Read Online Pictures of Perfection by Reginald Hill - Free Book Online

then strolled to the safety of his car with studied ease.
    Once seated and driving, normal service was renewed and all the speculations came flooding back. A puritanical devotion to duty, Halavant said. All the evidence certainly pointed that way. He came off duty at twelve noon yesterday. Twice since then – once when remonstrating with theHells Angel, and again last night at Scarletts – he had been seen in uniform doing his job. Curious.
    He got Control on his radio, asking them to check with CID and with Filmer’s Section Office whether there’d been any report last night of intruders in the grounds of Scarletts, then set off towards Enscombe once more.
    His call sign crackled just as he reached the beginnings of the village and he pulled up in front of a steep-roofed single-storey building inscribed Village Hall and Reading Room to acknowledge. Next moment Andrew Dalziel’s voice filled the car like thunder.
    ‘What’s all this about an incident?’
    Pascoe explained.
    ‘Well, there’s nowt on anyone’s records,’ said Dalziel.
    ‘That’s a bit odd, don’t you think, sir?’
    ‘No, I don’t. The lad’s off duty, remember? Gets called out, finds it’s a wind-up, he’s not going to waste more of his own time putting in a report, is he? In fact, it probably decides him to make himself scarce for the rest of his time off. He’ll likely turn up later, all apologetic about not letting Filmer know where he was. End of story.’
    ‘From what Halavant told me he sounds a lot more conscientious than that,’ said Pascoe. ‘What about the stains in the car?’
    ‘Seems they’re blood all right, they’re checking the group. But I can think of a dozen explanations, none of ’em sinister. And another thing. Youcan scratch the assault by the mad Hells Angel. Wieldy’ll tell you all about it. Try not to laugh.’
    ‘He’s coming out here too, is he?’ said Pascoe, surprised.
    ‘Someone had to ferry Filmer and Digweed back,’ said Dalziel defensively. ‘Any road, two heads should get this lot sorted out in no time, especially when one on ’em would frighten a confession out of a village pump. But take care, the pair of you. Don’t stir things up. We’ll look right Herberts if we blow this up into a dogs and divers job and it turns out young Bendish is banging the vicar’s wife and has just shagged himself unconscious in the vestry!’
    ‘Thank you for that, sir. Any other advice?’ said Pascoe.
    ‘Don’t get on your high horse! Listen, you want local colour, try Thomas Wapshare at the local. He’ll talk your hind legs off if you let him. Knows how to keep a good pint does Thomas, but be warned. His black pudding doesn’t half make you fart!’
    Interesting, thought Pascoe as he replaced the mike. Dalziel was obviously just a little bit more worried than he wanted to be.
    Like a good cop, he decided to take his superior’s advice, though his motivation was mixed. Dalziel’s intimate acquaintance with the hostelries of Yorkshire was famous and the Fat Man’s recommendation of a beer was not to be missed. But where was the pub?
    A cyclist had come down the High Street as he talked on the radio and was leaning his bike against the wall of a substantial granite-built house directly opposite the village hall.
    Pascoe wound down his window and called. ‘Excuse me, sir, can you tell me where the village pub is?’
    The young man looked towards him. He had a pale thin face, unshaven, though the resultant fuzz was more down than stubble, and amber eyes which gave an unsettling impression they were used for looking through rather than seeing with. Even more unsettlingly, his hands were occupied untying a shotgun from his crossbar and a gunny bag from his pillion. Something was dripping from the bag. It looked like blood.
    Pascoe recalled Dalziel’s warning about making himself look a right Herbert by stirring things up unnecessarily. On the other hand he would look a righter Herbert if he let this