Dalziel And Pascoe: Pictures Of Perfection Part 15

He said, 'Yes, thanks. Got a moment, sir?'

Pascoe moved quickly before the woman could complain. The stairs were dark, narrow and creaky, the landing the same. But some things had changed in the last hundred years. One of them was the door next to the bathroom. It was the same breed as the main entrance, tight-fitting, metallic, with a peephole but no keyhole, just an electronic number pad.

'Without the code, you'd need a bazooka to get in there,' said Wield.

'Perhaps bazookas are what he keeps in there,' said Pascoe.

'Something else odd,' said Wield. 'Outside, this place looks semi-derelict. Inside, but, it's right comfy. Nowt fancy, but everything well tended and spick and span.'

Pascoe had registered this, but had not registered that it might be significant.

He said, 'So?'

'So it's good to keep people out,' said Wield, rapping on the solid metal door. 'But it's best if you don't have them wanting to get in in the first place.'

Pascoe pondered this as he returned to the living-room, where the woman was sitting with the evidence bag in her hand.

He said, 'I see why you said no when I asked if I could see Jason's room. You meant you couldn't open it. Doesn't that bother you, Mrs Toke? Doesn't it make you wonder what he's got in there?'

'I know what's in there,' she said, mildly puzzled. 'And of course I can open it. No point otherwise.'

'Point?'

'Having a secure room if I can't make myself secure in it too. Jason can't be home all the time.'

She was losing him but not Wield, who said, 'Being secure matters a lot to Jason, does it? That's why he won't bother with the outside of the cottage?'

'He says that when they come they'll go for the rich-looking places first.'

Pascoe was beginning to think that Kee Scudamore was if anything an optimist.

He said, 'Doesn't it bother you, Mrs Toke? I mean, you must know there's no one coming.'

'Must I?' she said, smiling a sad, fey smile. 'May not happen what Jason thinks, but there's something coming the likes of which Ens...o...b..'s never seen before. I can smell it.'

'And what's it smell like, missus?' asked Wield.

'Blood,' said the woman, it smells like blood.'

Volume the third PROLOGUE BEING AN EXTRACT FROM THE Journal of Ralph Digweed Esq.

June 13th, 1886. Edwina has asked me to paint her portrait. I told her I doubted if my poor skills were up to the subject, meaning I could not, as she desires, hope to produce anything which could stand comparison with that ancestral portrait from the last age which, if I am not mistaken, shows the hand of a true master. She, however, took this as a compliment to herself, the kind of compliment which to tell truth I have long been tempted to give, but have always lacked courage. Now she blushed, and looked modestly down, then looked up again straight away with such bright eyes and so pleasing a smile that I could not but hope perhaps she nursed for me something of the deep feeling I have long felt for her. So I have been bold by accident!

When I told Jeremy of this, he laughed and said I was a b.o.o.by and it is my shy diffidence which has forced Edwina into this subterfuge to throw us together! I can hardly believe this, but he a.s.sures me that in these matters, particularly where there is a difference of fortune, young ladies of the most unquestionable modesty are permitted by instinct and custom to drop an encouraging hint. So I have agreed to do the painting unless, as seems likely, her parents forbid it.

June 15th. Her father, it seems, offers no objection! When I marvelled at this, Jeremy replied a trifle sardonically that the Squire would see no objection to indulging Edwina in this silly whim of wanting her portrait done so long as he didn't have to pay a real artist, and in addition he could not imagine one so self-effacing and deferential as myself would ever dare aspire to his daughter's hand.

This was a mixed comfort to me! And I still have grave doubts as to my ability to perform the task as I would like. Edwina has sent the other portrait from the Hall to my studio so that I might better imitate the style and my heart sinks as I study it. I could see that Jeremy too had misgivings when he saw the painting for the first time, saying he had not thought it would be of so high a standard. But he has made a suggestion which may lessen the comparison: that if both the portraits are set in matching frames, this outward similarity may divert the uncritical eye from the differences of artistic quality! Edwina offers no objection, and Jeremy has undertaken to use his connections to find a fine framer, though I have not mentioned his name to Edwina. Not that she would object, but her father still flies into a fury at the name of Halavant!

July 2nd. The portrait is finished! To tell the truth it might have been finished a good week or more earlier had I not been so reluctant to lose this excuse for being so often in my love's sweet company. For now at last I have the right to call her my love. This forenoon, prompted by her own expression of regret that soon my task would be over, I made my declaration and she almost fell into my arms. I am the happiest of men. But this confirmed that these sittings must cease, for while love unspoken must take what chance it can get of proximity, once a man has declared and been accepted, it would be ungentlemanly to continue in a situation which takes advantage of her parents' ignorance. Therefore the portraits have been given to Jeremy for dispatch to the framers, and Edwina and I have agreed that I shall use the occasion of their delivery to the Hall to seek the necessary interview with her father.

