Ruling Passion by Reginald Hill Page B

the inevitable delay, reappeared by herself.
    'Hartley,' she said quietly. 'Do you have a  moment?'
    Culpepper left the room. Pascoe wandered over  to the sideboard and freshened his drink generously. He was a firm believer in the social maxim  from each according to his ability and there was  evidence of a great deal of ability here.
    Bell joined him.
    'Does Palfrey do most of the social liquor trade  round here?' Pascoe asked, holding the bottle of  scotch like a conversation piece.
    'Christ, no!' said Bell with his likeable grin. 'The odd bottle when you're stuck, perhaps. But who's  going to pay his prices when you can get the same  stuff for 15p less in town? Don't let our outward  affluence deceive you, Mr Pascoe. Hartley may have an antique superior wine-merchant tucked away in the City, but the rest of us still push trolleys  round the supermarkets.'
    'Big of you to refuse to take advantage of your wealth,' said Pascoe, softening the comment with  his own likeable grin. He had no desire to antagonize Bell. And he did want to talk about Palfrey. Why, he wasn't sure. Personal antipathy? Well, he  had no official standing in this case, so the presence  of personal prejudice could for once be ignored.
    'How does Palfrey fit into the local scheme of  things?' he went on. But his policeman's voice  must have sounded through.
    'You're very interested in old JP,' commented Bell curiously. 'Is it because of the row? If so, I  really don't think I should comment. Not during  a casual chat in a friend's house.'
    Being without official standing clearly cut both ways. Pascoe tried another smile. It didn't feel quite as likeable as the last.
    'Why JP?' he asked. 'Just his initials?'
    Or is there some bloody masonic oath which  prevents you from answering that?
    Bell laughed.
    'Yes, they are his initials.' He glanced around  and dropped his voice. 'But they do service for  other things besides. He's got ambitions to get on  to the bench. God help all petty offenders if that  happens! But they really stem from our vicar. He's  a nice little Welshman, just one step out of the  coalmine. He recalls in the old days in his village,  a local copper-smelting firm hired a man to go around the streets every morning with two great  buckets on a yoke. Everyone would empty their  jerries into them!'
    He laughed so heartily that the others stopped  talking and turned to look. Like a disturbance at a  funeral, thought Pascoe, surprised to find himself  feeling embarrassed.
    They used the stuff in some process at the  copper-works,' explained Bell. 'Anyway, this man  was known familiarly as Jim Piss! And the vicar,  after his first taste of the bitter at the Eagle when  Palfrey took over, told the story. The name stuck,  but for politeness's sake, it became JP.'
    Very droll, thought Pascoe. But it took him no  further forward. He wasn't even very sure in which  direction forward lay.
    The Culpeppers were in the room again, he  observed. But there had been no noticeable  addition to the company. Which might or might  not be odd.
    Ellie was talking to the Hardistys and looking desperate. Pascoe could see why. Medical solicitude emanated from them almost visibly. He appproached to effect a rescue, but it proved  unnecessary.
    'Please excuse me,' she said to the medical twosome. 'I think I'll have an early night.'
    Simple as that, thought Pascoe, smiling ruefully  at his loss of role. In times of stress, the weakness  of others is a useful source of strength. Ellie's self-possession was throwing him more and more into a confrontation with his own emotions, making him more and more of a policeman in order to  retain his equilibrium.
    But what the hell was there to investigate here? He looked hopefully around the room.
    Ellie was at the door, reassuring Marianne that  all her needs were catered for. She caught his eye  and smiled briefly, then was gone. He felt a sense  of relief, edged with guilt. With