A pinch of snuff

…'

'Where's that?'

'Blengdale's,' said Burkill. 'I'm yard foreman there. I couldn't work for thinking about it. I told Charlie Heppelwhite. He lives next door and we drive to work together. I've known Charlie for years. I asked what he thought on it.'

'And he advised you to come round here and assault Mr Shorter.'

Burkill considered.

'No. Charlie said that buggers like that needed doctoring, but it was his boy, Clint, who got really mad. He's been like an elder brother to our Sandra.

He was so angry he was going to set off by himself to see Shorter. Well, we didn't want that. It might have meant trouble. He's a wild un when he's roused, young Clint. So we decided we'd all come round and have it out.'

'Why not go to the police?'

'Look!' said the man. 'It was early days for the police. I wanted to hear what Shorter had to say for himself first.'

'It's getting clearer,' said Pascoe. 'You came here partly to preserve the peace, and partly to protect Mr Shorter's right to put his side of the matter. Well, in that case, I'm sorry I interrupted you. If I'd known what you were up to, I'd have stood there and watched the three of you kick him about a bit longer.'

'I knew it was no good talking to you,' grunted Burkill. 'What do you want me to do? I go in there and ask him to step outside for a chat. He tells me to bugger off. I don't want to talk in front of other people, but I see it's got to be that way, so I ask him straight out, what's he been doing to our Sandra. He goes bloody berserk, tries to push us out of the room. I don't like being pushed. It turns into a bit of a punch-up. What do you expect? Have you got any kids, mister? What'd you do?'

'Mr Burkill, we'll have to talk with your daughter, you realize that? How old is she?'

'Thirteen. On Saturday she was thirteen. What a bloody birthday present, eh?'

'And what precisely did she tell you had happened here?'

'She told the wife that…'

'No,’ interrupted Pascoe. 'What did she tell you? You spoke to your daughter, I presume?'

'Aye. I went up to her room.'

'And what did you say?'

'I said something like, Sandra, is it right what your mam tell me?'

'And she answered?'

'She said, yes dad.'

'And you said?'

'I said nowt. That were enough for me,' said Burkill.

Pascoe covered his face with his hands.

'Oh God,' he said. 'And on that evidence you come round here and start knocking hell out of a stranger?'

Burkill stood up and both fists were balled again.

'You've decided, haven't you? You've bloody decided. I knew you were one of his mates. So I'm wrong, I'm in trouble, and he's going to get off with it? Let me tell you, mister, it doesn't work like that any more, there'll be no cover-ups here, no, not if you were ten times the man I think you are!'

The door burst open as though hit by a sledge-hammer.

'There's a lot of noise in here,' said Dalziel, entering the room. 'Just calm it down a bit, Brian. They don't want to hear you in Newcastle.'

'Oh hello, Mr Dalziel,' said Burkill. 'Thank Christ you’re here. This sod's trying to cover up for his mate and…'

'Brian,' said Dalziel mildly, 'you refer like that just one more time to Inspector Pascoe or any of my officers and there won't be enough left of you to cover up. Now sit down and shut up. Inspector.'

He jerked his head at Pascoe who followed him out of the door.

'You're having a busy morning,' said Dalziel. 'This isn't one for you, you know that?'

'I was here,' protested Pascoe.

'That's the trouble. As soon as I heard the name Shorter, I knew I'd best get down here myself. What's happened?'

Quickly Pascoe filled him in.

'And you've been doing what? Interrogating Burkill?'

'Just general stuff till someone turned up,' said Pascoe.

'Oh aye. So general that he's crying police cover-up already!'

Pascoe didn't answer. He was all too aware of the messy inadequacies of his questioning of Burkill.

'You know Burkill, sir?' he asked.

'From way back.'

'Officially?' said Pascoe, suddenly alert.

'You mean, has he been in trouble? No, there's no way out for your mate there. Burkill's not a good man to antagonize, but he's honest, industrious and well thought of. He runs the shop floor at Blengdale's like a Panzer division. No half-baked union disputes there about who turns what screw. No, you do what Burkill says or you sling your hook.'

'Is that where you know him from?' asked Pascoe.

'Not me,' said Dalziel. 'I've nowt to do with Blengdale's. No, Bri's other great interest is Westgate Social Club. He's lived on the estate for years, helped build the Club up from scratch and he's been concert secretary there as long as I can remember. I've done a bit of drinking there in my time, that's how I know him. No West End finesse, but by God, the buggers who perform there know they'd best put on a good turn, else they won't get paid! I'll have a word with him now. I speak the same language.'

'I'll get out of your way then,' said Pascoe rather sulkily.

'What the hell for?'

'Well, you said you didn't want me involved on the case.'

'I don't want you talking to Burkill or Shorter, get that clear. But there's no reason why you should be sitting on your arse in the office while I'm stuck down here. No, you go and sort out that Heppelwhite pair, get their version of things.'

'Burkill won't like me interrogating his mates.'

Dalziel's face was as heavy and ugly as a slag heap.

'No one tells me who I can or can't use on a case, Inspector. No bloody one. Now jump to it and we'll see if we can't get round one over before closing time!'

Constable Palmer was in such earnest conversation with the Heppelwhites that he didn't hear Pascoe open the door.

'There was a case up in Middlesbrough last month,' he was saying. 'Same thing. Only he were a teacher. Suspended sentence. No wonder someone thumps them!'

'You reckon we'll be OK then?' said Charlie Heppelwhite.

'Bound to be. He'll not want the publicity. Anyway, go for a jury if it comes to a case. You're entitled, and there's not a family man in this town but'd applaud you.'

'Palmer!' said Pascoe.

'Sir.'

'Step outside for a moment.'

Pascoe heard himself reprimanding the constable with an ironic awareness of the parallels between this scene and his own recent interview with Dalziel.

Palmer was obviously unrepentant.

'Sorry, sir,' he said, 'but I've got two little girls of my own.'

'Proud of their dad?'

'I hope so, sir.'

'Then you'd better learn to follow instructions, else they'll be wondering why daddy's spending so much time at home.'

Palmer's face set with resentment but he said nothing in reply and Pascoe dismissed him, feeling full of guilt at uttering such a Dalzielesque authoritarian threat.

He spoke to the Heppelwhites separately. The father, though he expressed the feeling that scourging was too good for a man like Shorter, obviously had considerable reservations about the whole business.

'I didn't want to come here,' he said. 'But he were set on it, so I thought it best to come with him. Bri's a hard man when he wants. And our Clint's got a temper.'

Pascoe regarded his thin earnest face and groaned inwardly. Here was someone else whose route to the punch-up was paved with good intentions.

'Who threw the first punch?' he asked.

Heppelwhite thought carefully.

'I don't rightly know,' he said in the end. 'The dentist waved his arms about, you know, going shoo! shoo! like we were a lot of sheep. Clint grabbed one of his arms, just to restrain him a bit, and the fellow called Clint a smelly yobbo, some such thing. Then Clint pushed him in the chest.'