Deadheads Page 7

  Pascoe half expected an angry outburst at this revelation of his oblique approach to Aldermann but Elgood merely responded with heavy sarcasm, ‘What did he expect, bloodstains on the carpet?’

  Pascoe ignored this and proceeded, ‘I’ve also looked carefully at such reports as exist on the deaths of your Mr Eagles and Mr Bulmer. There doesn’t appear to be an untoward circumstance in either case.’

  ‘No?’ Elgood sounded almost relieved. ‘Well, I was mebbe a bit upset the other day. You can get things out of proportion, can’t you? I’ve had a lot on my mind recently.’

  Perversely, Elgood’s apparent desire to drop the matter provoked Pascoe into pressing on. He dumped the plastic bag on the desk.

  ‘I’ve got your lamp here, sir. Our technical staff checked it out. A worn connection caused the trouble.’

  ‘Bloody lousy workmanship, as usual,’ grumbled Elgood.

  ‘It could have been worn deliberately,’ said Pascoe. ‘By rubbing it against the edge of a desk, for instance.’

  ‘Was there any sign of that?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Pascoe. ‘But no positive evidence it didn’t happen either. Similarly with your garage door. The spring had gone and the whole counterweight system was therefore out of operation. Wear and tear, metal fatigue, or …’

  ‘Or what, Inspector?’ said Elgood irritably. ‘Is there owt or is there nowt?’

  Pascoe shrugged and said enigmatically. ‘Nowt. Either way.’

  Elgood rose and wandered across the room, glancing at his watch. He came to a halt in front of the photograph of the group at the works gate.

  ‘So I’ve made a bit of a charley of myself,’ he said. ‘Well, it happens to everyone, I suppose.’

  ‘Not very often to you, I shouldn’t have thought,’ said Pascoe.

  ‘Not often,’ agreed Elgood. ‘Once in a blue moon, though, a man’s entitled to act a bit daft. Well, I’ve had my turn, and I hope it’ll see me out. Thanks for calling, Inspector.’

  He turned to face Pascoe, but the Inspector did not take his cue to depart.

  ‘There was one other thing,’ he said. ‘Something which seemed to have a better chance of fitting in with your notion that Mr Aldermann was shoving people out of his way rather recklessly. You had a Mr Burke working here once, didn’t you?’

  ‘Chris Burke? Aye. What about him?’

  Elgood’s face was thrust forward attentively, bright eyes alert.

  ‘If I understand it right, Aldermann came here in the first instance on a part-time basis?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘And would never have joined the staff full time if a vacancy hadn’t occurred, the vacancy being caused by the death of Mr Burke who was assistant to Mr Eagles, your Chief Accountant?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So,’ said Pascoe. ‘Here’s another death that helped advance Mr Aldermann.’

  ‘Don’t be bloody daft! That was four years ago!’ said Elgood.

  ‘There’s no time-limit on criminal inclination,’ Pascoe pontificated. ‘And the circumstances of Mr Burke’s death look far more suspicious than either Mr Eagles’s or Mr Bulmer’s.’

  ‘What circumstances?’

  ‘I understand he fell off a ladder and broke his neck.’

  ‘And that’s suspicious? Christ, you do scrape around, you lot, don’t you? Look, Inspector, I’m sorry you’ve been bothered. I just got a daft bee in my bonnet, that’s all. I’m sorry. It’ll have given Andy Dalziel a good laugh, any road, so it hasn’t been an entire waste. Now I really am a bit busy, so if you don’t mind …’

  Pascoe rose. He’d got what he’d hoped for, the withdrawing of the complaint if complaint there’d been, but he wasn’t as happy as he’d expected. He went to shake Elgood’s proffered hand. Over the small man’s shoulder, the faces in the photo grinned derisively at him. Even without the legend inscribed at the bottom, it was easy to pick out Dandy Dick. Dapper, spruce, smiling broadly he stood at the group’s centre, exuding confidence.

  Then another name in the legend caught Pascoe’s eye.

  ‘I see there’s someone called Aldermann,’ he said. ‘Any connection?’

  He worked out which it was. A slightly built man with a black moustache and a rather melancholy expression (even though smiling) who reminded Pascoe of Neville Chamberlain.

