The Price of Butcher's Meat (48 page)

Andy Dalziel sat in the morning sunshine on the doorstep of Millstone Farm and read the note through the transparent plastic of an evidence bag.

It was written in pencil in a round, unjoined-up hand.

“Poor old sod,” said Dalziel.

Whitby looked at him in surprise, then nodded his head and repeated, “Aye, poor old sod. What do we do now, sir?”

He was in Dalziel's hands. There'd been no thought of contacting anybody else till he'd spoken to the Fat Man.

Dragged from his bed, Dalziel's sleep-slurred voice had said, “This had better be bad, Jug.”

But when he heard how bad it was, the slur had been replaced by a cold clarity.

“He's dead?”

“Definite.”

“And there's a note?”

“Aye. On the kitchen table under an empty whisky bottle.”

“Bag the note, get out of the house, wait for me.”

He'd borrowed Pet Sheldon's car. Looking at his face, she hadn't asked for an explanation. As he drove out of the Avalon gate, he'd met the local newsagent's van coming in with the morning papers. He'd stopped him and helped himself.

One look at the front page of the
Mid-York News
was enough. Without actually stating that a formal charge had been made, Sammy Ruddlesdin was once more giving the impression that it was safe to walk the streets of Mid-Yorkshire again as DCI Pascoe, the county's answer to Poirot, had got the titled perpetrator (and his accomplice) under lock and key.

“Oh, Pete, Pete,” groaned Dalziel. “I warned you. Ignore their shit and eventually it'll drop off you. It's the buggers' praise you can never quite scrape away!”

The one good thing was that it was only the
Mid-York News
that had jumped the gun so dramatically and he didn't doubt that the other papers would be only too glad of a chance to make one of their own look an arsehole. So there was still plenty of time for Pascoe to regroup. Arresting the Denhams was fine. They had, after all, admitted a serious offense. But with just a little shuffling of the facts—and Pete was a very fine shuffler!—it should be easy to present their transfer to HQ as a subtle ploy to divert the press from Sandytown so that the local man on the spot could follow his instructions and bring the case to a satisfactory conclusion. Dan Trimble would be delighted. Case solved, full confession, perp dead, no trial. What could be more satisfactory?

“What do we do now?” he echoed Jug Whitby. “You ring Mr. Pascoe.”

“Me? I though mebbe that you…”

“No. Your patch, Jug. Your local knowledge that brought you here. Any credit going should be thine. And Mr. Pascoe's. You'll tell the press that you were here following Mr. Pascoe's instructions, right? And it is right, isn't it? 'Cos he never told you to stop looking for Hen.”

“Aye, sir, but it was you—”

“I've not been here, Jug. I'm in bed fast asleep. I'm a convalescent invalid, remember?”

He rose from the step and stretched himself in the sunlight.

Pascoe would be up now, he didn't doubt, eager to get back to the Denhams, hoping—believing!—that, with a little more pressure, a little more cunning, he could get the answers that would make the headlines he had probably just read with his breakfast come true.

The news about Hen Hollis would come as a shock, then as a relief.

But it had better not come from Dalziel.

No way he could pass on the news without it sounding like a gloating
I told you so!

“Which,” said the Fat Man to the unheeding sun, “I bloody well did, too!”

Hi Cass!

My last mail from Sandytown! Like I told you after the great anticlimax, I was ready to head straight back home & immerse myself in the serene certainties of life at Willingden Farm. Ordinary—run-of-the-ruined-mill—boring—had never seemed more attractive. But Tom & Mary were so pressing—Id lived through the dark days—surely I wanted to see the dawn—that sort of thing—at least that was Tom. Mary was more—of course you want to get back to your family but I hope now we are family too—sort of—at least thats how I think of you—& Minnies really going to miss you—I know I am—but please dont feel any pressure!

Shes never said anything—but I think deep down in the middle of the night Mary may have been having nightmares that Tom was somehow mixed up in Lady Ds death—or maybe it was her own dislike & distrust of the woman making her feel guilty—& now the crisis is past—as often happens—the strain begins to show!

How could I abandon her straightaway! So I said OK—but Ive promised to be home for the Bank Holiday—if Im not there at the Willingden Country Show on Monday to see dad snapping up prizes for the Sexiest Heiffer—& mum for the most scrumptious Victoria Sponge—Ill get the gold medal for the Blackest Sheep of Family Heywood!

So Ive agreed to stay till today Saturday—for the Grand Opening of Sandytowns first ever Festival of Health. What better time & place for a wounded
community to start its healing—says Tom—I think hes practicing his opening speech on me!—but he may have a point. Certainly Sandytowns showing remarkable resilience—only 4 days since they found poor Hen & already the locals have moved from shock! horror! to a kind of knowing fatalism—the Hollises a doomed clan—not marked for happiness—only Alan at the Hope & Anchor seems to have escaped the curse—maybe his ma played away! I even heard someone say—Hen always said he were born at Millstone—& no bugger—not God in His Heaven nor yon old cow at the Hall—were going to stop him dieing there!

