Reginald Hill - An April Shroud

'Once a month, six weeks at the outside,' said Papworth cautiously.

'And you drove him back and screwed Mrs Greave. That'd make between eight and twelve jumps you had with her last year. Enough to give you a taste for it?'

'I didn't count,' said Papworth. 'Does it give you a thrill, these questions?'

'No. No,' said Dalziel thoughtfully. 'I was just thinking how advanced the prison service in Liverpool must be. Nowt like it in Yorkshire, I tell you, else there's some would be queuing up.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean Annie Greave spent eight months last year in gaol, that's what I mean. And if you were getting on board each time you drove bouncing Bertie back home, then you must have real influence. Yes indeed.'

It was, of course, a lie. Criminals lied all the time and Dalziel saw no reason why this useful privilege should be reserved for them alone.

Of course, all Papworth had to do was say you must be daft! and indeed the man was looking at him with what might be honest puzzlement as he rolled another of his revolting cigarettes.

'Well?' prompted Dalziel.

The door burst open and Bertie Fielding entered.

'Hello, Pappy,' he said. 'I've been looking for you. Ah, you're here, Dalziel. That's useful. It'll save ringing up Cross.'

'We're having a private conversation,' growled Dalziel. 'Do you mind?'

‘In your house with your employees, you can have all the private conversations you wish,' said Bertie. He was feeling confident enough to say it as a joke rather than make it as nasty as he was capable of, observed Dalziel.

'Pappy, now the water's going down, we really ought to start cleaning up the bottom bit of the lawn. The flood's left an awful mess. I've got Hank out there earning his keep, but we need your expertise.'

'Right,' said Papworth. 'I'll come now.'

'Hold on!' said Dalziel. 'I'm not finished with you yet.'

‘Is this some kind of official interrogation?' enquired Bertie. 'What's it all about, Pappy?'

'He's asking me about Mrs Greave. Something about some missing stuff.'

Bertie laughed. The sight of his soft fleshiness gently shaking filled Dalziel with revulsion. At least at his age I was nothing but bone and muscle, he thought.

‘Is that it? Well, consider your constabulary duty done, Mr Dalziel, sir. That's what I was going to ring Sergeant Cross about. It's all been a mistake.'

'What?'

'A mistake. Look, it's a bit complicated, but what it boils down to is this. There's nothing missing.'

'What?'

'That's the long and short of it, I'm afraid. I've done a careful check this morning and in fact all the missing stuff can be accounted for. The booze has been stored elsewhere. It's silly, really.'

'And you didn't know?' demanded Dalziel.

'Not in the least. Not till this morning.'

'And who was it that altered your arrangements without letting you know? And why didn't he or she speak up last night?'

'Well, that would have been a bit difficult,' said Bertie, grinning broadly, it was my late father, God bless him. Who else?'

'So now you've tracked the drink down? And the ovens? Had he fiddled with them too?'

'Oh yes,' said Bertie. 'Security. Very distrustful man was my father.'

It was of course unanswerable. And even though Dalziel had forecast this turn of events to Balderstone that morning, he felt angrily frustrated.

'You can see for yourself if you like,' offered Bertie.

'No thanks,' said Dalziel to whom another thought had occurred. Was this why he had been steered away from the house that morning?

'So come on, Pappy,' said Bertie. 'Mr Dalziel doesn't need to question you any more. Do you, Superintendent?'

Dalziel hesitated. Now would be a dramatic time to reveal that Annie Greave was dead. If he were in charge of the case and could have followed up his revelation by getting Papworth and Bertie into a nice neutral interview room for the next couple of hours, he wouldn't have hesitated. But it wasn't up to him. In any case, as he had stated to Balderstone, his ambiguous position in this house was a positive advantage. Once launch into a full scale interrogation and he would have stepped outside the wagon ring and joined the other redskins whooping around in the darkness.

He decided to compromise.

'Don't forget,' he said to Bertie, it wasn't just a nonexistent theft we had here last night. A man got drowned.'

'What's that to do with me?' demanded Papworth.

'Depends what time you left the house last night and where you went,' said Dalziel. 'You might have seen him on the road.'

Papworth considered for a moment.

'No,' he said. 'I saw nothing. I've no time to gawp at passers-by.'

'That's a little bit vague,' said Dalziel. 'Let's see if we can help you. What time did you leave the house?'

'Latish. I'm not a man for clocks,' said Papworth.

'All right,' said Dalziel understandingly. 'Let's try the other end. Where'd you go and what time did you get there?'

'Well,' said Papworth. 'I had a wet in the village.'

'In the Green Man?' said Dalziel. 'But you were away all night, Mr Papworth. Don't the pubs around here ever close?'

'Not so you'd notice,' said Papworth, standing up and making for the door. 'I'd best be getting to work.'

Bertie stood aside to let him by, but Dalziel blocked his path.

'You're not telling me you were boozing all night,' he said incredulously.

Pappy grinned slyly.

'Not all night,' he said. 'These are long nights for a country woman if her man's away. They like a bit of company. You ought to try it, Mr Dalziel. Have another look round my room if you want to.'

He squeezed past Dalziel and went out. Bertie followed and closed the door behind him, leaving Dalziel in the fuggy room.

Dalziel wrinkled his nose in distaste as he considered what the man had said. With typical economy he found a word to cover both experiences.

'Chickenshit,' he said.

As Dalziel began to climb the stairs, Tillotson appeared on the landing and stood there looking down at him like a young hero ready to oppose the rising of the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

'You got him to bed?' asked Dalziel.

'Yes. He woke up a bit and started to sing.'

'That's bad. Has he got a bucket?'

'Sorry?'

'A jerry. A piss pot. Something to spew into. When they wake up and start singing it usually means they'll be honking their rings eventually.'

'You're jolly expert,' said Tillotson.

'I should be. I've bedded plenty of drunks in my time.'

'An interesting taste,' said Tillotson. 'Mrs Fielding was asking whether you were back. She's in her room and would like to see you.'

'Right,' said Dalziel. 'I won't be a moment. You going out to help tidy up?'

'What for?'

'Well, after the flood. Make the place look nice and please the customers. You ought to be protecting your investment, son. How are the builders getting on?'

'Oh, pretty well, I suppose.'

'Good. It looks as if you were right after all,' said Dalziel heartily. 'The place'll open on time.'

Tillotson shrugged.

'I suppose so,' he said and made his way downstairs looking disconsolate. What's up with him? wondered Dalziel. Another row with Louisa or is he just unhappy about all those lovely birds they won't let him shoot?

He put the youth out of his mind and proceeded quietly upstairs. The interview with Bonnie would have to wait a while longer. There was something else to do first. While everything he knew pointed in one direction, it was always best to cross check thoroughly.

Uniffs studio was in darkness and it took him a moment or two to find the light switch. The blinds were down over the windows, double and tight fitting to exclude all daylight. Uniff must have been working in here recently.