Free Ruling Passion by Reginald Hill

Dalziel wasn't good when he wanted, but good in the  style of the old actor-managers. There was always a  sense of performance. Backhouse was more natural. There was even a chance that he was sincere.
    'Just one thing more,' he said, pausing at the door. 'What was Mr Hopkins writing his book  about?'
    'His book? Poverty! He laughed when he told  me. Coming to Thornton Lacey to write a book  about poverty in modern Britain was like hunting  polar bears in Africa, he said.'
    'It doesn't sound a best-selling subject,' opined  Backhouse cautiously.
    'I don't know. Full of case histories, hard-luck  stories, people driven to crime, the effect of inadequate diets on sexual performance, that kind of  thing. It's the kind of pop sociology that could sell.'
    'You sound disapproving.'
    'Not at all. Envious perhaps. Until this morning.'
    'Yes. Not much cause for envy now. Goodbye.'
    They sat in silence for a while after he had gone.  Ellie spoke first.
    'I'm sorry,' she said.
    'What for?'
    'For before, what I said. Grief's a selfish emotion  really. I had forgotten they were your friends too.'
    'Yes. And Colin still is.'
    'Do you think he did it, Peter?'
    Pascoe made a hopeless gesture.
    'I don't know. I can't believe it, but I've got to admit the possibility. People kill those they love all  the time.'
    'But you were willing to attack some poor  bloody stranger because he accepted the possibility? Odd behaviour for a policeman,' she mocked  affectionately.
    'I'm an odd policeman,' he said, kissing her  gently.
    'Thanks,’ she said. 'Now I'm going to pull myself  together and face the world. Whatever the truth,  Colin will need friends when they catch up with  him.'
    She stood up and stretched her arms as though  newly roused from sleep.
    'Do I gather you've got us invited somewhere for the night?'
    Pascoe explained briefly about the Culpeppers, concealing his own irrational dislike of Marianne.
    'I see,' said Ellie. 'Sounds all sweet sherry and  sympathy. I'll go and freshen up, then I wouldn't  mind sampling the country air for half an hour or  so before we present ourselves to our hosts.'
    'A good idea. There's plenty of time,' said Pascoe.
    The door opened and Mrs Crowther reappeared.
    'He's gone then,' she grunted. Her gaze fell on the tea-tray.
    'And no one wants my tea?'
    'Oh, I'm sorry,' exclaimed Ellie. 'It's my fault. I  just forgot.'
    'Look,' said Pascoe. 'Why don't you two sit down and have a cup? It should still be hot. I just want  to pop out and check the car. It seems to be eating  oil lately.'
    Ellie shot him a curious look, but he left quickly before she could say anything. As he had expected, the office section of the house was empty. Crowther  would be very busy about the village this afternoon. He made straight for the table which carried  the solid old Imperial typewriter, and saw what he was looking for straightaway. In the wooden tray by the machine were Crowther's notes on local colour plus the carbon of the typewritten version given to Backhouse. He ignored the original in the  constable's crabbed hand and picked up the copy.
    He had just started on the first of the five quarto sheets when a voice spoke behind him.
    'Excuse me.'
    Pascoe started so violently that his leg twitched  and cracked painfully against the rim of the desk.  Christ! he thought, your nerve ends really have  been exposed today, my boy.
    Instinctively he let the sheets of paper slide out of his hands into the tray before he turned.
    Standing behind the small counter across which the public could seek audience with their local  guardian of the law was a rather frail old lady  who seemed to be wearing a military uniform of  sorts. WVS? wondered Pascoe.
    'Yes?' he said.
    'I was hoping to find Mr Crowther.' She had a slow, gentle voice. Definitely good works, he decided. Moral samplers and nourishing broth  round the farmworkers' hovels.
    'I'm afraid he's not here at the moment. I don't  know when he'll be