Dalziel considered. Another man might have played for time by pretending to suck on the empty bottle or making reference to the weather, but Dalziel did his considering in plain view. Offers of trade-offs of sexual for constabulary favours weren't uncommon. He rarely bothered himself. A bang was only a bang but a good result was a collar.
On the other hand, if he was honest with himself (and with himself what was the point of being other?), he really fancied this lass. Not just the boobs. These days even Mid-Yorkshire was bulging with highly visible boobs. See two, you've seen 'em all. And not the way she spoke which still carried too many overtones of the Pitt-Overload era, or whatever the prat's name was. And certainly not all this dotty animal rights stuff. And she wasn't young. And she wasn't beautiful. Any other strikes against her? Yes, of course, the big one. OK so ALBA would almost certainly decide not to proceed against her. And the possible charges he'd just listed weren't worth wasting his time on. But if he thought there was any chance at all that she'd been mixed up in this Redcar thing. .
Very long odds against. One in a million. Less. She'd offered alibis and from what he'd seen he reckoned that she'd sussed out he wasn't the kind of cop who'd let a bit of nookie stop him from checking. So why was he looking for an excuse to reject what his whole being was urging him to grab with both hands?
Mebbe he was a bit scared of his own desire. Mebbe it was because there was something about her that hit the spot, like the bouquet of an untried single malt when you opened the bottle, telling you that this was one to be savoured.
She was regarding him oddly. Calculatingly?
'What're you thinking of?' he asked abruptly.
'Old friend of mine, same name as the novelist. Balzac,' she said smiling.
Bloody incomprehensible. But which on 'em wasn't?
Condition of service! And at least he now understood her motive for getting him alone. Just as he'd been identifying her weaknesses over the past hour, so she'd identified his last night, and taken a bloody sight less time about it.
Question his sodding vanity wanted answering was this. Was Plan Two a Last Resort, or really a Principle Object disguised as a Last Resort?
She read a question in his eyes, but misread it also.
She said, 'I had nothing to do with the Redcar raid, Andy. And I deplore what they did, both personally and as an activist.'
Well, she would say that, wouldn't she? Clever thing for a cop to reply was, I believe you.
'I believe you,' he replied. 'Them bones you lot found last night, looks like they could be pretty old.'
'So?'
'I mean too old to have owt to do with ALBA. With a bit of luck they might even turn out too old to have owt to do with the CID!'
'That's interesting.'
'Aye. Means there might be nothing at all to investigate. Certainly means you and the folk up there aren't mixed up in any investigation. I rang my media contacts on the way here, told 'em they could go to town.'
There. Now let's see if the chicken still crossed the road.
The phone started ringing.
'Could be for me,' said Dalziel. 'I left 'em your number. Or it could be News at Ten.'
'Shall I answer it?'
'Up to you. You're a free agent.'
'Yes, I am,' she said seriously. 'How about you, Andy? How's the moral code?'
Dalziel didn't mind a bit of obliquity but this was beginning to sound.. what was that word Pascoe sometimes came out with?.. sphincteresque? Summat like that. Any road, enough was enough.
He stood up and started taking his tie off.
'Moral code? he said. 'You've just cracked it.'
xi
'That, I hope, is the secretaire you mentioned. Or have you gone into the funeral business?' said Ellie Pascoe.
Pascoe, reluctantly acknowledging that the passionate welcome-home embrace was over, followed her gaze to the sheet-shrouded cargo on his roof rack.
'Have no fear,' he said. 'Ada is safely scattered as per wishes, more or less. It was quite entertaining in a macabre way. Give me a hand with this, will you? How's Rosie?'
'At school. Memory that it was her friend Sarah's birthday today coincided with a miracle recovery.'
'Ah,' said Pascoe.
'Ah what? She really wasn't fit to go yesterday.'
'I know she wasn't,' said Pascoe mildly, thinking that such a hint of defensiveness in a suspect would have had him chiselling at the weakness till it gave. 'Here we go. You've got that end? Right.. just let it slide. Great. Et voilai'
Dramatically he whipped the sheet off the secretaire. Ellie regarded it in silence.
'You are dumbfounded with admiration?' he said hopefully.
'You said it was Sheraton.'
'After Sheraton,' said Pascoe.
'About eighty long hard years after.'
Pascoe couldn't argue. Out of the friendly shadows of Ada's living room, the secretaire had lost much of its antique charm and stood forlorn and rather shabby in the cruel November sunlight.
'It's got a secret drawer,’ he pleaded.
He opened it and showed her the photo. She studied it with interest.
'Poor devil,' she said. 'Gosh, doesn't he look like you?'
Pascoe took the picture from her and looked at it again. He still couldn't see it but something in those eyes spoke to him.
'It'll look better inside,' he said, dropping the photo back into the drawer. 'Unless this is the day you've got the Beautiful Homes photographers coming round?'
It was a low shot but she had it coming. Ellie was savage in her mockery of the Good Taste Theme Parks which gleamed at you out of the glossies, but this didn't stop her from being pretty finical about what stood on her floors and hung on her walls.
They carried the secretaire into the house and set it down in the hallway.
'Leave it there for the time being,' said Ellie. 'Hopefully it'll find its own place. Let's have a coffee and you can tell me all about everything.'
She listened alertly to his narrative, laughing aloud from time to time and asking the occasional pertinent question.
'So,' she said. 'Ada ended up as part of a military tableau. Not her intention, I presume.'
'No. I think on the whole she'd have been happier messing up one of the tidier exhibits,' Pascoe admitted. 'She was a lot like you, wanting people to be quite clear what she thought, I mean.'
Ellie considered this. She rarely talked about Peter's family, not because she disliked them (which on the whole she did) but because Peter himself had made them a no-go area. On the surface Ada was the one she had most in common with, but when strong wills clash, common ground can often be a battlefield. Neither was happy about Peter's career in the police force but Ada's objections were the deeper. Ellie had married him because she loved him despite the fact he was a policeman, while Ada felt that all her love and care and hopes for her grandson were betrayed by his choice of career. Ellie, she implied, being the new responsible woman in his life, must bear some of the blame. Such an accusation was an irony which amusement might have rendered barbless had not Ellie surprised in herself a strong resentment which boiled down to simple jealousy that anyone else should dare to imagine they shared her right to criticize her husband! Self-knowledge, she now realized, may bring about changes in the head, but the heart doesn't give a toss for psychology.
The two women had settled into a polite neutrality' easy to maintain as contact between them was minimal. Nevertheless Ellie had encouraged Peter in his attempts to re-establish his old closeness with his grandmother, sensing that Ada was the source of most of the family warmth in his upbringing, but hope of any real rapprochement had died with the old lady's reaction to Rosie's birth.