Death Comes for the Fat Man (40 page)

“Of course,” said Kewley-Hodge. “Could you see yourself out? Have a look around first, if you want. Not much to see by way of ornament but the house itself is not without interest to a student of vernacular architecture. And you might bump into your good-looking young assistant if he’s survived Mama’s ministrations.”

He spoke with a faint hint of mockery, as if to say he knew exactly what Rod was up to.

“Let’s hope he’s saved me a slice of seedcake,” said Pascoe.

10

M O T H E R L O V E

In fact, by the time Rod had fi nished, there wasn’t much cake left.

One of the consequences of getting up so early had been he missed breakfast and Pascoe’s summons hadn’t left any space to fit it in.

“Sorry,” he said, looking at the sparse remains of a once bulky seedcake.

“That’s all right,” said the woman with a smile. “Young men need to keep their seed level high. And you did help me with rubbing down my son’s horse.”

He smiled back at her. He had rapidly sussed out two things that Pascoe on his admittedly briefer contact had missed.

One look at her eyes had told Rod she was undoubtedly related to Kewley-Hodge, a relationship she’d just confirmed. The second thing he assessed instantly was that she was a very sexy woman, and after a few minutes in her company he added bright, lively, with a sense of humor. And a great baker.

So he relaxed and prepared to enjoy himself. If information came, well and good. But instinct told him it would be useless to try to force the game. Also he knew from experience that when he relaxed, it was often infectious.

“I’m Rod, by the way,” he said.

“Edie. So how long have you been in the Service, Rod?”

“How do you know I’m not a copper?” he asked.

“You didn’t say, Hello, hello, and rock back on your heels.”

“Inside I did when I saw you,” he said boldly.

“Think I’m in the market for a toy-boy, do you?” she said, smiling.

“I’ll need to know a lot more about you first. So how did you become a spook? And don’t tell me you answered an ad in the
Church Times
.”

d e a t h c o m e s f o r t h e fa t m a n 301

He saw no reason not to tell her the story of the way he’d been recruited, though he was careful not to mention Komorowski’s name.

She seemed genuinely interested and ten minutes later he realized he was still talking about himself in answer to her questions whereas it should have been the other way round.

“Time out,” he said. “Now you know everything interesting there is to know about me, it’s your turn. Fair’s fair.”

“You want everything interesting?” she said. “That could take a long, long time or a couple of seconds. Depends what interests you.”

“You do,” he said, meaning it.

“OK. I’ll give you the full history, shall I? Only slightly expurgated because you’re so young.”

She was as good as her word. Most of the early stuff he’d heard from Pascoe as they drove from Manchester, but hearing it from the woman’s own lips gave him a charge, which meant he didn’t have to feign interest. She told him about her father, Matthew Hodge, the construction king; about growing up as the swinging sixties merged into the sybaritic seventies; about going to boarding school; about marrying Alexander Kewley at an age when most of her friends were planning university careers. She didn’t say she was pregnant when she married but that was the implication.

Whatever her intention had been when she embarked on this voyage through her past, she seemed borne along on an irresistible current and needed only the gentlest of interlocutory zephyrs to keep her on course.

She told him of her joy and pride in her son, and her father’s pride in his grandchild who he hoped would grow up to take over the family business. But before he could do so, Hodge Construction UK, a victim of its own success, was taken over by a huge American conglomer-ate, which was perhaps just as well as the teenage Luke showed little sign of wanting to become anything but a soldier. So off he went to Sandhurst, and passed out with huge distinction.

Here a pause. Knowing the rocks and reefs ahead, Rod offered his gentle zephyr.

“Edie, this must be so painful to you, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that you should . . . ”

302 r e g i n a l d h i l l

“It’s OK,” she said. “You get used to pain. You’ve still got that to discover, Rod. My boy went into the army and his career continued as it had begun, a real ‘Boy’s Own’ story. Till the day the news came that he’d been hurt.”

And now the story changed from “Boy’s Own” to dark tragedy.

The news that Luke had been injured had been a huge shock. But so used had his friends and family become to the with-one-mighty-leap-he-was-free sequel to all his perils that hope remained high till they got confirmation that the effects of the injury were going to be permanent.