I find that I am more pleased with my own painting than I had hoped. Though it is far beneath the transcendent quality of the older portrait, and though I cannot come close to catching the perfection of my loved one's inward beauty, yet I think that what true love and deep devotion can do has been done, and if this shows through, then I need not feel ashamed to see my effort hung alongside the other.

July 30th. Four weeks since the pictures went to be framed. I have never known time to pa.s.s so slowly! But Jeremy says that such work as these deserve may only be obtained in London. And he added, with a kind of sad knowingness, that perhaps I would not thank him for hurrying the framer for now, though I do not yet possess my love, I may at least continue to dream of her possession. I suspect he fears that my suit will be rejected by the Squire. Yet why so?

I am not rich, it is true. But my family have been gentlemen as long as the Guillemards and Yorks.h.i.+remen a lot longer!

August 4th. It is over. The pictures are hung, and so might as well I be. Jeremy was right beyond my worst fears. There was no raging rejection, just a terrible coldness, 'It will not do,' said the Squire. And I was shown the door, all so smooth and swift that I found myself walking down the drive with scarce any awareness of how I got there. And Edwina, I learn, is sent away to some old connection of the family in Wales.

Jeremy has urged me to pursue her and persuade her to come away with me. Would she agree? I think she might. But what right have I to tempt her to a course which will separate her from her family, probably for ever? As Jeremy well knows, the Guillemards do not easily forgive. Nor are my own prospects so sure that I can, unaided, offer her anything but deprivation and hards.h.i.+p. Jeremy has offered to loan me money but I cannot take it. I will, however, accept his invitation to join him on the tour he proposes through Italy to Asia Minor as his aide-de- camp and secretary. I would go to the wastes of Lapland rather than remain in reach of such sights as rend my heart with sad remembrance here in my beloved Ens...o...b...

CHAPTER I.

"What is your opinion? - I say nothing & am ready to agree with anybody.'

'Blood,' said the woman. 'Human. Group O. Recent. And enough of it to suggest a good-sized wound.'

's.h.i.+t,' said Andrew Dalziel.

'Just blood,' said the woman.

Dalziel looked at the phone and wondered if the creature behind this cool, detached, scientific voice was taking the p.i.s.s. He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

'Sorry, luv,' he said, it's just that Bendish's group is O.'

'A peculiarity he shares with forty-six per cent of the population,' she said.

'Aye,' he said. 'Owt else?'

'Perhaps.'

'What's that mean? Didn't think you lot did perhapses.'

'It means, perhaps there is something else,' she said. 'Our tests continue. Will continue. Soon as I get off this phone.'

'Well, don't let me keep you,' grunted Dalziel. He heard the phone at the other end being gently replaced, but he held on to his own. Desperate Dan could be back from lunch now and already dialling Dalziel's number to ask for an update on the missing ploughboy.

Normally Dan Trimble was a cautious man, fully aware that the path to whatever dizzy constabulary heights he still hoped to scale was littered with the bones of men who'd tried to take it at a rush. But after lunch, with the last brandy still hot in his gob and the news from Forensic hot in his ears, he might be tempted to do something daft, like contradict his Head of CID.

Leaving the phone dangling over the edge of his desk, Dalziel headed for the car park.

An hour later as he drove into Ens...o...b.., his car slowed like an old milk horse as it pa.s.sed the Morris Men's Rest. n.o.bly Dalziel resisted the temptation. He wanted to talk to Pascoe and Wield before he set that dedicated rumour-monger Thomas Wapshare's tongue wagging even more rapidly than it probably was already.

And there they were, ahead of him, getting out of Pascoe's car and heading into the Wayside Cafe.

He gave a blast on his horn and wound down his window as he came to a halt.

'Look who's here,' he said. 'The Lone Ranger and Tonto! Why don't you hop inside and tell me what wrongs you've been righting today?'

Dora Creed appeared in the doorway attracted by the blast or the bellow.Wield, a.s.sailed by the Tantalean smells thus released, hesitated and Dalziel called, 'Sorry, missus, but these lads have got more important things on their mind than grub.'

Dora Creed said, 'Whether therefore ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of G.o.d.'

'Don't fret yourself, la.s.s,' said Dalziel. 'I'll keep them on the straight and narrow.'

Once in the car, Wield put all thought of food out of his mind as he and Pascoe related their adventures. Dalziel gave no prizes for details remembered later.

When they'd finished Dalziel said, 'So what's your verdict? Should we be worried or is it all a waste of time caused by yon dopey ha'porth Filmer not knowing better than to bother his lads on their day off ?'

'There are certain oddities,' said Pascoe slowly. 'But whether they add up to a cause for real alarm I'm not sure.'

'That's a don't-know from the Lone Ranger,' said Dalziel. 'What says Tonto?'

Wield said, it's a funny place, Ens...o...b...'

'And that's it? I'd have been better off asking Silver!' said Dalziel in disgust.

