Child's Play (22 page)

'She seems to have spent a lot of time and presumably money on this.'

'I assumed so. The money, I mean. I have never had, or desired to have anything to do with Mrs Huby's accounts,' she said rather tartly. 'Time I know about. She spent a regular period in London and abroad each year until she had her first stroke. This was immediately after returning from a visit to Italy and thereafter she no longer went abroad. She did not trust foreign medicine. She was obsessed by the fear of finding herself in a hospital run by Catholic nuns with black doctors.'

Pascoe smiled and said, 'Yes, Mr Thackeray told me about this fear of black men. Something about black devils masquerading as Alexander. It must have been hard for you to cope with. You nursed her, I believe.'

Her face went still and pale as if at an unpleasant memory and suddenly she looked very old indeed.

'It was not always easy,' she said with little inflection.

'Will you give me a receipt for whatever you take, Inspector?'

'Of course,' he said, a little surprised.

'You see, I am after all only a custodian and in the end accountable,' she said.

Seymour entered as Pascoe was writing the receipt. His eyes lit up at the sight of the muffins and he seized one avidly.

As they left the house, Pascoe glanced at his watch and said, 'We should get to the Old Mill Inn just at opening time, Seymour. Shall I ring ahead and tell them to start buttering the teacakes?'

'No, this'll do me till supper,' grinned Seymour, licking his fingers.

'I hope you haven't got your prints all over the car,' said Pascoe. 'And talking of prints, any luck?'

'A bit,' said Seymour. 'There were a few of Miss Keech's prints on the cabinet, but a lot that weren't. And at a casual glance, these look to me just the same as the ones all over that room upstairs.'

'You reckon so? I wonder. Do ghosts leave prints, Seymour?'

'Why not?' said the red-head cheerfully. 'All them chilly fingers running up and down your spine!'

Pascoe groaned quietly and said, 'Just drive me to the Old Mill Inn.'

Chapter 6

'Shall we go up to my room, Superintendent?' asked Andrew Goodenough.

Dalziel looked at him in mild surprise.

'Got some etchings up there you want to show me?' he inquired.

'No. I just thought it would be more private.'

Dalziel glanced round the bar of the Howard Arms Hotel, taking in the plush carpet, the plusher upholstery, the rows of gleaming bottles.

He sank into one of the chairs. It was as comfortable as it looked.

'Nay, this'll do me, Mr Goodenough,' he said. 'If you feel an urge to confess to anything a bit embarrassing, I'll ask them to turn the Muzak up. We'll just look like a couple of businessmen having a chat.'

Goodenough said, in that case, perhaps you'll join me in a drink? For the sake of verisimilitude, I mean.'

'Whisky,' said Dalziel. 'Thanks.'

He noted with approval that the Scot brought doubles.

'Now, how can I help you?' said Goodenough.

'You can tell me what you're doing here, Mr Goodenough,' said Dalziel.

'You must know that or you wouldn't be wanting to talk to me,' said Goodenough.

'No. I know why you came up here in the first place. Eden Thackeray's explained all that. But he also thought you'd have gone back south by now, and at Reception they told me that in fact you were due to check out on Saturday, then you extended your stay. Why was that?'

'My business proved more complicated than I foresaw,' said Goodenough evenly.

'Oh aye?'

'I'm sure Mr Thackeray has filled you in on the details. I had people to see about pursuing my organization's claim to a share in Mrs Huby's estate.'

'These people being . . .?'

'Mr Thackeray himself, naturally. Mr John Huby of the Old Mill Inn . . .'

'Why'd you want to see him?' asked Dalziel.

'To obtain a waiver to any claims he might possibly make against the will.'

'Did he have a claim?'

'He might imagine so. The point is, he along with Mrs Stephanie Windibanks, that's the other nearest relative, could cause considerable delay if they pressed their case either separately or in unison. Also it strengthens our hand if we can say in court that no other challenges to the will are likely to be forthcoming.'

'So they've got nuisance value?'

'That's about the strength of it.'

'This Windibanks, you'll have seen her as well as Huby.'

'Yes. I saw her first in London, then again when I came up here. She's staying at this hotel, in fact.'

'Is that so?' said Dalziel, who knew very well it was so, and also that Mrs Windibanks too had extended her stay. 'Did they both agree to this waiver, then?'

'Yes, as a matter of fact, they did.'

'How much?'

'I'm sorry?'

'How much did it cost you?'

'Superintendent, I shouldn't like you to think . . .'

Dalziel interrupted him by lifting his now empty glass into the air and shouting at the barman. 'Two more of the same, sunshine!'

The barman thought of ignoring him, thought better of it, and turned to his optic.

It seemed a good example to follow.

'Five hundred,' Goodenough said. 'They each get five hundred now.'

'That sounds cheap,' said Dalziel. 'For a merry London widow and a Yorkshire publican. You said
now?"

'That's up front. If we break the will and get immediate payment they each get five per cent of the estate's current value.'

'Which is?'

'Million and a quarter to a million and a half.'

Dalziel computed.

'Jesus,' he said. 'That's a hell of a lot of nuisance!'

'It'll be worth it if we get the money. And if we don't, they don't,' said Goodenough.

'What're your chances?'

'Fair, I'd say.'

'Fairer now that Alessandro Pontelli's out of the way, I dare say. You didn't try to get him out of the way by any chance, did you, Mr Goodenough?'

A silence fell between the two men which not the Muzak, nor the chink of glasses or the tinkle of small talk, nor the more distant susurration of a large hotel at the start of a busy evening could render less silent.

