Ruling Passion (30 page)

'Davenant's gone, sir?' prompted Pascoe.

'No, no. He's still at Culpepper's. I have a man watching, never fear. But there were one or two  things I thought it worth discussing with you  before picking him up.'

'In which of my capacities, sir?'

'I'm sorry?'

'As a police officer or . . .'

'I see! Or as a not very co-operative witness,  which has been your usual role in Thornton Lacey!  I'm not sure. I'm not at all sure!'

Backhouse settled more comfortably in his  chair, placed his coffee cup on the floor, and  touched his fingertips together in a parsonical  gesture.

'First,' he said, 'let me tell you about Pelman. Naturally, even when it looked as if Colin Hopkins  was very much a front runner, I was having a close look at other possible candidates. Pelman was, at best, only an outsider and I was pretty surprised when I found him pointing a smoking shotgun  at you.'

'More surprised than you were to find Colin's  body with a bellyful of shot?' asked Pascoe.

'Yes,' admitted Backhouse. 'Yes, I think so. That was always on, though I never thought he'd be so  close. Anyway, the more I talked to Pelman, the  less likely he seemed. I'd almost made up my mind before you left on Tuesday.'

'I thought there was something else,' said Pascoe.

'How perceptive. Anyway, when Mrs Culpepper  confirmed the time he left the village hall that  night, there was no more reason to hold him.  He's very contrite about shooting at you. He's sensible enough to know the limits of a landowner's rights. Oh, by the way, one thing I did discover. It 
was
Pelman who cut through the wire round the  clay pit.'

'What?' exclaimed Pascoe.

'Yes. He's been using the pool as a dumping  ground for all the chicken-dirt from his battery. Hence the vile smell. He's very contrite about  that too.'

'I suppose it did strike you,' said Pascoe diffidently, 'that Mrs Culpepper's evidence might not  be altogether unbiased here.'

'I should be very careful about suggesting such a thing,' cautioned Backhouse with a smile. 'Mr  Pelman's contrition might not be enough to countenance the smearing of a lady's honour.  In any case, you really must permit me to be the  best judge of evidence here.'

'I'm sorry, sir,' said Pascoe.

'I'm just as ready to concede you the same  superiority in respect of what happens in Yorkshire,'  said Backhouse. 'Which is why I was intrigued to  learn of your interest in Mr Davenant. Mr Dalziel  gave me all the details. He's a great admirer of  yours, as doubtless you know.'

'He does occasionally let me go home before  midnight,' said Pascoe modestly.

'So it seems that Davenant has managed to  appear on the fringes of two murder cases. A  striking coincidence, don't you think?'

'Why?' asked Pascoe. 'It happened to me. And  to Miss Soper.'

Backhouse raised his eyebrows and smiled.

'You want to act the devil's advocate? All right.  In your case, it's not so unlikely. Your profession puts you in constant proximity with crime.  When you found yourself involved at a personal  level, it was not strange that elsewhere you were  engaged in a professional investigation. Indeed, it  would have been strange had you not been. But  Davenant . . .'

'Davenant too had a professional connection,  sir. It seems likely he's a criminal. So the same  applies.'

'Reasonable. There's still the coincidence that it should be the same crimes as you he's involved with. And, like you, professionally in Yorkshire,  and here in Thornton Lacey - personally, emotionally, would you say?'

'Certainly. He was deeply involved with Timmy, it seems.'

'And the source of your information?'

Pascoe was puzzled.

'Well, I think . . . Davenant himself, of course,  and Ellie, Miss Soper. He told her a great deal. . .'

He tailed away. Backhouse said aloud what he  was leaving unspoken.

'On an occasion when he required a reason for being in your area, I believe. What did Miss Soper  gather was the purpose of his visit?'

'It was all very vague,' said Pascoe. 'But why  should he ... he seemed genuinely concerned!'

'Perhaps so. I've been looking very closely at  Mr Davenant. I took note of him when he first  appeared, of course. And since the events of Tuesday I've been having a closer look at everybody. One or two interesting things emerge. Mr  Davenant is, you would say, a homosexual?'

'Why, yes,' answered Pascoe.

'It sticks out a mile, you feel? Perhaps too far. Discreet inquiries made by some of my London  colleagues seem to indicate that in fact his sexual  interests are enthusiastically hetero. This might of  course just mean that he is - what is the word? -  not
ambidextrous,
you know what I mean. Certainly  informed opinion seems to be that a grand passion  for either of your friends was unlikely.'

