'It wasn't as clear-cut as that,' said Swain. 'But I remember just before I went off to America, I said to Arnie that I wasn't looking forward to it and he said it'd be all right, I'd be back in no time with everything sorted out, and I said no, nothing could be finally sorted out till Greg Waterson turned up, and he said if that was all I was worrying about, I should rest easy as he doubted if I'd be bothered by that bastard again. His words came back to me on the plane and I started wondering ... all kinds of things. But I soon forgot about them in California, there was far too much else to occupy my mind and I hardly gave the business another thought. Till this morning. God! Was it only this morning? It seems an age ago.'
That's because you go all round the houses telling a tale,' growled Dalziel.
'I'm sorry,' said Swain, unruffled. 'This morning, as I've told you, Arnie's mind was much occupied by his son- in-law. We sat and talked about it. Then we did some work but I could see he wasn't concentrating. And I said to him from the cab, 'For heaven's sake, Arnie. Stop moping. All right, make a clean breast if you must and let the law take its course. But don't take more on yourself than you deserve. All you've done is conceal a terrible accident. That's all it was.
An accident!' And he replied more to himself than me, 'Aye, that's what that one was. But not that other fornicator!' Then before I could ask him what he meant, he went back to working, and I did too, and not long after ... oh God, perhaps neither of us had our minds fully on what we should have been doing. I'll never forgive myself!'
His voice had broken momentarily.
Dalziel belched and said, 'I still don't see what put Waterson in your mind.'
'Don't you see? It was what he said before he died. 'Not Phil's fault. God's will. Helping a friend. Good friend to me.' I thought at first he was referring to the accident. Then later I thought it must be referring to Appleyard. But how could anyone imagine that was my fault? And finally it struck me. What if poor Arnie, feeling himself deeply indebted to me, and hating Waterson not just because of what he'd done to me, but because he was involved in filth like drugs and casual sex, had felt himself to be doing the will of God by putting him out of the way?'
He looked at the two policemen urgently, as though begging them to contradict his dreadful suspicion.
Dalziel said, 'Oh aye? And what do you think he might have done with the body?'
'I've no idea,' said Swain. 'But you have to look for it, Superintendent. I beg that you will spare no effort in looking for it.'
And outside the sound of the pneumatic drills ceased.
It was Waterson without a doubt, almost perfectly preserved. He had been buried beneath the concrete behind the gatehouse. Unfortunately for the appearance of the car park, the drillers had started at the other side and worked round, so there was a trench some twelve feet in length.
Dan Trimble regarded this defacing scar sadly.
'I suppose it could have been worse,' he said.
'It will be,' said Dalziel laconically.
'What?'
'We've not found the girl yet. Beverley King.'
'You think she's in here too?'
'Where else? She were on that boat with Waterson and she's not been seen for God knows how long. He'd not leave her alive when he killed this poor sod, would he?'
'Stringer? Andrew, are you sure? From what you say, he might well think he was the instrument of God in dealing with Waterson, but he'd have to be stark staring mad to include the girl.'
'Stringer? Who's talking about Stringer?' demanded Dalziel. 'You don't think I swallowed that load of crap, do you? No, it's that bastard up there I'm after. Oh God, he thinks he's so clever. Correction, he is clever. Credit where it's due. He thinks fast, like a rat in a corner. He heard the drills start up again and he guessed what I was after. So quick as a flash, before he's faced with this poor sod's body and asked for an explanation, he gives one!'
Trimble was unimpressed.
'That's one way of looking at it,' he said. 'The other is that he's telling the truth. I want both possibilities thoroughly investigated. I gather Swain says he went up to Darlington on business the night Waterson was seen at the Sally. Have you checked this?'
'What's the rush when I know what we'll find?' retorted Dalziel. 'It'll be a good story. But there won't be any good witnesses.'
'Mr Pascoe, I wonder if you'd care to check the Superintendent's prognosis?' murmured Trimble. 'But even if it's accurate, it still proves nothing.'
'Bev King's body'll prove something,' asserted Dalziel. 'And it shouldn't take us long to find. They must've been put in close together.'
'You'd better be right, Andy,' said Trimble, trying to lighten the tone. 'It's my heart those drills are digging into, you realize that?'
'Then they'll need to be right sharp,' replied Dalziel.
By the time Pascoe reached the interview room, the drills were back at their work but Swain showed no sign of reaction to the new outburst of noise.
The next ten minutes saw a lot of points being marked up to Dalziel. Swain's story was that he had driven north to look at an old house shortly to be demolished, with a view to buying the bricks and some fixtures. The contractor hadn't turned up and on phoning him at home, Swain had discovered one of them had got the wrong date. The man had been unable to join Swain that night, so he had taken a look around by himself, then had a drink and a sandwich at a pub in Darlington called the Crown or something royal. When he came out, he found he had a flat tyre. He had changed it with some difficulty and finally got home after midnight.
'So apart perhaps from a barmaid in a possibly regal pub, you've got no one who can support your story,' said Pascoe.
'The demolition contractor can confirm my phone call,' said Swain. 'And I dare say someone saw me changing
