Read Online An April Shroud by Reginald Hill - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Reginald Hill
Ads: Link
'I'll take the punt.'
He left, whistling cheerfully.
'Go with him,' said Dalziel.
'Do you mean me!' said Bertie incredulously.
'I'm not so old I see bloody spectres,' said Dalziel. 'Who else? You really want a drowning on your hands, then let the lad go punting by himself. Hurry up.'
'Why can't you go?' demanded Bertie.
'I'm older than you,' said Dalziel, patience draining away. 'And I'm colder than you, and I'm wetter than you, and I'm a guest in your fucking house, and I don’t care a toss if yon silly bugger ends up in the south Pacific. But he's your friend. So get a bloody move on!'
Bertie moved, looking rather dazed. At the door he paused, opened his mouth goldfish-like, but left without speaking.
'You've had practice,' said Mavis admiringly. 'What was it? Army?'
Dalziel had lost sight of her presence and looked at her assessingly, working out if an apology were in order. He decided not.
'Not really,' he said. 'Natural leadership qualities. That one needs a bit of stirring.'
'Mebbe so,' said the girl. 'But don't be too certain about Bertie. Some people develop that kind of complacency as a cover. The world's ruled by calm, smug, self-righteous pigs, and they've all been clever enough to get the top of the dungheap.'
'Cocks,' said Dalziel.
'Eh?' said the girl warily.
'It's cocks on dunghills, not pigs,' he explained. 'I don't expect there's a lot of nature study in Liverpool.'
'You'd be surprised. Hank's right. You are wet. Better get into something dry or you might find yourself spending more time here than you plan.'
'I don't plan to spend any time here,' said Dalziel. 'What about you? Just down for the funeral, are you?'
She shook her head, her straight black hair moving with it and stopping when the negative movement stopped. It was heavy and wiry, perfectly natural and with none of the gloss and bounce the TV commercials projected as the most desirable qualities of the female - and male - coiffure.
'No,' she said. 'Business mainly.'
Dalziel sneezed.
'Business,' he echoed invitingly, but all she answered was, 'You're mad to hang around like that.'
'I suppose I am,' he said. 'I'd best go and see if I can borrow any more clothes from the late lamented. Hey, he didn't die of anything catching, I hope?'
'Not unless having a hole drilled through your chest's catching.'
'What?'
'He fell off a ladder in the Banqueting Hall,' said Mavis. 'You've seen the Banqueting Hall, have you? Well, when the builders stopped coming, Conrad decided to have a go at the do-it-yourself. He was up the ladder with an electric drill trying to fix one of the beams. The ladder slipped. Down he came. Unfortunately he fell on to the drill and it was locked on. Straight through his ribs into the heart. Goodbye, Conrad.'
'That's nasty,' commented Dalziel, more because he felt it was expected of him than because he felt any distress. But it was certainly an interesting way to go.
'Was he by himself?'
'Yes.'
'So no one saw it happen?'
'What do you want? Colour pictures?'
'No. I don't think so. Well, I'd best get dried. It's been nice talking to you, Miss Uniff.'
'Mavis will do. It makes me feel younger.'
'You want to feel younger?' he said, surprised.
'Oh yes,' she answered. 'When I see what age does to you, I want to feel as young as I can possibly get, Mr Dalziel.'
'And what does age do to you?'
'It makes you crazy for money, I think,' she said slowly. 'Like, in the end perhaps that's the only way left to keep on pretending you're young.'
'I've stopped pretending,' grinned Dalziel.
'That's what they all think. But you'll see. You're not rich are you, Mr Dalziel?'
'Does it matter?'
'It might do. If you've got money and you stay in this house much longer, you'll be offered a deal. You might not even notice but you will. Go and get dry now.'
Dalziel lay naked in the dead man's bed under half a dozen blankets. After stripping off his wet clothes and towelling himself down till his flabby and fat-corrugated skin
He left, whistling cheerfully.
'Go with him,' said Dalziel.
'Do you mean me!' said Bertie incredulously.
'I'm not so old I see bloody spectres,' said Dalziel. 'Who else? You really want a drowning on your hands, then let the lad go punting by himself. Hurry up.'
'Why can't you go?' demanded Bertie.
'I'm older than you,' said Dalziel, patience draining away. 'And I'm colder than you, and I'm wetter than you, and I'm a guest in your fucking house, and I don’t care a toss if yon silly bugger ends up in the south Pacific. But he's your friend. So get a bloody move on!'
Bertie moved, looking rather dazed. At the door he paused, opened his mouth goldfish-like, but left without speaking.
'You've had practice,' said Mavis admiringly. 'What was it? Army?'
Dalziel had lost sight of her presence and looked at her assessingly, working out if an apology were in order. He decided not.
'Not really,' he said. 'Natural leadership qualities. That one needs a bit of stirring.'
'Mebbe so,' said the girl. 'But don't be too certain about Bertie. Some people develop that kind of complacency as a cover. The world's ruled by calm, smug, self-righteous pigs, and they've all been clever enough to get the top of the dungheap.'
'Cocks,' said Dalziel.
'Eh?' said the girl warily.
'It's cocks on dunghills, not pigs,' he explained. 'I don't expect there's a lot of nature study in Liverpool.'
'You'd be surprised. Hank's right. You are wet. Better get into something dry or you might find yourself spending more time here than you plan.'
'I don't plan to spend any time here,' said Dalziel. 'What about you? Just down for the funeral, are you?'
She shook her head, her straight black hair moving with it and stopping when the negative movement stopped. It was heavy and wiry, perfectly natural and with none of the gloss and bounce the TV commercials projected as the most desirable qualities of the female - and male - coiffure.
'No,' she said. 'Business mainly.'
Dalziel sneezed.
'Business,' he echoed invitingly, but all she answered was, 'You're mad to hang around like that.'
'I suppose I am,' he said. 'I'd best go and see if I can borrow any more clothes from the late lamented. Hey, he didn't die of anything catching, I hope?'
'Not unless having a hole drilled through your chest's catching.'
'What?'
'He fell off a ladder in the Banqueting Hall,' said Mavis. 'You've seen the Banqueting Hall, have you? Well, when the builders stopped coming, Conrad decided to have a go at the do-it-yourself. He was up the ladder with an electric drill trying to fix one of the beams. The ladder slipped. Down he came. Unfortunately he fell on to the drill and it was locked on. Straight through his ribs into the heart. Goodbye, Conrad.'
'That's nasty,' commented Dalziel, more because he felt it was expected of him than because he felt any distress. But it was certainly an interesting way to go.
'Was he by himself?'
'Yes.'
'So no one saw it happen?'
'What do you want? Colour pictures?'
'No. I don't think so. Well, I'd best get dried. It's been nice talking to you, Miss Uniff.'
'Mavis will do. It makes me feel younger.'
'You want to feel younger?' he said, surprised.
'Oh yes,' she answered. 'When I see what age does to you, I want to feel as young as I can possibly get, Mr Dalziel.'
'And what does age do to you?'
'It makes you crazy for money, I think,' she said slowly. 'Like, in the end perhaps that's the only way left to keep on pretending you're young.'
'I've stopped pretending,' grinned Dalziel.
'That's what they all think. But you'll see. You're not rich are you, Mr Dalziel?'
'Does it matter?'
'It might do. If you've got money and you stay in this house much longer, you'll be offered a deal. You might not even notice but you will. Go and get dry now.'
Dalziel lay naked in the dead man's bed under half a dozen blankets. After stripping off his wet clothes and towelling himself down till his flabby and fat-corrugated skin
Similar Books
