of glam into a staid old Yorkshire family. Now she was just the wife of a small builder pestering his mates for hand-outs.'

'And did his mates mind?'

'From what Babs says, they rather admired Swain for his cheek. As for his wife, they were mainly amused to see her taken down a peg. Evidently she was a better shot than most of them and didn't mind letting them know.'

'So she decided to duck out rather than brazen it out? Well, well. I think we should offer your friend Babs a job in CID!'

They drove on in silence for a while.

'Sir,' said Seymour. 'Does any of this really matter? I mean, we know what happened, more or less. And we know how it happened, more or less.'

'The little more, and how much it is,' said Pascoe. 'The little less, and what worlds away.'

'Pardon?' said Seymour, thinking he sometimes preferred Dalziel's brutal directness to Pascoe's gentle obliquities. And when they had the Super's preferred guilty candidate banged up in the cells, that was quite enough to satisfy an ambitious young constable who could see no promotion points in proving Dalziel wrong.

But all that changed when they reached the station.

As they pulled into the car park, a metallic blue BMW pulled out. Both cars halted to give the other right of way and in the front seat of the BMW Pascoe recognized Eden Thackeray driving and by his side Philip Swain.

Thackeray waved, both in recognition and thanks, then drove on.

'Christ,' said Seymour, twisting in his seat. 'That was Swain. He's getting away!'

'Aided and abetted by one of the town's leading lawyers?' said Pascoe. 'Or do you think Swain has a gun made out of moulded bread dough and stained with boot blacking pressed into his side? In which case, Dennis, which would you prefer - to undertake the high speed car chase or to rush inside and untie Mr Dalziel?'

'My mother used to say something sarcastic about sarcasm,' muttered Seymour.

'Mine too,' laughed Pascoe. 'So let's both go in and untie the Super, shall we?'

part three

God: Of all the mights I have made most next after me,I make thee as master and mirror of my might;I bield thee here bainly, in bliss for to be, I name thee for Lucifer, as bearer of light.

The York Cycle:

 'The Creation'

February 19th

Dear Mr Dalziel,

So I've changed my mind again! There's so much in the world I'd like to change but my mind's the only bit I can get at. I mean I've changed my mind about writing to you, not about killing myself. That's the only sure thing in my life. If I didn't have that to look forward to, I think I'd just curl up and die. (Joke.)

You must be thinking I'm really unstable, chopping and changing like this. The trouble is things have been happening fast, things to stretch me out, and I got to thinking: I don't need to put up with this; why not do it now? I came very close, believe me. But I want it to be something properly planned, a choice, not a whim.

Afterwards, though, I found myself desperate to talk to someone. I came close several times. A friendly word, a sympathetic smile, and I was ready to confide all! But in my mind, I kept on hearing your voice calling my name, which of course you don't know, and I knew I had to get back to you. You see, others would want to stop me, but all you'll be interested in is whether I'm proposing to commit a crime. Well, I'm not. It used to be a crime, but not any more. So you've got no reason to waste public money in using your famous expertise to find me. With you I'm quite safe. It's like having my personal confessor. Except I don't want absolution, just an unshockable ear! Incidentally, as far as I know, no saint has bagged this day so I dedicate it to you, though you may need to pull off a miracle to satisfy the powers that be that you've earned it!   Here endeth today's confession.

CHAPTER ONE

'Peter, for God's sake!' gasped Ellie Pascoe as they ran their third amber. 'Are you trying to kill us?'

'We're late,' said Pascoe.

'For picking up Fat Andy? What's to hurry? And I don't see why you said you'd pick him up anyway.'

'Three reasons. One: we promised Chung we'd get him there and this guarantees it.'

'Why are you so concerned about pleasing Chung when it's Andy who's your chum?' she inquired with one of those elenctic U-turns that so often left Pascoe facing the wrong way.