Death's Jest-Book (24 page)

'Later maybe. He yelled all the
way across then went out like a light when we landed, so I'll let
sleeping dogs lie as long as he stays that way.'

She climbed in and made soothing
clucking noises into the papoose hood while Young put the cases in
the boot.

'Husband not with you this trip?'
he said over his shoulder as he drove slowly and carefully through
the morning traffic building up around Manchester.

'Partner. He's coming on later. I
wanted to get here early and have some time with my brother, show him
his nephew, they've not met yet.'

‘That'll be nice’ he
said.

There was a little more desultory
conversation, but when the car left the suburbs behind and began to
climb eastwards over the Pennines, Young saw in his mirror that the
woman's eyes had closed, so he stopped talking and concentrated on
driving through a mist which grew thicker as they got higher. After
about twenty minutes he turned the car gently down a side road
without disturbing his passenger, and some minutes later turned again
along a narrow rutted track which the Merc's suspension negotiated
without causing more than a restless shifting.

Finally he brought the car to a
halt before a low stone-built farmhouse whose tiny windows, too small
to admit a sufficiency of daylight in good weather and useless in
these murky conditions, were ablaze with light.

The cessation of movement woke
the woman.

She yawned, peered out of the
window and said, 'Where are we?'

'Here’ said Young vaguely.
He picked up the car phone, pressed some buttons, listened then
handed it to her, saying, Thought you might like a word with your
brother.'

'Oz?' she said into the
mouthpiece.

'Meg? That you? Are you OK? Where
are you?'

'I'm fine. Not sure where I am
though, looks like a scene from a horror movie. Where did you say we
were, Sergeant?'

'One of our safe houses’ he
said.

'A safe house? I thought we were
heading straight for home.'

'Well we are, but not quite
straight. Few hours here till the committal proceedings are over,
then we'll be on our way. It's OK, Mr Carnwath knows all about it,
ask him.'

'Oz,' she said into the phone,
'Sergeant Young says I've got to stay here, wherever here is, some
safe house, till the proceedings are over. He says you know about
it.'

There was a pause then Oz
Carnwath said, 'That's right, Sis. You sit tight till this thing's
finished. It won't take long.'

If you say so, Bro. You're OK,
are you?'

'Oh yes, I'm being well looked
after.'

She handed the phone back to
Young. The farm door opened and another man came out and walked
towards them, a slightly menacing figure silhouetted against the
rectangle of orange light. She tried to open the car door, but found
she couldn't move the handle.

Young said, 'Sorry. Force of
habit,' and pressed the lock release.

The new man held open the car
door for her. He was young, leather jacketed, with the bold eyes and
leering smile of one who imagines himself irresistible to women.

'Get the luggage, Constable,'
said Young.

'Luggage? I'm going to be here
long enough to need luggage?'

'Stuff for the baby, maybe. He's
very good. Wish I could say the same for mine.'

'You've got children, Sergeant?
How many?'

'Two. For God's sake, be careful,
Mick.'

The leather-jacketed man had
opened the boot and begun to lift out the cases. As he swung them
over the boot's lip, one of them burst open, spilling its contents to
the ground. His leering smile vanished to be replaced with the uneasy
perplexity of a cabinet minister faced by an ethical policy.

On the ground lay three telephone
directories, a Tesco bag full of stones, and a grey blanket clearly
marked as the property of Mid-Yorkshire Constabulary.

The woman undipped her papoose
basket, and tossed it to Young, saying, 'Look after baby, will you?'

He wasn't ready for it. It
bounced off his hands and turned upside down and only a desperate
panic-driven lunge got it into his grasp a few inches from the
ground. From inside came a piercing wail of 'Mummy!'

Young looked up in shock to
discover the woman was paying no attention to him.

From her pocket she'd taken a
small aerosol tube. She was pointing it at leather jacket and giving
him a quick squirt. He fell back, cursing and clawing at his face.
Young began to rise. The spray turned in his direction. He raised the
papoose basket in an effort to protect himself but it was too late.
The fine jet hit him right in the eyes. As he twisted away crying out
in pain, a plastic doll fell out of the basket, squeaking, 'Mummy!'