Pascoe's mind was racing, but he felt that Backhouse still had some cards left unplayed, so he held his peace though the superintendent's  quizzical gaze invited him to speak.

'Very well,' said Backhouse finally. 'So it wasn't  love that brought him rushing to Thornton Lacey  from Oxford. He
was
in Oxford, I checked that,  of course. And he booked out of his hotel on  the Saturday morning. What is more interesting, however, is that no one recollects seeing him on  the Friday night. The hotel garage attendant is  fairly sure that Davenant's car, a Citroen GS, still  rather a distinctive car in this insular realm, was  not in its place at eleven p.m. when he went off  duty. Early enough, you say? I agree. However, in our efforts to check sightings of the Mini-Cooper  around the village on Friday night, we asked a  lot of questions about cars. A couple of people  mentioned a strange Citroen. One of my brighter  constables made a note. And I read every report  anybody makes.'

Pascoe stood up and made for the door.

'Whither away?' asked Backhouse.

'I came to collect Davenant, sir. I think it's time  I did just that,' said Pascoe. 'He's got questions to  answer.'

'What is there about this place with turns you  into such a
sudden man?'
demanded Backhouse  helplessly. 'All these qualities Mr Dalziel finds  in you, why do you leave them behind in the  north?'

'I'm sorry, sir. What you've said seems to me to urge immediate interrogation of Davenant.'

'Sit down and listen!’
bellowed Backhouse.

Stony-faced, Pascoe obeyed.

'That's what's missing, is it? Andy Dalziel's fog-horn voice! I'll remember. Look, I haven't brought you all this way just to let you try to shake something or other out of Davenant. There are problems  here, and many possible solutions. You're peculiarly well-equipped to help. Look at the facts. Davenant's in the area at the time of the murder. Davenant's alleged sexual connection with your friends seems likely to be a lie. Davenant  is suspected of being a kind of travelling fence, a  middleman between the thief and the purchaser  of stolen
objets d'art.
As a policeman, what's your  hypothesis?'

Now at last Pascoe saw it. He had been uncharacteristically obtuse. He remembered saying with pity of Mrs Lewis that death brought some strange  surprises and here was Backhouse starting a few  in his face.

'You think that Colin and Rose might have  been involved in the Etherege-Davenant racket?'  he said steadily.

'Or the other two. Or any one of the four. Or all of them. What do you think?'

'Was anything found?'

'No. But you wouldn't expect it to be, would  you? Not if Davenant had anything to do with the  killings.'

'Is there any piece of hard evidence I don't know  about?'

'No,' said Backhouse, after thinking judiciously  for a moment. 'No. But the Continent is the most  obvious market for the more easily identifiable  stuff. And Timothy Mansfield worked in Brussels  for some time, travelling frequently from Britain to Belgium, as well as touring extensively in  Europe. Davenant did meet him there, as he told  Miss Soper. But it wasn't their first meeting.'

'You can't have unearthed all this since you  spoke to Dalziel,' said Pascoe accusingly.

'No,' said Backhouse. 'I try to keep many steps  ahead of blind chance. But sometimes it comes  along and bumps you in the back, as when out of  the blue, you tied Davenant in with your investigation. Till then it had been just so much background information. Your friend, Mansfield, had to resign  his job in Brussels, did you know that? There was  some currency fiddle being worked. He kept out  of serious trouble, but only just.'

'Knowing Timmy, it would be in a good cause,' protested Pascoe weakly.

'What the hell have you or I got to do with causes!' exploded Backhouse. 'For a policeman,  understanding motives is just a means to an end.  That end's catching crooks. I dare say whoever it was that shot your friends will come up with  a good motive. It might even impress a judge,  or a jury, or a psychiatrist, or just his grey-haired old mother who knows he's basically a good lad. Now, you want Davenant. I might  want him too. I had a little plan, but I'm not  sure how far I can rely on you. I was going to  suggest that you go up to the Culpeppers' and get him, giving the impression that police interest in  him is restricted entirely to his connection with your antique-dealer, Etherege. Be a bit diffident, uncertain, if you like, as though you've got less  on him than you have.'

'Which is only Etherege's word,' said Pascoe.

