An April Shroud (30 page)

'There are still some things I don't understand,' he said in what Ellie called his let's-change-the-subject tone of voice.

'Me too,' said Ellie.

Pascoe ignored her and ploughed on.

'This business of Nigel running away and then coming back and hiding round the house. I mean, why do it? You're not telling me his mother didn't know.'

'No,' said Dalziel. 'Old Herrie didn't at first, though. We almost got ourselves drowned looking for the lad, so Bonnie faked a phone call from him saying he was safe and sound. Quick thinking, that. Someone rang, Spinx I think, and she must have pressed down the rest and pretended she was talking to Nigel.'

He spoke admiringly.

'Yes. But why?' pressed Pascoe. 'And why did Annie Greave ring Spinx ? What was she going to tell him? And what really happened to Spinx? You said you thought he might have been lugged around in the punt? What does Balderstone think?'

'You know me,' said Dalziel. 'I wouldn't presume to tell anyone else how to run their case.'

Jesus wept! thought Pascoe. He'd tell God how to run heaven if he got the chance.

'And I still don't understand why Hereward really decided to invest in the business,' he went on.

'Pressure,' said Dalziel. 'You heard Charley Tillotson. I bet they all knew what was going on. I wouldn't be surprised if Big Brother Bertie hadn't threatened to shop Nigel if Herrie didn't shell out.'

'Happy families,' said Pascoe.

'God, you two are so smug and superior!' exploded Ellie. 'They're
people,
some nice, some nasty.'

'I know it,' said Dalziel.

'But you don't let the distinction bother you?' she demanded.

He didn't reply and they completed the journey in silence.

'See you on Monday morning, sir,' said Pascoe as they parted outside his father-in-law's house.

'Good night,' said Dalziel and drove away.

'Ellie,' said Pascoe. 'Why don't you practise what you preach some time.'

'Meaning?'

'Meaning that you might try to understand rather than just judge.'

She slammed the front gate so hard that a light went on in her parents' bedroom. Pascoe smiled. It was a small sign of remorse. Slowly, thinking about Dalziel, he followed her up the garden path.

Dalziel had been in bed an hour when the phone rang. He answered it instantly.

'I've just got back from the police station,' said Bonnie. 'The night porter at the Lady Hamilton didn't sound pleased at being woken.'

'Sod him,' said Dalziel.

'Andy,' she said finally. 'Will they find out?'

'About Conrad? I don't know.'

'Anchor are going to pay up, did I tell you?'

'Are they?'

'Yes. Andy, why didn't you say anything?'

'Because I don't know anything. Not for certain.'

It was true. He did not know for certain that the Propananol tablets in the bathroom cabinet had been prescribed to Conrad Fielding for his heart condition, though he did know for certain that no mention of the condition had been made to Anchor Insurance. All Conrad had to do to get the life cover required by the finance house for a short-term loan was to sign a declaration that he was in perfect health and give the address of his local doctor. The tablets had been obtained in London, where no doubt the diagnosis had been obtained also.

Nor did Dalziel know for certain that Conrad had had an attack while up the ladder in the banqueting hall. Nor that Nigel had found him and fetched his mother. Nor that Bonnie, realizing that death from a long-established heart condition would invalidate the insurance policy, had taken the still running drill and held it to her husband's chest. Perhaps it
had
caught him as he fell, perhaps that was what gave her the idea. In any case, Dalziel knew none of these things for certain. But, if true, they explained much. They explained why once she discovered he was a policeman she wanted to keep Nigel out of his way. They explained why Mrs Greave, who could have seen Conrad taking his pills on one of the occasions he slept with her, had felt her knowledge might be worth money to Spinx.

This was all reasonable supposition.

But some things Dalziel did know for certain. He had seen the pathologist's report on Conrad Fielding's post mortem examination. The doctor had had no inducement to examine the tattered remains of the man's heart for any damage other than that caused by the drill. Told of a suspected heart condition, he might indeed have been able to find traces. But it wouldn't have mattered.

For beyond any doubt, Conrad Fielding had died from the cause stated. When the drill plunged into his heart, he was still alive.

Bonnie could not have known that, Dalziel assured himself. She had believed that the physical effect of mutilating a dead man was the same as a live one. Her crime (if there were a crime) had been an attempt to obtain insurance money fraudulently.

But he could never be certain of this without becoming certain of all the other things he did not care to know.

'When will we see you again, Andy?' she asked.

'I don't know,' he said. 'I'm a busy man.'

'Lots of crime in Yorkshire,' she said with an effort at lightness.

'Aye.'

'But you've got business interests here.'

'Happen Bertie would be pleased to buy me out.'

'If that's what you want,' she said.

'That's it.'

'Well then. We'll be in touch.'

He put the receiver down without saying good night and let his great grey head relax on the pillow. Thoughts flitted madly through his mind. He lay there waiting for their mad whirling dance to exhaust itself. In the end, as always, the last to fade was a policeman's thought. What had been the circumstances in which Bonnie's first husband had drowned in the lake - and how much insurance did he have?

He didn't want to know that either. He felt exhausted but reluctant to sleep. With a sigh he turned over on his side, reached out to the bedside table, picked up
The Last Days of Pompeii
and opened it at his place.