A clubbable woman

'Come into the dining-room,' said Connon.

He and Pascoe sat opposite each other at the diningtable. Dalziel stood in the bay, blocking out the light.

'Superintendent,' said Connon.

'Yes?' 'Stan Curtis. We saw what happened earlier. What has he got to do with my wife's death?'

'Should he have anything?'

T cannot imagine so for one moment. Where is he?' 'He's at the station at the moment, sir, helping us with our enquiries.'

'How?'

'He has admitted being illegally present in your house on the night of your wife's death. More serious charges against him are at present under review.' Nasty old Dalziel, thought Pascoe. What a little liar he is. 'No,' said Connon. 'No. Not Stanley. It was Stanley who was here?'

He sounded amazed.

That's right. Why not?'

'I didn't think…'

Connon tailed off. 'Didn't think what? Never mind. There'll be time for that later.' Connon was rubbing the side of his head. Dalziel suddenly wheeled round, sat down beside Connon and began speaking urgently, in a low voice to him. 'Come on, Connie. Tell us about it. Make it easy, boy. It's got to come out now. Got to. Just fill in the gaps.'

Connon sat silent. He looked really ill.

'For God's sake!' exploded Dalziel. 'Don't you believe us? We don't know it all, but we know enough. All we want are the little things. Why did you clean up the bathroom windowsill and close the window, for instance? And drop the pistol into the pond on the Common? What were they doing when you came downstairs? What were they up to? Making love?' Tut, tut, thought Pascoe. He's at it again. He read the pathologist's report as closely as I did. 'Come on, Mr Connon,' he said. 'It'll help everyone to get it out in the open. You. And Jenny. Who was it downstairs? Arthur Evans?' Connon sat looking blankly ahead. Outside the telephone rang. The door opened and Jenny came in. 'It's for you,' she said to Pascoe. 'Daddy, are you all right? What's going on anyway?'

Pascoe went out to the phone.

It was the desk-sergeant down town. 'Pete?' he said. 'Alan here. Sorry to interrupt whatever I'm interrupting but you did say you wanted anything new at once. Well, it's probably nothing, but a chap called Johnson just rang up for you. Landlord of a boozer, the Blue Bell. He said you'd been asking about Gwen Evans, whether she'd been in on the sixth. None of his lot could remember her, he said, and then it had gone out of his mind, till they started talking about her leaving her husband. News gets round. Then he mentioned it again and one of his women, a temp, only comes in at weekends, says she was definitely in that night, for at least an hour. She served her twice. She remembers clearly she says, because she went sick on the Sunday after and was laid up for the next two weekends.'

'What's she doing there now then? It's not a weekend.'

'It's Christmas Eve. Remember? Lots of people actually go out and enjoy themselves. Big crowds in pubs. Merry Christmas.'

'You too, Alan. Thanks.'

So Gwen had been in the Blue Bell that night as she said at first, not lying spread out on the counterpane as she was willing to admit later. Later, when Dalziel had had a go at… He went quickly back into the lounge. He'd been dimly aware of background noises as he took his call. Now they stopped, but the little tableau that greeted him – Jenny, flushed, standing with her hands on her father's shoulders; Antony, concerned, just behind her; Connon, blank, staring at the empty rose-bowl in the centre of the table; and Dalziel, hands spread out in front of him, with his injured, professional footballer's what-haveI-done expression on his large face – this was enough to tell him there had been some kind of row. He didn't need to be a detective to guess the details. But he was a detective, and he was too near the truth now to be deterred by considerations of health, feeling, or sentiment. 'Tell me, Mr Connon,' he said harshly. Tell me, why had Mr Felstead come to see your wife that night?' The tableau remained the same. Only the expressions changed. But it was Connon's alone that he watched. For a second it froze into an even greater withdrawal, a kind of desperation. Then slowly it dissolved, the life and movement came back and something very like relief rose to the surface of the eyes. He let out a long sigh and glanced round at his daughter and Antony.

'May they stay?' he asked.

'If you wish it,' said Dalziel.

'Yes. It's best. I'll do my best to be brief.'

'No need to hurry, Mr Connon,' said Pascoe.

He smiled.

'Once you decide to have a tooth out, Sergeant, don't you want to run to the dentist? It's not all that complicated really, not any more than human beings are, anyway. Though that's enough I suppose. What happened was this. Everything I told you about my going home and passing out was true. Only I woke up again much earlier. Shortly after eight I should think. I went out on to the landing. There seemed to be some kind of disturbance downstairs, but I was still too dazed to pay much attention. I went into the bathroom and bathed my face in cold water. That woke me up a little. I noticed the window was wide open and the fresh air helped clear my head as well. Then I set off downstairs.' 'How long had this taken?' asked Dalziel. Jenny looked at him angrily. 'Five minutes. Longer. I don't know. Anyway, I came downstairs and opened the lounge door. The television was still on, no other lights. Mary was still in the chair with its back to me. In front of her stood Marcus. He had this pistol in his hand. I could hear Mary laughing, it was as if something very funny had happened. The pistol was sort of hanging loose. Now Marcus raised it up. Mary stretched out her hand and seemed to pull it towards her. I couldn't see properly because of the chair.'

'What did Mr Felstead look like?' asked Pascoe.

'Like?'

'Angry? Puzzled? Or was he joining in the joke?'

'He looked… annoyed. Not in a rage, but annoyed.'

'What happened then?'

'There was a kind of crash and an odd kind of splintering noise. Marcus stepped back. He said something like, "Oh Christ!" And he went deadly pale. Then he looked up and saw me. I came into the room and walked round the chair so I could see Mary.' He glanced up at Jenny who took his hand and held it hard. 'Her forehead was crushed in. Not much, it seemed, but I could tell she was dead. She still had a cigarette in her hand. I took it out and put it in the ash-tray. Then Marcus started to talk.' This is very important,' said Pascoe urgently. 'What did he say?' The exact words? I can't remember. He was very very upset. So was I. But he told me he didn't mean it, it was an accident. He kept on saying this. He said over and over again that it was an accident. He begged me to believe him. He became almost hysterical.'

'And you, Mr Connon.'

'I felt numb at first. Then my head began to ache again and I felt sick and faint, just like before. But Marcus was in a worse state, I think, and this seemed to help me. I had to help him out of the room. I got him a drink. Then I went to the telephone. I suppose I was going to phone McManus, or the police. I don't really know. It just seemed necessary to phone someone.'

'And did you?'

Connon shook his head regretfully.

'No. No, I didn't. He stopped me. He begged me not to, till I'd heard him out. Then he told me his story. He told me about him and Gwen Evans to start with.'