  ‘With our Patrick, you mean?’ said Elgood. ‘Yes, that’s Eddie Aldermann. He’d be, let me see, his great-uncle. A good lad was Eddie. I got into a bit of a tangle in them early days and someone put me on to Eddie and he got it sorted and after that he managed all my finance. He was a genius with figures. Could have been a millionaire, I reckon. Would have been if his missus had her way.’

  ‘Oh. How was that?’

  Elgood’s desire to be rid of him seemed to have weakened now he was into the past. The only period of history which really fascinates most people, Pascoe had often remarked, is that commencing with their own childhood and ending about ten years ago.

  ‘Flo Aldermann was a pushy woman. Eddie would have been happy enough working for a steady wage and getting home in plenty of time to look after his patch of garden, but Flo wanted more than that. And she was right, in a way. He had the talent, he made the money. A man should use his talents. The trouble was, he had more than one talent. The other was with gardens, roses in particular. And Flo over-reached herself when she pushed him into buying that house of theirs, Rosemont. It was too big for ’em and had been badly neglected, but she wanted it, so Eddie spent thousands doing it up. But the gardens needed doing up too, and that’s where Flo got caught. Eddie wasn’t an obstinate man except when it came to his gardening. Now instead of a quarter-acre he had four or five. He dug his heels in, and his spade too, likely. This came first from now on. Well, they were very comfortable, very comfortable indeed, but it was the gardens at Rosemont as robbed Flo of her million, I reckon.’

  ‘And Patrick inherited the estate? They had no children of their own?’

  ‘No. Flo wasn’t the mothering kind. It was her niece, Penny Highsmith, that inherited. Nice lass, Penny. Bonny lass.’

  Elgood’s eyes gleamed with a connoisseur’s enthusiasm.

  ‘And Patrick inherited when she died?’ said Pascoe.

  ‘No,’ said Elgood in exasperation. ‘Penny’s Patrick’s mother. She’s still living down in London somewhere.’

  Now Pascoe was really puzzled.

  ‘You say she was Mrs Aldermann’s niece. And her name’s Highsmith? And she’s still alive? But Patrick owns Rosemont and he’s called Aldermann?’

  ‘Oh aye, it does sound a bit odd, I reckon. She split up the estate when he came of age, so I gather. She missed London and the bright lights, he wanted to stay up here, I suppose. So he got the house and she went off with the rest and set herself up down south.’

  ‘And the name?’

  ‘He changed it, by deed poll, soon as he came of age. He thought the sun shone out of Eddie’s arsehole, so it seems. Wanted to follow his example in every way. It came of not having a father of his own, I expect. Well, he managed it so far as Rosemont goes, from what I’ve seen. He’s got a real touch with the roses, I’ll give him that. But he doesn’t come within a light-year of being the accountant old Eddie was.’

  ‘Yet you took him on at Perfecta?’

  Now they were back on the old track again, Elgood immediately began to show signs of his old impatience to end the interview.

  ‘Why not? It was a gesture for old times’ sake. He needed a job. I saw no harm in pushing a bit of work his way. There’s room for a bit of sentiment in business, Mr Pascoe.’

  ‘You mean he was out of work? An accountant?’ said Pascoe who placed accountants with doctors, undertakers and whores in the class of the perpetually employed.

  ‘He was with some firm in Harrogate for a bit, but he fell out with them and left. There was some talk of a bit of bother, but Yorkshire’s a grand place for smoke with not much fire, so there was likely nothing in it. He’d been
working private for a couple of years when I took him on. I reckon he’d been living on capital, myself, and doing most of his work in those bloody gardens of his!’

  ‘But you kept him on? Promoted him in fact?’

  Elgood shook his head angrily and said, ‘Not really. In fact he was just on the point of getting the push. We had to start cutting back because of the recession. We’re still at it, which is why I’m hanging around here waiting for this bloody meeting to finish. We got shot of all our part-timers for a start, from the factory through to the executive level. Aldermann was finished. Then Chris Burke died. Our policy, again at all levels, was to offer part-timers a full-time job if there was a vacancy. Aldermann was the only one who could do Burke’s job, obvious. So he got it.’

  ‘And he’s not done it very well?’

  ‘He muddles through,’ said Elgood. ‘But his heart’s not in it. But he can be a charmer too, and he’s not without friends at court. There’s a few on my board think he’s the bee’s knees.’

  The intercom buzzed. He answered it.