This news was even more devastating than the fi rst report.

On hearing it, Edie’s father, Matthew Hodge, collapsed with a cor-onary thrombosis and was dead before the ambulance arrived.

Alexander Kewley-Hodge was himself just out of hospital, where he’d been receiving treatment for bowel cancer. How much his condition was affected by the news no one could say, but subsequent to hearing it, he deteriorated rapidly and within a fortnight he too was dead.

“That’s awful,” said Rod, genuinely moved.

“Yes, it was,” said the woman in a matter-of-fact voice. “And it would have continued to be awful if it hadn’t been for Luke. From the start he refused to be pitied. Help that sprang out of love he would accept, but let him get the slightest waft of pity and he’d throw it back in the helper’s face. That applied to me and others close to him as much as anyone. As you’ve seen, his aim is maximum control, of his own life that is, not other people’s. I’m here as his housekeeper, not his nurse.”

“And his mother too!” protested Rod.

“That goes without saying,” she said. “So there you are, young man.

Now you know everything interesting there is to know about me. Do finish what remains of that cake. In your job, heaven knows when your next meal may turn up.”

11

A C H A N G E O F D I R E C T I O N

And was she right?” asked Pascoe.

They were driving away from the castle. Having to report on his encounter with Mrs. Kewley-Hodge as he drove cut Rod’s speed by half and they were moving so slowly that pheasants crossing the road were able to pause and check the surface for nibbles before getting out of the way.

“Up to you, Pete. Are we going back for lunch or shall we stop somewhere on the way?”

“I mean about knowing everything interesting about her, not about your cuisine,” snapped Pascoe.

“Of course. Sorry,” said Rod, grinning. “No, I shouldn’t imagine so.

I suspect she told me exactly what she wanted me to know. But most women do.”

“And she showed no curiosity about our reasons for turning up here?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Didn’t you find that odd?”

“Not particularly. I reckon she’s got so used to her control-freak boy calling the shots that she reckons he’ll tell her if he wants to, and if he doesn’t, then she doesn’t need to know.”

“You think he has that amount of control?”

“Oh yes. She worships the ground he doesn’t walk on,” said Rod.

“What about you, Peter? What did you make of the galloping major?”

Pascoe looked at him reflectively and said, “You didn’t take to him, did you?”

“Hardly saw him,” said Rod negligently. “But from what I did see 304 r e g i n a l d h i l l

and certainly from what I heard about the guy, I got the impression he might make a big thing about being master of his fate and all that stuff while he’s at home in a controlled environment, but once he’s away from here, he’s just another poor sod in a wheelchair, right? Is it really possible he could be involved with the Templars?”

Pascoe said, “Know what I think, Rod? I think rubbing down that horse with Edie has turned you all chivalric. You’re pissed off with Luke because you reckon he’s mucking his dear old mum about. You’re sorry for the poor old bird. Unless . . . don’t tell me you fancied her?”

The young man grinned.

“A bit maybe. Think it was mutual,” he said. “That’s why we got on so well. She’s taken care of herself, you can see that. Must have been a real stunner. Yes, I liked her and I wouldn’t have said no. What about you? No, sorry, of course you go for the young stuff like Ffi on.”

Rod laughed, inviting Pascoe to join in the fun. When he didn’t, the young man said seriously, “You really think he could be involved, don’t you?”

“Oh yes,” said Pascoe. “Up to his fucking neck.”

Rod was so surprised by the force of the affirmation that his gaze momentarily flickered from the road to Pascoe’s face.

“Careful,” said Pascoe. “You’ll have us in the ditch. Eventually.”

To tell the truth he too was a little surprised by the positiveness of his own response. Maybe Ellie was right and because the Fat Man wasn’t around, he felt it necessary to speak his lines. But having spoken this one, he realized he believed it absolutely.

“But Edie . . . I mean, if she was mixed up in something like this, she would hardly have been so forthcoming. Would she?”

“You mean just because she has something to hide doesn’t mean she’d try her damnedest to persuade you she hasn’t? That’s an interesting view of criminal psychology. I must remember to put it into my next CID seminar paper.”

