Reginald Hill: Exit lines

He said as much to Wield as they sped towards Haycroft Grange to pick up Andrea Gregory. Wield had offered to take his car as Pascoe's was temporarily out of commission but Pascoe had said, 'No. Full panoply of the law, I think. I don't want the Sir William Pledgers of this world thinking that we can be relied on to be nice and discreet for their sake.' Thus he and Wield were sitting in the comfortable back seat of a large white squad car with the Mid-Yorkshire insignia emblazoned proudly on the sides.

'Christ, they took risks, didn't they?' said Wield.

'They were both half-cut from the sound of it,' said Pascoe. 'But with that din coming from Mrs Spillings's house, and the other side empty, they weren't in much danger of being overheard. And Andrea had her wits about her enough to realize that using the outside key might be a giveaway. She spotted the duplicate key on the kitchen table. According to Gillott, it was her idea to stick one of the keys in the inside of the lock and smash the window to make it look as if someone had broken in.'

'But she put the wrong key back in the shed.'

'Yes. I should have spotted the implications of that sooner, but there's been a lot of distraction these past few days.'

The two men fell silent. Dusk was beginning to settle over the undulating landscape, flecked white with snow which the wind had blown into the folds and pleats of the heathered moor. The uniformed driver was consulting a road map and driving with one hand.

'You're not lost, are you, Pearson?' asked Wield.

'No, sir. It's just that we turn off somewhere along here down an unclassified road and I don't want to miss it.'

'How about up there, at the top of the rise, where the green van's turning?'

'Yes, that'll likely be it,' agreed the driver.

They turned off the B-road on to a narrower but still well-metalled track which meandered down into a riverless valley. Distantly they glimpsed the chimneys of Haycroft Grange against the snowy hillside opposite. The green van ahead was either in difficulty or the driver did not trust his brakes as the road steepened.

'For God's sake,' said Pascoe impatiently as their speed dropped to under twenty. 'Can't you get past him, Pearson?'

Wield glanced at the Inspector, thinking he had rarely seen his temper so ragged. The Sergeant's instinct rather than his detective powers sought out the reason. It occurred to him that Pascoe, despite his comparative youthfulness and liberal modernism of outlook, would have done very nicely as an English gent in one of Wield's much loved Rider Haggard novels. His belief in the equality of women still turned to disappointment at the discovery that they could equal men in baseness as well as achievement. And his loyalty to Andy Dalziel must be very much at odds with his strict code of fair play and honesty.

Plus, of course, the fact that he was clearly missing his wife and daughter.

Pearson replied defensively. 'The road's a bit narrow, sir.'

They were nearing the bottom of the valley where the road straightened out for almost a hundred yards before beginning to wind up the opposing hillside.

'Give him the bell then,' ordered Pascoe. 'It's like a bloody funeral procession!'

Obediently the driver pressed a switch. Next moment the pastoral peace was fragmented by the pulsating screech of the siren, and on the roof flashing blades of light scythed the darkling air.

The green van pulled over to the narrow verge and stopped. Pearson sent the police car accelerating by, then reached forward to switch off the lights and siren, but Pascoe stopped him.

'Leave it,' he said. 'I like a bit of son et lumiere. It's a not unfitting way to let those gun-happy buggers up there know we're coming, wouldn't you say, Sergeant?'

But Wield did not reply. He was much more interested in looking back and wondering why the driver of the green van had changed his mind and turned round and was now heading back up the hill.

'Ut puto deus fio.'

'That sounds like your lot, Dalziel,' said Sir William Pledger. 'Didn't realize you were bringing some friends.'

He laughed and his guests joined in, even those who did not understand or did not appreciate the joke. Among the latter was Major Barney Kassell, who regarded Dalziel with grave suspicion.

The fat man shrugged and said indifferently, 'Me neither.'

The shooting party had just returned from the moors and, still muddy and tweedy, were taking a hot toddy with their host in the gun-room before retiring to hot baths and fresh linen. Kassell went to the window which overlooked the courtyard of the Grange where the beaters were collecting their pay and the day's bag of pheasants, more richly plumed than a tombful of dead pharaohs, were awaiting their collector.

'Excuse me,' said Kassell. 'I'll just pop down and see that all's well, shall I?'

Pledger nodded and Kassell left. Dalziel looked as if he might be about to follow, but the Dutch judge who was expounding his pet theory of penal reform gripped him firmly by the elbow and the fat man, who was in an uncharacteristic state of uncertainty, let his mind be made up for him. He retrieved something of his self-esteem, however, by emptying his glass so positively that the punk-haired maid with tits like ostrich eggs, recently transferred from Paradise Hall, broke away from the French banker who seemed to think she was his personal property and came straight to him.

'Another of the same, love,' said Dalziel. The girl obliged. The judge seemed to be distracted by her imminence and lost his thread and Dalziel took the opportunity to turn away and look into the courtyard. Arnie Charlesworth was already at the window. He glanced at Dalziel and raised an interrogative eyebrow. Dalziel shook his head.

Down in the courtyard, Pascoe and Wield had got out of the police car. Kassell was talking to the Inspector, angrily at first it seemed, and then rather more calmly, while Wield stood stolidly by and regarded the colourful array of dead pheasants awaiting the arrival of the game dealer. Across by the stables, collecting their afternoon's wages, were the beaters. Two or three of them who were off-duty policemen had pulled their hats down hard over their brows at the sound of the approaching siren, and one at least, long, thin and sunken-headed, had started like a guilty thing surprised, and slipped out of sight round a corner.

A telephone rang. After a moment, a servant came into the gun-room and spoke to Pledger, who by this time was standing with all the rest peering down at the scene outside.

'Dalziel, it's for you,' said Sir William. 'You sure you don't know anything about this, old chap?'

Dalziel didn't reply but made his way to the door. He was interested to note that the sexy maid had taken the opportunity of all those turned backs to pour herself a healthy slug of the toddy. He grinned at her in passing. If abashment were felt, the indifferent mask of her face did not show it.

Outside he picked up the phone and identified himself.

He listened for a while, said, 'Jesus fucking Christ, ‘listened again, and said, 'Yes, why not? Not much point in doing owt else, is there?' And banged the phone down.

Back in the gun-room he said, 'Excuse me, Sir William, but mebbe you'd better come with me.'

'Come with you? Why? Is something wrong?' asked Pledger.

But Dalziel had already turned away and was marching towards the front door of the house.

There he met Pascoe, Wield and Kassell coming up the steps. The two policemen halted in surprise.

Kassell said, 'It's all right, Andy. Seems our new maid's got herself in a bit of bother.'

'Maid?' said Dalziel. 'You pair of midsummer night dreams have come here about the maid?'

His voice scoured the base of incredulity.