Bones and Silence

'What did you make of him?'

'Fancied himself.'

'Did you fancy him?'

'No way.'

'Why not?'

She considered. 'For a start I could tell he didn't fancy me.'

That makes a difference?'

'Dealing with them that does is bad enough without chasing after them as don't,’ she said grimly.

Dalziel grinned. He liked her more and more.

'What about Mrs Swain. Did he fancy her?'

'I told Mr Pascoe that,' she said. 'He tried it on, but I thought she gave him the brush-off.'

'Would it surprise you if she'd taken up with him later?'

'No. I didn't know her well enough to be surprised.'

This was reasonable but not very helpful. Dalziel picked up another line and asked, 'How did Mr Swain get on with Mr Waterson?'

'Not very well.'

He waited for her to expand, but after a few moments she returned her gaze to her book. It was unnerving. She'd made a bargain to answer his questions, but they had to be asked first.

'How do you know?' he asked.

'I saw them quarrelling in the yard.'

'Could you hear what they were saying?' he asked, looking out of the window.

'No. Anyway, after a bit they went into the house.'

He hesitated, baffled. Every end a blank. What were Swain and Waterson rowing about? Had Swain begun to suspect something earlier than he claimed? And what different light could it throw on the events at Hambleton Road if he had?

He must have somehow contrived to look pathetic, for she took pity on him and said in an exasperated tone, 'Do you not want to know what it was about?'

'You said you couldn't hear.'

'I didn't need to. It was about Mr Waterson's account. It hadn't been settled despite me sending reminders. The last one threatened the court.'

'Was it for much?'

'Enough. Mr Swain were having trouble with his overdraft and needed every penny he could get.'

'So how did it end up?'

'They went into the house and Mr Waterson gave Mr Swain a cheque.'

'How do you know?'

'Because Mr Swain came out to me later and handed over the cheque and told me to pay it into the business account.'

There it was. Not a jealous confrontation but a business squabble. All he had to do was ask.

He said, 'So Mr Swain were really strapped for cash till he got this cheque?'

She laughed, full-throated, musical, a sound to draw a man's eyes back after they'd registered and dismissed the square features, the lifeless hair.

'He were still strapped,' she said. 'It came back a week later. Returned to drawer. No funds.'

'It bounced? What happened then?'

She said, 'I gave it to Mr Swain. He said he'd see to it.'

'And did he?'

'Not that I know of. There was nowt in our last statement.'

It could mean a lot, it could mean nowt. Dalziel stored it away and glanced at his watch. He'd been here too long. If Swain caught him now he might get suspicious of this lovely lass and that'd be a shame. Who knows what other answers she might be able to give if Dalziel could only work out the questions?

He said, 'I'll be off now, luv, but I'll be in touch.'

He meant with more questions but when she replied, 'How long?' he saw she didn't. A bargain was a bargain. He thought and said, 'Week at the outside. If you're sure. Sometimes no news is good news.'

'You reckon?' she said, picking up her book once more. This time he glimpsed its title. Anna Karenina. Dalziel's reading was not extensive. Fiction-wise, it was restricted almost entirely to Bulwer Lytton's Last Days of Pompeii which he'd stolen from his honeymoon hotel and read circularly as if it were Finnegans Wake. But Anna Karenina he knew because of the Garbo movie. He'd been more concerned with copping a feel from the buxom lass by his side than watching the elegant shadow on the screen, but he did remember it hadn't been a bundle of laughs.