'I'm not sure I understand your question,' said Goodenough finally.

'Well, it's simple enough,' said Dalziel innocently. 'You've just been telling me how much you're willing to shell out to buy off Mr Huby and Mrs Windibanks because of their nuisance value. Anyone claiming to be the actual heir would have the biggest nuisance value of all, I'd say. So I just wondered if, after Mr Thackeray told you this Pontelli fellow had been to see him, you might have tried to buy him off too. That's all. Perfectly natural, I'd say.'

'Yes, it might have been,' said Goodenough. 'Except I'd have had to know where to find him, wouldn't I?'

'That's right. I'd not thought of that,' said Dalziel ingenuously, 'It must be age creeping up. Where were you on Friday night, by the way?'

'Night. You mean evening?'

'Aye, well. Start there.'

'Well, I was across in Ilkley early on . . .'

'Ilkley. Now there's a thing. What were you doing there?'

'I went to see Mrs Laetitia Falkingham, the founder and president of Women For Empire which you will recall is the third beneficiary under Mrs Huby's will. I wanted to get her organization's accord in my plans for contesting the will.'

'And did Mrs Falkingham play ball?'

'Indirectly. Mrs Falkingham is old and frail and has handed over the reins of WFE to a young woman called Brodsworth who has full legal and executive authority.'

'Sounds important if you put it like that. What's it mean?'

'Nothing at the moment. WFE consists almost entirely, I suspect, of a very small, extremely geriatric membership. It has small funds and less influence. In short, it seems set to die with Mrs Falkingham.'

'Except . . .?'

'Except that Miss Brodsworth and her friends seem determined to keep the organization going.'

'Friends? What friends?'

'I find it hard to believe that a woman like this Miss Brodsworth would be content to channel her political energies and beliefs through an organization like WFE.'

'You sniffed an ulterior motive?'

'Very strongly. But she seemed to be legally empowered to act on behalf of WFE, so I got her signature on a document empowering PAWS to initiate proceedings on behalf of all three secondary beneficiaries.'

'You don't look to me like a man of quick judgements, Mr Goodenough,' said Dalziel.

'Thank you. I'm not. That's partly the reason I stayed on up here over the weekend. I know Eden Thackeray wasn't happy about the Brodsworth woman either and I wanted to be sure that I understood the extent of her executive power.'

'Because you were worried about the money falling into the wrong hands, or because you were bothered in case her signature mightn't be valid?'

Goodenough frowned.

'I see you're a cynic, Mr Dalziel,' he said. 'But I admit my motives were mixed.'

'And Eden Thackeray?'

'Confirmed that if the money dropped into WFE's hands tomorrow, there's very little to prevent Miss Brodsworth presenting it to the National Front or worse . . .'

'You think she would? But you've got no evidence?'

'Not yet. There was a journalist at Maldive Cottage too, however, and he's obviously interested in the woman.'

'A journalist?'

'Yes. From the
Sunday Challenger
, I think he said. Not a paper I know. Henry Vollans is the reporter's name.'

Dalziel nodded. Pascoe had told him about meeting Vollans at the Kemble party and learning from Sammy Ruddlesdin that he'd be following up the gay cop story, if story there were. It had put him in mind of seeing Watmough and Ike Ogilby having lunch at the Gents.

'So you finished your business at Ilkley. What next? Didn't go into Leeds by any chance?'

'As a matter of fact I did,' said Goodenough. 'Any reason why I shouldn't?'

Dalziel was slightly nonplussed. He'd been trying to fit Goodenough into the frame as the man calling at the Highmore Hotel in search of Pontelli, and would have preferred evasiveness.

'What took you there?'

'I had a drink with this reporter, Vollans, after I'd seen Mrs Falkingham. We got talking. By the time we'd finished it was too late to get back to the Howard Arms for dinner and he recommended a Chinese restaurant in Leeds. I'm rather partial to Chinese food . . .'

'Oh aye? So, yellow press followed by yellow nosh. I shouldn't have thought you'd have had much time for tabloid journalism, Mr Goodenough.'

'I like good publicity for PAWS whatever its source. Also I got the impression that Vollans also sniffed something not quite right about this Brodsworth creature, and I respect the power of the Press to ferret out things the individual citizen can't hope to discover.'

'Like the police,' said Dalziel. 'Did you do a deal, then?'

'We established a climate of mutual dorsal confrication,' said Goodenough.

Clever bugger, thought Dalziel malevolently. I shall have you!

Courteously he inquired, 'What time did you get back on Friday night, Mr Goodenough?'

'Oh, latish. Eleven o'clock, something like that.'

'Straight to bed?'

'Yes, that's right.'

'They don't remember you coming in at the desk,' said Dalziel gently.

'Don't they? No, now I recall, there was no one in Reception so I just helped myself to my key.'

'Oh aye? Poor service for a posh place like this.'

'It happens in the best hotels, Mr Dalziel.'

'Does it? I wouldn't know.'

Dalziel belched gently and raised his left leg to scratch his under thigh.

'Superintendent Dalziel? I thought it must be you from the description they gave me at Reception. I got your message. Mr Goodenough, how nice to see you again. Vincent, darling, my usual.'

Stephanie Windibanks sank into a chair between the two men. Elegant in a salmon pink blouse and a tartan pleated skirt, she crossed legs whose flesh was still firm enough to give a sensuous tautness to silk stockings, patted her expensively coiffured hair and smiled brilliantly at Dalziel to show perfect white teeth.