A pinch of snuff

'Bloody hell,' said Pascoe. 'You know, for a while there I thought we were speaking the same language!'

Before she could answer, Pascoe heard his name bellowed outside.

'It'll have to wait till my next appointment,' he said.

Dalziel was standing by the office door looking as if he'd been waiting for hours. Behind him Pascoe could see Shorter, who looked rather pale and had a couple of pieces of plaster on his forehead.

'There you are,' said Dalziel. 'I'm done here. The doctor's advised Mr Shorter to take things easy for the rest of the day, and I've said the same. I've also advised him in his own interest not to discuss this business with anyone.'

'Except a solicitor,' said Pascoe clearly.

'That's up to him. I don't think Burkill will go running to the Press just yet, but there'll be talk at Blengdale's and it can easily get about. We'll want to see you again, Mr Shorter, after the girl's made a statement. If you are not going to be at home, make sure we know where to find you. Are you fit, Inspector? Let's get a move on then. There's work to be done.'

He set off purposefully towards the exit. Pascoe hesitated, looking into the room at Shorter who met his gaze with a kind of frustrated resentment.

'Take it easy, Jack,' urged Pascoe. 'It'll be OK.'

'Inspector!'

With a final helpless shrug, Pascoe turned and went after Dalziel.

Behind him Shorter stood up and kicked the door shut with a resounding crash.

'If I were you,' said Dalziel, 'I shouldn't let him at my fillings for a couple of weeks.'

Chapter 10

'Sure you won't have one?' asked Dalziel.

Pascoe shook his head and the fat man replaced the bottle of Glen Grant in his filing cabinet.

'It's medicinal,' he said, lifting his tumbler in salutation to God knew what God and taking a substantial draught. 'Wash the taste of that place out of my mouth.'

'You've made your mind up then? You haven't even heard the girl!'

'There's a WPC there now taking a statement. I'll have a go when I've seen it. But I'd be surprised if it didn't stand up.'

'Why, for God's sake?'

'One – Brian Burkill's not daft. He wouldn't do what he didn't see cause to. Two – this dentist of yours started putting himself in your way last week, coming the old pals act. Right?'

'Hang on!' protested Pascoe. 'He drew my attention to a possible breach of the law, that's all.'

'He told you some cock-and-bull story about a girl being beaten up, that's what. It was a cock-and-bull story, wasn't it?'

'Yes,' admitted Pascoe. 'He was mistaken. But he could have found an easier way of putting himself in my way, as you put it. Why link himself with the Calli at all?'

'Suppose he knows the girl's going to talk? They all do eventually. We investigate him, find out his favourite hobby's watching skin-flicks. It doesn't look good, does it? So he clears the decks. It's in the open. I bet his wife knows all about it.'

'Yes, she does,' said Pascoe. 'I met her.'

'Did you? I wonder how long she's known. Did she look the type who'd like a bit of way-out thrill?'

'Not really. But you never can tell.'

'I'll be able to tell by the time I'm done,' said Dalziel grimly.

'I'm sorry,' said Pascoe. 'Frankly, I think this is all half-baked. It's too tortuous by half.'

'To you, aye. It's not your problem. But think on, when you're in dead lumber and things start looking black, any idea that seem to offer a chance of getting out comes on you like a flash of light. It doesn't matter how daft it is. How many poor sods have we put away who hit on the brilliant notion of solving their money troubles by borrowing a few hundred from the till, putting it on a horse and then replacing the borrowed money from their winnings? Now, that's daft, but it still gets done.

‘I’m not convinced,’ said Pascoe. 'Anyway, that was two. Is there a three?'

'Oh aye. Three. When I talked to him just now, I got a feeling he'd been up to something.'

'A feeling!' mocked Pascoe.

'That's it,' said Dalziel. 'A feeling. There's something there. Last time I had this feeling…'

'Yes?' prompted Pascoe as Dalziel finished his Scotch.

'I lost fifteen quid on the Leger. But there's more important things than dirty dentists. There's this Haggard business. What are you on today?'

'I'm seeing Blengdale this afternoon. Three o'clock.'

'And what are you hoping from that?'

'Well, he's possibly the last person to see Haggard before the attack…'

'So what? I mean, that's usually a lot of bloody use, isn't it?'

'I won't know till I see the man!' snapped Pascoe in exasperation.

'No. Of course you won't,' said Dalziel pacifyingly. 'But you watch him, Peter. He's a hard bugger and if he thinks his public image is being tarnished… any road, you'll see for yourself.'

'Yes,' said Pascoe, rising. 'About Shorter…'

'I'll keep you posted,' said Dalziel. 'Don't worry. It'll be done proper. Like I said, I'll see the girl myself. If it looks straightforward, I'll pass it on to some nice safe Puritan like Inspector Trumper. You keep clear unless I say otherwise. It wouldn’t surprise me if Shorter didn't try to get to you somehow, so be ready. Choke him off.'

'Policemen mustn't have friends,' said Pascoe bitterly.

'Oh no, lad. Nowt to do with that,' said Dalziel. 'Be as friendly as you like. It's just that I want to save you up till he's sweated a bit and might be ready to cough. That's when a friendly shoulder comes in really useful!'

The business at the dentist's had taken a large slice out of the morning and it was one o'clock before Pascoe knew it. He didn't feel particularly hungry but he had learned early that in detective work only a fool voluntarily passed up a meal break.

At least he wouldn't be seeing Shorter today, he thought as he entered the Black Bull.

Sergeant Wield was there, sitting alone, and Pascoe joined him. They sat in silence for a while. Wield didn't seem disposed to talk, so Pascoe didn't bother him. He did not know the man very well and to tell the truth, he found him rather intimidating.

'Well, I'll finally see Blengdale this afternoon,' he said to break the ice.

'Want me along, sir?' said Wield.

'Not this time. Informality's the thing. Merge with the background till I see what's going on. If anything.'

'Oh aye. I doubt if Priory Farm's a background I'd merge easily with,' said Wield. 'Not inside anyway.'

He looked hard at Pascoe.

Oh Christ, he thought. Is it a joke or a social comment?

He took the plunge and grinned broadly. To his relief Wield's craggy face landslipped into a wide smile.

'Any ideas yet what's behind all this?' asked Wield. 'If it's not just tearaways, I mean.'

'Not a clue. I don't really understand Haggard, that's the thing. Diplomat, schoolteacher; old ladies love him. Runs a dirty film club and gets his kicks from having his bum beaten. How's that for complex? And how did he and Arany come into partnership? It's a curious relationship.'

'I've known curiouser,' said Wield. 'Tell you who might know something. Johnny Hope.'

'Who?'

'Pub and Club man for the Courier. What he doesn't know about the club people we're not going to be able to find out.'

'Fine,' said Pascoe. 'I'd like to meet him. Straight after lunch we'll call round.'

'Oh no,’ said Wield, 'He'll be in bed. You'll make an enemy for life of Johnny Hope if you disturb his sleep. Best thing is to meet up with him on his rounds. How're you fixed tonight, sir?'

Pascoe began to nod, then recalled Ellie and her promise of duck and more besides.

'Make it tomorrow night,' he said. 'Here. Something else since we're on about the clubs. Do you know a man called Burkill? Concert Secretary at the Westgate Social.'