  Miss Dominic’s voice said, ‘The meeting’s over, Mr Elgood.’

  ‘Right. Thanks.’

  To Pascoe’s surprise, Elgood started tidying up, rolling down his sleeves, fastening his tie, buttoning his waistcoat, putting on his jacket. He had assumed that the dishevelled look was specially prepared for encounters with the work force.

  Elgood seemed to catch his thought and said as he combed his hair, using the photograph glass as a mirror, ‘They expect me to look smart, a bit flashy even, full of confidence. Would you chuck that pork pie in the wastebin? Thanks. And hide that bloody Lucozade. They’ll be calling me Doris if they spot that. Now, you’d best shoot off, Inspector. Thanks for your bother.’

  Pascoe went slowly towards the door.

  ‘So we’re just to forget all this, are we, Mr Elgood?’ he said.

  ‘I thought I’d said so,’ said Elgood impatiently.

  ‘Goodbye then,’ said Pascoe.

  As he opened the door, Elgood added in a quiet voice, ‘And, Inspector, I mean, forget it. It embarrasses me even to think about it, and I don’t want to find myself on the end of a defamation action. So no more nods and winks, eh? No more ugly buggers from the CID prowling around Aldermann on some trumped-up business that wouldn’t fool a child. I just went neurotic for a bit. It won’t happen again. I’m sorry you’ve been bothered.’

  ‘That’s all right, Mr Elgood,’ said Pascoe. ‘Best of luck with your negotiations. Watch how you go.’

  In the corridor he was making for the stairs, when he heard lift doors rattling open at the other end. So Miss Dominic had deliberately exercised him. Perhaps he hadn’t been so far wrong about the whip!

  He retraced his steps. Out of the lift stepped four overalled men and Miss Dominic herself. Clearly she did not care to match her strength with the work force. He nodded at her and stepped into the lift. On the way down it stopped at the second floor and a man entered. He was in his thirties with an oval face, watchful brown eyes and neat black hair. He wore a dark blue business suit of conventional cut. His only departure from executive sobriety was a beautifully formed lilac-blue rose in his buttonhole.

  Pascoe had never seen him before but he reminded him of someone. When they reached the ground floor, Pascoe motioned the man out ahead of him. He smiled his acknowledgement and strode away, permitting Pascoe to glimpse the initials P. A. monogrammed on his briefcase.

  Perhaps this explained the sense of familiarity – not a physical resemblance, but a resemblance to a mental image. This had to be Patrick Aldermann.

  Outside, the man got into a Cortina parked almost in front of the door. Pascoe’s car was round the side in the works car park. As he walked past the Cortina, the man looked at him through the still open door and said, ‘Can I offer you a lift?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Pascoe. ‘I’ve got my own car. Excuse me, I couldn’t help noticing your rose. What a fascinating colour.’

  ‘You like it? It’s a Blue Moon. Here, please take it.’

  To Pascoe’s surprise he plucked the flower from his lapel and put it into the inspector’s hand.

  ‘But I can’t …’ said Pascoe, taken aback.

  ‘Why not? Blue Moon means improbability. Everyone needs a little improbability in their life, don’t you agree? The thing is, having the courage to accept it. Goodbye.’

  The door closed, the car started up almost silently and purred away.

  Pascoe watched it go, then resumed his walk to the car park thinking that these words of Aldermann’s, though perhaps the most enigmatic, were far from the most thought-provoking utterances he’d heard that day.

  9

  ESCAPADE

  (Floribunda. White rosy-flushing blooms, single, hanging together in large bunches, sweet-smelling when open.)

  Police Cadet Singh realized with a sinking heart that the situation was beginning to get out of his control.

  Passing through the central shopping precinct on his way to the station, he had not been altogether displeased to run into a trio of old school acquaintances, particularly as the girl in the group showed a disposition to be turned on by his uniform, and the boys (both out of work) though more diffident of manner, were equally interested in what he thought of the job.

  Unfortunately the precinct was a popular stamping ground for the young unemployed, of whom there was a tragic plenitude. A couple more old acquaintances joined the group, then one or two other youngsters he didn’t know, till suddenly he found himself surrounded by at least a dozen.

