Child's Play

Chapter 11

The girl on the switchboard at the Challenger offices insisted on seeing Pascoe’s warrant card.

Satisfied, she said, ‘He’s popular with you lot tonight, isn’t he? Hang on, I’ll just jot down his address.’

‘Popular? Why do you say that?’

‘Well, there was the other chap, wasn’t there?’

‘Which other chap? What did he look like?’

The girl laughed.

‘He was no beauty, I can tell you that! I could hardly believe it when he said he was a copper. That’s why I asked to see his card and, fair do’s, I thought I’d better see yours too. A sergeant he was. Field or something like that.’

Postponing his contemplation of the implied proposition that beauty was a prerequisite of the police, Pascoe took the address and hurried away. What the hell was Wield doing here? he asked himself. The only answers he could give were not reassuring and he drove through the Friday night busy streets of Leeds at a speed which won him no friends. Twice he lost his way in a maze of suburban terraces before he pulled up outside the tall narrow house he was looking for.

There was a list of names by the door, most of them illegible. He didn’t waste time. The door was open and he went straight in, planning to knock and inquire at the first door he came to, but this proved unnecessary. From the floor above he heard a muffled cry and a thud. Up to the landing. A door stood ajar. He pushed it fully open and went in.

‘Jesus Christ!’ said Pascoe.

On the floor lay Henry Vollans. He was wearing nothing but a bathrobe open wide to reveal his naked body. Between his splayed legs stood Sergeant Wield and for a second Pascoe thought he was interrupting some homosexual love-play. Then he saw the length of shining metal in Wield’s upraised hand and the expression of sheer terror on Vollan’s face and decided that this went beyond the bounds of nice, straightforward sadomasochism.

‘Wield!’ he said. ‘For God’s sake!’

The sergeant turned on him with a snarl, as if prepared to treat him as an aggressor. Then he recognized the newcomer and the out-thrust blade, which Pascoe now saw was some kind of bayonet, was lowered.

‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Pascoe.

‘Same as you, I hope,’ said Wield.

The reporter, seizing the chance offered by this distraction, scrabbled his way across the floor and pulled himself up on a sofa, covering his body with the robe.

Pascoe, lowering his voice, said, ‘Dalziel got a phone call saying Vollans was a member of that White Heat group and suggesting we ask where he was on Wednesday night.’

‘He was just about to tell me that,’ said Wield, turning back to the terrified reporter.

Pascoe seized the sergeant’s arm.

‘For fuck’s sake, Wieldy, put that thing down. Where’d you get it anyway?’

‘One of our friend’s little war souvenirs,’ said Wield. ‘Take a look in that cupboard.’

Pascoe looked and turned away, sickened. He led the sergeant to the doorway out of earshot of the man on the couch.

‘OK, Wieldy,’ he murmured. ‘So he admires Hitler and loves the Ku Klux Klan, but that doesn’t make him a killer.’

‘He lied about his appointment with Cliff,’ said Wield. ‘I knew there was something wrong. Why the railway buffet? The bus station café would be the obvious place to come to his mind. And why first thing in the morning? What was he going to do that night? Come back to my place where he’d left all his stuff? No. I reckoned he’d be in such a rage that he’d want to get back at me straightaway.’

‘Mebbe. But …’

‘I talked to Charley. He remembers Cliff being there that night. And he remembers he went out with a young fair-haired chap. I thought of Vollans. I couldn’t see what it meant, but I thought it’d be worthwhile having a little chat.’

‘Some chat!’

‘He tried to give me the runaround. I’d come too far to be turned off with a smooth answer, so I belted him in the gut and had a look around. When I opened that cupboard, I had a good idea I was in the right spot.’

There was a movement by the sofa. Vollans was on his feet. He was clearly regaining control of himself though he still looked more like a frightened fox than Robert Redford.

‘You can’t do this,’ he said in a high voice. ‘I’m Press. This’ll be all over the front page of every paper in the country!’

Pascoe ignored him.

‘What’s he said to you, Wieldy?’ he asked quietly.

‘Nothing yet. You came in just when it were getting interesting.’

‘All right. Now I’ll handle it, understand?’

The sergeant obviously understood, but equally obviously didn’t agree.

Pascoe sighed and stepped towards Vollans.

‘Henry Vollans,’ he said. ‘First let me caution you that anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence. Next I’d be grateful if you would get dressed and accompany me to the nearest police station for further interrogation. Oh, and can you give me your car keys, please, as your vehicle will be required for forensic examination?’

‘I don’t have to do any of this,’ protested the reporter. ‘I want to ring my office. I want to contact a solicitor.’

‘Mr Vollans, that’s your right,’ said Pascoe. ‘But I’m in a bit of a hurry, so in that case, I’ll leave Sergeant Wield here to bring you in when you’re ready, shall I?’

The sergeant stepped forward. He was still holding the bayonet.

‘Don’t leave me with that lunatic!’ screamed Vollans. ‘I’ll come! I’ll come!’