Reginald Hill - Under World

‘Some of my fans laugh all the way to the dock,’ said Dalziel. ‘Did your husband go after Farr?’

‘No. I told him nowt had happened, I mean nowt to worry about, but if he went running off to play the hard man with Col, then all the nosey gossips round here would be sure there was something going on between us.’

‘Which there wasn’t?’

‘I told you. Are you deaf or what?’

‘So why did he ring you when he walked out of the pit yesterday?’

‘God knows. He were in a really funny mood, rambling on about the pit and him never going down there again. I couldn’t follow most of it.’

‘Drunk?’

‘I didn’t think so. More confused. Upset, like.’

‘And did he mention Mr Satterthwaite?’

‘No,’ said Stella definitely.

‘He didn’t confess to you that he’d killed him?’

‘No, he didn’t.’

‘But didn’t you tell someone earlier today that that was precisely why he had rung you? To confess?’

The woman thought a little while, then nodded and said, ‘That copper’s wife. She told you. Well, I suppose you’ve got to stick together. Yes, that’s what I said to her. I just wanted to shock her, I suppose. I’d heard about her running around after Col like she owned him or something. I thought: Right, I’ll shock you down to your stretch marks, you stuck-up old cow.’

Dalziel scratched his upper lip to suppress a smile. That was a description of Ellie Pascoe he would always treasure.

‘And did it shock her?’

‘Not as much as I thought. And that set me to thinking. I knew he’d rung her later — I could see that that got up her nose, him ringing me first when he were sober, her being second choice when he’d got pissed — and I reckon he must have gone on about something happening down the pit to her like he had to me.’

‘You mean you think he may have confessed to Mrs Pascoe?’

‘No! I didn’t say that either. Do you buggers never listen? He didn’t confess to me. And I’m bloody sure he didn’t confess to her.’

‘But?’

‘But he said enough to make us both wonder just what the hell it was had happened. And when we heard about Harold Satterthwaite …’

‘You put two and two together?’

‘That’s it, mister. Are we going to be much longer? If we are, I’ll need to go for a pee.’

‘Be my guest,’ said Dalziel.

Alex Wishart was sitting drinking a cup of coffee in the incident room.

‘Finished, sir?’ he asked when Dalziel came in.

‘I don’t know,’ said the fat man uncertainly. Wishart felt alarmed. Lack of certainty here was like a shortage of fivers at the Bank of England.

‘What did you make of Mycroft?’ said Dalziel.

‘Sticks to his story that Farr pulled a knife from under the pillow and said he’d cut his eyes out if he didn’t give him his clothes. Vessey says he was sitting there calm as you like when he found him.’

‘That Vessey,’ said Dalziel evilly. ‘I’d plant him in a slag heap if he were mine.’

‘He’d probably grow,’ said Wishart. ‘The alternative is almost as far-fetched as the knife attack. Mycroft helped Farr voluntarily. But why should he? They hated each other’s guts as far as I can make out.’

‘Then why go to see Farr at all?’

‘To gloat? Or maybe to try to find out for himself if Farr did the killing. Mycroft was a big mate of Satterthwaite’s.’

‘That could be it. Who’s with him now?’

‘Sergeant Wield. You’ve got a treasure there, Super. He must get confessions just by sitting there looking at people.’

‘You reckon? From what I’ve seen round here he’d likely win prizes in a beauty competition,’ said Dalziel shortly. ‘Look, you go in and chat to that lass. She’s nervous. I want to know why.’

Wishart looked at the bulky figure louring over him like the wreck of a cooling tower and sought for the words of diplomacy.

‘Some people are made nervous by the police, sir,’ he ventured.

‘So they bloody should be,’ grunted Dalziel. ‘Only her kind, fitted carpets, duck-down duvets, no kids, and Christmas in Morocco, I’d have expected her to come on all lady-like with simple nerves. Instead she’s playing it real hard. Mebbe she’s just reverting; must have been basic survival kit round here, being able to fight your corner. But I think that Farr said something to her a bit more positive than she’s saying now.’

‘And she told her husband and he went to see Farr to check?’

‘Mebbe. Except, in that case, Mycroft should be shouting it out of the windows that Farr killed his mate.’

Wishart finished his coffee and stood up.

‘I’ll give her a whirl anyway,’ he said. ‘Good Lord! Hello, sir. What brings you out here?’

Dalziel turned. Standing in the doorway was Neville Watmough.

‘Hello, Alex,’ he said, shaking the Scotsman’s hand. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

‘And you, sir. Of course you know …’

He looked from Watmough to Dalziel and said, ‘Of course, you do. Look, I’ve got to go now. See you later, shall I?’

‘I hope so.’

With considerable relief to everything except his curiosity, Wishart left, closing the door firmly behind him.

‘Well, Andy. Here we are. Just like old times.’

‘Oh aye? You look fucking terrible, Nev. Retirement not suiting you?’

Watmough smiled faintly and said, ‘It suits me well enough. There are things I miss, things I don’t. You for a start, Andy. No point in beating about the bush. Let’s start by saying I don’t like you. Never have. Not from way back when there was a lot less of you to dislike. No need to tell me it was mutual. Me, I was always aware the job had a public face. You never were. What-you-see-is-what-you-get-Andy.’

‘Hiding lights under bushels either gets you a burnt bushel or puts out the light,’ said Dalziel.

‘Except that I always suspected you were really twice as clever as you let on. And I always knew you were a good cop in the strict sense.’

‘You mean I went to church regular?’

‘No. You put thieves away regular.’ Watmough pulled out a chair and sat down. He really didn’t look well. ‘I fell among thieves a bit, Andy,’ he resumed. ‘I didn’t realize just how much they’d stolen till Pascoe came to see me this morning. He’s your public face really, isn’t he?’

‘Or I’m his public behind, depending how you look at it,’ said Dalziel equably. ‘So, Peter came to you in a flash of blinding light and you fell off your rocking-horse, right?’

‘It was when he started quoting next week’s article at me that I realized how far things had gone.’

‘That must have been a shock,’ said Dalziel complacently.

‘More than you realize. The shock was not that you’d had access to it. I don’t think I can any longer be shocked by any of your antics, Andy. No, the shock was that I didn’t recognize it at all. I’d been a bit taken aback by the trailer that they printed to my memoirs, but Ogilby told me they had to do a big come-on to pull the readers in, it was just a form of advertising hype which even the most serious papers and publishers went in for. Then the first episode appeared. I’d done a draft, Monty Boyle had taken it to edit it for the paper, the result … well, I dare say you saw the result …’

‘You mean you weren’t threatening to tell the world what a useless lot Mid-Yorks CID were?’ said Dalziel disbelievingly.

‘Your Sergeant Wield did make a balls-up, and that had to come out as it threw a whole new complexion on the Pedley case. But I’m not interested in pillorying good officers like Wield. Admittedly it’d be nice to see you squirm, but you’ve got more blots than copy in your copybook and it’s never seemed to bother you, so it’s hardly worth the effort.’