Good Morning, Midnight (7 page)

“Peter,” said Ellie, who was standing alongside her husband viewing the activity, “I think it’s time to exercise your authority.”

“Not to worry,” said Pascoe with the calmness of one in no hurry to confront a belligerent drunk, a hysterical wife (widow?), and a woman who looked as if a good sneeze could send her into epeirogenic contractions. “When they realize the cupboard’s bare, they’ll settle down.”

“Wimp,” said Ellie.

The paramedic pushed Cressida to one side and pulled open the doors.

Everyone, including the trio from the Volvo, peered inside.

For a moment it looked as if Pascoe was right.

There was a moment of complete and blessed silence.

Then it was broken by the slamming of a car door, presumably belonging to the newly arrived vehicle invisible behind the Volvo’s dazzling headlights.

The noise cracked through the stillness like a starting gun and had much the same effect.

Cressida turned her attention from the ambulance’s emptiness to the others around her, seeming to register them for the first time. Her attention focused on the tall slim woman.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Hello, Cressida,” said the woman mildly. “I think we ought to ask someone in authority just what’s happened here, don’t you?”

“Oh, you do, do you? Well, any interest you might have had in what happens here ended ten fucking years ago. Now all you’re doing is trespassing. Get off my property before I throw you off,” snarled Cressida, taking an aggressive step towards the tall woman.

“Your property, Cress? What do you mean, your property? It’s as much mine as yours, and Kay’s here with me, so just shut up!”

This was Gaea, her voice shrill, her pretty face contorted.

“Jesus Christ, can’t you two just grow up and stop acting like a pair of sodding schoolgirls! It’s Pal, my husband, your brother, we should be worried about here, not who owns what, right?”

This was the Spider Woman. Her reproaches, far from calming things down, merely drew the fire of both the sisters, who seemed united in dislike of their sister-in-law if nothing else.

The Handsome Sailor meanwhile was heading towards the house. He looked in superb shape but Bonnick, who made such a big thing of physical fitness, ought to be able to take care of him, thought Pascoe. On the other hand once the trio of quarrelling women diverted their attention from the ambulance and each other to what lay inside the house, even the redoubtable Bonnick could be in bother.

The blond reached the doorway, the sergeant spoke to him, the young man began to push past, Bonnick tried to apply a basic armlock which the other evaded with practised ease. Realizing he was dealing with someone who’d done the same unarmed-combat courses as himself, the sergeant threw restraint to the winds and the young man to the ground, only to have his legs swept from under him. Next moment, the two were grappling on the doorstep, while the angry voices of the three women rose in volume and intensity.

Definitely time to assert his authority, thought Pascoe, taking a deep breath. At least things couldn’t get any worse.

He was of course wrong.

As he moved unhappily towards the ambulance, he heard a great voice as of a trumpet speak to him from the darkness behind the headlights.

“Evening, Chief Inspector. I’m glad to see you’ve got everything here under control.”

And out of the mist into the light stepped the bulky figure of Detective Superintendent Andrew Dalziel.

It would be hard to describe Andy Dalziel as a soothing presence, but like a shark dumped in a swimming pool, he provided a new and unignorable focus of attention.

Reactions to his arrival were various.

Pascoe said, “What the fuck’s he doing here?”

Ellie said, “God alone knows, but I’m sure if we wait he’ll tell us.”

The wrestlers carried on wrestling.

Cressida, Spider Woman and Earth Mother regarded him with wary neutrality.

Only the tall slim woman looked pleased to see him.

“Andy, it’s so good to see you again,” she said, smiling as if she meant it.

She stepped forward to meet him, holding out her hand.

“You too, Kay,” said Dalziel, taking the hand. “Though mebbe not here.”

“On the contrary,” said the woman, who had a soft unobtrusive American accent. “Here is perfect. We need to know what’s going on, and I’m sure if anyone can tell us, you can.”

“I’d best find out then,” he said, releasing the hand, which he’d been holding in a kissing rather than a shaking grip. “Ladies, if you’d just be patient a bit longer…”

Cressida looked as if she might be about to assert that in her view patience was for monuments but subsided as his gaze locked with hers for a second before passing on to the ambulance crew.

