A Killing Kindness (9 page)

'Yes, I see.'

Pascoe reminded himself to check the papers. Most of them were very co-operative in not revealing a victim's name till next-of-kin had been informed.  On the other hand the background and setting  were unusual enough to make identification easy  for anyone in the know.

'So, where did you spend last night?' he gently  insisted.

'She was with me,' interposed the man harshly. 'We drove up north. Spent the night with some  friends.'

'Rather a sudden decision, wasn't it? For both  of you, I mean.'

They exchanged a rapid jabber which Pascoe's  academic acquaintance with Anglo-Romany did  not help him to understand.

'Qu'est-ce-que vous voulez cacher de moi?'
he  demanded loudly. He wasn't sure of the preposition but he could see from their blank stares  it didn't matter.

'French,' he said in a normal tone. 'You don't understand it? Then you must find it exasperating,  or offensive, or stupid, or even suspicious that  I use it.'

The man continued to look blank, but Mrs Stanhope gave him a thin apologetic smile.

'It's just habit, Mr Pascoe,' she said. 'Dave said  you were being a bit bloody nosey, that was all.’

'And you replied?'

‘That all I wanted to do was see my niece,' she  said wearily. 'Yes, it was sudden. I went home after  I saw you. Dave called round a bit later. Pauline  had told him I wasn't too well that morning and he  was a bit worried. He suggested a little drive out, see some friends from the old days, might do me  good. So on the spur of the moment, I agreed.'

This picture of a concerned Dave going out of his way to soothe his old cousin's troubles by a little  drive in the country was too petit-bourgeois to be  true, thought Pascoe.

'What happened yesterday, Mr Pascoe? Can you  at least tell us that?' she continued.

'The post-mortem will help us to be sure, but it  seems probable, that someone went into your tent  at the fairground in the early afternoon, strangled  your niece, then left, putting up the
BACK SOON
 
notice,' said Pascoe carefully.

'Early afternoon, you say?' said the woman in  a puzzled voice. 'And no one saw anything? Or  heard anything?'

'Well, of course there's a lot of noise on a  fairground,' said Pascoe. 'But no, we haven't been  able to find anyone yet who saw anything odd. But  we're still taking statements. We'd like one from  you, of course, Mr Lee.'

'Me? Why?' demanded the man.

'Because you work at the Fair. Because you  spoke with Miss Stanhope yesterday morning. I  saw you myself.'

'I was away from the park,' retorted Lee angrily.  'I was back at the camp. Your mate, the funny-looking bugger, he saw me.'

'So I understand. That would be about one-forty-five, I reckon. What time did you leave the  fairground?'

'I don't know. Dinner-time, summat like that.'

'You went back to the encampment for your  dinner, then?'

That's right.'

'But your wife was still at Charter Park. You  prepared your own dinner, did you?'

'I'm not helpless,' said the man.

'Did you?' insisted Pascoe. 'And did you eat  alone? Who else saw you at the encampment.'

'I had a beer and a pie in a pub on the way back  if you must know,' snarled the man. 'So I was seen  all right, pal.'

'Good,' said Pascoe. 'And the pub?'

'What?' The man was suddenly hesitant, unsure.

'What was the name of the pub?' Pascoe enunciated clearly, watching Lee with interest.

‘The Cheese,' said Lee surlily.

‘The Cheshire Cheese?' said Pascoe. 'Well, well.'

Even Rosetta Stanhope looked at Lee curiously.

'A little out of your way,' said Pascoe provocatively.

'It's dead handy!' retorted Lee, defiant again. 'I  often have a drink there.'

'Do you now?' said Pascoe. This was interesting.  Probably a red herring, but extremely sniffable.  But not at this time and place.

The door opened and the clerk came in with a  cup of tea. He looked uncertain whom he should offer it to. Pascoe nodded towards Rosetta Stanhope and glanced at his watch.

'If you'll excuse me, I'll go back in. I'm sure it  will be all right if you wait here, though it may take some little time, you realize.'

The clerk didn't look at all sure, and Dave Lee did not seem all that happy either. But Mrs Stanhope  nodded emphatically.

'Right, then,' said Pascoe. He stepped into the  outer office, closing the door firmly behind him, picked up the phone on the clerk's desk and dialled  HQ. When he got through he asked for Dalziel. The fat man wasn't available, however, so he got on to Sergeant Wield and told him succinctly what had happened and suggested he got down to the mortuary with a policewoman as quickly as  possible.