Ive made a lot of notes—might do a little paper sometime—
tragedy & the mass consciousness
—not snappy enough?—OK—how about
pigs & needles & two yards of rope!
Sorry. You can see Im doing it too—turning tragedy into a topic.

Havent forgotten my thesis though. Combined a visit to Claras sickbed with a surreptitious interview. Godly Gordons alleged miracle cure is an even more popular topic than Hens suicide—Tom can hardly refrain from chortling with glee at his own cleverness in persuading Gord to join his team of alternatives—naturally I didnt tell him the only reason his precious healer had come to Sandytown was cos hes got the hots for me!!!! Cant help feeling flattered even tho theres no way I could fancy the guy—tho I must admit I quite like him now. Anyway—he seems to have got the message—theres been no sign of him for the past few days—I think Toms a bit worried he may not show for the festival opening—but I assured him Gord wouldnt let him down—not that kind of fellow.

Anyway—Clara is doing well—when it came down to it seems that its mainly broken bones & concussion—probably was from the start but Gords still getting all the credit locally! Could be moved now to an NHS specialist unit—but Ted Denham insists that she should stay at the Avalon—& the specialists should all come to her—his treat! Ted—as youd expect—has bounced right back from being pilloried in the
News
as no 1 suspect—rides into town on the Sexy Beast like Alexander the Great looking to be worshipped—which he is—everybody loves a rich young squire—who promises to be a lot more liberal with his money than dear old Daph! Hes promised Tom hell take her
place in the development consortium—& fulfill all her undertakings—& more! The Festival of Health is of course Toms particular baby—but Teds first spectacular will come next week when Daphs funeral takes place. I dread to think what hes got planned for the wake! Havent seen much of Esther—but when I did the thaw begun at the hog roast continued—maybe it wasnt me in particular she disliked—just life in Daphs large shadow. No word yet of the return of the Swiss toy-boy. Maybe she thinks it wouldnt be decent to parade him till her aunts safe in the ground.

Back to Clara—not much useful there for the thesis—hoped she might have had a white tunnel experience—with Gord at the far end shouting—
go back!
—but all she remembers is some dream about a sweets shop—& not being able to get in! Something there for the Jungians maybe—must have a look when I get back to my books.

The cops have packed up & left the hall. Bumped into Novello before they went—or maybe she contrived to bump into me. She said—sorry—its the job. I said—yeah—mines the same—getting people to trust me—difference is—if I let them down—Ive failed—

Unforgiving or what!

Saw Andy Dalziel in the pub. He asked me how I felt about things. I said I was glad it was all over—wasnt he? He said being glad wasnt part of the job description. Not sure what he meant. Need to think about it. Hes on his way too—after the weekend. Says whatever else all the excitement did—its got him back on his feet & hes looking forward to being back on the job again in a few weeks. I said—Mr Pascoe will be pleased to hear that—& he said—you reckon?—

Funny thing about Mr Deal—whatever he says—no matter it sounds dead ordinary—it leaves you listening to the echoes.

Minnie has just come in to tell me its time for the off! Shes sitting on my bed staring at me accusingly. I think she takes me going home after the opening as a personal affront. Also I think shes got a whiff of whats going on between Uncle Sid & the bart. Not surprising—like Ive said before—if I was head of MI5—Id get Min on the books straightaway! Happily she met George when he drove me back to Kyoto—& it was love at first sight! Shes decided
if I wont be her sis-in-law by marrying Sid—shell do it the other way—by marrying George! Only compensation for me leaving her after the opening is that George is coming to pick me up!

Sids back in London—dont know if hell show today or not—be interesting to see what the future holds for the Odd Couple now that Teds stinking rich. Funny thing love. Poetry says it stays fixed even when everything around it changes. Not my observation. Its a creature of circumstance. All it needs is a handy pine tree & an even handier ex-best-mate—& there it goes! Still debating louse Liams penitent letter. Hope you & the mahogany hunk prove exceptions to the rule—& stay fixed—& eventually settle down in a nice little honeysuckle covered cottage in Willingden!

Got to go or Mins going to explode.

Next one from home!

 

Love

Charley xxx

Right, Mildred. This is the last time you and me are going to speak. Always sad to say good-bye, but let's face up to it, this thing between us has run its course. Funny how things work out; first time I set eyes on thee, I thought, no way you'll ever catch me whispering sweet nothings into that thing's ear! Now I'm feeling like I'm going to miss you.

That's why it's time to end it, of course. I've got to admit I learned to enjoy it, but it's too bloody dangerous to keep on with, as the vicar said to the verger's wife as she pulled on his bell rope afore morning service. There's stuff on here I don't want any other bugger to hear—stuff I don't much want to hear again myself!

