Bones and Silence

‘Well, I wanted to know if he was all right, naturally. And when Ellison … Dr Marwood said it was just some kind of nervous tension and he’d been sedated but seemed fine this morning, I got worried in case it had something to do with me.’

‘Would that have surprised you?’

She thought about this, then said, ‘Yes, it would. He could get very emotional, Greg, you know, fly off the handle, have a fit of what they’d call hysterics in a woman. But it was always at something specific. Often it was completely illogical, but there had to be something, not just sitting at home brooding about things that had happened. And in any case, I doubt if he did much brooding about what had happened to us.’

‘What had happened to you, Mrs Waterson?’ asked Wield.

‘I don’t see that that has anything to do with you,’ she retorted. ‘Look, what you’re here for is to find if I can help you track down Greg, right? Well, I can’t. I walked out on him three weeks ago and till this morning I’d not seen him since.’

‘Mrs Waterson, when I arrived this morning, you didn’t look like, well, like a woman separated from her husband.’

‘Because I was letting him kiss me and feel me up?’

‘That’s right.’

She smiled and drew on her cigarette, both with visible effort.

‘Sergeant, I went to see him in my break. I was exhausted. You can’t imagine what a relief it was to talk to someone who wasn’t talking to me professionally. And when he got hold of me, well, at least he wasn’t grabbing at me to complain about a pain or ask for a bedpan. It was nice and soothing when he started stroking me, like a massage. Oh yes, when you arrived I probably looked as if I was ready to get into bed with him, and I was. But not to make love, just to sleep … sleep … sleep …’

She leaned back and closed her eyes. Wield felt very sorry for her but not so sorry that he was going to return to Dalziel with questions unasked.

He said, ‘What did you and your husband talk about this morning?’

She opened her eyes with difficulty and looked at him blankly.

‘What did he say about the reasons for him being there?’ he pressed.

‘What makes you think he said anything?’ she evaded.

‘Well, so far you’ve not asked me a single question about it, luv,’ he said. ‘And that sounds like a lack of curiosity which could be a record.’

‘You’re not daft,’ she said wearily. ‘All right. He told me everything. He’d written it all down. Did he not show it to you? Why’d that fat bobby, Dalziel, not come himself?’

That fat bobby. Wield liked it. But Waterson hadn’t mentioned Dalziel in his written statement. Significant?

‘Do you know Mr Dalziel?’ he asked.

‘I’ve seen him, naturally. He doesn’t bother much with curtains. And everyone roundabout talks about him. He’s what you call a character, I suppose.’

‘I suppose he is,’ said Wield. ‘Did you believe your husband’s statement, Mrs Waterson?’

‘Of course, no problem. Things fall apart around him, always have done. Give him a pencil and he’ll draw you a near-on perfect circle. But I’ve known him cut his finger spreading butter and he can break a cup just stirring his tea. Put him and a gun in the same room and someone’s almost bound to get hurt. Story of his life.’

She yawned widely. He wasn’t going to be able to keep this interview going much longer. There were more ways of escape than decamping.

‘Did you know he was having an affair with Mrs Swain?’ he asked.

‘Not specifically,’ she said, standing up and moving slowly towards the narrow bed which occupied one corner of the room. ‘But I know all about her, all that matters, I mean.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means she’d be slim, with long legs, good figure, blonde hair. Names don’t matter. I sometimes doubt if Greg knows their names. He’s like a little boy in a sweet shop. He just points at the lemon popsicles, and because he’s such a charming little boy, he usually gets what he’s pointing at.’

As she spoke, she loosened her skirt, stepped out of it, and began to unbutton her blouse. There was nothing seductive or suggestive in the action even if Wield had been seducible or suggestible in that direction. She was on automatic pilot, preparing for crashdown. Wield did notice, however, that she fitted her husband’s blueprint very well.

‘Was it because of the women you left him?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘Not just the women.’

‘What, then?’ he asked, wondering if sleep or her answer would break the tape first. It was a close-run thing.

‘… it was like … going home … to another shift … and it was always … Saturday night … on casualty …’ she said. Then she slipped onto the bed with one arm still in her blouse and was instantly asleep.

Wield stood looking at her for a while. His two exemplars came into his mind. First he did what Pascoe would have done, eased her arm out of the blouse sleeve and folded the duvet gently over her body.

Then he did what Dalziel would have done and started to search the room.

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_597152b6-0f39-5b67-b98e-0ff779d8c6c4)

Down at the Black Bull, Dalziel was trying to change the subject.

‘Did you have a look at them letters?’ he interrupted.

‘Which letters?’ said Pascoe.

‘From that barmy woman. I put ’em on your desk. Surely you’ve had time to read a couple of letters?’

Pascoe sighed, recalling the small alp of files which had reared out of his in-tray that morning. In fact he had read the letters, if only for their relative lack of bulk.

‘Yes, I saw them. Very interesting. Now about your statement …’

Having grasped the nettle, and also having paid for the first two rounds despite the official postponement of his celebration, Pascoe was determined not to let go.

‘I just said what I saw, lad.’

‘Which was Swain holding the gun. Then Water-son making a grab for him. Then the gun went off?’

‘I heard the gun going off, didn’t see it,’ corrected Dalziel. ‘Now, about them letters, I’d like your opinion, you being such a clever sod.’

‘Yes, sir. You’re sure about the sequence?’

‘Of course I’m bloody sure!’

‘Then Waterson must be covering up for Swain?’

‘See? I was right. You are a clever sod,’ said Dalziel, finishing his second pint. ‘All we’ve got to do is find the bugger, kick some sense into him, and I get to stay flavour of the month. Now, these letters …’

Pascoe gave up. For the time being.