Then, with reluctant steps, he returned to the  examination room.

Ellie Pascoe was stretched out on the broad springy  sofa which she and Peter had chosen with overt sensuality aimed at embarrassing the too enthusiastic salesman. They had failed. But the sofa had  certainly succeeded, she thought, turning a page  of the romantic thriller she was currently using to  postpone work on her own great novel.

The doorbell rang.

In best suburban fashion, she peeked through  the living-room window before answering it. There  was a blue Marina parked at the gateway. In it she could see a man and a couple of children, early  teens. She recognized neither car nor inmates.

The bell rang again.

She went to the door.

'Hello,' said Lorraine Wildgoose.

She was dressed in jeans and a loose shirt.

From behind Ellie guessed her slim figure would  probably pass for that of a teenager, but they'd get her under the Trades Description Act when  they saw the face. It was not unattractive, but  fortyish beyond the disguise of eye make-up and  blusher.

She was carrying three thick and rather tatty  cardboard files.

'I said I'd drop this stuff in,' she explained. 'I was  passing, so here it is.'

'Great,' said Ellie with as much enthusiasm as  she could manage. 'Come on in.'

She led the way to the living-room and had to  stop herself from straightening the cushions on the  sofa and at the same time pushing her romantic  thriller under them.

'They look a mess, but they're all in sequence,'  said Lorraine. 'I think we covered everything yesterday, but any problems, just give a ring.'

'Thanks,' said Ellie. 'Would you like a coffee or  something?'

To her surprise, her visitor said, 'Yes, why not?'

Well, mainly because you seem to have left a  car full of people broiling in the hot sun, thought  Ellie, but she didn't know the woman well enough  to say it.

'So this is what a policeman's house looks like,'  said Lorraine, following her into the kitchen. 'Nice.'

'The bribes help,' said Ellie.

'Your husband's working on this Choker thing,  you said yesterday. Full-time job by the sound of it.'

'He does other things,' said Ellie.

Ellie was quite capable of waking Pascoe up in  the middle of the night to tell him that he and his  colleagues were stupid, brutal and fascist, but she  was very wary of invitations to bring her special  relationship to the liberal bar in public debate. But  Lorraine went no further, contenting herself with  peering into a couple of cupboards Ellie would  rather have kept closed.

'What about your . . . friends?' she said as she  spooned the instant coffee into mugs.

'Who? Oh,
them.
They're not friends, they're  family,' she said with a tight smile which might  have been meant to indicate a joke. 'My kids. And  my husband.'

'You're separated, aren't you?' said Ellie.

'So far as you can be when you work in the  same school,' she said. 'Still, the hols are here  now, so we can get some real separation in. I  go off next week for three weeks in Italy, Mark's  off the week after for practically the whole of  the vacation, and the kids are going up to the  Dales with some friends who've got a cottage  there.'

'Then you won't be seeing much of each other  for a while,' said Ellie, pouring the boiling water.

'No, thank Christ. This is a kind of last rite. We're  off for a picnic lunch by the sea. We'd all rather be  doing something else, but even the kids don't like  to say it.'

'Well brought up,' suggested Ellie.

They went back into the living-room. She managed a glance through the window. The man had  got out of the car and was leaning against it. He  was wearing shorts and a T-shirt with something  printed across the chest.

'The usual thing is to say there were faults  on both sides,' said Lorraine Wildgoose abruptly.  'Well, there weren't, not this time. You know, I  used to enjoy being domesticated. It was nice. I  was into the WRAG thing too, but I never pushed  it at home. Then it changed.'

'Another woman?' said Ellie conventionally.

'Maybe, I don't know. The bastard just started  hating me. I suddenly realized that, whatever the  cause, he actually hated me! So I got out. You don't  have to take that kind of risk, do you? Not if you're  not a prostitute.'

Ellie cast a longing eye at her romantic  novel.

'Where are you living now?' she asked to fill a  small silence.

'Oh, I'm back in the house and
he's
out now. I  went straight to Thelma and she got things sorted  very quickly. She's marvellous, isn't she? Not that  Mark raised much objection, to give him his due.  Suburbia probably cramped his style, anyway. Too  open. Too many eyes behind too many lace curtains.'

She sipped her coffee, then added abruptly. 'This  fellow your husband's after. There was another  one yesterday. I read it in the paper.'

