Child’s Play

He regarded her speculatively.

‘One thing I have realized already is how far it is out of town if you haven’t a car. The buses seem to be as rare as virtuous women and go all around the houses, if that’s not a contradiction. Keechie tells me you run a car.’

‘You’ve done a bit of talking about me, haven’t you?’ said Lexie. ‘Yes. I’ve got an old Mini. The Old Mill’s out of the way too.’

‘Precisely. And rather out of the same way, isn’t it? What I mean is, you must pass within a few yards, barely two miles anyway, of Greendale village. Perhaps I could persuade you to make a diversion some morning?’

She said, ‘I thought actors slept mornings.’

‘Art never sleeps. Are you game?’

‘I’ll not wait around.’

‘I shall be ready and waiting before the bawdy hand of the clock has reached the prick of eight. It’s all right. That’s not rude, it’s Shakespeare. You shall hear for yourself. As reward for your kindness, you shall have a complimentary ticket for our first night next Monday, and an invitation to the party afterwards. Then you can run me home too! Talking of which, how about running me home tonight? I work office hours till we open.’

‘I’m not a taxi-service,’ said Lexie, standing up. ‘Besides, I’ve got an evening class so I’ll not be going straight back. Thanks for the wine. I’d not pay for them sandwiches if I were you. I’d best get back.’

‘It’s been a pleasure,’ said Lomas. ‘You won’t forget to call?’

‘I said so,’ replied Lexie. ‘Cheerio.’

She left, passing quite close to Pascoe and Dalziel, who was on his fourth pint and third pie. Neither man paid her much attention. She wasn’t the kind of woman to catch a man’s eye. Indeed, with her close-cropped hair, big spectacles, un-made-up face and big leather handbag slung over her shoulder like a satchel, she looked for all the world like a schoolgirl returning to the classroom.

But Rod Lomas watched her out of sight.

Chapter 6 (#ulink_71840e0d-a2af-5572-b4a2-e3483150a623)

‘Maurice? It’s Mac. Mac Wield.’

‘Good Lord! Mac? Is that really you?’

‘Yes, it’s me.’

‘Well, how’ve you been? How are you?’ With a sudden injection of sharpness. ‘Where are you?’

‘It’s all right, Maurice. I’m safely up here in Yorkshire.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean … My dear chap, you’d be more than welcome to come and visit …’

‘Except you’ve got someone staying and you haven’t forgotten last time, in Newcastle.’

‘Don’t be silly. You were upset. Naturally. How do you know I’ve got someone staying?’

‘I rang your flat last night. He answered. I rang off. I didn’t want to risk causing embarrassment. Also I wanted a private chat.’

‘So you ring me at the office? Not very good police work that, Mac.’

‘It’s lunchtime. You’re by yourself, else you’d not be talking like this,’ said Wield confidently.

‘True. You just caught me. I was on my way - and I must get back on it pretty soon. Mac, can I ring you this evening? Is it the same number?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ said Wield.

‘Oh. Same reason?’

‘In a way. I’m ringing from work too,’ said Wield.

‘My, we are getting bold,’ said Maurice Eaton.

Wield heard the savagely scornful irony with sadness, but it stiffened his resolve.

‘Mebbe we are,’ he said. ‘I’ll not keep you. There were just a couple of questions I wanted to ask.’

‘Really? Don’t tell me I’m helping with inquiries at last!’

The voice had changed a lot. It was lighter and slipped more easily into an archness of delivery which Eaton had once been at great pains to avoid.

‘You’re getting bold too, Maurice,’ said Wield.

‘Sorry? Don’t get you.’

‘You used to be so scared of anyone spotting you were gay, you’d even say your prayers in a basso profundo,’ said Wield, savage in his turn.

‘Have you rung me to quarrel, Mac?’ asked Eaton softly.

‘No. Not at all. I’m sorry,’ said Wield, fearful the connection would be broken before he got answers.

‘Very well. Then what do you want?’

‘Do you know a lad, name of Sharman? Cliff Sharman?’

There was a silence which was in itself an answer, and more than just a simple affirmative.

‘What about him?’ said Eaton finally.

‘He’s here.’

‘You mean up there, in Yorkshire?’

‘That’s what here means up here.’

‘Then my advice to you, Mac, is, get shot of him quick as you can. He’s a poisonous little asp. Put him on his bike and send him on his way.’

‘You do know him, then.’

‘Yes, of course I do. Or I did. Mac, he’s trouble. Believe me, get rid of him.’

‘What’s he done to you, Maurice? How well did you know him?’