Exit Lines by Reginald Hill

what's your line with this Mrs Warsop?' asked Pascoe.
    'Just listen to her story. Hope she's a bit vague. And try to suggest politely that she really ought to keep her big mouth shut!'
    In fact, it turned out that Mrs Warsop had a rather small mouth with a tendency to purse up as she considered any question closely before offering a well expressed and far from vague answer.
    She was in her late thirties, a small erect woman with black hair bound severely back from a not unattractive face. She reminded Pascoe of the kind of Victorian governess who gets the master of the house in the last chapter.
    She would also make an excellent witness in court, coroner's or Crown.
    She repeated the story she had first told Ruddlesdin the night before. Standing in the entrance of the hotel, waiting for her friend, she had observed Dalziel get into the driving seat of his car and drive it away. She was adamant that it was in fact Dalziel she had seen.
    'I had observed him earlier in the restaurant. He was with two other men whom I do not know personally but who have been pointed out to me on other occasions as Major Kassell from Haycroft Grange, and a bookmaker called Charlesworth whose betting shops seem to clutter up most shopping precincts in town.'
    'And why did you observe Mr Dalziel, as you put it? ‘asked Headingley with a slight edge of sarcasm. He soon regretted it.
    'Because of his vulgar and boisterous behaviour,' she replied with distaste. 'He was extremely loud and he kept on patting the waitress's person , though I must say she did not look the type to be offended. I had no idea, of course, as I observed this behaviour, that this noisy boor was in fact a senior police officer.'
    Headingley tried his best, suggesting that a view through a glass doorway into a dark car park could easily lead to error. To which the woman replied that the front of the hotel was very adequately lit and as she had actually stepped outside to take a breath of air in the shelter of the entrance porch, the obstacle of glass did not apply.
    A big-boned, open-faced woman came into the room and said, 'I'm sorry to interrupt, Mrs Warsop, but Mr Toynbee's complaining about the soup again, and Cook's busy with the pudding. Could you spare a moment, do you think?'
    This was Miss Day, the matron of The Towers, responsible for the health care and social well-being of the residents while Mrs Warsop, officially designated bursar, was in charge of the catering and general maintenance administration. Pascoe sensed the kind of antagonism between the two women which usually manifested itself in delicate and serpentine borderlines between areas of responsibility.
    'You would think Mr Toynbee was accustomed to the Dorchester,' observed Mrs Warsop. 'Yes, I'll speak to him. I think these gentlemen are finished?'
    'Just one more thing, Mrs Warsop,' said Pascoe. 'Did you see Major Kassell go out into the car park after the other two men?'
    She considered. 'No,' she said. 'There were just the two of them. The other man must have remained in the dining-room, I suppose.'
    'And how long was it before you finally got away yourself?'
    'Five minutes, perhaps,' she said.
    'Your friend kept you waiting,' observed Pascoe. 'You were in the same car?'
    'Yes. I drove her home, but not along the road which goes past The Towers, if that's what you're wondering. It was more convenient to go in the other direction towards the south by-pass and get back into town that way. I had just returned to The Towers when that newspaperman turned up with his questions. It seemed to be my duty to answer them honestly.'
    She stared at Pascoe as if expecting him to challenge this. Then, with a dismissive nod, she left.
    'Very efficient lady, that, I should think,' said Headingley.
    'Oh yes, she's certainly that,' said Miss Day without enthusiasm. 'Poor Mr Westerman! It's really knocked me back.'
    'It must have put a damper on the others too,' said Pascoe.
    'The residents? Yes, I suppose so. Though in a