Reginald Hill - Under World

He pulled the bottle from inside his leather jerkin once more and took a long pull.

‘Colin!’ she said.

‘Want some? Sorry, it’s empty.’

He laughed and threw the bottle out of the window. The air was full of the sweet smell of rum.

‘Time we got you home,’ said Ellie grimly, starting the engine.

‘What’s the hurry?’ he asked with a sudden change of mood. ‘Dark night, country road, let’s get in the back and get to know each other.’

‘Christ, Colin, I thought we got that out of the way last time.’

‘No! That were just a game. This time I really fancy you.’

He swayed towards her and embraced her. She didn’t struggle till she smelled the rich rum stench of his breath. He tightened his grip and tried to force her round to face him.

‘What’ll you do when you’re finished with me?’ she demanded. ‘Drop me down a shaft?’

He released her instantly.

She said, ‘I’m sorry.’

He said, ‘You can go to hell!’ and started fumbling with the door, banging his head in frustration against the glass as he failed to find the handle. His head wound seemed to have opened up again. There was a smear of brown down the window. Suddenly desperate to be back among lights and people, Ellie put the car in gear and set off along the road. For a few moments it seemed as if he might still try to get out, then he slumped back in his seat, closed his eyes and let out a long groan of pain or despair. Then he was still.

What the hell am I doing here? Ellie asked herself. How did I get into this?

The road was narrow and winding. She should have wiped the smeared screen before starting but she certainly wasn’t going to stop now and see to it. With relief she saw an illuminated sign ahead which told her she was approaching the main road. From here it shouldn’t take long to get to Burrthorpe and dump her dangerous cargo. After that, all she had to worry about was getting home and explaining to Peter what she had been doing.

The main road was broader and straighter and she managed to pick up a bit of speed, so much so that when a poorly lit section of road works loomed up, she didn’t see them till the last moment and had to swing the wheel savagely. There was a bang as her nearside wing caught one of the plastic warning cones and sent it spinning towards the verge.

‘Oh shit,’ said Ellie as she straightened the car up. And ‘Oh shit!’ she repeated with redoubled force as her hitherto disregarded rear-view mirror blossomed with a blue flashing light.

She did the right things, getting out of the car and walking a few steps back to meet them. For once in her life she hoped that she might be recognized as Inspector Pascoe’s wife but these two were strangers to her. They courteously asked to see her licence and insurance, neither of which she had.

‘I came out of the house in a bit of a rush,’ she explained.

‘Oh aye? Have you been drinking at all, missus?’

‘No!’ she denied indignantly.

‘Well, we’ll have to ask you to take a breathalyser test,’ said the constable. ‘You’ve committed a moving traffic offence.’

‘What the hell was that?’ she demanded, ready to take a stand against random testing.

The policeman merely glanced back towards the road works.

‘Oh, that,’ said Ellie. ‘They ought to light the things properly.’

‘Not very well lit, is it?’ agreed the constable. ‘Just blow in here, till you inflate the bag.’

She took the breathalyser and blew with all her strength. The policeman examined the results. Then to her amazement he said, ‘I’m sorry, madam, but this is positive. You’ll have to come with us for further tests.’

‘You’re joking!’ exclaimed Ellie indignantly. ‘There’s something wrong with your machine.’

‘Mebbe,’ agreed the constable with the patience of one who has heard it all before, ‘but we’ll find that out back at the station, won’t we?’

Ellie opened her mouth to let out her gale-force indignation when suddenly she remembered. Of course she had been drinking. How many bottles of wine had Peter and Wield and herself got through over supper? It seemed such an age ago that it required a piece of conscious computation to work out that barely an hour had elapsed since she’d dashed from the house with not a thought for what she had drunk that night.

Was it worth explaining this to the policeman? Or was this perhaps the moment to forget her principles and drop Peter’s name into the conversation?

The decision was postponed by an unexpected interruption. It was a laugh, long, merry, drunken. It came from Colin Farr who had opened the passenger door the better to eavesdrop on Ellie’s exchange with the constabulary.

‘Drunk in charge of a drunk!’ he hiccoughed. ‘That’s grand. Lecturing me, and you’re full of pop yourself!’

The policemen exchanged glances and one of them wandered across to Farr.

‘’Evening, sir,’ he said politely. ‘I’m afraid your friend isn’t going to be able to drive you any further and I don’t think you had better take over the car, had you? Best come along with us too, eh?’

‘Get fucked,’ said Farr, all merriment ceasing as if cut off by an electric switch.

‘That’s a nasty cut, sir,’ said the policeman. ‘Have you been in a fight or something?

‘Just a little accident, Officer,’ said Ellie hastily. ‘Colin, you wait here. Either I’ll be back or I’ll fix for a taxi to pick you up.’

‘No need,’ said Farr, trying to stand up, ‘I’m fine. I can foot it back to Burrthorpe from here. But I’m not …’

‘What’s your name, son?’ interrupted the policeman.

‘Not the same as yours, so I’m not your fucking son, am I?’ snarled Farr.

‘Now don’t you get stroppy with me, lad!’

‘Look, his name’s Colin Farr,’ said Ellie, wanting to defuse this situation. ‘He’s nothing to do with this, is he? I mean, he’s just a passenger, so can’t we just go to your station and get this silly business sorted out?’

‘Farr? Colin Farr from Burrthorpe?’ To Ellie’s horror the nearest policeman suddenly seized Colin’s arm in a tight lock. ‘Right, sunshine. You’d better come along with us after all. Oh no, none of that!’

Colin had swung his free arm at the man’s face and next moment he was bent double, shrieking in pain, as the policeman savagely thrust the locked arm up between his shoulder-blades. The other cop was leaning into the car, talking into the radio.

‘What’s going on?’ demanded Ellie. ‘I’m dreaming this! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

Farr was forced past her and thrust into the rear seat. Ellie was contemplating an assault on the arresting constable’s back when she felt her arm gently taken by the other man who had finished on his radio.

‘Don’t make things worse,’ he said wearily.

‘What’s happening? Why are you arresting my friend?’

‘Friend, is he? You should mebbe pick your friends more carefully.’

‘And you should mebbe pick your victims more carefully!’

And Ellie heard herself doing what long ago she had vowed she would never do, parading her relationship to Peter, and her mainly pretended intimate acquaintance with every senior officer from Dalziel up to the Chief Constable, in an effort to extract privileged treatment. Dubious at first, the man ended up convinced, but not overly impressed. It was like using the ultimate weapon and seeing it explode like a soap-bubble.

‘Look, I’m sorry, Mrs Pascoe, and I’ll see your husband gets informed, but you’ll still have to come in with us.’

‘Can’t you get it into your skull, I’m not worried about my husband being informed,’ said Ellie, sadly disillusioned. ‘It’s me that I want informed. What’s going on?’