  The atmosphere was still amiable enough, but an element of horse-play was entering into it. There were now four girls, very audience-conscious, and their admiration was becoming exaggerated to the point of parody. One had ‘borrowed’ his hat and tried it on. Envious of the applause, one of the boys had taken it from her and gone into a heel-rocking ’ello-’ello-’ello comic policeman routine.

  Singh preserved a forced smile while his mind raced to work out the best solution to the problem. Any attempt to retrieve the hat could easily result in a game such as was often played in the old school yard, with a cap being hurled from one hand to another as its owner made desperate attempts to grab it. Also, in the middle of the precinct was a very tempting fountain around which the old folk sat exchanging stories and cigarettes. The thought of having to paddle among the floating fag-packets to retrieve his hat made his dark skin burn with shame.

  But something would have to be done. The excited little group was already drawing the attention of passers-by.

  ‘Excuse me, Officer,’ said a woman’s voice, very clear without being over-loud.

  Singh turned. Behind him stood a tall, slim woman with a small child in a papoose-basket on her back.

  ‘Yes, madam,’ Singh stammered.

  ‘I wonder if you could direct me to the Chantry Coffee House?’ said the woman.

  ‘Certainly, madam,’ said Singh. ‘Now, let’s see …’

  ‘I know it’s somewhere near the Cathedral,’ continued the woman, ‘but all those little winding lanes are so confusing. Perhaps if you’re going that way, you could show me?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Singh. He held out his hand, the hat was put into it, he placed it carefully on his head.

  ‘See you around, lads,’ he said. ‘This way, madam.’

  After they had put the youngsters a little distance behind them, Singh heaved a huge sigh of relief and said, ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Pascoe.’

  Ellie raised her eyebrows at him.

  ‘You remembered me then? A policeman’s memory for faces!’

  ‘I hope so.’ He hesitated, then went on. ‘Them lads back there, they’re all right really. There’s just nothing to do but muck about all day.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Ellie. ‘I didn’t think I was rescuing you from a lynch mob. Is that why you joined, so you wouldn’t have to muck about all day?’

  She spoke with real sympathy. Also, while she firmly b
elieved that the same right-wing policies which were creating unemployment were ironically driving young men to join those bastions of the right, the police and the armed forces, as an escape from the dole, she’d found hard statistics difficult to come by. Even one living and personally known example would be helpful.

  To her surprise Singh looked somewhat offended.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘My dad’s got a shop. I could’ve helped there if I’d wanted. I just thought I’d rather try the police, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ellie, feeling put in her place. ‘And how’s it working out?’

  ‘Not so bad. A bit boring sometimes,’ said Singh, who was not about to pour his heart out to this DI’s wife, no matter how nice she seemed. On the other hand, there was no harm in trying to do yourself a bit of good. ‘What I’d really like,’ he went on, ‘is to get into plain clothes later on. Uniform branch is all right to start with, but it’d be smashing to be working with someone right clever like Mr Pascoe.’

  He gave her the full brilliance of his smile, Ellie returned it, genuinely amused.

  ‘I’ll not tell him you said that, I promise,’ she said. ‘I know it’d just embarrass you, and it might go to his head. Well, thanks for showing me the way.’

  She halted and Singh was discomfited to see he had been about to walk right past the Chantry Coffee House. It was an elegant bow-fronted establishment, a long way removed in style and price from the Market Caff. No external grime or internal steam masked these velvet-curtained windows, and instead of the pong of frying fat these ventilators exhaled the pungent aroma of roasting coffee. But a glance through the gleaming panes as he went on his way confirmed that one thing was unchanged. Mrs Pascoe’s rendezvous here was with the same woman she’d been sitting with in the Market Caff, the woman whose name he now knew to be Mrs Daphne Aldermann.

  That the two women should be friendly didn’t strike him as odd. Ellie would perhaps have been irritated, though not necessarily surprised, to learn that in Police Cadet Singh’s eyes, she and Daphne Aldermann were two of a kind – confident, articulate, middle-class women who’d never have to worry about things like money and manners. He’d thought a lot about Mrs Aldermann since he and Sergeant Wield had visited Rosemont. There’d been more in that interview than met the eye. There was no real epidemic of car-vandalizing such as Wield had described, certainly nothing to justify spending CID time on. Yet Wield had sat there and asked daft questions, and later he’d choked Singh off when he’d suggested obliquely that the sergeant was more interested in the woman than the car.