So last time, last thoughts, last things.

All packed up and gone now, Pete and Wieldy and the rest of the whole traveling circus. Wasn't till they'd all gone that I realized how much I were going to miss them. All this convalescing stuff's fine, but I reckon if old Daph hadn't got herself topped, with everything that followed, and I hadn't got myself involved like I did, then likely I'd have taken another three weeks at least to get to where I am now.

Cap took a bit of persuading when she came down to see me on Thursday. Started reading the riot act when I said I'd handed in me notice and I was heading back home at the weekend. In the end I had to push her on the bed and show her how much better I was. I'm trying to think of Pet as a training session, getting me ready for the serious stuff again. Funny, ain't it? Me looking for ways of justifying what I know were a rotten thing to do by any standards. At least Pet can claim she did it out of love—though mebbe there was also a bit of payback for Fester letting himself be tempted by the thrill of the Bannerjee Jump!
Pet had to know about that. Nowt happens in these places that a good matron doesn't know about!

Any road, at least it gave me the confidence to get back to close contact with Cap. Must have been back to my old form too, 'cos when we'd done she asked, What's keeping you till Sunday? I told her I wanted to go to this Festival of Health opening ceremony and she wondered what the hell for? When I said I'd got to know a lot of the people involved and thought it 'ud be a nice time to say good-bye to them she gave me an old-fashioned look, so I had to take her mind off things again.

That at least convinced her my progress weren't just a flash in the pan and, like me and her animal rights activities, she knows when not to keep coming with the questions.

Truth is, if she'd injected me with a truth drug, I'm not sure what answers she'd have got. It's all finished here. Isn't it? Pete's come through with his halo just slightly bent. He's played it exactly the way I forecast and now all he has to do is relax and take the applause. But nearly getting it wrong has really sharpened his already very sharp nose and he rang me to ask what I thought. Not that he said that's why he were ringing. Just to keep me in the picture, and hope I got back to work soon. But we both knew he were asking if I thought he'd got it sorted now.

What the fuck could I say? Mebbe if I'd been Irish I could have said I wouldn't have started off from here in the first place! Mebbe I should have said it's like when you're having a crap and you think you're done, but summat deep inside tells you to stay put 'cos there's more to come.

But what would have been the point? Loose ends? Never been on a case yet when there weren't loose ends. We're detectives, for Christ's sake! Servants of the State, not instruments of God. One thing I've learned in all these years is, dealing with human beings, you never know everything, not even when you know everything there is to know. So I said, you've done well, lad. No trial, no comeback! Relax and enjoy it!

Can't stop yourself thinking, but, as the minister said when he baptized twenty Girl Guides in the municipal swimming pool.

Thought I'd got meself under control till I went down to breakfast
this morning and there was Franny Roote sitting chatting with some of the other inmates. He gave me a grin and a cheerful wave and I thought of picking up his wheelchair and hoying it off the terrace. Instead I waited till he came rolling up to me, as I knew he would, and I asked him what he'd got to look so happy about.

He said, “I don't know, Andy. But somehow this feels like one of those days when anything's possible. I'm sure you've had them, one of those days when you know the putts are going to drop, the conversion kicks are going to soar over the bar, the beer's going to be at just the right temperature, and round the next corner you'll bump into the girl of your dreams.”

He were right. I have had them. Those days when if you had any sense you'd raise every penny you could beg borrow or steal, and put it all on a horse you'd chosen by sticking a pin in a race card!

But this didn't feel like one of them, not for me any road.

I said, “Hope you're right, lad.”

And off he went, doling out yon Third Thought crap like a farmer with a muck spreader.

Leaving me thinking, There's a loose end I'd love to tie up afore I leave here! Mebbe I'll get him to himself later on at the Festival of Health opening ceremony and have a real heart-to-heart. One or two others I'd like a last word with, even if it's only to say good-bye. They'll all be there at Brereton Manor. Some I'll kiss, some I'll kick, likely there'll be a bit of booze going, I feel up to supping my share this time so I must be getting better! Then first thing tomorrow morning Cap's coming to collect me, and it's good-bye, Sandytown!

One last thing is to clear all my recording from Mildred.

Let's take a look…

Fuck! Bet it's dead easy, but one thing cunning old Fester never told me was how to erase stuff. Got to be sure it's all gone afore I give it him back. Mebbe I'll just hang on to it, then take it down to the rugby club one Saturday night and get the lads down there to record fifty choruses of “The Indian Maid” over what I've said, then post it back to Fester!

Meanwhile Pet's coming to pick me up any moment. Don't want to risk losing this during the drunken orgies, so I'll pop it back in the bog cistern for safety. Young Charley's a whiz with electronics, I'll have a word with her, she'll likely know how to clear it.

Good-bye, Mildred. I've enjoyed it but we can't keep on meeting like this.

Good-bye!