Death's Jest-Book (56 page)

Readers of some previous
pieces of mine on Roman Yorkshire may recall that on one occasion I
traced my own ancestry back, reasonably legitimately, to the
fifteenth century and then, rather more fancifully, to Marcus
Bellisarius, an official of the Provincial Governor's commissariat,
briefly mentioned by Tacitus. Now when I was permitted to hold the
serpent coronet (or Cartimandua 's Crown as the Victorians mistakenly
dubbed it) I must confess to feeling a thrill at my contact with the
smooth twists and folds of gold that seemed more than just the
natural pleasure of an amateur of ancient history. The thought popped
into my mind: suppose the collector of these wonderful things was in
fact my putative ancestor Marcus Bellisarius?

Suppose the serpent coronet
came to him as part of the dot of the Brigantian princess that he
married (such alliances were not uncommon in the older Romano-British
families), and suppose that, though the Hoard was lost beyond recall
in flight from God knows what peril, he or his children survived and
flourished and founded the family of which this undeserving scion,
sixteen centuries later, was permitted to hold this symbol of that
union?

Then someone took the coronet
from me and I was back in the world of reality.

'Two snakes intertwined. Good
symbol for the Belchamber family’ said Pascoe.

'You see how completely obsessed
he seems to be with the Hoard and in particular the coronet?' said
Wield. 'So it's no surprise to find him really pissed off when he
hears it's going to America. Here's the second article, the one that
got Edwin going.'

Pascoe scanned it quickly. In
measured prose whose orotundity did not disguise real feeling, it
expressed huge indignation that a weak and time-serving government
should allow such treasures as these to leave the country. It
concluded:

My professional work brings me
in contact with all sorts and conditions of men who have committed
all sorts and conditions of crime, but rarely have I confronted an
action as criminal as this. As a lawyer I must take care how I
describe the family who propose it and the politicians who permit it,
but I will say that, though of course I subscribe to that basic tenet
of our legal system that every accused is entitled to a defence, I
think that I personally would draw the line at defending such as
these.

That's really telling them’
said Pascoe. 'It certainly is. Which makes it odd that he's made it
up with the Elsecars since then. Giving lectures and helping them
arrange this tour’

'The aim of which is to help
raise enough money to keep it here’ said Pascoe. 'Which is what
he wants’

'Oh aye. That's what he wants
right enough’ said Wield. 'But anyone who can add up knows
there's not a cat in hell's chance of making enough from admission
fees to get anywhere near the Yanks' price’

Pascoe hid a smile, recognizing
that what he was now alleging everyone knew the sergeant had probably
not even thought of until a couple of hours ago.

He said, 'So what you're saying
is, the reason Belchamber threw his weight behind this tour is
because he wants the Hoard out in the open where he can get his hands
on it? That's a big leap, Wieldy. This is Belchamber we're talking
about, the guy who doesn't fart without studying precedent’

'Guy gets an obsession, he'll do
anything’ said Wield a little pointedly. 'And he's an arrogant
bastard, that's clear. Put the feeling you get in both those pieces
with his change of heart, then add what Lee overheard

'You could be right, Wieldy. If
so ... Look, has Lubanski told you everything, do you think? Or is he
holding something back to get more Brownie points from you later?'

'I think he's told me everything’
said Wield, his worries reawoken by mention of Lee's name. 'You know
that Belchamber's here?'

'Yeah. I met him outside, brought
him in. We had a nice chat, but I don't think he's forgiven me for
what I said to him after young Linford's committal. Seems he's
representing some guy Uniformed just brought in on a smuggling
illegals charge.'

'I know. Asif. He runs Turk's
caff. I was there when they nicked him.'

'You mean, with Lubanski?'

'Yeah.'

Pascoe digested this, saw the
worry in Wield's eyes, guessed its source.

'Ah. But this Asif doesn't know
you're a cop, I presume?'

'Didn't till Hector opened that
great gob of his. Yon bugger's not fit to be let out!'

It was rare that Wield expressed
his opinion of a fellow policeman so forcibly.

'But is there anything to make
you think Asif might know of the link between Lubanski and
Belchamber? Not likely, is it?'