“Detective Superintendent Dalziel,” he said. “What’s going off, lads?”

“Nothing for us here.” The driver glanced towards the women and lowered his voice. “Just body removal, and your lot don’t know when that will be authorized.”

“So you thought you’d shog off home?”

“No! We got an all-units call. Big pile-up in fog on the bypass.”

“Oh aye? Then what are you still skiving round here for?” demanded Dalziel.

Indignation at the injustice of this rose in the ambulance men’s eyes, decided it didn’t care for the view, and dived back under.

“Right, we’ll be off then,” said the driver.

The ambulance pulled away. Kay Kafka put her arm as far round the Earth Mother as it would go. The other two women exchanged a glower then concentrated on the Fat Man’s retreating figure. On the doorstep the Handsome Sailor had been subdued, but only after Bonnick had been reinforced by the arrival of PC Maycock. For the moment peace was restored.

“Right, sunshine,” said Dalziel. “What’s going off then, apart from bloody chaos?”

“How should I know?” retorted Pascoe. “I just got here myself. I’m not psychic.”

“Hoity-toity,” said Dalziel. “See you brought the family. Little Rosie’s in the back of the car, is she?”

“No, she isn’t. I just happened to be picking up Ellie when I heard the call.”

“So none of that lot’s with you?”

“Well actually, Cressida-she’s the one with the hair-it was her house I was picking up Ellie from…”

“So you said, ‘Fancy a lift, luv?’ Kind of you, Peter. Gets the Force a good name. Did you pick up the others en route?”

“Of course not,” said Pascoe indignantly. “They all turned up after I got here, which was when the trouble started. How the hell did they get past Jennison on the gate anyway?

“How owt gets past yon bugger, I don’t know. Man can’t have any self-respect to let himself get in that shape,” said Dalziel sanctimoniously. Perhaps, thought Pascoe incredulously, he sees himself as slim!

“Any road,” he went on, “I gather there’s a body in here and I’d say this gang have all turned up ’cos they’re worried it’s Pal Maciver. So let’s go in and see if we can put them out of their misery. Or do I mean into it?”

He strode towards the front door. As he passed Ellie he said, “What fettle, luv? Enjoying your night out?”

“Always a pleasure watching professionals at their work, Andy,” she replied.

Pascoe said to her, “Look, I’m going to be tied up here for a while. Why don’t you take the car and head off home?”

“Before I find out what’s happened? You’re joking. Besides, Cress might need me.”

“I thought that was why I had to pick you up early,” said Pascoe.

He caught up with Dalziel at the door.

“You all right, Sergeant?” the Fat Man said to Bonnick.

“Fine, sir.”

“Good. And how about you, son?”

Dunn said, “Look, I’m sorry-I was out of… but I was worried-we’d heard that… and he didn’t show, so I thought that… that… that…”

He stammered to a halt. He really was Billy Budd, thought Pascoe.

“What’s your problem, lad?” enquired Dalziel. “Apart from not being able to finish sentences? Here, don’t I know you?”

“I don’t think so-please, I didn’t realize…”

“Yes I do. Rugby club. You sometimes turn out for the seconds, right? Open side? But you can’t play regular because of your work, or summat?”

“That’s right. I teach PE at Weavers and that means my Saturdays are pretty well spoken for.”

“PE, eh? That explains about the sentences. Pity, but. You looked a lot better prospect than yon neanderthal that plays for the firsts. No finesse. Kicks folk right in front of the ref. Any of them ladies back there belong to you?”

“That’s my wife, Helen… the pregnant one.”

“That right? Planning to get all your family over at once, are you? So she’d be Helen Maciver as was, right? Now Mrs Dunn as is. I’m getting there. Mrs Kafka I know. And yon Cressida, I remember her. The other is…?”

“Sue-Lynn, Pal’s wife.”

“Oh aye. All here then. Some bugger must’ve sent invitations.”

“Is Pal in there?” said Dunn pleadingly. “Has something happened to him?”

“I’ve no idea. Any reason to think it might have done?”