'Is it? I'm sure Mr Dalziel won't be standing  still. Anyway, come the old-pals act, take a trip  down memory lane with him, reminisce a bit  about your late mutual friends. In other words,  see if you can catch him napping in Thornton Lacey while he's too busy keeping fully alert in Yorkshire. That's what I was going to suggest.  Can I trust you, Inspector? That's what I've got  to know.'

'I think so, sir,' said Pascoe. Appearances deceived.  Compared with this man, Dalziel was Mother  Hubbard.

'Then I would suggest you go and bring him in. Give the impression you're just dropping back  here to sign a form or something before taking him  north. It might work.'

Pascoe rose and made for the door.

'Just one thing, sir,' he said. 'The Culpeppers. Why is Davenant there? What's the connection?'

Backhouse groaned loudly.

'Stay in Yorkshire, my boy,' he advised gently. 'You'll never make the grade down here. It's  obvious, surely? Aesthetic Mr Culpepper, your  connoisseur of fine porcelain, is probably one of  friend Davenant's regular customers!'

Chapter 9

'Stop here,’ said Pascoe. Ferguson obeyed him as  literally as possible and despite their low speed  managed to skid noisily on the gravel drive.

I was right to drive all the way down, thought  Pascoe with a shudder as he climbed out.

'I don't anticipate any trouble,' he said through  the open door. 'But keep your eyes skinned. Poke around the garage and see if you can spot the  Citroen.'

He slammed the door and a hand gripped his shoulder. Dalziel's philosophy included the dictum 
if anyone grabs you from behind, don't think, give 'em  the heel and the elbow.

Pascoe turned slowly and smiled at Culpepper's mother. He was glad he had ignored Dalziel's advice, not just out of chivalry but also because  he doubted whether his judo could cope with the  vicious-looking secateurs she carried.

'That could ruin a machine!' snapped the old  woman, pointing at the scattering of gravel the car-wheels had sprayed on to the lawn. 'Have you  no consideration?'

'Sorry,’ said Pascoe. 'Ferguson, see that all these bits of stone are returned to the drive, will you?'

'What are you after anyway? You're that policeman, aren't you?'

'Yes. I'm
that
policeman. I'd just like a word with your son,' said Pascoe, walking across the  lawn towards the front door. The old woman  accompanied him, matching him stride for stride.

'I knew there'd be trouble,' she said suddenly.

'Sorry?'

'When I was young, police coming to the house always meant trouble.'

'We only trouble those who trouble us,' said  Pascoe with a smile.

They had come to a halt outside the front door. He had not spotted any movement through the  windows.

'I liked your friends,' she said as she pushed open the door. 'Some things beat explanation.  Step inside.'

'Thank you,' said Pascoe. He glanced back down  the garden. Ferguson was on his knees in search of gravel, a light breeze spilling his longer-than-  regulation hair over his face.

'You can say goodbye to the good weather,' said the old woman ominously, and as though in confirmation a rout of beech leaves came scuttering  round the side of the house and preceded them  into the hallway.

The Culpeppers were seated in the lounge and  Hartley rose and held out his hand in greeting when he saw his visitor. He looked perfectly  at ease, not without cause Pascoe was sure. If  there had been anything of doubtful provenance in Culpepper's collection, it was probably long  gone now.

'You're fully recovered, I hope, Pascoe? I was talking to Pelman last night. He was in a terrible  state, terrible. Poor fellow, to come so close to  injuring you was bad enough, but then to realize  he was under suspicion for the murders!'

'Yes, I'm recovered, thank you.'

No one seemed very keen to ask what he wanted, Pascoe noted. He hoped Davenant wasn't slipping  quietly out of the kitchen door. Or if he was, that  Ferguson had abandoned his gravel hunt and was  fully alert.

'It's difficult to know what to say,' Culpepper went on. 'No one who knew him ever really believed it was possible that Colin did the killings, but we didn't want him proved innocent in  this way.'

'Some believed it,' objected Pascoe. 'The coroner's  jury and the coroner for a start. But it's none of my  business, officially anyway. Mr Culpepper, I believe Anton Davenant is staying with you at the moment.'

The doorbell rang. Only old Mrs Culpepper showed no desire to answer it. Her son and  daughter-in-law both seemed keen to get out of  the room, but Marianne won by a short head.