A Killing kindness

'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.