“No. I mean, he didn’t turn up… we play squash on Wednesday evenings and when he didn’t show…”

“Stood you up, did he? And that makes you worry something’s happened to him? I see. People stand me up, it’s when they do appear that something’s likely to happen to them. Maycock, you reckon you can keep this mob at bay?”

“No problem, sir.”

“Good lad. Sergeant, lead on. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

“Please, can’t I come with you?” pleaded Dunn.

“Nay lad,” said Dalziel kindly. “I think most likely you’re under arrest. Often happens when you assault a police officer. That right, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir,” said Bonnick.

“Don’t worry too much, but. It probably won’t delight the governors at Weavers but it will really impress the kids. Now I’m going to give you a choice. You can either sit in a car handcuffed to the wheel till we’re ready to deal with you, which could be hours. Or you can promise to be a good boy and go and take care of that poor wife of thine before she explodes. Which is it?”

“No more trouble, really. I’m very sorry,” said Dunn.

“Good lad. Off you go. Now, Sergeant, fill me in.”

He listened carefully to Bonnick’s digest of events as they entered the house and climbed the stairs, only interrupting to ask, “What made Tweedledum and Tweedledee come up the drive in the first place?”

There was a slight hesitation before Bonnick said, “Just a random check, I think, sir. Also some of the girls bring their punters up these driveways, I believe, and we’ve been doing a bit of a blitz on kerb crawlers recently.”

“Very conscientious pair of officers, then,” said Dalziel. “You’re lucky to have them.”

The old sod knows that most likely they were skiving, thought Pascoe, but he wouldn’t have rated Bonnick if he’d said so.

When they reached the landing, he saw a uniformed inspector standing by a door with a splintered frame. This was Paddy Ireland, a small, rather self-important man, whose trousers always looked as if they’d been re-pressed after he put them on. He turned and acknowledged Dalziel with a parade-ground salute. Behind him through the doorway Pascoe could see a man in a white coverall whom he recognized as Tom Lockridge, one of a small group of local doctors registered as police medical examiners. He was looking down at a man slumped at a desk. At least Pascoe assumed it was a man. Too little of the head remained to make confirmation certain at this distance.

“Poor bastard,” said Dalziel. “Any ID?”

“Haven’t been able to check, sir,” said Ireland. “Thought it best to disturb things as little as possible till SOCO had got their photos.”

“There’s a car parked round the back of the house,” said Bonnick. “Blue Laguna estate, registered owner Mr Palinurus Maciver, who’s also the designated keyholder of the property, so it seems likely…”

“Let’s not jump the gun, if you’ll pardon the expression,” said Dalziel. “Dr Lockridge, how do? What can you tell us?”

Tom Lockridge had emerged from the room. He didn’t look well.

“He’s dead,” said Lockridge.

“Don’t reckon you’re going to get any argument there,” said Dalziel, peering towards the shattered figure. “But it’s always good to have these things confirmed by an expert. Saves us laymen wasting time with the kiss of life. You wouldn’t like to give us just a bit of detail, but, Doc?”

“Not long dead,” intoned Lockridge dully. “Two to four hours, maybe. Cause of death, probably self-inflicted gunshot wounds to the head…”

“Probably?”

“You won’t know for certain till the pathologist has taken a look, will you?” said Lockridge, sparking slightly.

“Won’t know what? That they killed him or that they were self-inflicted?”

“What? Both. Either. They look to be self-inflicted. He took his shoe and sock off…”

“Why do you think that was?”

“I presume so he could pull the shotgun trigger with his toe.”

“You’re a bugger for presumptions, Doc. Mebbe he were a freemason. Didn’t notice an apron, did you?”

This was a facetious callosity too far, thought Pascoe.

Lockridge evidently thought so too.

“Mr Dalziel,” he said very formally, “as a doctor, I know the therapeutic value of gallows humour, but I still find your tone offensive. I hope you will take pains to control it before you break the sad news to Mr Maciver’s relations.”

“Mr Maciver? That’s Mr Maciver, is it? How can you tell?”

They all stared towards the shattered head.

“I don’t know… I just assumed, with him going missing… Yes, I’m sure it’s Pal… I used to be his doctor, you see.”

“Is that right? So how about distinguishing marks? Something that ’ud spare us having to give his nearest and dearest a close-up of that?”