Rod flushed rather becomingly and Pascoe pressed on.

“As for her son being just another poor sod in a wheelchair, as you so sensitively put it, first off, there’s sods in wheelchairs running everything from their own businesses to the London Marathon. And if d e a t h c o m e s f o r t h e fa t m a n 305

there are times when, like all of us, they require a little help from their friends, where better to look for it than from a devoted mumsy who thinks the sun shines out of your paralyzed arse?”

For the next minute, which meant rather less than the next half mile, they drove in silence. Then Rod said, “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry.”

“No need. You did really well,” said Pascoe, feeling guilty that he’d gone over the top to score points and put the youngster back in his place. But there was one more point it was necessary to make. “Now stop the car.”

The young man checked his mirrors, signaled, and carefully drew into the side of the road, which was empty as far as the eye could see in both directions.

“Now get out,” said Pascoe.

Rod hesitated, then obeyed.

Pascoe slid over into the driver’s seat and looked up at the youngster’s anxious face. Maybe he thinks I’m going to make him walk home, he thought.

“Don’t just stand there,” he said wearily. “Get in the passenger seat.

There are only twenty-four hours in the day, so I’m going to drive. You can cover your eyes if you like.”

Rod climbed in and fastened his seat belt with showy precision.

He didn’t cover his eyes but sat in a stiff silence till they reached their junction with the main road.

He glanced toward Pascoe as he gunned the engine to propel the car into a rather narrow gap in the traffi c.

“Peter,” he said. “I hate to tell you this but I think you just turned the wrong way.”

“You think so. What if I was taking a shortcut back to Manchester via the M1 and M62?”

“I don’t think you’ll find that’s a shortcut,” said Rod.

“It is if you want to visit Bradford,” said Pascoe.

12

P R I S O N

Hugh.” “Bernard.”

“De Payens.”

“De Clairvaux.”

one thousand two thousand three thousand

“Bernard, it would have been a kindness to warn me that PC Plod was going to pay a visit.”

“Ah. That’s where he is. I wondered. But I didn’t worry. Should I have worried?”

“Whether I’d be able to deal with a country bobby? I hope you know me better than that.”

“Don’t underestimate him. I thought we had corraled him but I see we have not. Don’t worry, I’ll deal with it. So how did it go?”

“He asked me about Andre while his acolyte chatted up Mummy.”

“And?”

“And he went away as he arrived, which is, I’d say, uncertain but extremely suspicious. I could find nothing to say to allay his suspicions.

In fact, to have attempted to be other than I am would itself have been suspicious, don’t you think?”

“You’re probably right. He’s no fool, and he’s been an irritation since he first appeared. And of course it’s through him that the hunt is up for Andre.”

“Yes. Maybe I should have sent Andre after him rather than the moron.”

“No. That was a mistake,
my
mistake, which has already proved costly. Let’s not make any more. So far, unless the one in a coma dies, d e a t h c o m e s f o r t h e fa t m a n 307

our hands are clean of our own side’s blood. Andre is still holed up with Geoffrey O, I take it?”

“Yes. I spoke to him yesterday. He was still keen to go ahead with taking the Sheikh out. Andre seemed amused when Omer admitted to having taken that potshot and said he’d like to demonstrate how the job should be done.”

“I hope you told him that’s a definite no. After Omer’s stupidity, Sheikh Ibrahim is going to be particularly difficult, and the last thing we want is Andre exposing himself. It’s too great a risk.”

“He enjoys risk. And surely now he’s been blown, he’s the one we could afford to keep active? The others have been signaled to go to earth for the time being. And if the worst happened and he was taken, he is at the same time completely loyal and completely unbreakable.”

“No one is unbreakable.”

“I am, Bernard. OK, Andre
could
lead them to me, but I don’t believe he ever would . . . ”

“He has already.”

“Not directly. That was that smart-aleck cop. Anyway my point is, even if I did get blown, there’s no way I would ever lead them to you if that’s what’s worrying you. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not? Of course it worries me. And it should worry you too.