Reginald Hill - Under World

Surprisingly, this hurt Dalziel far more than any frontal assault could do. To be savaged by Rover the Wonder Dog was comic; to be ignored was demeaning.

‘What do you want, Nev?’ he demanded, letting discomfiture show.

Watmough savoured his reaction. It had not been anticipated — he was not a subtle enough psychologist for that — but once appreciated, the lesson would not be forgotten.

‘I saw Ike Ogilby at luncheon. I told him that I had no intention of letting any more of my alleged memoirs be published in his paper. He was unimpressed and assured me that Boyle had enough material from our informal conversations and his own research to continue with the articles for some time. He also assured me that if I read my contract, I would see the Challenger was legally entitled to proceed in this fashion. I told him that if he did, it would be to the accompaniment of public denials in every competitor paper that these were my memoirs, or bore any resemblance to my memoirs. There the matter rests.’

‘Well, bravo, Nev,’ said Dalziel. ‘So you’re not as daft as you look. But you needn’t have come all this way to let me know. Incidentally, was Monty Boyle sitting in on this lunch? I’m more interested in that bugger’s memoirs than yours just now and he’s proving harder to pin down than a rabbi’s foreskin.’

‘No, he wasn’t,’ said Watmough. ‘Interestingly, even Ike Ogilby was inquiring if Boyle had been in touch with me recently. He hasn’t. I should like a word with him myself. But to get back to the point; you sent Pascoe to talk to me …’

‘Aye. And a lot of help you were,’ grunted Dalziel.

‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t at my best. It was all getting me down a bit. But I did promise to give the matter my attention later. I didn’t really pay him much attention. I said I’d heard about this murder at Burrthorpe, but I’d really just caught a headline on the news. I thought Pascoe’s visit was just a rather unsubtle form of harassment dreamt up by you! It wasn’t till I got my mind sorted out later and listened to the news properly that I realized I actually might be able to help.’

‘You?’ said Dalziel.

‘Yes. Let’s be certain the media have it straight. You have a man called Farr helping with your inquiries into the death of a man called Satterthwaite, right?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Dalziel.

‘And this man Farr is the son of William Farr who was the last person to see Tracey Pedley alive, would I be right in thinking that?’

‘That’s it. This Billy Farr who you don’t seem to have investigated very thoroughly because you were so bloody sure Pickford had done the job,’ sneered Dalziel.

‘Don’t forget Sergeant Wield’s contribution to that certainty,’ said Watmough. ‘But you’re right. It would be a poor officer who didn’t check out every possibility thoroughly.’

‘Aye, well, it’s all water under the bridge,’ said Dalziel magnanimously.

‘Kind of you to say so, Andy,’ said Watmough, smiling faintly. Dalziel scratched his nose. This was a different Watmough. He’d always thought of the other’s rank as a shield and cover. Perhaps after all it had been simply a straitjacket.

‘All the same, I’m glad that I did,’ resumed Watmough.

‘Did what?’

‘Check out Billy Farr’s story.’ That smile again.

‘And he was in the clear? Great. Though I don’t recollect seeing owt in the record which Alex Wishart showed me.’

‘It wasn’t in the record.’ He took a small leather-bound notebook out of his pocket. ‘This is what I call my commonplace book, Andy. Quite distinct and separate from my official notes, so no need to look disapproving. Just personal observations, that sort of thing.’

‘Christ, how long have you been planning your memoirs, then?’

‘Long enough not to let Ike Ogilby foul them up. Here it is. Now I got this in strict confidence …’

‘Confidence? In a murder investigation? There’s no such thing!’ said Dalziel scornfully.

‘Not if it’s pertinent to the case, no,’ agreed Watmough. ‘But this wasn’t …’

‘Not when it eliminated a suspect?’

‘I got this information on the day that Donald Pickford killed himself,’ said Watmough. ‘That, God help me, seemed to eliminate everyone. But Farr was definitely out, whatever way you look at it.’

‘Oh aye? And why’ve you decided to break this so-called confidence now?’

‘Because now I think it may be pertinent to a murder case, Andy. Your case. I’ve come to do my duty and I’ve come to do you a favour. But most of all, Andy, I’ve come to hear you say thank you!’

‘In that case, we’d best both have clear heads,’ said Dalziel, picking up the phone. ‘Hello, young man. Could you get some coffee sent up here, please? For two. No, no biscuits. But you could ask if they’ve got any loaves and fishes in the canteen. Aye, that’s right. Mr Watmough’s going to do a miracle!’

May Farr sat with the skull in her hands and tears blinding her eyes.

‘You’re quite sure,’ insisted Pascoe.

‘Oh yes. There was the disc as well. The leather would have rotted but there was the disc with his name on. It’s Jacko, poor little tyke. Billy loved that dog.’

‘And Colin brought these bones home on Monday evening and you gathered he’d found them in the old workings?’

‘Yes. I knew he’d been wandering around up there. I asked him not to. But I didn’t know he’d got inside. It’s all supposed to have been filled in and made safe since … since …’

‘How did you know he’d been up there before? Did he tell you?’ asked Pascoe sharply.

‘Arthur saw him. He didn’t deny it.’

Pascoe looked at Downey. He’d wanted to clear the room completely before talking to Mrs Farr. Wendy Walker had got belligerent and Ellie had looked defiant but they’d allowed Swift to shepherd them towards the door. Downey, however, had shaken his head and said, ‘I’ll stay,’ in a voice tremulous with the determination of a weak man making an unshiftable stand. May Farr had resolved matters by saying, ‘Yes, I’d like Arthur to stay.’ The other two women had then left the kitchen. Swift stood guard on the door, but behind it Pascoe did not doubt that Wendy and Ellie were straining their ears.

Downey was finding it hard to speak. The sight of Jacko’s bones seemed to have brought his old friend back to him with an intensity of emotion matching May Farr’s. He sat pale-faced now, his eyes fixed on the woman opposite, or the skull in her hands.

Finally he said, ‘Aye, I saw him a few times. Well, I thought nowt of it at first. The workings are mainly on the old common, right up against the edge of Gratterley Wood. That’s a popular spot in summer for walking, and for courting round the White Rock — that’s a sort of limestone cliff in the middle of the wood — and there’s brambling in the autumn …’

He was getting a grip on himself again and as he realized what he’d said he shot May an apologetic look, and went on hurriedly, ‘But Col was going there in all weathers and not just in the woods either, and I thought May ought to be told.’

‘Did you know he was going underground, Mr Downey?’ asked Pascoe.

‘Aye, I did wonder. He’d disappear so unexpected, like.’

Pascoe returned his attention to the weeping woman.

‘Mrs Farr, what effect did it have on Colin, finding these bones?’

Pulling herself together visibly, May Farr said, ‘It upset him.’

‘Yes, I’m sure. But in what way?’ persisted Pascoe. ‘Was it just because it brought his dad back that finding the bones upset him? Or was it because they seemed to confirm a theory …?’