Ruling Passion by Reginald Hill

So they shut you away downstairs?'
    'Until the other guests had gone, yes. It seemed  easier. These villages are full of eagle eyes and  tattle-tales.'
    'And long-eared owls.'
    'What? Oh yes. I wonder where the chappie's  gone.'
    He turned to the window once more and stared  out into the star-filled night.
    'Autumn,’ he said. 'Always a sad time. I'm sorry  now that I came and disturbed you. Perhaps I  should go.'
    'Where are you staying?'
    'With your late pugilistic opponent,’ said Davenant, turning and smiling. 'At the Eagle. If I start  walking now, I'll be in time for a nightcap in  the bar.'
    'You walked here? Let me drive you back,'  offered Pascoe.
    'How kind you are. But no. I really like to  walk. And perhaps Asio otus will appear for me  again.'
    'Then I'll walk with you,' said Pascoe. 'The air  will help me to sleep. And I too would like a sight  of your owl.'
    To his surprise Pascoe found that he really was  enjoying the walk after the first few minutes. There  were things about his companion which he did not  yet understand and a large part of his purpose in  accompanying him had been to probe deeper. But  the night was not made for chatter, idle or serious,  and even the sound of their footsteps in the gravel  of Culpepper's drive seemed an intrusion. It ran  before them, white as an Alaskan river, and when  they finally stepped off it on to the darker surface  of the lane which led down to the road, they both  hesitated as though uncertain of their footing. The  night sounds gradually took control: a breeze in  the trees; something rustling through the grass; a distant chatter, suddenly ending, then a long,  wavering note which caught at the nerve-ends.
    'There!' said Davenant. 'That's him.'
    'Your owl?'
    'Probably. Or it may just be a tawny owl. They're  more common. Listen.'
    The note came again. Pascoe felt as if the Indians  might be about to attack.
    'I think it is a tawny,' said Davenant. 'Sweet  things in their way, but not the same.'
    They set off walking again.
    'Tell me,' said Pascoe when they reached the  road, 'what did Palfrey have to say about Colin  before I interrupted him? Or after.'
    They had turned right towards the village. Left  would have taken them towards Brookside Cottage.
    'Now you're interested!' said Davenant. 'Well  now, he was far from complimentary, you understand. I had met Colin through Timmy and Carlo  and was not so deeply involved with him as you.  Also, of course, I had set out to make him talk. So  I didn't react like you.'
    'No need to apologize,' said Pascoe. 'I was stupid.'
    'Perhaps. Our emotions deserve an outing from  time to time. Things  had started going wrong  fairly early in his acquaintance with the Hopkinses.  According to his highly coloured version, very  attractive, alas, to some of my fellows of the Press, Colin was an unbalanced, exhibitionistic Marxist.
    Marxist, by the way, is something pretty ultimate  in the Palfrey insult book. He would rather put  his handsome teenage son into the tender care  of someone like myself than entrust him to a  Marxist.'
    'Specifically, what did he tell you?' inquired  Pascoe.
    'Little enough, though I've gleaned a much  more detailed version of the story from other  sources. It seems that he tried the public-school-  and-Sandhurst condescension bit first of all with  the parvenus. When this didn't wash and he saw  that Rose and Colin were accepted by those he,  Palfrey, liked to be accepted by, he tried the all-chums-in-the-jolly-old-mess line. They didn't  take all that kindly to that either, but being nice  they tolerated it until one night he turned out a  couple of rather noisy kids who'd strayed in by  accident. He made the mistake of appealing to  Rose for moral support. She stood up, declared  that she'd always thought the beer was off but  now she knew the full reason why he was called  Jim Piss, and marched out. Palfrey said something  about an