Читать книгу Arms and the Women - Reginald Hill - Страница 14

Edgar Wield…

Edgar Wield…

biking through the glen…

Poof.

Perve.

Shirtlifter.

Arse bandit.

All these and more figured in Gaw Sempernel’s brief remarks when he dropped by in person to tell me to add Sergeant Wield to his current operational folder which, with what he probably sees as subtle wit, he has christened Sibyl’s Leaves.

It’s not often Gaw and I meet face to face these days.

Well, not face to face exactly, he towering, I at wheelchair level, his eyes never meeting mine direct, mine looking straight at his immaculately tailored crotch.

If I reached out and touched him, how would he react?

Not, I suspect, as once I could make him react just by smiling and moistening my lips at him across a crowded committee room.

‘Reasons for inclusion?’ I asked him.

Because I say so, hovered in the air between us.

Then the famous Sempernel diplomacy clicked in and he said, ‘Close associate of Dalziel and Pascoe, very friendly with Eleanor Pascoe, lives with Edwin Digweed, former solicitor, struck off shortly after qualifying when he was convicted of committing an act of gross indecency with a gentleman whose voice is now listened to with great attention when he speaks from, appropriately enough, the cross-benches in the Upper Chamber. It was theorized at the time by our masters that, had not the case become public, it might have been a prelude to long-term political blackmail.’

‘Grounds?’ I asked, fingers poised.

‘Irrelevant now,’ he said dismissively. ‘Point is, here we have a policeman whose private life makes him vulnerable. The only way he’s been able to survive is with the protection of his superiors, and we would be wise, I’m sure you’ll agree, to ask ourselves why that has been given.’

‘You’re not suggesting that Superintendent Dalziel and DCI Pascoe are gay?’ I exclaimed.

‘If they were, that would make things simple,’ he said pompously. ‘It is the fact that they probably are not that I find sinister.’

You find friendship sinister, I thought. Oh, Gaw!

‘In any case, the sergeant’s sexual orientation is no longer a matter of law,’ I said.

‘Sexual orientation?’ he mocked. ‘You have been too long immersed in the obliquities of Sibylline utterance. Let us call a spade a spade.’

And then came out the long list of mocking insults.

Oh Gaw, I thought. What indignities did you suffer at that school of yours to make you so vehement? Or perhaps the question should be, what ecstasies did you experience which make you feel so guilty?

But nothing I said.

Mine is not to reason why, or at least not to be seen reasoning why.

Mine is merely to obey orders and collect here all those whom Gaw Sempernel sees fit to designate as leaves on his tree.

Edgar Wield…

Edgar Wield…

Most inscrutable of men…

Working-class background. Can’t have been easy growing up feeling as you did in a Yorkshire mining village, son of a lurcher-loving, pigeon-fancying father, with the pit gaping at your feet and the only traditional ways out university for the very bright or professional Rugby League for the very brawny.

You were neither, Edgar, but you found a third way which, though it attracted the contumely of your peers, diverted their suspicion from the truth of you.

The police.

Were you perhaps still trying to convince yourself that it was, as they used to say, only a phase? That given the right environment you’d wake up one day and say to yourself, what I really fancy is finding a willing lass and giving her a right good shagging?

Or were you looking for a job where most people see only the uniform, never the man?

You were good at the job.

Not ivory tower university bright perhaps, but sharply focused with a phenomenal memory and a huge capacity for marshalling intricate detail, you took all the police exams in your stride, you won commendations for bravery, your annual reviews were undiluted paeans, you looked set to rise high. But once you became sergeant in the CID, you remained fixed.

Not for you the exposure of high rank.

You enjoy what you are doing. You are good at it. And your association with those other two who have also come fluttering down into Sempernel’s leaves, Dalziel and Pascoe, has given you confidence enough to live your life more freely, not to flaunt who you are but not to hide it either.

And still Gaw Sempernel suspects you.

Or at least feels he might at some point be able to use you.

From what I know of you, lying here in my little casket, Sergeant, this may not be the least of his errors.

loved by his friends…

refusing to yield…

Edgar Wield…

Edgar Wield…