him,' said Mrs Frostick. 'I made him go into town with me and I stood over him while he paid most of it into his building society account. I didn't often lose my rag with him, but when I did, he knew better than to try and outface me.'
'Do you think you cured him of the habit?' asked Pascoe.
'I doubt it,' said Frostick. 'He was a wilful old devil. He'd just hide the next lot somewhere that Dolly wouldn't find it, that's what I reckon.'
'Well, perhaps we can check to some degree by looking at his building society pay-in book and seeing if he's drawn much out recently,' said Pascoe. 'I'm afraid we'd very much like it if you could come down to the house as soon as you feel able, Mrs Frostick, and check over everything to see what, if anything, is missing.'
'Do I have to?' she said in a low voice.
'There's no one else can do it, is there?' said Pascoe.
'You'll have to go some time, Dolly,' said her husband. 'Tomorrow morning, Inspector. That suit you?'
Pascoe would have preferred today, but looking at the woman and understanding now something of the burden of self-reproach she was carrying, he didn't have the heart to press her.
'One last thing,' he said. 'Your father was still alive when you found him. Did he say anything at all that you remember?'
'No,' she said. 'Nothing. Only Charley.'
'Charley?'
'That's our son,' she said. 'He and his grandad were very close. He must have wanted to see him, or get me to tell him something.'
Her voice broke again.
Pascoe looked on her grief with genuine sympathy, but he was a policeman as well as a fellow human and the best he could do was to try and keep his policeman's thoughts out of his voice as he said casually, 'How old's your son, Mrs Frostick?'
'Eighteen,' she said.
'Is he at home at the moment?'
The note of casual, friendly inquiry might have lulled a doting mother but Frostick was both sensitive and aggressive.
'No, he's bloody well not!' he snapped. 'He's in Germany, that's where he is!'
His wife, bewildered by his aggression, said, 'Charley's in the Army, Inspector. He couldn't get a job, you see, so he joined up this summer. It was all right at first, he was out at Eltervale Camp doing his training with the Mid-Yorkies, so we saw plenty of him. Then he got sent off to Germany three weeks ago. It's not right really, he's just a boy, and he'd just got himself engaged to Andrea, that's Mrs Gregory's girl next door, you'd think they'd have kept him a bit nearer home . . .'
'Best reason on earth for going abroad!' interrupted Frostick. 'Lad of his age engaged! Stupid. And to that scheming trollop! He's a good lad, our Charley, Inspector. He wasn't content to sit around on his arse collecting the dole like some. He did something about it, and he'll make a real go of things, if he's let!'
Frostick's voice was triumphant. Clearly the wider the gap between Charley and the toils of Andrea Gregory, the better he would be pleased.
But on the sofa Mrs Frostick was weeping quietly and steadily, not only, Pascoe guessed, for a dead father, but also for a lost son.
Chapter 8
'Well, I have had a happy life.'
Detective-Constable Dennis Seymour and Police-Constable Tony Hector had little in common except size and a sense of grievance. Seymour was five inches shorter than Hector, but compensated with breadth of shoulder and depth of chest. Not too privately, he reckoned Hector was something of a twit and part of his grievance at being diverted from the Welfare Lane inquiry lay in having to suffer such a companion. But Sergeant Wield had been adamant. Mr Pascoe wanted this done and Seymour had better make a job of it.
Hector's sense of grievance went deeper, partly because he felt he had a personal stake in the Welfare Lane murder, and partly because he could not altogether grasp what they were meant to be doing on the Alderman Woodhouse Recreation Ground.
'We're looking for a stone or a bit of hard wood, something that, if you fell and hit your head on it, would break the
'Do you think you cured him of the habit?' asked Pascoe.
'I doubt it,' said Frostick. 'He was a wilful old devil. He'd just hide the next lot somewhere that Dolly wouldn't find it, that's what I reckon.'
'Well, perhaps we can check to some degree by looking at his building society pay-in book and seeing if he's drawn much out recently,' said Pascoe. 'I'm afraid we'd very much like it if you could come down to the house as soon as you feel able, Mrs Frostick, and check over everything to see what, if anything, is missing.'
'Do I have to?' she said in a low voice.
'There's no one else can do it, is there?' said Pascoe.
'You'll have to go some time, Dolly,' said her husband. 'Tomorrow morning, Inspector. That suit you?'
Pascoe would have preferred today, but looking at the woman and understanding now something of the burden of self-reproach she was carrying, he didn't have the heart to press her.
'One last thing,' he said. 'Your father was still alive when you found him. Did he say anything at all that you remember?'
'No,' she said. 'Nothing. Only Charley.'
'Charley?'
'That's our son,' she said. 'He and his grandad were very close. He must have wanted to see him, or get me to tell him something.'
Her voice broke again.
Pascoe looked on her grief with genuine sympathy, but he was a policeman as well as a fellow human and the best he could do was to try and keep his policeman's thoughts out of his voice as he said casually, 'How old's your son, Mrs Frostick?'
'Eighteen,' she said.
'Is he at home at the moment?'
The note of casual, friendly inquiry might have lulled a doting mother but Frostick was both sensitive and aggressive.
'No, he's bloody well not!' he snapped. 'He's in Germany, that's where he is!'
His wife, bewildered by his aggression, said, 'Charley's in the Army, Inspector. He couldn't get a job, you see, so he joined up this summer. It was all right at first, he was out at Eltervale Camp doing his training with the Mid-Yorkies, so we saw plenty of him. Then he got sent off to Germany three weeks ago. It's not right really, he's just a boy, and he'd just got himself engaged to Andrea, that's Mrs Gregory's girl next door, you'd think they'd have kept him a bit nearer home . . .'
'Best reason on earth for going abroad!' interrupted Frostick. 'Lad of his age engaged! Stupid. And to that scheming trollop! He's a good lad, our Charley, Inspector. He wasn't content to sit around on his arse collecting the dole like some. He did something about it, and he'll make a real go of things, if he's let!'
Frostick's voice was triumphant. Clearly the wider the gap between Charley and the toils of Andrea Gregory, the better he would be pleased.
But on the sofa Mrs Frostick was weeping quietly and steadily, not only, Pascoe guessed, for a dead father, but also for a lost son.
Chapter 8
'Well, I have had a happy life.'
Detective-Constable Dennis Seymour and Police-Constable Tony Hector had little in common except size and a sense of grievance. Seymour was five inches shorter than Hector, but compensated with breadth of shoulder and depth of chest. Not too privately, he reckoned Hector was something of a twit and part of his grievance at being diverted from the Welfare Lane inquiry lay in having to suffer such a companion. But Sergeant Wield had been adamant. Mr Pascoe wanted this done and Seymour had better make a job of it.
Hector's sense of grievance went deeper, partly because he felt he had a personal stake in the Welfare Lane murder, and partly because he could not altogether grasp what they were meant to be doing on the Alderman Woodhouse Recreation Ground.
'We're looking for a stone or a bit of hard wood, something that, if you fell and hit your head on it, would break the
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