Free A Clubbable Woman by Reginald Hill Page A

varied private houses had made Alice glad that they had been offered a house here rather than in the middle of the estate.
    Up till now.
    Maisie’s voice suddenly rose so sharply that it penetrated the confused web of her own thoughts.
    ‘That’s them, isn’t it, Alice? In that car. I thought I recognized them.’
    Her eyes focused ahead. A black saloon had just driven by them. She remembered seeing it in the cemetery car park. She watched with trepidation as it slowed down further along the street. For a moment of heart-sinking shock, she thought it had pulled over to stop in front of her own house. But the driver was merely giving himself enough room to swing round to the left, over the pavement and into the Connons’ drive.
    ‘I wonder what they’re after?’ asked Maisie, increasing her pace.
    Alice didn’t wonder. She didn’t care. As long as they weren’t after Dave. She’d have to talk to him again. She’d have to make it quite clear that he was worrying her silly with his slanderous gossip. She’d have to get him to realize that he could get himself into very serious trouble with these terrible accusations against Mr Connon. Very serious trouble.
    Unless …
    It was curious that the thought had never entered her mind before.
    Unless they were true.
    She began to lengthen her stride to keep up with Maisie Curtis.

    ‘“Dear Miss Connon,
    ‘It must be terrible for you to find that your mother is dead and to realize your father is a murderer. Nothing can bring your mother back. But it may be some comfort to you to know that the man you think is your father is not. Your mother married him only so that her baby (you) would have a name. What a name! It is a murderer’s name. Think yourself lucky he is nothing to do with you.’”
    ‘No signature.’
    ‘Let me see,’ said Dalziel.
    Pascoe handed over the letter. The superintendent took it carefully by the same corner that Pascoe had used and glanced down at the writing.
    ‘At least it’s clean,’ he said.
    ‘That’s little consolation,’ said Connon, who was standing with his arm protectively over Jenny’s shoulders. To Pascoe the girl did not look particularly in need of protection. In fact she had the same rather dangerously angry look he’d seen wrinkle her brow after the funeral.
    ‘Let’s get this clear …’ Dalziel began.
    Connon interrupted him.
    ‘I presume that means you want me to repeat myself.’
    Clever sod, thought Dalziel. Clever-clever. I’m beginning to hope you did it, clever Connie.
    ‘No, I’ll repeat you,’ he said. ‘You just confirm. It’s a question of making sure we’re talking the same language. Now, you came straight back after the funeral arriving … when?’
    Connon looked at his daughter.
    ‘Quarter to twelve,’ she said. ‘I put the radio on. There was a time-check.’
    Then she added, almost apologetically, ‘I wanted a noise in the house. Something lively.’
    Pascoe looked at her sympathetically. She didn’t avoid his gaze but stared back till he looked away.
    ‘You picked up the letter as you came in, but didn’t open it immediately?’
    ‘No,’ said Jenny. ‘I thought it’d be just another condolence note or card.’
    ‘Anyway, you made a pot of tea, brought it through to your father who was sitting in here, then you opened your letter?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘And what? I showed it to Daddy.’
    ‘And I,’ cut in Connon, ‘decided we ought to get in touch with you instantly.’
    ‘Quite right too, sir.’
    ‘Well, Superintendent, what next?’
    Dalziel looked around with the kind of heavily underlined hesitance that could be clearly marked in the back row of the gods. Pascoe watched in awe.
    He invites them to join in his games, he thought. That’s the secret of his success. He reduces it all to the level of a pantomime.
    ‘I wonder,’ said Dalziel, ‘I wonder if I could perhaps have a word with you alone, sir?
    Connon looked doubtful.
    If he’s not careful,