'They're not certain yet it was the Choker,' said  Ellie, cautious again.

'Whoever, he must hate us pretty much too,'  said Lorraine, frowning into her coffee.

The doorbell rang.

'That'll be him,' said Lorraine. 'He won't wait.  We've a right to protect ourselves, haven't we?  A duty.'

'I suppose so.'

Ellie stood up.

'Don't bring him in. I'm finished,’ said the  woman, draining her mug. 'You'll get a shock  when you see him. I hope it doesn't affect the baby.  He's gone weird. You know what he's doing this  vac? He's going to Saudi Arabia with a mini-bus  camping party. I think he lied about his age, told  them he was thirty. The kids get embarrassed. Shit!  ,
I
get embarrassed!'

Ellie opened the front door.

Mark Wildgoose was leaning against the jamb  and didn't bother to straighten up. He had a thin  dark mobile face which might just about pass for a  dissolute thirty. The legend on his T-shirt said
The  Greatest!
It looked as if it could do with a wash and  he smelt sweaty.

'The kids are pissed off,' he said over Ellie's  shoulder. 'Me too. Are you going to be all bloody  day?'

'See what I mean?' said Lorraine. 'Despite his  language, they let him teach English and Drama  at the Bishop Crump Comprehensive School. He used to be my husband. He might even know your  husband.'

'Hello,’ said Ellie, pretending this was an introduction. 'I'm Ellie Pascoe.'

'Hello,' said Wildgoose. 'Look, I'm sorry, I didn't  mean to be rude, but she said a minute and the  children
are
very hot. Your husband . . . Pascoe?  Works in the education office, does he?'

'He's a policeman,' interjected his wife. 'He may  have interviewed you. When that woman was  killed, remember?'

'Of course I remember, but I don't remember  the policeman's name. Look, are you coming now  or not?'

He was plainly exasperated but Ellie could not  really see anything amounting to hatred in his  expression, though he did look as if he might have  pushed half a grapefruit in his wife's face if he'd  happened to have half a grapefruit.

'Yes, I'm coming,' said Lorraine Wildgoose wearily. 'Thanks for the coffee, Ellie.'

'Coffee!' Wildgoose cried with an expressive  movement of the shoulders as he headed back  for the car.

His wife lingered still.

She wants me to press her, thought Ellie.

'Which woman?' she said.

'I forget her name. The one they found in the  allotment shed. They talked to everyone who had  an allotment.'

'And your husband . . . ?' Ellie was surprised.

'Yes,’ said Lorraine wearily. 'Last year he was  into self-sufficiency. Grow your own veg. I wouldn't  let him dig up the lawn so he applied for an  allotment. I knew it wouldn't last. He hardly goes  at all now.'

'Why are you telling me this, Lorraine?' asked  Ellie.

'Telling you what? I'm just talking. My life's in  such a turmoil, I don't know what I'm doing half  the time,' said Lorraine. 'That's why I'm so glad  you can take over this job. You'll let me know if  there's anything you don't understand.'

'That's very likely,' said Ellie.

'OK.'

Outside a horn blew. One short, two long blasts.

'Qu'il est triste, le son du cor, au fond du bois,'
said  Lorraine. 'That girl Brenda Sorby. She went to the  Crump Comprehensive, you know.'

Now the car had started up, the engine revving  noisily.

'Ciao,'
said Lorraine. 'Don't forget, ring if there's  anything I can do.'

'I will,’ promised Ellie. 'I will.'

When she returned to the sofa, for a long while  she found her romantic thriller unpickupable.

Chapter 9

Sergeant Wield had had another unsatisfactory  session with Dave Lee. The gypsy stuck to his story  that he had driven Rosetta Stanhope up north on  a visit to friends 'to take her out of herself'.

When pressed for detail he said vaguely, 'Teesdale,  somewhere near Barnard Castle,' adding that as  they were on the move, he couldn't say where  they'd be now. Thereafter all that he would add  to his story was a mounting degree of exasperated  profanity.

He was equally vague and equally profane when  the topic changed to his movements earlier in  the day. He couldn't remember when last he'd  seen Pauline.
Early. Nine o'clock perhaps.
Nor what  they'd talked about.
The other cop, the good-looking  one, had just gone, so mebbe it was about him.
Nor  when precisely he'd left the fairground.
Dinner- time, somewhere about then.