social worker, perhaps? Or perhaps just specially gifted with superb bloody insight?’
He found he was punctuating his phrases with violent forefinger jabs into the man’s midriff. Far from being distressed by the discovery, he found himself contemplating the greater satisfaction he might derive from putting all his pugilistic eggs into one basket and smashing his fist into this fellow’s unpleasant, sneering face.
To give him his due, the man did not look frightened, merely taken aback by the unexpectedness of the attack.
‘What the hell – look here – you bloody madman!’ he expostulated.
Pascoe had almost made up his mind. Even the memory that last time he had thrown a punch in anger the result had been a mild contusion for the recipient and a broken forefinger for himself did not deter him. He clenched his fist.
‘Pascoe!’
It was the authentic voice of absolute authority. It might have been Dalziel. He turned. Standing up out of the shadows of the corner near the gents was Backhouse.
A violent push in the back sent Pascoe staggering a few paces forward. His adversary had taken advantage of the interruption to get both feet firmly on the floor and counter-attack. Pascoe looked round at the grey-haired figure crouched in the standard aggressive posture. He looked as if he might in fact know how to handle himself. But this didn’t prevent him from seeming faintly ludicrous, and Pascoe felt his anger ebb away as he recognized his own absurdity.
‘Go to hell,’ he said wearily and pulled out a chair and sat down opposite the superintendent.
Backhouse still looked angry but didn’t say anything. Instead he picked up his not quite empty glass and went towards the bar.
‘A light ale this time, please, and a scotch.’
‘For him? He gets no service here. In fact if he’s not out in thirty seconds, I’ll get the police to throw him out.’
Pascoe turned, surprised. His late adversary was confronting Backhouse with undiminished aggression. This must be Palfrey, the pub-owning major.
Pascoe groaned inwardly. Even the toughest toughs worked to the principle that if you had to fight in pubs, you never picked on the landlord. Backhouse, he realized, was now in an awkward position. The leather-coated fellow might well be a reporter. Almost certainly was from the tone of Palfrey’s remarks to him. He couldn’t know yet who the participants in this little drama were, but he would soon find out.
Pascoe rose and made for the door.
‘It’s all right,’ he said to Backhouse as he passed. ‘I prefer pubs where the barman sticks to his own side of the counter.’
Thirty yards along the street he paused and waited for Backhouse to overtake him.
‘Mr Dalziel never mentioned you were such a violent man,’ said the superintendent conversationally.
‘He wouldn’t,’ said Pascoe. ‘I wear a heavy disguise whenever I attack him. Will he do anything?’
He gestured back towards the pub.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Backhouse. ‘For once the publican’s well-known reluctance to call in the police could work on our side.’
‘He didn’t know who you were?’ asked Pascoe unnecessarily.
‘No. I was just having a quiet sandwich and listening with great interest to the major’s reminiscences of your friends to the Press when you so rudely interrupted him.’
‘So that thing in the kinky gear was a reporter?’ asked Pascoe.
‘Yes. Not, so far as I could gather, a regular crime man. Some kind of feature writer who happened to be on the spot and is looking for an interesting angle. That’s why he’s in the Eagle chatting to the major instead of herding with the others at the village school, waiting for the inquest to begin.’
‘Already?’ Pascoe was surprised. He glanced at his watch. It was just on two.
‘Somehow they got the notion it was starting at one-thirty instead of two-thirty. Hence I was able to grab a bite of lunch in peace.’
Backhouse’s voice held no irony in either sentence. Superintendents don’t need to be ironic, thought Pascoe bitterly.
‘What was Palfrey saying about Rose and Colin?’ he asked abruptly. ‘They had a row, you know. That’s why they used the Queen Anne.’
Backhouse sighed deeply.
‘You know, Sergeant,’ he said, ‘you really must try to break the habit of a lifetime, or however long you’ve been in the force, and not investigate this sorry business. Trust your colleagues. If you don’t, it can only lead to grief. You might even end up, heaven forbid, obstructing the police in the execution of their duty.’
‘Yes,’ said Pascoe, not bothering much to infuse repentant sincerity into his voice. ‘Now what was Palfrey saying? Sir.’
‘Little enough. I think your friends were a little – what would be the in-character word? – Bohemian for his taste. According to his version of the quarrel, he barred his doors to them because their language and behaviour gave offence to many of his old and valued customers. There are, and I quote him now, some words which even in this day and age he would not wish a woman to hear nor expect a lady to use. I think I’ve got that fine antithesis right. Did Mrs Hopkins swear a lot?’
‘When the occasion arose.’
‘But not enough to give rise to the occasion?’
‘Not when I knew her,’ answered Pascoe.
‘But that, as you frequently remind me, was some years ago. To continue. Palfrey under the influence of a couple of gins became confidential, said he was not altogether startled that such a household could come to such an end, and had just launched into his attack on your friend’s balance of mind when you interrupted him.’
‘I should have broken his bloody neck,’ said Pascoe dispassionately.
Backhouse sighed once more.
‘I suggested to your boss I might like to keep you by me for a while. I was wrong. The sooner you head back to Yorkshire, the better. And don’t go near the Eagle and Child again before you go. That’s an official warning. Understand?’
‘Sir,’ said Pascoe. ‘What about you?’
‘Oh, never fear. I’ll see him again and ask him a few questions. It was hardly an opportune moment just now, was it?’
He laughed and burped slightly.
‘I won’t touch his draught again, though. His pipes must badly need decoking.’
Their conversation had brought them to the village hall. A uniformed constable now stood on duty at the door. He stiffened to attention as the superintendent passed. Pascoe hesitated on the threshold.
‘You’d better come in,’ said Backhouse. ‘Then I can keep an eye on you. We’ll go
