it should be, is it? It's not how it should be!'
It was a poignant moment, suddenly and brutally interrupted by a tremendous hammering noise from the other side of the party wall and a high-pitched male alto voice calling what sounded like Teeny! Teeny! Where's my tea?
'Oh Dolly, I'm sorry, he must know I'm in here, I don't know how,' said Mrs Gregory,
Frostick leapt to his feet and banged his fist against the wall, bellowing, 'Shut up! Shut up!' And now another voice was heard next door, a hoarse bass, rumbling powerfully but incomprehensibly beneath the alto whose cries of Teeny! only increased in pitch and volume. Then the bass exploded; there was a sharp crack; and silence . . . till like dimples on a smooth flowing stream there came a little run of soft sobs like a child's comfortless crying.
'I'd better go,' said Mrs Gregory. 'I'll be back later, Dolly. I'm sorry, Alan. Goodbye, Inspector.'
She rose and left swiftly. Frostick, looking spent after his outburst, said, 'She never mashed the tea,' and went out, presumably to the kitchen.
Pascoe looked inquiringly at the woman on the sofa and after a while she said, 'It's Mabel's father. He's nearly eighty. He gets very confused. They've had to put his bed downstairs now, he's so awkward on his pins. I don't think he knows where he is half the time, but he always knows where Mabel is.'
'What was he calling?' asked Pascoe, thinking a brief diversion to her friend's problems might have some therapeutic value. 'It sounded like Teeny.'
'That's right. It's what he called Mabel's mother. That's who he thinks Mabel is most of the time, when he recognizes her at all.'
'It must be pretty awful,' said Pascoe.
'Oh yes.' To his horror he saw that tears were forming again in her eyes. 'It's been like that for three years and more now. I don't know how she stands it. It's just about driven her Jeff mad and Andrea, that's her daughter, up and left home earlier this year. That's why we didn’t want Dad to stay with us, partly anyway. It was bad enough when he was convalescing after his turn. Him and Alan got on each other's nerves and, I've got to be honest, it got on mine too a bit. But he seemed all right by himself after that, till just recently. He'd been getting more awkward and forgetful and we'd been talking about having him back here to live with us. I'd say it'd just be for a while till he got right again, but Alan'd say no, it'll be for ever, or at least for as long as he lives, and look at him next door, we shouldn't kid ourselves, it might be a long, long time. So we've talked and talked and sometimes I've thought there's no way round it but he's got to come, and then I've seen Mabel, or heard the noise from next door, and I haven't been able to face it, and that's the truth, Inspector.
'And now I know that maybe if I had been able to face it, he'd be here now and alive instead of . . . instead of . . .'
She stared unblinkingly at Pascoe through eyes big and bright with tears.
'It's not so much him being dead,' she said. 'That's all there was for him, I reckon. But not like that! Not like that!'
Frostick came in with the teapot and Pascoe waited for a new outburst from him for upsetting his wife. But all the man said was, 'You take milk?'
'Thank you. No sugar. Mrs Frostick, I'm sorry to bother you when I can see how upset you are, but I have to ask these questions. Did your father keep any money or other valuables around the house?'
'I don't know,' said the woman. 'No valuables certainly. He never had anything that was worth very much.'
'But money perhaps?'
'He used to keep money,' said Frostick, handing Pascoe his tea. 'He liked to settle for things in cash. Never had a bank account or a cheque-book. He wasn't badly off, either. He had a tidy pension from his work as well as the State. About seven or eight months back, Dolly came across a pile of notes he'd stuffed in an old kettle. More than a hundred pounds, wasn't there?'
'Yes, but I really got cross with
It was a poignant moment, suddenly and brutally interrupted by a tremendous hammering noise from the other side of the party wall and a high-pitched male alto voice calling what sounded like Teeny! Teeny! Where's my tea?
'Oh Dolly, I'm sorry, he must know I'm in here, I don't know how,' said Mrs Gregory,
Frostick leapt to his feet and banged his fist against the wall, bellowing, 'Shut up! Shut up!' And now another voice was heard next door, a hoarse bass, rumbling powerfully but incomprehensibly beneath the alto whose cries of Teeny! only increased in pitch and volume. Then the bass exploded; there was a sharp crack; and silence . . . till like dimples on a smooth flowing stream there came a little run of soft sobs like a child's comfortless crying.
'I'd better go,' said Mrs Gregory. 'I'll be back later, Dolly. I'm sorry, Alan. Goodbye, Inspector.'
She rose and left swiftly. Frostick, looking spent after his outburst, said, 'She never mashed the tea,' and went out, presumably to the kitchen.
Pascoe looked inquiringly at the woman on the sofa and after a while she said, 'It's Mabel's father. He's nearly eighty. He gets very confused. They've had to put his bed downstairs now, he's so awkward on his pins. I don't think he knows where he is half the time, but he always knows where Mabel is.'
'What was he calling?' asked Pascoe, thinking a brief diversion to her friend's problems might have some therapeutic value. 'It sounded like Teeny.'
'That's right. It's what he called Mabel's mother. That's who he thinks Mabel is most of the time, when he recognizes her at all.'
'It must be pretty awful,' said Pascoe.
'Oh yes.' To his horror he saw that tears were forming again in her eyes. 'It's been like that for three years and more now. I don't know how she stands it. It's just about driven her Jeff mad and Andrea, that's her daughter, up and left home earlier this year. That's why we didn’t want Dad to stay with us, partly anyway. It was bad enough when he was convalescing after his turn. Him and Alan got on each other's nerves and, I've got to be honest, it got on mine too a bit. But he seemed all right by himself after that, till just recently. He'd been getting more awkward and forgetful and we'd been talking about having him back here to live with us. I'd say it'd just be for a while till he got right again, but Alan'd say no, it'll be for ever, or at least for as long as he lives, and look at him next door, we shouldn't kid ourselves, it might be a long, long time. So we've talked and talked and sometimes I've thought there's no way round it but he's got to come, and then I've seen Mabel, or heard the noise from next door, and I haven't been able to face it, and that's the truth, Inspector.
'And now I know that maybe if I had been able to face it, he'd be here now and alive instead of . . . instead of . . .'
She stared unblinkingly at Pascoe through eyes big and bright with tears.
'It's not so much him being dead,' she said. 'That's all there was for him, I reckon. But not like that! Not like that!'
Frostick came in with the teapot and Pascoe waited for a new outburst from him for upsetting his wife. But all the man said was, 'You take milk?'
'Thank you. No sugar. Mrs Frostick, I'm sorry to bother you when I can see how upset you are, but I have to ask these questions. Did your father keep any money or other valuables around the house?'
'I don't know,' said the woman. 'No valuables certainly. He never had anything that was worth very much.'
'But money perhaps?'
'He used to keep money,' said Frostick, handing Pascoe his tea. 'He liked to settle for things in cash. Never had a bank account or a cheque-book. He wasn't badly off, either. He had a tidy pension from his work as well as the State. About seven or eight months back, Dolly came across a pile of notes he'd stuffed in an old kettle. More than a hundred pounds, wasn't there?'
'Yes, but I really got cross with
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