A clubbable woman

He was saving it up for a rainy day.

'How's business, Andy?' asked Noolan. 'Putting many away?'

'Not enough. Not near enough.'

There was a pause. A new record had started. Slower, softer. Some of the dancers actually came in contact now. Sid Hope was doing the rounds, having a friendly word with those who were late in paying their subscriptions. They were due at the start of the season. Sid gave plenty of leeway, right up to Christmas. But, Christmas past, he was adamant – non-payers were ejected, quietly if possible. But noisily if necessary. 'These two coughed up, have they, Sid?' asked Noolan with a laugh. 'Oh, ay,' replied the treasurer as he passed. 'See you at the meeting.'

'Meeting?' asked Dalziel.

'Yes. The committee. At eight. Just time for another, eh? Jacko?'

'You'll be one short tonight,' said Dalziel casually.

'One? We usually are. Oh, you mean Connie? Yes, I expect so. Can't expect anything else in the circumstances. Sad. Very sad.'

'Man gets shot of his wife, that's not sad.'

'Jacko, my lad, you're lovely.'

'Didn't some bastard offer to get them in?'

'That's very kind of you, Jacko,' said Dalziel. 'Another pint. Please.' Without a word, Roberts rose and headed for the service hatch. 'You've got a way with Jacko, Andy. I've often noticed.' 'Observation's anyone's game. Detection's my business, though. Don't start looking too deep.' Make them feel almost a part of it, thought Dalziel. Just a hint's enough.

He's after something, thought Noolan.

'You were saying about Connie.'

'Was I? What?'

'About it being sad.' 'Well, it was. Very. Not that we'd seen much of Mary lately. In fact I can't remember the last time. It was probably at the bank, anyway, not here.'

'Bank with you, do they?'

'Yes.'

'Interesting account?'

'Not particularly. Just the usual monthlies, and weekly withdrawals for the housekeeping.' 'Nothing out of the ordinary, then. Recently? In or out?'

'No. Not a thing.'

Dalziel pulled up his trouser-leg and began scratching his ankle.

'Much left at the end of the month?'

'Enough. Not much. But enough to give them a week in Devon.'

Dalziel scratched on.

'You're not trying to extract confidential information from me, are you, Andy?'

They both laughed.

'And what the hell's wrong with your ankle?'

'I've got an itch. Nasty inflammation.'

'Been putting your foot in it, have you?'

They both laughed again.

'Still at it?' grunted Jacko, slamming a tray laden with three tankards on to the table. 'Like a couple of bloody tarts.' 'Is that the time?' said Noolan. 'I'd better go and convene this damn meeting. You'll be here for a while?'

'What do you think?'

'See you later, then. Cheers, Jacko. See you later.'

They watched him shoulder his way jovially through the dancers towards the door of the committee room at the far end of the social room.

'A real card,' said Jacko, deadpan.

'He's been a good help to you, Jacko. Saw you through when many wouldn't have.' 'Surely,' said Jacko. 'Beneath these pinstripes hang three balls of brass. Did he tell you owl?'

Dalziel shrugged.

'Nothing helpful.' It was no use playing games with Jacko Roberts, he thought. But then it was even less use trying to play games with Andy Dalziel – unless he'd invented the rules.

'Was she insured?'

'No. No cover at all as far as we know.' 'No cover? That'd be a sight for sore eyes with that one. By God!'

Dalziel put down his tankard in mock amazement.

'Do I detect a note of enthusiasm, Jacko?'

'There's plenty as was. Once.'

'Just once? Nothing lately?'

Jacko scowled.

'How the hell would I know?'

Dalziel nodded thoughtfully.

Td have heard, too. What about Connie? Has he been having anything on the side?' 'Nothing said. But he moves without you noticing, that one.' On and off the field, thought Dalziel. Yes, it's true. Not inconspicuous, nothing grey about Connie, no blurred edges there. But self-contained. An area of calm.

Like the eye of a storm.

'Jacko,' he said.

'Yes.'

'If you hear anything…' but as he spoke he became aware of someone standing behind him and Jacko's gaze was now aligned over his head.

'I didn't know you were bringing the wife,' said Jacko.

Dalziel was startled for a moment and twisted round in his chair.

'Hello,' said Pascoe.

Tm going for a run-off,' said Jacko. He stood up, his lean hunched figure making his clothes look a size too large for him. He leaned forward and said softly to Dalzieclass="underline" 'I'll tell you something. Someone's fishing in Arthur Evans's pond. Welsh git.'

Pascoe watched him go with interest.

Tell me, sir. Does he always take his tankard to the loo with him?' 'What the hell are you doing here? I told you, you'd had your go. Now get out.'

Pascoe sat down.

'Nothing like that, sir. I'm here socially.'

He felt in his top pocket and produced a blue card.

'Here you are. I'm a paid-up member. The place interested me. I decided to join. I don't think that your Mr Hope was all that happy, but what could he do?' 'I'm not happy either. And I can do something, Sergeant.'

But Pascoe's attention was elsewhere.

'Before you do it, sir, just have a look at who's come through that door.'

Dalziel knew who it was before he turned.

Connon, rather pale but perfectly composed, wearing a dark suit and a black tie, stood in the open doorway. His eyes moved swiftly over the scene before him, registering but not acknowledging Pascoe and Dalziel. Then he pulled the door to behind him and moved quickly and efficiently across the floor between the dancers and disappeared into the committee room.

'I bet hardly a soul noticed him,' said Pascoe.

'Why should they? Our interest's a bit specialized. And half these buggers wouldn't recognize him if he came in with a label on. Rugby supporters, pah! They know nothing.'

'And we know?'

'At least we know where he is.' Pascoe scratched his nose ruminatively then stopped in horror as he realized who he was imitiating. 'Yes, where he is. But I wonder where his daughter is? He should have more sense than to leave her alone. These letter boys are sometimes persistent.' Oh do you now? thought Dalziel. Then you should have looked through the door before he closed it behind him. But you worry on a bit longer, lad. Just a bit longer. It's good for the soul. Jenny got half way to the bar before anyone noticed her. 'Well, hell-oh,' said a large man as she tried to slip by him with an 'excuse-me'. He was clutching a pewter tankard with a glass bottom. Now he drained it and squinted at her through the glass. He was still a good two hours from being drunk and even then he would probably manage to drive home without attracting unwanted attention. There were faint flickers of real recognition at the back of his eyes, but he preferred the mock-lecherous approach. 'What's a nice girl like you doing in a joint like this?' 'I've come about the woodworm. How are you?' Jenny could only judge the effectiveness of her cool self-possessed act from its results. Inside, it felt so phoney that the merest glimmer of amusement would have sent an embarrassed blush swirling up from her neck to her forehead. The stout man, however, was obviously nonplussed. His own opening gambit made it impossible to take offence.