'I hope we finish with it too,' said Pascoe.
Dalziel sat back quietly, apparently happy to leave the talking to the sergeant at this stage.
'I'd been expecting you earlier,' Stanley went on.
'Everyone seems to have been expecting us earlier. But why should you?' 'Well, the Club mainly. I'd seen you talking to people round the Club, and I'd said one or two things to my mates. Just boasting, you know.'
'About watching Mrs Connon?'
That's right. I thought someone would tell you. Sheila perhaps. You got pretty thick with her. Joe wasn't half mad.'
Pascoe nodded.
'Yes, she did. But only when I asked. And only today. I'd overheard something once, but it didn't mean anything then. Smoke?' Curtis shook his head. 'Not when I'm in training.' He looked anxious suddenly. 'Am I still in training? I mean, what'll happen?' 'It depends on what you've done, lad,' said Dalziel sternly. 'Just speak up and tell us everything.' Pascoe winked fractionally at Stanley, inviting him to join in a laugh at Dalziel's portentous manner.
'Tell us about the letters first, Stanley.'
'You found them, then? I hoped you wouldn't.' 'But we did. You went back to have another look for them, didn't you?' 'I was going to. I was dead worried. But that lad was there. I nearly died when he moved and I saw him. But he didn't see me, did he?' 'No, Stanley. But he realized that you must have been in the garden to be able to see him where he was sitting. He just realized that today as well.' 'Christmas Eve,' said Stanley. His eyes suddenly filled with tears. 'Just start at the beginning, lad,' boomed Dalziel. 'And get a move on, eh? Or it'll soon be Boxing Day.' 'All right,' said Stanley. 'I'll have a fag after all, can I? Bugger training. Thanks.'
He took a long draw and then began talking.
'It began accidentally. I mean, I just looked out of my bedroom window one night and I saw her. Her curtains weren't right closed and she was getting undressed. She moved around a bit and sometimes I could see, sometimes not. Like a show. Well, after that I kept my eyes open. I had an old telescope, just a kid's thing that I'd had for years. But it brought things up pretty close. It happened quite often. I got to looking forward to it. I like big women,' he said almost apologetically, glancing at Dalziel. 'We all do, lad. But we don't go around making obscene phone calls to them. Get on with it, eh?'
Stanley stubbed his cigarette out.
That's what I did first, made a call. I'd been watching her. I didn't dare say anything when she answered. I just put the phone down. Then I started writing letters. I didn't mean to send any. But she sort of got into my mind. You know how you sometimes start thinking about women and all, well, it was always her. Finally I sent her one. Nothing happened. So I sent another. And it was as if, well, after that, she seemed to be at the window more often, you know. As if she knew and she was putting on a real show. So I wrote again. And I telephoned her when I knew Mr Connon was out. It was stupid really but I got a kick out of it. I mean, I wouldn't have done it if it was frightening her, I wouldn't frighten her, believe me. But she seemed to join in. She laughed on the phone and told me to go on, to say more. I used to work out things to say to her, new things, you know.' 'You used to ring from the box in the street outside your house?' That's right. That was daft too, I suppose. But being able to see the house made it more exciting somehow. Anyway, I got into the box one night, but before I could pick up the phone, it rang. I nearly dropped dead. But it kept on ringing so I answered it. It was her. "Hello, Stanley," she said, laughing, you know. "What have you got for me tonight?" She'd found out somehow. Though, Christ, I suppose it was easy enough, really. I mean, I wasn't very clever. She might even have recognized my voice. I tried to disguise it a bit at first, but then it didn't seem to matter. But it was different now. It stopped being a game.' He fell silent. Pascoe shifted his position in his chair and asked, 'How do you mean, Stanley?'
'Well, she started getting me to do things for her. Like run messages. Go and get her cigarettes. Or just stupid things like walk three times round the telephone box. Or sit for an hour at my window in my overcoat and Dad's trilby.' 'How do you mean, she started getting you to do things, Stanley?' asked Pascoe. 'I mean, she had those letters, see? And she said she'd show them. To my parents, to Mr Connon, to the police. I don't know who she wasn't going to show them to.'
'So what happened?'
'Well, in the end I told her I wasn't going to play any more. I'd had enough.'
'Told her?' queried Dalziel.
'On the phone. She made me phone her regularly. We never actually met, except by accident outside and then she just smiled at me and said good-morning or whatever. Anyway she said that was up to me. If she didn't hear from me in five days, she'd start showing the letters. I just put the phone down. I mean, it seemed daft. I didn't see how she could without making herself look silly. So I wasn't bothered much at first. But as the time got nearer, the Sunday, I mean, when the five days were up, I began to really worry. Then on the Saturday, I had a couple of pints after the game and I got this idea. It seemed dead simple really. I just had to get the letters back and I'd be all right. Then there was nothing she could do. Nothing at all. I knew she had them in her bedroom, she'd told me often enough. So I got this idea that I'd just get in the house somehow, pick up the letters and be away without anyone knowing a thing about it. It seemed really funny. I thought I might even ring her afterwards for a laugh. You know, ask her to make sure the letters were safe, and all. It seemed a real giggle.' 'Was it?' asked Pascoe gently. 'Was it a giggle, Stanley?'
'Was it hell!' the boy said. 'I nearly killed myself getting in for a start. I went up the tree and through the bedroom window. I made enough noise to raise the dead, I thought, but I knew they had the telly on downstairs. It was real loud. I couldn't wait till later, see, because it was the bedroom I wanted to get into. Can I have another cigarette, please?' Pascoe handed one over again and lit it. The boy was frowning with the effort of recollection. He had a rather long, thin face, intelligent-looking, just beginning to fill out slightly, and firm into adulthood; but still with the fragility and the remains of the mild acne which is often the stigma of adolescence. He's just on the turn, really, thought Pascoe. Eighteen years old, a foot in both camps. She got him just at the turn.
'Go on, Stanley,' he said.
'I stopped in the bathroom for ages. At least it seemed like that. Then I thought, "you stupid twit, if anyone does come up here for any reason, chances are this is the room they'll be heading for". So I got out then. The telly was still going strong below. It was easy to work out which must be the bedroom door, so I headed along the landing towards it. The door was open. I took a step in. Then I nearly died! Someone made a noise. A sort of groan. Then this figure moved on the bed. I hadn't noticed it before, it was so dark. Then he sort of pushed himself up.' 'Who was it, Stanley? Did you know him?' asked Pascoe. 'It was Mr Connon, I think. I'm pretty certain, but I didn't stop to look closer. I just ran. I was so terrified I didn't head back for the bathroom, I went the other way to the stairs. There was still a hell of a noise down below…'
'What kind of noise?' snapped Dalziel.
'Voices. And laughing. And music. It might all have been the telly, I don't know. I didn't have time to find out, did I? I just set off down the stairs. I was half way down when the lounge door burst open and Mrs Connon came out. She saw me and screamed.' 'Did she recognize you, Stanley? Surely she'd recognize you?'
Stanley looked rather shamefaced.
'Well, no. She wouldn't. I mean, I'd put this thing, a stocking, over my head, like they do, you know!'