The woman picked up the doll and
spoke to it.

'Novello here,' she said. 'Think
you can come and clear up now.'

Peter
Pascoe watched with interest as Oz Carnwath gave his evidence that
afternoon, but it wasn't the witness's face he watched, nor that of
the accused, though it might have been entertaining to see his cocky
anticipation turn to shocked incredulity as instead of the expected
hesitations and uncertainties, he heard firm and confident
affirmations that he, Liam Linford, had driven his Lamborghini out of
the car park on the night in question.

It was Linford Senior, sitting in
the body of the court, that Pascoe watched. His expression of barely
contained fury did more for Pascoe's festive feelings than any number
of Christmas cards. Marcus Belchamber did all his considerable best
to dent Carnwath's certainties, but hardly left a smudge let alone a
scratch on them. It came as no surprise to anyone when the presiding
magistrate committed Linford Junior for trial in the Crown Court in
February. But the journalists present pricked up their ears when,
after Belchamber's application for bail had been heard, the
prosecuting lawyer stood up to oppose it on the grounds that there
had been a serious attempt to interfere with a witness. The
magistrate required a full report as soon as possible and ordered
Liam Linford to be remanded in custody till she got it. Wally Linford
proved harder to lay a finger on. Taken in for questioning as he left
the court, he had Belchamber by his side from the start, and simply
denied any knowledge of the plan to kidnap Meg Carnwath. The two
false policemen and the other two men who had intercepted Oz on his
way to Manchester Airport also denied any connection with Wally, but
claimed they were old acquaintances of Liam who had been overcome by
indignation at what looked like a potential injustice. They had
certainly been well schooled as nothing on the recording from the
wire Oz had worn, or from Shirley Novello's, actually constituted a
direct threat. Belchamber, after studying the account of what had
happened to Novello, offered as his opinion that if he were advising
the false police officers - which of course he had no reason even to
contemplate doing -he would probably suggest an action against the
WDC for assault. In the meantime, if they had nothing more to ask his
client, he thought it best to bring the interview to a close.

Pascoe switched off the recording
machine and said, 'Something you should understand, Wally. You've
tried to fix Oz Carnwath and failed. His evidence is on record. Your
attempt is on record. Anything else that happens to that lad,
threats, accidents, even dirty looks, will be noted and reported and
investigated. And I'll make sure every bugger connected with this
case from the judge to the jury knows about it and believes it's down
to Liam direct. And I reckon that will mean years on his sentence.
Ask Mr Belchamber here if you don't believe me.'

Belchamber pursed his lips and
said, 'This is a conversation I shall of course need to report to
your superiors and the GPS, Chief Inspector.'

'What conversation, Mr
Belchamber? I heard no conversation. You hear any conversation,
Constable Novello? Sergeant Wield?'

His colleagues shook their heads.

'There you are. Three to two. In
a democracy, we must be right. So watch it, Wally. After all your
big-time stunts, it would be a shame to go down for a domestic,
wouldn't it?'

After the lawyer and his client
had left, Novello said admiringly, 'Nice one, sir. That made the
bastards squirm. Real hairy-chested stuff.'

It was a genuine compliment.
Novello liked her men muscular and hairy. The willowy Pascoe-type did
nothing for her.

'Not the point,' said Pascoe
wearily. I just wanted to warn them off Oz and his family. And
talking of hairy chests, that trick of yours with the CS-spray, I've
written it up as reaction to direct and sudden threat, which is the
only way to justify it when you hadn't told them you were a police
officer and issued a warning. The only true words Belchamber spoke
were when he said they could be entitled to bring an action against
you. What were you thinking of? You didn't even try to sound
threatened on the tape!'

'Well, I felt it. And it wasn't
my fault the case burst open,' protested Novello.

'Fault doesn't come into it. Cop
on the spot gets the glory and the crap. All we've got is a couple of
guys impersonating police officers. No threats, no holding against
your will, no direct link with either Linford. I'm very doubtful
we'll have enough to persuade the beak to turn down Belchamber when
he requests a review of the remand in custody order. So we'll have
Liam out and about, all down to you, Novello. Take heed. You've been
backed up once. Don't expect it again.'

