Free Ruling Passion by Reginald Hill Page A

back. Is it urgent?'
    'I'm not sure.'
    She stared hard at him and asked dubiously, 'Are  you a policeman?'
    'Well, yes. Yes, I am,' said Pascoe. 'Sergeant  Pascoe.'
    'Sergeant? That ought to be all right then. I am  Alicia Langdale.' She paused. For effect? thought  Pascoe. Is she the lady of the manor? Should I be  impressed?
    'Yes?' he prompted.
    'And it's connected with my job, you see. That's what makes it so delicate.'
    'What is your job, Mrs Langdale?'
    'Miss. Can't you see? I'm a postman.'
    Oh my God! thought Pascoe. That's what the  gear is! He could see he had lost what little ground  the revelation of his rank had gained him.
    'Of course,' he said with a smile.
    'My sister, Anthea, and I keep the post office. She takes care of the internal business and I look  after deliveries. Normally what happens, of course,  is that people post their letters, they are collected in a van and taken to the main post office in town  where they are sorted.'
    'I see,' said Pascoe.
    'But sometimes, if it's a matter of local mail  - things that I'm going to have to deliver anyway, you understand - some people just leave  them on the counter or push them through our  letter-box.'
    She raised her chin and looked defiantly at  Pascoe, who suddenly knew what this was all  about. He took the letter Miss Langdale produced  from her large pocket and stared down at Colin's  distinctive handwriting. J. K. Palfrey, Esq., The  Eagle and Child, Thornton Lacey.
    A flock of thoughts rose and fluttered around  Pascoe's mind. The proper course of action was  clear. Take the letter to Backhouse who would  then take it to Palfrey and require it to be opened  in his presence. If it was not relevant to the inquiry that would be an end to it. But if it was . . . ! Pascoe did not feel somehow that Backhouse would be  keen to let him read it.
    He realized with a start that Miss Langdale was  still speaking.
    'I was almost at the Eagle and Child this morning when I met Mrs Anderson who told me the news.  She picks up everything very quickly, I'm afraid. Normally I pay no heed, but this was different. This  was dreadful, dreadful. So I finished my round but  kept this letter. Anthea and I have been discussing  all day what we ought to do. It's our duty to deliver  the Queen's mail, you see. But if, as seemed possible in the circumstances, it might cause distress . . .  and in a sense, it had not in fact been posted, had it?  So here I am. Will you give me a receipt, please?'
    Her voice was suddenly brisk, businesslike.  Pascoe looked round for a piece of paper and a pen. He had made up his mind to open the letter  and damn the consequences. Every instinct in his  body warned him against it, but told him at the  same time how important the letter was. He had  to see. This might be his only chance.
    'Receipt book's in the top drawer, Sergeant.'
    It was Crowther, standing quietly in the doorway. His chance had gone.
    'Interesting, this,' said the constable, holding the  letter before him after he had efficiently disposed of Miss Langdale. 'I'd better let the super have it  right away. Thanks for taking care of things.'
    He put the letter in his tunic pocket, tidied up  the papers on his desk, stared a long moment at  the disturbed carbon copy of his notes but did not  remove them, and left.
    'Damn! damn! damn!' said Pascoe. But he shuddered to think of the dangerous course he had been  about to steer on. The sooner he got back to Dalziel  and other people's losses, the better.
    He went back into the living-room to collect Ellie  and take her to the Culpeppers'.
     

Chapter 7
     
    The Culpeppers' house was an impressive structure. Built in traditional Cotswold stone, its lines and proportions were unequivocally though unobtrusively modern.
    The gardens consisted principally of herbaceous borders and lawns running down to an encirclement of trees. Whether the Culpepper estate  extended into the woods was not clear. The