This provoked Pascoe into retorting, 'There's certainly one very real cause for concern, sir. You're here!'

'I'm not sure how to take that, lad,' said Dalziel.

'I mean, something must have come up. From Bendish's car, is it?'

'Who's a clever b.u.g.g.e.r, then?' said Dalziel. 'But you're right. The stain in the car is blood and it's recent and it's the same group as Bendish. Still means nowt. I can think of half a dozen explanations, none of which involves thuggery, b.u.g.g.e.ry, or skulduggery. But it does mean we need to be certain from the start we're missing nowt. So let's go back to the beginning, which seems to mean Old Hall. This old sod who saw someone knock Bendish down lives up there, right? And it was there you met him prancing around baht 'at, right? And it was there the Squire spotted him flas.h.i.+ng, right?'

'Right,' said Pascoe. 'But we've been there and asked the questions . . .'

'Oh aye? All on 'em? Like, was he erect?'

'Sorry?'

'Bendish, on the garden wall. Did he have a hard-on, or was he just trying to pick up an all-over tan?'

'I didn't ask,' admitted Pascoe. 'Though the Squire did seem to think he was very well endowed.'

'Then we'd best find out. One thing we shouldn't forget is we're in foreign parts here, where likely they play tiggy with hammers and dole out justice with a pruning hook. Looked at from a tabloid viewpoint, what we've got here is a missing cop who's a flasher, chases around after kids, and did something once that he got duffed up for but didn't dare fight back. So let's get up to Old Hall and see if we can't get this lot sorted!'

When they reached the Hall they found the main door open and the sound of angry voices coming from within. Dalziel led them inside with the eagerness of a sports fan who has arrived after the kick-off. There they discovered Guy and Girlie Guillemard, their recent truce annihilated, having a high-cla.s.s row.

'I want it back, Guy,' the woman was yelling. 'You had no right to take it. I want it back or I'll treat you like any other thief!'

'Who the h.e.l.l do you think you're talking to?' demanded Guy. 'Perhaps you need reminding .. .'

'That one day all this will be yours?' she interrupted mockingly. 'Well, till it is perhaps you should remember that while the Squire's alive, I'm the factor here, which means I call the shots and you grin and bear it!'

Like a Wimbledon audience, the three policemen turned their eyes to the man and awaited his riposte. But Guy, who at least had the wit to know when he was outmatched, was looking for an easier opponent to vent his wrath on.

'What the f.u.c.k do you want?' he screamed.

For a second, Wield thought the question was aimed over the man's shoulder at them, till he realized Guy's gaze was directed upwards to the minstrels' gallery over which leaned George Creed.

'Brought a ham for the Reckoning,' said Creed equably. 'Office were empty so I've been wandering round looking for someone.'

'In future you b.l.o.o.d.y well wait outside till you're asked in,' snarled Guy. 'Not that you're worth asking in, the rent you pay. It wouldn't keep me in condoms. When did it last go up?'

'That's for you to know and us to guess,' said Creed, grinning broadly.

'George's rent is estate business,' said Girlie. 'Which isn't yet yours, Guy.'

'Oh, but it will be,' he said evilly. 'You'd better both believe that.'

He strode towards the door, spotting the detective trio for the first time.

'Christ, it's the Keystone Kops. Step inside, gents. It's Liberty Hall. For the time being!'

He pushed by them or at least shouldered Pascoe and Wield aside, but bounced off Dalziel who watched him go with the calm indifference of a grizzly to a gnat.

'Gentlemen, how can I help you?' asked Girlie, relighting her pipe.

Pascoe said, 'This is Superintendent Dalziel, Miss Guillemard.'

Dalziel said, 'How do, missus. Any chance of a word with your granddad?'

'What for?' she asked, puffing a jet of smoke in his face.

Pascoe waited expectantly. The presence of the Queen Mother herself wouldn't inhibit Dalziel from introducing the topic of Bendish's putative erection if he felt like it. He didn't. Sucking in her smoke like an extinguished dragon, he said, 'Just wanted to ask permission to take a look around the policies.'

'The grounds you mean? Be my guest.'

'That'll be all right, will it?' said Dalziel with a frown. 'I mean, you've got authority .. . ?'

But she was not for winding up.

She said, 'The way you lot p.u.s.s.yfoot around the laws of trespa.s.s, anyone's got authority. But if you'd like a chitty, I'll be happy to sign one.'

Creed appeared in the room, carrying a leg of ham. He nodded recognition of Wield, who said, 'Things quietened down in the lambing shed, have they?'

'Not so's you'd notice, but when t'Quality snaps its fingers, what choice has a poor farmer got but to come running?'

He spoke in a bantering tone which seemed to amuse rather than irritate Girlie.

'George,' she said, if you'd like to fetch that ham to the kitchen. Gentlemen, I'm sure I'll see you later.'