any hair. Beneath his ochreous pallor there were hectic streaks, like dawn in a monsoon sky.
Marilou was watching him, her face taut with concern. Waggs said, 'I just felt a need… Anyway, I went to the Washington lawyer and told him I wanted to get in touch with my stepfather. At best I expected an address in Singapore or somewhere. When I found he was living down the road, so to speak, all tucked up nice and cosy with a new wife, I felt really angry. Stupid, huh? But he said he'd like to meet me, so I came. And it was OK. Not great, but OK. And they'd brought Pip back from school in England ready to start college over here, so I got a half-brother out of it. And that was OK too.'
He glanced at Philip affectionately and the younger man's grim expression relaxed for an instant.
Dalziel said, 'OK, let's skip to when it stopped being OK.'
Waggs said, 'You're the detective,' challengingly. But also delayingly. He likes Pip, thought Dalziel. The lad's presence bothers him. He doesn't want to bad-mouth his father in front of him.
He said, 'I don't know how, but I reckon the exchange of letters between Miss Kohler and Mr Westropp had summat to do with it.'
'What the devil do you know about that?' demanded Westropp.
'I know Miss Marsh tried to sell your American lawyer's address to Kohler and likely got sent off with a flea in her ear. But then you got to thinking, didn't you, lass? And you sweet-talked Daphne Bush into getting the address from Beddington College somehow, then posting a letter to your old boss. But when his reply came, Bush decided not to show it to you, out of selfishness perhaps, or mebbe out of love.
Then you quarrelled, and she did show it, and said some pretty nasty things. And you killed her…'
'It was an accident,' said Cissy Kohler. 'She fell. No one was going to believe me, and in any case I didn't care, so I said nothing … How do you know all this?'
'I've read the letter, lass. Oh yes, it's true. Did you think it got buried with Daphne? But I haven't seen the letter you wrote to him. What happened to that, Mr Westropp?' ‘I don't know. I tore it up, I expect, burnt it… I really can't remember. Does it matter?'
Oh yes, I think it matters,' said Dalziel, looking at Waggs.
Jesus, you really get off on this Great Detective thing, don't you?' said Waggs. 'Yes, I've got it. My stepdaddy's right. Money didn't come into things at first, but later… I came down here a couple of years back when the Hesperides guys were leaning on me hard.
I wanted a loan to buy them off. But that was the weekend you got really sick, remember? You were rushed to hospital and I had to act all filial. Funny thing was, I felt really concerned. I got the job of putting some things together to bring on after you, while your real family sat by your bedside. It was like I had a licence to poke around, so I poked. Do I need an excuse? I could say I was looking for some mementoes of my mother. I certainly found one. Cissy's letter. It was creased and faded and it wasn't exactly coherent, but I got its drift. First, you and your pretty young nanny had been screwing around behind my mother's back. And second, and this really blew my mind, she reckoned it was you that blasted her in the gunroom at Mickledore Hall!' He paused, for breath, for dramatic effect, it didn't matter.
All heads were turned to Westropp. Even Marilou had released his shoulders and taken a step to one side as if she needed to see his face. He said, 'And if you believed what the letter said, dear boy, why have I been such an unconscionable time in dying?' Waggs said, 'Good question. My first impulse was to head down to the hospital and rip the truth out of you, but when I got there you were already being ripped open by professionals. By the time you were well enough for me to take over, I'd done some thinking. What had I got? The hysterical outpourings of a woman banged up for life in a Brit jail. For all I knew she could be sending letters to the King of Siam. I needed to see for myself just how mad or sane she was. But how the hell could I get near her? Then God moved in a mysterious way.' He glanced at Dalziel and said, 'It was like I told you this morning. I got so preoccupied with my stepdaddy I forgot to hide and the heavies from Hesperides picked me up. You've got to go with what you've got. I heard myself selling them the story. It was sheer desperation at first, but then I began to convince myself. I needed to make it sound like I really had the inside track, but I didn't want to bring my mother into it, so I claimed I was Cissy's kin. And they bought it! And the way it's panned out so far has kept them happy they'll get a good return on their investment. I've kept them off my back by persuading them we need to wait to see how it all turns out. That's the nature of the story, isn't it? That's what's going to stop the kids from rustling their popcorn or screwing in the drive-ins. I mean, look at us here. No one's leaving till they see the credits roll. So here's your big scene, step- daddy. How're you going to play it?' It was all-eyes-on-Westropp time again. Dalziel found himself thinking: This really would make a great movie. Then he thought: Jesus! Keep your hand on your wallet while that young man's around! Westropp looked like a man who'd dried in every sense. The eyes in that shrivelled face drifted round the expectant gazes of his audience, touching but never engaging each in turn. Finally they came to focus on the telephone and there they stayed. It's going to ring, thought Dalziel.
