Arms and the Women

‘Are you saying you’d rather I’d killed one of them?’

He considered.

‘No,’ he said finally. ‘Gets boring interrogating corpses. Serious wound, but, now that would have been nice. Something that would need hospital treatment. How hard did you say you kneed him?’

‘I shouldn’t think he’ll be troubling his wife for a few nights, but I doubt if he’d go for treatment.’

‘Wife? You reckon he was married?’ said Dalziel casually.

‘Well, he wore a big gold ring on his wedding finger… Andy, that was clever. I’d forgotten that. I mean, I didn’t think I’d noticed that.’

‘Not all rubber-truncheon work down the nick. Anything else come to mind, apart from what you scribbled down?’

He looked at the piece of paper Ellie had scribbled her notes on.

‘Man was six feet,’ he read. ‘About thirty – slim build – light-brown hair – bushy – needed a cut – left-hand parting – brown eyes, I think – not blue – squarish face – open honest expression – God the bastards were good!…’

He looked enquiringly at Ellie.

‘Yeah, sorry about that.’

‘Nay, it’s useful what you felt. By good, you mean…?’

‘Saying they were with the Education Welfare Service. That’s the council department that helps deal with problems like absenteeism, truancy, bullying, parental complaint, anything that a school finds it can’t cope with internally. But what I mean is, at first they came over perfect for it. Nice, caring, positive people…’

‘Bumbling do-gooders, you mean? Sorry. Just trying to put it in terms my lads would understand. Clothing – suit – Prince of Wales check – light-blue shirt – blue and yellow diagonal striped tie – could have been Old Boys or a club – on his feet dark-brown sandals…’

‘Did I put that? No, he was wearing a sort of soft leather moccasin, no laces, dark-tan, casual but elegant, in fact, they looked rather expensive, come to think of it. Which is what you’ve made me do, you cunning sod. I never mentioned sandals!’

Dalziel grinned.

‘No. You put nowt. But shoes are important. Change everything else, but you want your feet to stay comfy.’

‘So if he changes into something else because he’s worried that I can describe him, he might keep the same shoes on?’

‘Aye, but don’t get excited. Not the kind of info we pass on to Interpol. Voice – light-baritone range – Irish accent…’

‘No, that one’s not going to work, Andy,’ said Ellie firmly. ‘I said no distinguishable accent, and that’s what I mean.’

‘So not a Yorkshireman.’

‘Not like you, no.’

‘Not deep and musical then. But there’s all sorts of Yorkshire voices. There’s that high squeaky one, like yon journalist fellow who used to shovel shit for Maggie Thatcher. And there’s that one like a circular saw –’

‘No, not northern at all,’ interrupted Ellie.

‘So, not northern and not Irish. We’re getting somewhere. Scottish? Welsh? Cockney? The Queen? Michael Caine? Maurice Chevalier?’

‘You’re getting silly. No, he didn’t have any accent at all, really. Like an announcer on Radio Four.’

‘You think Radio Four announcers don’t have accents?’ said Dalziel. ‘No, hang about, I think I’m with you. It’s you you think doesn’t have an accent! What you mean is this guy spoke the same way you do? Middle-class posh, but not so much it gets up your nose.’

Ellie, faced as so often with a choice between laughing at Andy Dalziel or thumping him, decided she’d been involved in enough violence for the day and laughed.

‘Yes, I suppose that is what I do mean,’ she said.

‘Grand. Now the woman. How’s she for injury, by the way?’

‘She might have a black eye, and a few scratches,’ said Ellie, thinking affectionately of the Pompon de Paris. ‘Hey, and there could be a few threads from her dress hooked on the rose bush by the front door.’

‘We’ll check. So. Age thirties – five-eight or -nine – dark eyes – long face – not bad-looking – expensive make-up –what’s the difference between expensive and not so expensive?’

‘The more you pay, the less you see.’

‘Like sending your kids to public school. Hair black – natural – short – classy stylist – I won’t ask – build slim – good figure – there’s that good again. Know what I mean by good, but what’s it signify to you?’

Ellie threw an exasperated glance at Shirley Novello who returned it blankly.

‘Well, I’m sure that to you, Andy, a good figure suggests something like two footballs in a gunny bag, but what I mean is something you can see’s there but all in proportion, back, front, and middle, OK?’

‘Like you, you mean?’ said Dalziel, looking at her appreciatively. ‘In fact, sounds a lot like you, except mebbe for the expensive make-up. Joke. Now, clothing – olive-green cotton dress – sleeveless – leather shoulder bag – no stockings – pale-green sling-back shoes. Was she married?’

Ellie thought then said, ‘Yes, she was wearing a wedding ring. And she had a ring on her right-hand middle finger too. Green stone. Plus a wristwatch. Expanding bracelet, gold, I think. Sorry, I should have put that down.’

‘You’re doing fine. The watch on the same hand as the ring?’

‘Yes. The right. Hey, that means…’

‘She could be left-handed. That’s summat. Voice husky – accent Midlandish. Birmingham? Wolverhampton? Black Country?’

‘Any. It was just a patina, so to speak, not a full-blown accent.’

‘Might have made it to Radio Four, eh? Hello, here comes Smiler again.’

Wield had re-entered the room.

He said, ‘We’ve got Peter,’ and handed Ellie the mobile phone, then looked at Dalziel and jerked his head doorwards, suggesting they leave.

The Fat Man yawned, scratched his nose and poured himself another Scotch.

‘Peter! Yes, yes, I’m fine, really… And you two… that’s great, I knew you would be, but I just wanted to hear it from your own lips… Wieldy’s told you all about it, I’m sure… honestly, no harm done… Well, you’ll guess I was a bit shook up at first, but once I realized it was just a stupid jape… what else could it be?… No, no, don’t do that. I don’t want Rosie worried. Just carry on, enjoy the rest of the day… I’m fine, really… no, I won’t be on my own, and you’re not due back late… give my love to Rose… and you too… yes, I will, I do… yes, he’s here. ’Bye, darling.’

She handed the phone to Dalziel, then bowed her head and let out a deep breath as she relaxed from the effort of keeping her feelings in check. The temptation to let it all flood out as soon as she heard Peter’s voice had been very strong, which was probably why the fat bastard had stayed in the room. She looked up to find Wield watching her, and jerked her head at him in a mirror image of his own gesture, then led him outside.

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ she said in the hall.

Novello had followed them out. Dalziel must have dismissed her. All right for her to hear me spilling my guts, but not to eavesdrop on his conversation with Peter, thought Ellie.