With the blank expression which
conceals high dudgeon, Novello left.

'Was I too hard, Wieldy?'

'On Linford and Belchamber? Not
enough. On Novello? Just about right.'

‘Thanks. So, this informant
of yours came up trumps. Looks like you've got yourself a winner
there. Better sign him up official, quick as you can.'

'Not interested,' said Wield.

'Who? Him or you?'

'Him, of course,' said Wield,
meeting Pascoe's eyes straight on.

'Fine. But be careful.'

It was conventional CID wisdom
that there was no such thing as a free tip-off.

'Yeah. So we'll be taking this
Praesidium thing a bit more seriously now?'

'I expect so. Let's go and see
the Mighty Kong.'

'OK. But, Pete’

'Yes?'

'I'd like to keep in the
background on this one. I mean, sitting in on the interview with
Linford's one thing, but I don't think I should be in the front line
if we set up an op on the Praesidium tip.'

'You think it might help someone
make a connection between your informant and us if it looks like
you're calling the shots here?'

'It's possible.'

'OK. No problem. You'll miss out
on the glory though. Could tell against you when you're on the
short-list for Commissioner.'

'It's a risk I'll just have to
take,' said Wield.

In
the criminal's Advent calendar, each window opens on a new
opportunity.

Huge truckloads of consumer
desirables I crowd the road en route for city centres. Shop shelves
groan with goodies. The malls are packed with shoppers whose purses
are packed with cash. The tills ring merrily all day and much of the
night and large sums of money have to be transferred with
forecastable regularity to the banks. The average house soon has
several hundred pounds' worth of easily portable presents 'hidden' in
the garage or the cupboard under the stairs. In the non-average
house, their value might run into thousands. The party season starts,
at home and in the workplace. The provident smuggler is ready to
supply the huge appetite for cheap booze and fags, while the happy
toper is morally susceptible to a whole range of no-questions-asked
deals and physically susceptible to anyone who fancies his wallet. To
an ambitious policeman, keen to pack his CV with collars felt and
cases solved, Advent windows also open upon golden opportunity. Here
is the devil's plenty. Here is the year's late harvest. The art is to
recognize what's ripe for reaping and what's going to prove
indigestible, and with resources stretched to the limit, there is
little time for careful consideration. So Pascoe found he had all the
encouragement in the world to pursue his resolve to put Franny Roote
out of his mind and get on with the job of making sure the better
part of Mid-Yorkshire had a happy and crime-free Christmas.

But God's a merry fellow who once
He has set a jest in train doesn't care to see its object drift off
the pre-ordained path.

After the accuracy of Wield's
information in the Linford case, it had been decided to take the
Praesidium tip seriously. This didn't mean they could offer blanket
coverage, but everyone agreed with the sergeant's assessment that the
small firms wages delivery was the most likely target, so that's what
they focused on. When told of Wield's desire to keep in the
background to protect his snout, Dalziel had taken a deep breath,
raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, giving the effect of a
monkfish that had just swallowed an electric eel, but he hadn't
argued, and it was Pascoe who found himself put in charge.

Thanks, Pete,' Wield .said. 'Not
that it should cause you much bother. My estimate is they'll hit it
early while it's still carrying most of the cash and you'll have the
rest of the day to do the paperwork and still be home in time for a
late tea.'

Of course it hadn't worked out
like that.

The DCI and his team had crawled
along the narrow country roads after the van all morning, their
hearts sinking with each delivery, for they knew that as the money
went down, so did their chances of getting a result. A less
conscientious officer might have called things off with a couple of
calls still remaining. The villains would not only have to be
unambitious, they'd need to be downright stupid to risk hitting the
van with a prospective share-out of only a few hundred pounds. But
Pascoe had stuck it out to the bitter end. Only when :he last drop
had been made on the northernmost boundary of his patch did Pascoe
say to his dispirited men, 'Right, that does it. Let's go home.'