A Clubbable Woman. Reginald Hill
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‘We? We? You’re not my bloody doctor. No, I haven’t. But if you look at your bloody scientifically based reports, you’ll see that she seems to have been sitting very much at her ease.’
‘Could it have been from behind? With, say, a narrow-headed hammer. That way you’d get the force …’
‘Pish and cobbles, Pascoe! Didn’t you see the height of that chair-back? And she was sprawling in it at her ease. You’d need arms like an orang-outang. No, I think it was someone she knew pretty well.’
‘And how narrow does that make the field?’
Dalziel grinned lecherously.
‘Not as narrow as you’d think. Twenty years ago there were a hell of a lot of people down at the Rugby Club who knew Mary James pretty well. I’ve had a bit of a nuzzle there myself. And that kind of acquaintance doesn’t get forgotten all that quickly.’
‘You make her sound like a professional.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, son. She wasn’t that. Not even an enthusiastic amateur. She just liked the gay life. There’s one in every club. Where the booze is strongest, the dancing wildest. The girl who doesn’t flinch when the songs get dirty. Who can even join in. It’s the gay crowd she likes, not the slap and tickle in the dark corners. But her image demands she has a large following. And she’s bound to be overtaken from time to time.’
‘Was Connon an overtaker?’
‘Oh no. He was taken over. Your old stager begins to smell danger when the gaiety girl passes the quarter-century with no strong ties. Your young lad’s easy meat, though. Easily frightened too.’
‘Frightened?’
‘They got married at a dead run. Their girl appeared eight months later. Premature, they called it.’
Pascoe listened with distaste to the rasp of laughter which followed.
‘But you’ll find out all about that, my lad. Have a walk down there this lunchtime. They always get a good crowd in. Have a chat with one or two of them. See if anything’s known. They’ll all be eager to natter. Here, I’ve scribbled out a list of who’s who down there. It’s not definitive by any means, but it’ll tell you whether you’re talking to a mate of his – or hers – or not.’
He passed over a scruffy sheet of foolscap, one corner of which looked as if it had been used for lighting a cigarette.
‘You’re best at this stage. If we haven’t sorted this lot out in a couple of days, I’ll drop in for a social drink myself. The tension’ll have gone by then and they’ll all imagine they’re pumping me for information.’
Whereas you pump stuff into barrels, not out of them, thought Pascoe.
Dalziel turned to the window again and took a couple of deep breaths. His fingers drummed impatiently on the sill.
‘Anything in from house-to-house yet?’
‘Not yet, sir.’
‘They’ll all be in bed. Christ. Bloody Sundays!’
There was a long pause. Then …
‘Here he comes,’ said Dalziel, slamming the window shut with even more violence than he had used to open it. ‘Anything you want here, laddie?’
‘Well, no; I mean yes,’ said Pascoe in puzzlement.
‘Grab it and go, then. What’s the matter? Did you hope to see the master at work?’
‘No. But I thought that as you know him – I mean, you are a vice-president of the Rugby Club and something of a friend …’
‘A friend?’ said the superintendent, twisting his fingers in one pouchy cheek so that his big mouth was dragged sinisterly out of shape. ‘You’ve jumped to conclusions, Sergeant. Perhaps I better had let you watch the master some time. He’s a great player, but I never said I liked him. Nor he me. Oh no, I never said I liked him. Push off now. We’ll save you for later if need be.’
Quickly Pascoe gathered a couple of files and some papers together and made for the door. There was a knock and it opened just as he reached it.
‘Mr Connon, sir,’ said the uniformed sergeant standing there.
‘How are you, Mr Connon?’ said Pascoe looking at the pale-faced man who stood a pace or two behind the sergeant.
Solid. Yes, he looked solid all right. Still firm. No flabbiness in the face. Just the paleness of fatigue. But what is it that has drained your blood, Mr Connon? Grief? Or …
‘Please come in, Mr Connon.’ The loud voice broke his thoughts. He glanced round. Dalziel, his face a mask of sympathy so obviously spurious that Pascoe shuddered, was advancing with his hand outstretched. He stood aside to let Connon enter, then stepped out into the corridor leaving them together.
‘He’s like Henry Irving,’ he said to the sergeant, shaking his head.
‘Which one?’
‘Which one? I don’t know. Perhaps both. I’ll be in here if I’m wanted.’
And for all his resentment at his dismissal, he found he wished that he had been wanted.
‘It might be nice to see the master at work.’
The sergeant turned round, but Pascoe had closed the door of his temporary office behind him with a bang.
The sergeant went back to his desk whistling, ‘Dear Lord and Father of mankind’.
It was, after all, Sunday.
‘Sorry to get you out of bed, Mrs Fernie,’ said Detective-Constable Edwards.
‘Don’t apologize,’ interjected Fernie. ‘I told her this might happen last night.’
‘Last night? Why was that, Mr Fernie?’
‘Well, I happened to notice your cars pull up outside Connon’s house …’
‘Happened to notice!’ sneered Alice Fernie, pulling her nylon housecoat closer round her. ‘You must have been stood at that window for half an hour or more.’
Fernie started to reply but the constable interrupted them.
‘The important point to ask both of you is, did you notice anything earlier on?’
‘Anything? What kind of thing? How much earlier?’ asked Alice.
‘Anything at all concerned with the Connons or their house. Any time yesterday.’
‘Well, no. I was over there in the afternoon …’
‘Over there?’ The constable leaned forward.
‘Did you know the Connons well, then?’
‘Mary Connon, I know – knew her very well. We were friends,’ said Alice; then, ‘We were friends,’ she repeated softly to herself, as though the import of the comment was just beginning to sink in.
‘And how did Mrs Connon seem to you then?’
‘Oh fine, fine. Just the same as ever. Nothing out of the ordinary.’
‘Did she say anything that struck you as unusual?’
‘No.’
‘Were there any phone calls? Any callers?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘What time did you leave?’
‘Shortly after four. I don’t know exactly. I came back to get Dave’s tea ready.’
‘What were Mrs Connon’s last words?’
‘Last words?’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound … what did Mrs Connon