Before I count three. One… two… three… Shit, thought Dalziel. The telephone rang.
FIVE
'It has been kept from her, and I hope will always be kept from her. It is known only to myself and to one other who may be trusted.' It was Marilou Bellmain who picked up the receiver. 'Hello?
Look, can you…?' Whoever was ringing clearly couldn't. Beaten back by a superior weight of words, she fell silent, listened, then said to her husband, 'It's Scott Rampling. He says it's imperative he talks with you.' 'In that case…' said Westropp. He took the phone, looked apologetically around as though a pleasant pre-prandial drink had been interrupted, and said, 'Would you mind…?' Waggs looked as if he would very much. Pip too, but Dalziel made for the door, saying, 'OK by me, squire. I'm busting for a pee anyway.
Upstairs, is it, luv?' Without waiting for Marilou's answer, he went out into the hallway and ran lightly up the stairs. The first room he looked in was the toilet. He went on to the next door. A bedroom. By the bed, a telephone. Carefully he picked it up, put his hand over the mouthpiece and pressed the receiver to his ear. A moment passed, then Westropp said, 'All right, Scott. What is it?' 'I gather you've got company,' said Rampling's voice. 'They still there?' 'My guests have kindly stepped outside for a moment,' said Westropp. 'How can I help you, Scott?' 'I want to know what's going on? You know the Kohler woman kept a diary? In code in a Bible, for God's sake! Well, I've got it and it makes interesting reading. She thinks she's been protecting you.' 'So?' 'So nothing. So it's not like they said. So I got to thinking: What is it like?' Westropp said gently, 'Scott, these are old, unhappy far-off things and battles long ago. My advice is, let them rest.' ‘I tried,' protested Rampling. 'I've had my people on it.'
'That girl, you mean?' Westropp laughed. 'Oh Scott, you always wanted things all ways. I can just imagine it. Sempernel or someone like him warning you that trouble was on its way and asking you to clean it up.
You saying, sure thing, but thinking maybe if it's something they want cleared up, it might be interesting to let it run and see what it's all about. Getting poor Mr Dalziel to do your dirty work for you! Oh Scott, you're so devious, you sometimes fool yourself.' 'Dying's making you real sassy, James. I'm in your town at the moment to make some slant-eyed sonofabitch think he's important enough to need protection. I'll call by later to find out what's really been happening. Meanwhile, my advice is, get those people out of there. Guy in your condition shouldn't be entertaining visitors.' 'Your solicitude is almost unbearable,' said Westropp. 'Do try to keep calm, there's a good chap. As the French aristo said on his way to the guillotine, this is no time to be losing your head. Sorry. I realize in your case the image is rather crass, but you know what I mean. A bientot!' He put the phone down. In the bedroom Dalziel replaced his almost simultaneously, went out of the bedroom into the bathroom, pulled the flush and ran lightly down the stairs. The others were standing around like job applicants waiting for one of them to be called back into the interview room. Waggs caught his eye and raised an eyebrow. He at least suspected a non-urinary motive. Dalziel said, 'That's better out than in.' 'Truth, you mean?' 'I'd not bet your pension on it. A word in your ear?' He glanced around. Marilou was standing close to the sitting-room door, staring hard at it as if hoping to penetrate the woodwork by will alone. Philip stood by her, his young face pale and anxious. Cissy Kohler had lit a cigarette and was leaning against the wall, face blank, eyes unblinking, even the smoke from her narrow cigarette hanging still in the air before her.
Dalziel took Waggs's arm and pushed him through a door into the kitchen. 'So where's all this taking us?' he asked. 'That's an odd question for a cop.' 'Oh aye? Why's that?' 'I thought you guys just went along with the facts.' 'There's facts and facts,' said Dalziel.
