Reginald Hill - Ruling Passion

'And?'

'I told him I was a police-officer and pretended to be interested in his car. He knew the registration number, his licence and insurance were OK. I apologized and sent him on his way.'

'How far was he from the shop when he stopped?'

'Oh, about thirty, forty yards. On the other side of the road.'

He went back to Dalziel's room which was now empty, and picked up the phone. It took a little time to get connected.

'Ellie?' he said.

'Peter. You've dragged me from a lecture. What's up?'

'They won't miss you. Listen, love, has Anton Davenant been in touch with you today?'

'No. Why should he?'

'No reason. Just check, will you? See if he left a note or a message or anything.'

'Hang on.'

Dalziel came back, rubbing his hands gleefully. 'I've just had a look in at Cowley. Just an accusing glare. He's a bag of nerves. We'll crack him like a nut.'

'Yes, sir,' said Pascoe. 'Hello, love.'

'Hello,' said Ellie. 'No, nothing. What's this all about?'

'I'll tell you later.'

'You won't have time later. You'll be too busy buying me a big, vulgar ring.'

'Goodbye.'

'Did she say something about a ring?' asked Dalziel as Pascoe replaced the receiver.

Pascoe didn't answer, but stared thoughtfully at the telephone as though memorizing the number.

'Jesus Christ!' said Dalziel. 'Have I been sent to Coventry?'

'I'm sorry, sir. It's just that one of these men who were spotted in Birkham was Anton Davenant who's distantly connected with the Thornton Lacey business.'

Quickly he explained who Davenant was.

'So?' said Dalziel.

'Well, last Wednesday when the first post-Lewis appointment was noted by Etherege, Davenant was up in this part of the country. Ellie ran into him and he said it was her he was on his way to see. But it was all a bit vague.'

'Interesting,' said Dalziel. 'Now, there was a cancelled appointment for yesterday as well.'

'And yesterday,' said Pascoe, 'Davenant attended the inquest at Thornton Lacey.'

'Nice,' said Dalziel approvingly. 'Just one more coincidence, and I'll buy the whole thing. He gets around a lot, this guy?'

'Yes. It's part of his business. Hang on,' said Pascoe. 'I might just be able to give you that last coincidence.'

He picked up the telephone again and after a moment's thought dialled the local reference library.

'Clever boy,' said Dalziel when he had finished. 'Now I'll buy.'

Now I'll sell, thought Pascoe. The librarian did not have space enough to keep all the Sunday colour supplements, but because of its peculiar local interest, yes, he had kept that one.

The Observer article on Birkham in general and Etherege's antique shop in particular, published the previous autumn in glorious Technicolor, had been written by Anton Davenant.

It was a busy day and Pascoe had little opportunity to consider his future with Ellie, though from time to time his surface thoughts would be disturbed by undercurrents of commingled pleasure and unease. A rational ordering of his feelings only produced the disturbing realization that he had it in him to be a very solitary man. But whether this was a reason to marry or stay single he could not decide. Solitariness was not far removed from loneliness and this he feared. He believed he could recognize similar characteristics in Ellie, but how good a basis for marriage this common area would be he could not speculate. Equally far beyond contemplation, however, was a life without Ellie. Which is as good a definition of love as I'm likely to get in a police station, he told himself. Motives for marriage are at least as various and unexpected as motives for murder. That sounded like the kind of cold comfort Dalziel would doubtless offer!

He brought his mind back to bear upon his work. It was mainly a question of listening at the moment as everyone seemed to be in the mood for talking.

Etherege was awake and recovering.

As soon as this news reached them, Dalziel sent Pascoe to the hospital to interview him. 'I doubt if he'd talk to me,' he said.

The antique-dealer admitted cheerfully to the twelve break-ins which were laid at this door. The only regret he expressed was in breaking his pattern. He had had a job lined up in the usual way for the beginning of the week, but the people had changed their plans and stayed at home. Matthew Lewis, it turned out, had been a customer of his and had had the misfortune to mention that there would be no one at home that week to take delivery of a table Etherege was renovating for him.

'Normally I wouldn't dream of doing a customer,' said Etherege virtuously, 'but when the other thing fell through, it seemed a pity to scrap everything. The devil finds work for idle hands, you know.'

'I see. Was that why you killed him?' asked Pascoe. 'Because he recognized you?'

'Nonsense!' declared the antique-dealer. 'I was wearing a nylon stocking. I merely tapped him on the head in self-defence when he attacked me. The purest accident, I assure you.'

Pascoe didn't believe a word of it but it was not his business to decide on the nature of the charge to be brought.

'What did Davenant say when he heard you'd killed somebody?' asked Pascoe casually.

'You don't think I went about telling everybody,' protested Etherege. 'Oh dear. Was that a trap, or did you really know about Anton?'

'We knew,' asserted Pascoe. 'How did you warn him off?'

'We had a little system. I would put a rather hideous Victorian conversation piece in the side-window if all was well for a conversation. Rather clever.'

'What happened last Wednesday?'

'Oh, I couldn't face the fellow, not with the Lewis business so fresh in my mind and my partner not here to comfort me. I was deeply distressed by it all, you know. He rang later. He made an appointment for yesterday, but he cancelled that and that awful fat man came instead. Hey, it wasn't Davenant who put you on to us, was it?'

'We're not at liberty to divulge the source of information,' said Pascoe gravely. Etherege nodded as if his suspicions had been confirmed and when Pascoe left ten minutes later, he had a detailed list of every item Davenant had ever received from Etherege.

Back at the station, Dalziel was having less success than he had anticipated with Cowley and Clayton. Like Etherege they were trying to strike a balance between confessing what was undeniable and denying what was most culpable.

Cowley started with a complete denial of any knowledge of his partner's activities, but when faced with the girl's allegations, he shifted his ground rapidly and claimed instead that his complicity had merely been one of silence. Dalziel went along with this until he had squeezed every last admission possible out of the man on these terms. Then he accused him of being Archie Selkirk and laughed raucously at his denial.

'We've got men checking Lewis's cottage for fingerprints,' he said. 'Yours will be there. You couldn't keep your gloves on all the time!'

Cowley thought for a moment.

'Yes, of course,' he said. 'I've been to the cottage, so my prints might well be there.'

'You said you'd never been near the place.'

'Did I? I'm sorry, I'd forgotten.'

'I suppose while you were there, you might inadvertently have handled the legal papers concerning the land transfer from Selkirk to Mr Sturgeon?'

'Very likely. Lewis showed me some stuff, but I passed it back straightaway. I didn't want to be involved.'

'Wise man,' said Dalziel. 'Tell me, did Mrs Lewis know about the fraud?'

'She probably knew there was something going on. A business deal. Nothing more.'

'Just like you?'

'Right.'

'And the girl. Why should she be making these accusations against you?'

'To cover herself, of course. You're not altogether thick, are you? Anyway, does she say that I disguised myself as this man, what do you call him, Selkirk?'