A pinch of snuff

'Another thing I notice is that the girl's appointments are invariably the last of the morning. Twelve-fifteen.'

'The girl's school is only five minutes away,' answered Alison promptly. 'That meant she would only miss a few minutes' schooling at the end of the morning.'

'Very considerate,' observed Pascoe, turning the pages of the appointments book. 'He doesn't seem to have been quite so considerate with regard to the others.'

'Oh no. You've got it wrong,' insisted Alison. 'It's not Mr Shorter's idea. I make the appointments.

I've done the same with you. You know, gone to the desk and had a look at the book.'

'So it was your idea to have her come at the end of the morning?'

'That's right.'

Pascoe made a careful note.

'But it was Mr Shorter's idea to transfer her appointments from Wednesday afternoon?'

'Yes.'

'Fine. Now, I've never seen Sandra Burkill. What kind of girl is she? Can you remember much about her?'

'Appearance, you mean? Well, she's got long brown hair, hangs all over the place, you know how they wear it these days. Quite tall, a bit podgy, puppy fat, I think. That's about all, really. Curiously, though, I remember her friend much better even though she only came with her two or three times.'

'Oh yes?'

'She was a much more striking girl. She had bright red hair like a freak-out wig, and one of those sharp little faces. A bit common but full of life. She never stopped talking. And her clothes, all the latest gear. Cheap stuff, most of it, but she knew how to wear it. She could have been nineteen rather than thirteen. I reckon she knew what it was all about. Now if it had been her…'

'If it had been her accusing Mr Shorter, you'd have thought there might be something in it?' said Pascoe gently.

Alison put her hand to her mouth in the classic repertory theatre gesture of one who has said too much.

'No. I didn't mean that! All I meant was I could see her as the type that might make such accusations. Though it does make you wonder

…'

'Yes?'

'Well, couldn't it be that the other girl, Sandra, is just trying to impress her friend? Girls are like that. And once you start boasting, you can get carried away. I can remember!'

Not only her homework, but she's worked out theories too, thought Pascoe. She's not quite clever or experienced enough to let us think we've dug them up for ourselves, but that apart, she's really doing very well. Now, why? I wonder. Loyalty?

'How did Sandra dress? Very with it, like her friend?'

'Oh no. Much sloppier. T-shirt, jeans, sometimes. Big flares and platform soles, but she didn't have the style.'

'So she didn't look the type to turn anybody on.'

'No. Honestly, I just couldn't see it. I'm sure it's all just in her mind, put there by her mate.'

'Not quite,' said Pascoe. 'She must have turned somebody on. She's pregnant.'

Now Alison's hand flew to her mouth again, but this time the gesture was completely involuntary.

'Oh! And she says…'

'She says it's Mr Shorter's.'

The girl reached blindly for her handbag, took out a handkerchief and pressed it to her filling eyes. The door opened and Ms Lacewing entered.

'What's going on?' she demanded as she took in the scene. 'What are you doing to this child?'

Before Pascoe could answer, Alison looked up and shouted angrily, 'Oh, go to hell!'

Amazed, Ms Lacewing looked from the girl to Pascoe who gave her his best imitation of an Arany shrug. She responded by turning and leaving.

'Child!' said Alison after blowing her nose. 'You'd think she was my grandmother!'

'Don't worry,' said Pascoe. 'Another couple of years, unless she avoids all feminine patterns, she'll be claiming to be your sister. You OK now?'

'Yes. I'm sorry. It was a shock. Tell me, when's Mr Shorter supposed to have… done this?'

'In the surgery, during an appointment.'

Alison laughed with relief.

'Well, that proves it! Good lord, it would be impossible! I must have noticed something!'

'You were in the surgery all the time?'

'Of course not. But I'm in and out pretty regularly. Honestly, there wouldn't be time.'

'Mr Shorter never got you out of the way?'

'What do you mean?'

'Sent you off on errands, little tasks which would keep you out of the surgery for some time?'

'Never,' she affirmed.

'The lunch-hour was coming up,' Pascoe reminded her. 'He never sent you away early?'

'Not that I recall.'

'You mean you've always been here till twelve-thirty. You never left for lunch while a patient was still in the surgery? Any patient.'

She looked speculatively at him.

'Is this a trap, Mr Pascoe?' she asked. 'Last time Mr Shorter saw you, last Wednesday, wasn't it? he told me to go and get my lunch while you were still here.'

'No trap,' said Pascoe. 'An aide-memoire, that's all. The girl says that on the occasion of the intercourse Mr Shorter had sent you away very early, asking you to collect some X-ray photographs which he needed. Do you recollect that?'

'I have collected X-rays, yes. But I can't remember every occasion.'

'Presumably you have to sign for them?'

She nodded.

'Then it will be easy to check,' he said.

'You don't sign against a time, just a date,' she protested.

'Even so. Is there anything else you'd like to tell me, Alison?'

'I don't think so.'

'Good. Well, I've noted down the main points of what you say in so far as they're relevant to the case. Would you mind if we put them together in the form of a statement?'

'I'd have to sign it?'

'Yes.'

She shook her head.

'No, I don't mind.'

'OK. Would you do it now while it's all fresh in your mind? And let me see it before you sign it, please. Just a matter of procedure.'

'Of course.'

'Right,' said Pascoe, standing up with the appointments book in his hand. 'I'll leave you to it for a few minutes. Just two last things, though. You mentioned traps before. Don't set yourself any. Everything gets checked. Second, it's a statement, not a character testimonial. Emotional declarations of absolute truth can be easily misconstrued. Give me a shout if you want me.'

He left and went to the reception counter to talk to the blonde receptionist whose wide blue eyes pleaded with him to gossip. He resisted, just as a few minutes later he resisted the invitation in Ms Lacewing's expression to consider himself a worm.

'I read in the paper about Dr Haggard's death,' she said abruptly. 'Tell me, does that mean that place will close down?'

'I've no idea,' said Pascoe in surprise. 'Possibly.'

'Well, there could be some good of it,' she said. 'Strange what it takes to end what any true civilization would consider an affront to its dignity.'

She went back to her surgery and Pascoe returned to the office, his head full of speculations.

'Finished?' he said to Alison.

'Just.'

He read what the girl had written. Her handwriting was bold and well formed, only a few words to the line so that, though short, the statement occupied a side and a half of foolscap.

'I see you repeat that you booked the girl's morning appointments.'

'Yes.'

'Are you sure of that, Alison?'

'Certain.'

'I've been talking to the receptionist, Miss White. Normally she'd make the entries in the book, wouldn't she?'

'Not if she was busy, answering the phone or something.'

'No. True. I showed her the book. She identified her own hand twice. She says the rest of the entries relating to Sandra Burkill's appointments are in Mr Shorter's writing.'

She flushed bright red.

'You said you didn't set traps!' she said accusingly.

'I warned you not to,' said Pascoe gently. 'The trap would be really set if I let you sign that and try to support it in court. Let's start again, shall we?'