Reginald Hill - A pinch of snuff

'Last fellow I saw try to stop Bri in a fight got a busted nose,' said Heppelwhite.

'Oh. Is Mr Burkill a regular fighter then?'

'I never said that. It happens he's on the Club committee and if there's ever any trouble down there, it's Bri they send for. It's usually visitors start it.'

'Of course,' agreed Pascoe. 'Foreigners from Doncaster or Sheffield. I gather you've known Mr Burkill a long time.'

'Aye. Twenty years or more. I'm a couple of years older than him, but his missus and mine's of an age and they were best friends ever since school.'

'Nice family?'

'Very nice.'

'Close?'

'What?'

'I mean, they get on well together.'

'Oh yes. Deirdre, that's Mrs Burkill, she's always been dead proud of Bri and the way he's got on.'

'And Sandra?'

'Lovely lass. I'm her godfather, like Brian's my Clint's.'

'And she likes her father?'

'What a daft question!' said Heppelwhite. 'Of course she likes her father. He's, well, he's her father!'

'Were you surprised when you heard what she said about Shorter?'

Heppelwhite hesitated before saying, 'Of course I was surprised.'

'You don't seem sure.'

'Don't try to put words in my mouth, lad!'

'Nice-looking girl, is she? For her age, I mean.'

'Aye. Very bonnie. For her age.'

'They grow quick these days, don't they? Suppose I suggested to you, Mr Heppelwhite, that if Sandra had been caught up to some hanky-panky with a young lad, you'd not have been in the least surprised. Would that be nearer the mark? It was Mr Shorter's alleged interference which surprised and shocked you.'

'Perhaps,' said Heppelwhite cautiously. 'There's mebbe summat of that in it.'

He was clearly unwilling to go further and without having seen the girl himself, Pascoe didn't feel able to pursue the line.

Clint began defiantly, asserting a Wild West notion of chivalry and vengeance.

'She's only a kid, isn't she? She needs protected.'

'All girls need protected, do they?'

'Decent girls do,' said Clint boldly.

'How old are you, Clint?'

'Nineteen.'

'Been around a bit?'

'What?'

'You know. Had your share? Know what I mean?'

'I do all right,’ said Clint.

'Do you really? That's interesting. Mostly slag, though?'

'What?'

'You know. Scrubbers. Old bits that you pay.'

'Not bloody likely,' said Clint hotly.

'No? Well, stuff that's there for everyone, then. There's always one or two like that around. You know, snap your fingers and it's yours.'

'Get stuffed!' exploded Clint.

'You mean, it's not just the easy stuff? You don't mean to tell me you've been making it with… decent girls?'

It was a petty triumph and Pascoe felt disgusted with himself for seeking it. Besides it was bad technique. Burkill might be provoked into talking by such an attack but all it served to do with this youngster was drive him into a surly silence.

Finally Pascoe sent both the Heppelwhites off with the warning that they would probably need to be seen again before the day was through and the threat that charges of assault were more than likely. Not that Pascoe believed this last himself. The girl's allegations would have to be closely investigated, but he couldn't see Jack Shorter doing anything which was likely to bring them into the public eye.

He caught the police surgeon just as he was leaving. Shorter had evidently been happy to be examined and treated and the doctor was able to tell Pascoe that apart from the possibility of a cracked rib, the damage was superficial. He also told him that Dalziel had just joined the dentist. Pascoe felt relieved. It removed from him the temptation to see Shorter which, perversely, Dalziel's interdict had only served to make the stronger by dint of corresponding with Pascoe's own reluctance of which he was ashamed.

Ms Lacewing appeared in the hallway.

'I've sorted out Shorter's patients,' she said.

'I bet they hardly felt a thing,' said Pascoe.

She suddenly grinned. Her own teeth were small and white and looked very sharp. They changed the whole character of her face, giving it a kind of sly sexuality which was not unexciting.

'I'm going to have some coffee. Join me,' she said.

She led him into her surgery where an electric kettle was jetting steam on to a pile of dental records.

She made their instant coffee swiftly and lay on the patient's couch with Pascoe perched gingerly alongside her on the dentist's stool.

'Are you related to Ellie Pascoe?' she asked.

'In a way,' he said. 'She's my wife. Do you know her?'

'Of her. She sounds interesting. I think we may be friends.'

It was an alliance Pascoe did not much care for the sound of.

'Who's been saying nice things about her?' he wondered.

'My uncle. He says she's an arrogant, loud- mouthed trouble-maker.'

'What?'

'Yes. That's what attracted me.'

'Who is this uncle?' demanded Pascoe hotly.

'Why? Are you going to do the knight-errant bit and thump him? I doubt it. He's Godfrey Blengdale.'

'Oh,' said Pascoe.

'Didn't you know?' she said, smiling up at him sweetly. 'In fact it's Gwen, his wife, that I'm related to. She's my mother's sister. Poor cow. I like her a lot, but she's too stupid to tell Uncle God to go jump. I was there last week when he came home from a meeting that your wife had attended also. That's when he gave her the testimonial. Do you think she'd be interested in WRAG?'

'I doubt if she needs it,' said Pascoe.

'I see,' said Ms Lacewing. 'You make up her mind for her, do you?'

'No,' said Pascoe, suddenly tired of being the second fiddle in someone else's orchestration. 'On the contrary, it's me who lets other people make up my mind. Take this business of Jack Shorter, for instance. You say you're not interested in professional solidarity, so tell me, do you think he did it?'

'What,' she replied, 'is he alleged to have done? Precisely.'

Pascoe was obliged to say he didn't know.

'Then your question's meaningless. ‘Whatever the specifics,' he protested, 'surely the notion of interference is narrow enough in itself to permit an answer.'

'A typically naive masculine point of view,' she said. 'Was she touched? Was he provoked? That's the extent of your thinking, I bet.'

'I'd like more notice of that question,' said Pascoe cautiously. 'But yes, they are important questions.'

'Reverse them. Was he touched? Was she provoked? Have you ever had a case where those questions suggested themselves to you? Suppose a strange woman pinched your bottom in a train, would you feel that a crime had been committed?'

'No. But then the sexual element's not present.'

'How do you know?'

'Well, I don't,' admitted Pascoe. 'But I wouldn't feel sexually assaulted.'

'Suppose she grabbed your privates?'

'It would depend whether the motive was to give me pain or herself pleasure.'

Ms Lacewing laughed.

'For a policeperson,' she said, 'you are not too idiotic.'

'We have mental hygienists. But let's get this straight. You seem to be saying that men are hard done to, that what for a man is a crime, for a woman is nothing at all.'

'Perhaps you are too idiotic,' she said. 'What I'm saying is that whether this poor girl has been interfered with, or imagines she's been interfered with, or wishes she'd been interfered with, or is merely pretending she's been interfered with, a crime's been perpetrated on her mind far graver than any you'll charge Jack Shorter with.'

'Bloody hell,' said Pascoe. 'You know, for a while there I thought we were speaking the same language!'

Before she could answer, Pascoe heard his name bellowed outside.

'It'll have to wait till my next appointment,' he said.

Dalziel was standing by the office door looking as if he'd been waiting for hours. Behind him Pascoe could see Shorter, who looked rather pale and had a couple of pieces of plaster on his forehead.