The phone rang. Pascoe ignored
it. Sorting Wield was his priority at the moment.

Not that Wield looked ready to be
sorted.

'You know as well as I do, Pete,
that a lot of stuff we have to pay good money for can be common
knowledge if you move in the right circles. Lee knew Turk was into
smuggling illegals, for instance. No, he didn't give me a tip, it was
just a joke he made that I took no notice of. He assumed everyone
knew! Pete, just now you said you met Belchamber and escorted him in.
But I saw him a few minutes ago in the car park . . .'

Pascoe picked up his phone and
spoke briefly to the desk sergeant.

Putting the receiver down he
said, 'Yes. They're waiting for some hotshot to arrive from
Immigration. Belchamber had a couple of minutes alone with Asif then
came out. Seems he'd left something in the car. Went out for it, came
back. That's when you must have seen him.'

Wield digested this, didn't care
for the flavour.

The bastard was on his car phone.
Shit, I don't like this.'

Pascoe, concerned to see his
usually phlegmatic friend so agitated, said, 'Come on, Wieldy. Don't
make something out of nothing. What do -you think happened down there
in the cells? Asif said to Belchamber, "Oh, by the way, putting
aside my natural concern that I am in deep shit here banged up on
suspicion of a serious offence which is why I called you, thought you
might like to know I've seen that kid who sucks your dick cosying up
to a cop in my caff a few times." Then the Belch takes off to
his car and rings some hardmen he knows and says, "I'd like to
fix up a hit on Lee Lubanski, action immediate." Is that what
you're thinking, Wieldy?'

If he'd thought to mock the
sergeant out of his concern, he'd miscalculated.

'You're a mind-reader, Pete,'
said Wield savagely. Tell me why I'm wrong.'

'Because this is Mid-Yorkshire,
not the Mid-west. Because a guy like Belchamber might not be too
chary about the way he makes his money, but the civilized,
respectable face he shows is more than just a face. He may do a lot
of things, but I doubt he's capable of having another human being
killed!'

'Pete, you're missing the point.
Men who use boys the way Belchamber uses Lee don't think of them as
human beings. They're toys. That's how he feels able to carry on
talking about his business on the phone with Lee there. He's
negligible. He has a function and outside that function he doesn't
exist. And if it turns out he does, then all that that means is this
particular toy is broken, so you throw it away and get a new one!'

Wield's voice had climbed close
to shouting level by the time he finished and Pascoe was staring at
him in alarm when Dalziel's voice boomed from the doorway.

'What's all this then? Lovers'
tiff? Have some consideration, eh? There's folk trying to sleep in
this building.'

Quickly Pascoe explained.

The Fat Man listened intently
then said, 'So what are you hanging around here for, Wieldy? Go and
find the lad. Offer him protection, and if he don't want protected,
put him in protective custody and bring him in. Off you go,
chop-chop.'

Wield didn't hesitate. It wasn't
permission he needed, just affirmation that he wasn't letting his
emotions run away with his reason.

Dalziel closed the door behind
him and turned to Pascoe.

'I hope this lad's worth all the
bother. Come up with owt interesting this morning, did he?' he asked.

Pascoe filled him in and showed
him the two articles. The Fat Man read them with little sign of
interest then said, 'So what garden path's this stuff leading us up
then?'

Pascoe, knowing from experience
that Dalziel's dumb-ox reaction was usually a provocation to precise
exposition, marshalled his thoughts and said, 'We have two things. DI
Rose's tip that something big is being planned which straddles
South's patch and ours, and Lee Lubanski's report of stuff he's
overheard while servicing Belchamber. Conversations involving
possibly Mate Polchard and certainly Linford also point to something
being planned which may well be the job in question. Puzzle: why is
Belchamber involved at the criminal end instead of merely standing by
in readiness in case he's needed at the legal end? Possible answer:
because he himself initiated the job.'

'The job being heisting this
Hoard thing 'cos, like a good little patriot, he wants to save it for
England?' said Dalziel, sounding like the Pope being told God was a
woman.

'I'd say from these articles that
that was certainly his initial reaction. Something had to be done,
anything was worth doing, to keep the Hoard in the country. But at
some point, perhaps as he began to realize the appeal to the country
for money and to the Elsecars for patriotic sacrifice was going to
fail, he began to ask himself, does the country deserve to have the
Hoard saved for it?'

