Reginald Hill: Ruling Passion

'Sorry to take so long. You must have thought I'd be first on the spot, living on the doorstep so to speak. But I was half-way round the golf-course with Culpepper here. Dreadful business, this. Dreadful. You'd better tell me what I need to know.'

Culpepper, thought Pascoe, as Backhouse and the coroner moved back into the cottage together. The committee secretary – Marianne Culpepper. Her husband?

The man spoke to him and his words seemed to confirm this. His eyes were taking everything in. Despite his air of quiet authority, he felt a need to explain himself.

'Excuse me, could you… You are with the police, I'm right?'

'Pascoe, sir. Sergeant Pascoe,’

'It's not just morbid curiosity that brings me here, Sergeant. I live close by. I knew these people, the Hopkinses, I mean. When Mr French told me why he had to come back, I couldn't believe it.'

He fell silent.

'How close do you live, sir?' asked Pascoe. It was easier to fall into the policeman role than explain his true position.

'About half a mile. Round the side of the hill.' He gestured vaguely towards the rising ground which lay to the south of the village.

'What happened here, Sergeant? Is it true they are all dead?'

'Mrs Hopkins is dead, sir,' said Pascoe evenly. 'And Mr Mansfield and Mr Rushworth, two guests who were spending the night with them.'

'Oh, my God. What about Colin, Mr Hopkins? And the other guests?'

'Other guests?' said Pascoe sharply.

'Yes. I ran into Mrs Hopkins in the village yesterday evening when I got back from the office. About five o'clock. It seems impossible. .. anyway, I asked them round for a drink tonight, but she explained they would have a houseful of guests. Four, she said. At least.'

It had been five-thirty when Pascoe had rung to say he and Ellie couldn't make it that evening. If only that case hadn't come up… or Dalziel hadn't insisted… another two made the odds very strong against anyone trying anything with a double-barrelled shotgun. What an adaptable thing blame was; so easy to shift or attract.

'Had you known Mr and Mrs Hopkins long, sir?' asked Pascoe, evading the question about the guests.

'Not long. Two or three months only, since they bought Brookside, in fact. They have worked so hard on it. The place was not in a good state of repair when they acquired it, you know. And they did wonders, wonders.'

He tailed off into silence.

'Mr Pelman sold them the cottage, I believe,' said Pascoe.

'That's right.'

Something in his tone made Pascoe pursue this line.

'Did he live here himself before he sold the place?'

Culpepper smiled without much humour.

'No. The cottage stands at the boundary of the land he bought when he came here five years ago. His house is the other side of the woods, his woods. That's what he really wanted, of course. A place where he could pit his wits against the intelligence of various small beasts and birds. A most uneven contest, I fear.'

Am I supposed to be too thick to get the double irony? wondered Pascoe.

'It's strange, isn't it, that the chairman of the Village Amenities Committee should let such a property fall into disrepair?' murmured Pascoe.

Culpepper raised his eyebrows at him.

'You glean your information fast, Sergeant.'

'We spend our working life amidst the alien corn, sir.'

Culpepper suddenly nodded twice, as though something had been confirmed.

'You're the Hopkinses' policeman friend, aren't you? One of their week-end guests.'

Clever Mr Culpepper.

'Yes. I am. How did you know?'

'Mrs Hopkins, Rose, said something about you, when we talked yesterday.'

So I was an object of interest, worth a special mention. Like a literary lion. Or a two-headed man. What now, Mr Culpepper? wondered Pascoe. Indignation at my mild deceit?

'I'm sorry. I didn't realize. This must be an unbearable situation for you,' said Culpepper with apparently unforced sympathy. 'Were you here when it happened?'

'No,' said Pascoe shortly. 'I found them this morning when we arrived.'

'How terrible. You say we?'

'A friend. She's resting now. It was a shock.'

'Terrible. Terrible. Such things are a puzzle and a torment to the mind.'

Backhouse and French appeared.

'Are you ready, Hartley?' called the coroner. 'Two-thirty this afternoon then, Superintendent. I hope you find your man quickly.'

He looked sideways at Pascoe and shook his head slightly, but didn't speak. Culpepper held out his hand.

'Goodbye, Mr Pascoe. I'm sorry we had to meet in such circumstances. Your friends were delightful people to have in the village. We counted ourselves lucky that they came here.'

Pascoe shook his hand. There was nothing to say in reply except perhaps that Rose would scarcely have counted herself lucky in coming here; nor Colin, wherever he was.

That was the only thing really worth talking about. Where Colin was. And why. Backhouse must be ready to get round to it now.

He was. French and Culpepper had scarcely disappeared from the garden before Backhouse asked the big question.

'You've had time for reflection now, Sergeant. So tell me. Why should a man like Colin Hopkins take a shotgun" and kill his wife and two close friends?'

He had been expecting the question and had felt reserves of angry indignation building up inside him, ready to explode when it was asked. But for some reason the spark did not catch.

'We don't know he did,' he protested weakly.

'You're a policeman,' answered Backhouse. 'Suppose this were your case. What assumption would you be working on?'

'It's all circumstantial. If you knew Colin, you'd know that it's just impossible.'

'I've encountered quite a few murderers,' said Backhouse patiently. 'I dare say you've met one or two yourself. One thing they nearly all had in common was a handful of close friends willing to attest with the most vehement sincerity that the accused was quite incapable of such a crime. Am I right?'

'I suppose so.'

'Good. In any case, as you told me before, a few years can change things. Situations certainly. People as well, though to a lesser extent. So tell me what you know, what you remember. Is he a quick-tempered man?'

'What the hell does it matter?' said Pascoe. If he was going to be questioned as an ordinary witness, he would assume some of the privileges of an ordinary witness. Such as the unnecessity of politeness towards questioning policemen.

'You're going after him anyway. You'll track him down, question him. If there's enough evidence, you'll put him in court. So why waste time talking to me?'

'You know why, Sergeant,' said Backhouse coldly. 'Of course we're going after him. And of course my men – your colleagues – will assume it's very likely he has committed a triple murder. They'll also assume he has a double-barrelled shotgun which he is willing to use. I want information, all the information I can get. I want to know the best way of dealing with him, which way he's likely to jump. I thought I was lucky when I learnt you were in the force. A professional first on the scene. It was your bad luck. I thought it was my good luck.'

'Every point taken,' said Pascoe with tight-lipped emphasis. 'Only, I cannot believe that he did it.'

'Fair enough. Then why so antagonistic? Tell me things to prove his innocence. Was he a jealous man, do you think? Would his wife give him cause?'

'Unlikely,' said Pascoe with a frown. 'At least they seemed set up for life. Ask Ellie, Miss Soper. She's seen them much more recently. But we've talked a lot about them and she would certainly have mentioned any signs of a rift.'

'There were two single men in the house last night,' said Backhouse casually. 'Old friends. Going back to before she married.'