Reginald Hill - A pinch of snuff

'Oh, Mother,' protested Charlie.

'Shut up,' she said. 'They're easy led, these two, Mister Whatever-your-name-is. I wouldn't get to see their wage packets if Bri Burkill wanted first dip.'

'That's daft talk, Betsy, love,' said Charlie.

'I thought I told you to shut up. And my glass is empty. I'll have a lager and lime this time. And don't forget to bring one for the sergeant. Keep in with the fuzz, my dad taught me.'

'I'm an Inspector,' corrected Pascoe.

'You're still only getting the one,' said Betsy Heppelwhite. Pascoe found himself warming to this formidable lady.

He waited till her husband had reluctantly gathered their glasses together and set off to the bar, then asked, 'You agree that it was a daft thing to do, then?'

'You've enough to do to fight your own battles, mister,' she said. 'That Brian Burkill always goes on like Cassius Clay, he's big enough to fight his own fights. Always has been.'

'You've known him a long time?'

'Longer than I care to remember. I was at school with Deirdre, that's Mrs Burkill. A nice lass, but soft, always soft. Well, she paid for it.'

'What do you mean?'

'Him, that's what I mean. They've been married best part of twenty years and I doubt if he's spent more than two evenings in that house.'

'Mam, you shouldn't be talking like this,' said Clint suddenly.

'Don't you tell me how I should or shouldn't talk or I'll take the back of my hand to you, big as you are!' snapped his mother. 'I'm not saying owt I haven't said a thousand times before.'

'That's the trouble,’ muttered Clint almost inaudibly, then gave a sharp cry of pain, from which Pascoe surmised that Mrs Heppelwhite had substituted the point of her shoe for the back of her hand. Angrily the boy stood up, shoving his chair back into the neighbouring table, and shambled out of the room. His mother watched him go indifferently.

'I've told him, while he lives in my house, he behaves like I want him. He's got the choice.'

'He seems to have hurt his hand,' said Pascoe.

'Aye. Came off his bike tonight. That's another thing I don't like, that bike. He'll kill himself one of these days. I don't know what these lads are coming to these days. It's the police I blame.'

With difficulty Pascoe resisted the lure of this fascinating by-road and brought her back to the main track.

'Burkill mistreats his wife, you say?'

'He doesn't thump her, if that's what you're getting at. Not enough to bother her, any road. It's just that he spends every night here. Always has.'

'You're here,' observed Pascoe.

'Couple of nights a week maybe. And we arrive together at a decent time, have a couple of drinks, then off. Bri's first in, last out. Even if Deirdre comes, she never sees him, he's so bloody important.

‘Is she here tonight?'

'No. She usually sits with us if she does.'

'I suppose Sandra's too young to come?'

Mrs Heppelwhite's formidable lips tightened significantly.

'Aye. By her birth certificate.'

'What's that mean?'

'Haven't you seen her? She could pass for five-and-twenty, that lass. And does. I've seen her. I hardly recognized her once a few months back. She had more paint on her than our front door.'

'Does Mrs Burkill permit this?'

'Of course she doesn't, but kids these days! She'll have it in her handbag or hidden somewhere outside. Once she's away from the house, out it comes and on it goes. I'd have flayed her back for her if she'd been mine.'

'And Mrs Burkill?'

'Spoke to her. Didn't dare tell Bri. That's one thing he's some use for. He'd have knocked seven bells out of her.'

'He doesn't seem to have touched her after this recent business,' observed Pascoe.

'No. He had someone else to thump there, didn't he? And he got my two men mixed up in it too. All for that little madam. I'll tell you what,' she added emphatically. 'Mebbe I shouldn't say it, but if that poor sod of a dentist did touch her, it wouldn't be without encouragement.'

'I'm afraid that won't help him much in court, Mrs Heppelwhite,' said Pascoe.

'No. No doubt she'll turn up in her old school clothes looking the picture of innocence. Well, them's the risks these rich buggers have got to take for their money. Not that I care. But I feel sorry for his wife, that's all. It's always the woman who suffers!'

Storing this in his collection of unanswerable assertions somewhere between God is Good and There's No Place Like Home, Pascoe waited just long enough to say 'cheers' to Heppelwhite on his lager-laden return, then retreated to the bar. Wield and Hope were in close conversation with Burkill near by.

'Collecting evidence, are you?' said Burkill. 'What about Shorter? Has that bastard been arrested yet?'

'I'm not in charge of the case, Mr Burkill. Remember, you were rather insistent that I shouldn't be.'

'Mr Dalziel will see me right, Inspector,' averred Burkill. 'He doesn't much care for this kind of thing.'

'I think we may all trust Mr Dalziel. What about your lass?'

'What the hell do you mean?'

Pascoe realized that his sentence juxtaposition had led him into trouble. He made haste to pour oil, knowing it would do no one any good if he had to arrest Burkill for assault.

'I meant, what happens to her now. Is she going to have the baby or…'

'Abortion, you mean,' said Burkill, subsiding. 'I don’t know. We haven't really talked about it. You can get that done, can you? I mean, officially?'

'Oh yes. In a case like this, young girl and everything, there's no problem. Look, would you like someone to come round to talk it over with you and your wife, and Sandra too, of course.'

'Police, you mean.'

'No, I don't mean police. Someone from the social services. I know the man in charge there. Of course, you could ring him yourself, I just thought it might be easier if I put you in contact.'

'Another of your mates,' sneered Burkill. 'Official snouts.'

'Oh go and get fucked,' said Pascoe wearily and turned away. Wield was at his elbow.

'You ready for off, Sergeant?'

'Yes, sir. You haven't forgotten our car's back at the Branderdyke?'

'Oh Christ. Well, I'm certainly not asking Johnny Hope for a lift back!' said Pascoe. 'I'll treat us to a taxi.'

As they made for the door, Burkill grasped his arm.

'Look, I'm sorry,' he said. 'We need to talk to someone about Sandra. Could you get in touch with this chap for us?'

'All right,' said Pascoe. 'I'll ring him tomorrow.'

Outside as they walked through driving rain not even Wield's news that according to Johnny Hope Haggard had been promised the running of Godfrey Blengdale's new Country Club at Holm Coultram College could dislodge from Pascoe's mind the hopeless longing to be in a job, and in a part of the world, where kindness was not met with suspicion, and love and taxis filled the sunlit streets.

'What,' said Ellie, looking incredibly fetching propped up against the kitchen door with uncombed hair and face still puffy with sleep, 'the hell are you doing at this hour in the morning?'

Pascoe paused in mid-cornflake to look at his watch. It was five forty-five.

'I'm sorry. Did I wake you?'

'Yes. I just thought you'd gone off for your fifteenth pee. Why don't you drink Scotch?'

'I don't know. I don't really want anything and in these places when you don't really want anything, they give you beer. I thought I told you last night I'd be up at the crack.'

'Maybe you did. I was tired, you were incoherent. God, it's cold.'

'It's not surprising. I saw a stripper last night who ended up with more on than you.'

'If it bothers you,' said Ellie retreating into the hall and reappearing wearing his oldest raincoat.

It changed her from Titian Venus to Central European refugee.