'And his answer was . .. ?'

'No, it doesn't because it
doesn't value its heritage sufficiently. I, on the other hand, do. So
why not save it for myself? But how to do it? And now his years of
crawling in the mud with the pondlife come in useful. He needs
experts, he knows where to find them, and he knows how the system
works.'

'Which system's that?'

'The finance system,' said Pascoe
impatiently. Sometimes the Fat Man took his dumb elenctic act too
far. 'He needs the best. Also he wants to keep control. He's not
offering a share of profits. This is not a profit-making job. So this
means paying top dollar. I don't know what level of remuneration gets
Polchard out of bed these days, but I expect it's a little over the
National Minimum Wage. And, profits or not, Mate will be well aware
of the notional value of the stuff he's being asked to heist.'

'So why not go for it himself?'

'Because he's a cash man. Because
he knows how hard it would be to move stuff like this. And also
because he knows that Belchamber's often been the only thing between
him and a lot more years in the Syke.'

Gratitude, you mean?' said
Dalziel sceptically.

‘No. Chess. Sacrifice
everything except your queen.'

'So why bring in Linford?
Belchamber must be pretty well heeled.'

'Certainly. But with most of it
well tied up. Also, he doesn't want to draw attention to himself by
the sudden realization of assets. So he turns to Linford, who is
expert in the supply of large quantities of used banknotes.'

'He'll want payback with
interest.'

'He'll get it from the profits.'

'Thought you said there weren't
going to be any profits? Thought the idea was Belch would keep the
Hoard in his cellar and go down there and have a wank from time to
time.'

'No. If you read his articles,
the first one, a large part of the Hoard consists of golden coin,
hugely valuable but by its nature hardly unique. I don't think he'd
have any problem moving most of this. Also I suspect that, in terms
of personal ownership, what he really lusts after is the snake
coronet. A lot of the other stuff he might be very willing to share
with similar bent collectors for a price.'

'And you and
Wieldy got all this from someone making some crack about the Belch
wearing
a
crown?' said Dalziel sceptically.

'There's also the fact that the
Hoard Exhibition is currently in Sheffield on DI Rose's patch and
it's transferring up here to the Centre on January twenty-sixth.'

'It's still a hell of a leap’
said Dalziel. 'You got a better shell-hole in mind, why don't you
just jump into it?' snapped Pascoe. The Fat Man grinned with
satisfaction. 'Nay, lad, you believe in it enough to get stroppy,
that's good enough for me.'

There was a tap at the door and
Novello's head appeared.

'Ah. You're both here,' she said.

'Isn't that what I always say
about Ivor, Pete? Smart as a whip,' said Dalziel.

'Sergeant Bowman downstairs has
been trying to get hold of one of you. Some Immigration official's
turned up,' said Novello.

'Oh aye. Tell 'em to sit him down
and fetch him a cup of tea.' The Fat Man grinned. 'Better still, tell
Bowman to get Hector to fetch him a cup of tea.'

'Yes, sir.'

Pascoe said, 'Shirley, I seem to
recall you're an expert on saints.'

Novello remembered Sister Angela
who wielded a ruler edge-on like a broadsword if you got a detail
wrong.

'Know a bit, sir’ she said.

'Saint Apollonia. Any connection
with teeth?'

'Yeah. She had all of hers
knocked out or pulled out during her martyrdom. She's the one to pray
to if you've got toothache.'

'Thanks, that's very helpful’

Novello left.

Dalziel said, 'That got owt to do
with owt, or have you just lost a filling?'

'Just something I was curious
about’

'Curious is right’ growled
the Fat Man. 'I hope you're not on the turn, lad. One practising
Catholic in the squad's quite enough’

'Hadn't you better go and see
this Immigration chap? He's probably hopping round with a scalded
crotch by now’

Dalziel boomed a laugh and said,
'We can live in hope. If plonkers like him showed a bit more common
humanity then mebbe there'd be fewer poor bastards thinking the only
way they can get into the country is curled up in a truck with a lot
of frozen ham. Why are you walking funny? Hurt your ankle?'