Reginald Hill - Deadheads

Aldermann affected to take the remark seriously, saying, 'If it were one of those days, Sergeant, I haven't seen the results yet.'

'Window-shopping mainly, was it?' laughed Wield. 'No harm done then. Except to your car. When you got back you found it had been badly scratched?'

He glanced at his notebook which he held close to his face in the palm of his hand to conceal the fact that it was his diary and almost empty.

'And you immediately reported this to the police,' he continued, as a statement not a question, but Daphne replied carefully. 'The police were already there. Someone else had found their car damaged and reported it.'

'Yes, of course,' agreed Wield glancing at the diary again. 'Now, when you parked the car that morning, did you see anything odd? Anyone hanging about for instance.'

'No, no one,' she said.

Aldermann said, 'It's hardly likely that these vandals would already have been lurking at nine-fifteen A.M., is it, Sergeant?'

His tone was one of polite enquiry.

Wield looked once more at his diary which contained nothing more helpful than the information that the following Sunday was the 2nd after Trinity, 3rd after Pentecost and Father's Day. He said, 'We're not yet sure of the time the damage was actually done, sir.'

'But surely there have to be limits?' pursued Aldermann. 'Between the latest time of parking of a subsequently damaged car and the earliest time of complaint, for instance. Unless this lunatic was picking them off one by one throughout the day.'

'Well, that's always a possibility, sir,' said Wield as if the suggestion had been seriously intended. 'Were there many other cars about when you parked, ma'am?'

'Hardly any,' said Daphne promptly.

'No? Of course, you were parked on the roof, weren't you? The first couple of floors fill up pretty quick with business people, I suppose. But there must still have been a lot of room on the next four floors at nine-fifteen.'

'I always park on the roof,' said Daphne promptly. 'I'm not very fond of enclosed spaces, nor am I a particularly good reverser. So, open air and no other cars to hit, that's my ideal.'

‘ No other cars?' said Wield. 'You were the first on the roof park?'

'I might have been,' she said. 'I can't remember. Does it matter?'

No, thought Wield. It didn't matter in the least. His little plan of getting a close look at Aldermann at home without rousing any suspicions was not working very well. At the very least he must be arousing the suspicion that he was a half-wit. Even Police Cadet Singh had stopped writing every word that was said in his book and was making faces at the little girl.

'Won't keep you much longer,' he said. 'Tell me, Mrs Aldermann, is there anyone you can think of who might have wanted to do you a bad turn?'

'By damaging my car, you mean?' said Daphne in surprise. 'But it wasn't just my car, was it?'

'I know that,' said Wield. 'But according to our officers on the spot, the scratchings on your car might have been words.'

'Words?' said Aldermann. 'You mean a message.'

'Not exactly, sir. The second possible word was cow. This would suggest the vandal knew you were a woman, madam.'

'Well, I did leave an old hat I carry around in case it rains on the rear sill,' said Daphne. 'So it wouldn't need a detective to work out it was a woman's car, would it?'

'What,' said Aldermann pleasantly, 'was the first possible word, Sergeant?'

'Hard to say, sir,' said Wield uncomfortably, thinking that Dalziel, for instance, would not have found the four letters in the least hard to say.

'If it were aimed specifically at my wife, then why did the vandal damage other cars? And didn't you say there'd been an epidemic of this recently?'

This was too sharp for comfort and all Wield could manage in reply was the stock, 'We have to cover every possibility, sir.'

'Well, I certainly don't know anyone who'd do this kind of thing,' said Daphne firmly.

'I see,' said Wield. 'And you, sir? Is there anyone you can think of who might have a grudge against you? In your work perhaps?'

Aldermann shook his head slowly as much in disbelief as negation.

'I'm an accountant. I work for Perfecta Ltd. I can think of no one there, or indeed in any department of my life, who might bear a grudge sufficiently strong to make him vandalize my wife's car and then set about several more to cover up his deed.'

The man's tone was still perfectly polite but it was approaching the politeness of farewell. It was saying that unless this idiot policeman could produce some reason even slightly above the moronic for continuing this interview, it ought decently to draw to a close.

Wield could only agree, even though it meant he was going back to Pascoe empty-handed. He had heard nothing and seen nothing worth commenting on.

Suddenly the little girl who had been sitting all this while playing a game with Police Cadet Singh which involved peeping at him through her fingers and shaking with internalized giggles whenever he caught her eye and grimaced in reply, said, 'Mummy, can I play on the swing?'

'Of course, dear,' said Daphne. 'Shall I come and give you a push, if the sergeant is finished, of course.'

'No, I want him to push me,' said Diana, pointing at Singh.

'I don't think. .' began the woman but Singh rose with his brilliant smile and said, 'I don't mind. All right, Sarge? Up you come, love.'

He swung the girl up on to his shoulder and set off down the garden.

'He sounds like a native. Of Yorkshire I mean,' said Daphne.

'You pick it up quite fast after seventeen years,' said Wield gravely.

'But he can't be more than. . oh, I see, you mean he is a native?'

Wield who knew the old rule which said Don't be cheeky to the customers unless they're nicked, or you're Dalziel, said, 'He's a nice lad. Lovely roses, you've got, sir.'

Aldermann's face lit up with a smile which equalled Singh's.

'Yes, it's promising to be a good year. They've made an excellent recovery after that awful winter. Are you a rose man, Sergeant?'

'From afar,' said Wield. 'I live in a flat. The best I can manage is a couple of houseplants and they're likely to die from neglect.'

'Have you thought of a window-box and some of the miniatures?' asked Aldermann. 'They can do astonishingly well, so long as the box is well drained and preferably south-facing.'

'Is that right?' said Wield, alert to the change from watchful reserve to lively enthusiasm, though it was so marked that he didn't need to be very alert. 'What varieties would you recommend?'

'That's hard,' said Aldermann. 'I can point out growing characteristics, but as for looks, every man's his own arbiter. "Varieties" in roses means just that. Their variety is infinite; at least it appears so. Every year brings new advances. That's the fascination of being a hybridist. You're never really certain what you're going to get. You select your stock according to the best horticultural principles, you do all the work, everything goes according to plan, but not until you see that first bloom do you really know what you've achieved. It brings a whole new range of excitement and uncertainty into our experience!'

'I get plenty of that in my job already,' laughed Wield.

'Do you?' Aldermann sounded mildly surprised. 'I suppose policing is rather unique. But on the whole, isn't most of life, outside the rose-garden, I mean, surprisingly unsurprising?'

'My husband is an enthusiast and also an evangelist, Sergeant,' interrupted Daphne with a slightly strained laugh. 'I really must see to the dinner, darling. And it's time that Diana was coming in, I think. Would you see to her?'

This was dismissal, polite but clear, and Wield stood up to take his leave.