Jennisons first reaction was that such a story from such a source was almost certainly a load of crap. Also there were only five minutes till the end of his shift, which was why he was speeding down Mill Street in the first place.
Best call it in, he said. But wait till were out of sight, eh?
I think me batterys flat, said Hector.
Whats new? said Jennison, and restarted the car.
Unfortunately his partner, PC Alan Maycock, came from Hebden Bridge which is close enough to the Lancastrian border for its natives to be by Mid-Yorkshire standards a bit soft in every sense of the term, and he was moved by Hectors plight.
Ill get you through on the car radio, he said.
And when Jennison dug him viciously in his belly, he murmured, Nay, itll not take but a minute, and when they hear its Hec, theyll likely just have a laugh.
As a policeman, he should have known that the rewards of virtue are sparse and long delayed. If youre looking for quick profit, opt for vice.
Instead of the expected fellow constable responding from Control, it was duty inspector Paddy Ireland who took the call. As soon as he heard Number 3 Mill Street mentioned, he gave commands for the car to remain in place and await instructions.
And then the bugger bursts in on me like hes just heard the first bombs dropping on Pearl Harbour, concluded Dalziel. Got me excited, till he mentioned Hector. That took the edge off! And when he said hed already called it in, I could have wrung his neck!
And then? enquired Pascoe.
I finished me pie. Few minutes later the phone rang. It were some motor-mouth from CAT. I tried to explain it were likely all a mistake, but he said mebbe I should let the experts decide that. I said would this be the same experts whod spent so much public money breaking up the Carradice gang?
Pascoe, the diplomat, groaned.
Six months ago CAT had claimed a huge success when they arrested fifteen terrorist suspects in Nottingham on suspicion of plotting to poison the local water supply with ricin. Since then, however, the CPS had been forced to drop the case against first one then another of the group till finally the trial got under way with only the alleged ringleader, Michael Carradice, in the dock. Pascoe had his own private reasons for hoping the case against him failed tooa hope nourished by Home Office statements made on CATs behalf which were sounding increasingly irritated and defensive.
Whats up with thee? Wind, is it? said Dalziel in response to Pascoes groan. Any road, the prat finished by saying the important thing was to keep a low profile, not risk alerting anyone inside, set up blocks out of sight at the street end, maintain observation till their man turned up to assess the situation. Whyre you grinding your teeth like that?
Maybe because I dont see any sign of any road-blocks, just Maycock smoking a fag at one end of the street and Jennison scratching his balls at the other. Also Im crouched down behind your car with the patrol car next to it, right opposite Number 3.
Who need road-blocks when youve got a pair of fatties like Maycock and Jennison? And why move the cars when anyone in there knows were on to them already? Any road, you and me know this is likely just another load of Hector bollocks.
He shook his head in mock despair.
In that case, said Pascoe, tiring of the game, all you need do is stroll over there, check every-things OK, then leave a note for the CAT man on the shop door saying youve got it sorted and would he like a cup of tea back at the Station? Meanwhile
It was his intention to follow his heavy irony by taking his leave and heading for home and hammock, but the Fat Man was struggling to his feet.
Youre dead right, he said. You tend to fumble around a bit, but in the end you put your white stick right on it, as the actress said to the shortsighted cabinet minister. Time for action. Well be a laughing stock if it gets out we spent the holiday hiding behind a car because of Hector. Wheres yon bugger got with my mutton pasties, by the way? We were mad to trust him with our money.
My money, corrected Pascoe. And you misunderstand me, Im not actually suggesting we do anything
Nay, lad. Dont be modest, said Dalziel, upright now. When youve got a good idea, flaunt it.
Sir, said Pascoe. Is this wise? I know Hectors not entirely reliable, but surely he knows a gun when he sees one
As a plea for caution this proved counter-productive.
Dont be daft, laughed Dalziel. Were talking about a man who cant pick his nose unless someone paints a cross on it and gives him a mirror. If he heard owt, it were likely his own fart, and the bugger inside were probably holding a take-away kebab. Come on, Pete. Lets get this sorted, then you can buy me a pint.
He dusted down his suit, straightened his tie, and set off across the street with the confident step of a man who could walk with kings, talk with presidents, dispute with philosophers, portend with prophets, and never have the slightest doubt that he was right.
Interestingly, despite the fact that little in their long relationship had given Pascoe any real reason to question this presumption of rightness, the thought crossed his mind as he rose and set off in the footsteps of his great master that there had to be a first time for everything, and how ironic it would be if it were Ellies tender heart that caused him to be present on the occasion when the myth of Dalziels infallibility was exploded
At this same moment, as if his mind had developed powers of telekinesis, Mill Street blew up.
3 intimations
Ellie Pascoe was asleep in the garden hammock so reluctantly vacated by her husband when the explosion occurred.
The Pascoe house in the northern suburbs was too far from Mill Street for anything but the faintest rumour of the bang to reach there. What woke Ellie was a prolonged volley of barking from her daughters mongrel terrier.
Whats up with Tig? Ellie asked yawning.
Dont know, said Rosie. We were playing ball and he just started.
A sudden suspicion made Ellie examine the tall apple tree in next-doors garden. Puberty was working its rough changes on her neighbours son and a couple of times recently when the summer heat had lured her outside in her bikini, shed spotted him staring down at her out of the foliage. But there was no sign, and in any case Tigs nose pointed south towards the centre of town. As she followed his fixed gaze she saw a long way away a faint smudge of smoke soiling the perfect blue of the summer sky.
Who would light a fire on a day like this?
Tig was still barking.
Cant you make him shut up? snapped Ellie.
Her daughter looked at her in surprise, then took a biscuit off a plate and threw it across the lawn. Tig gave a farewell yap, then went in search of his reward with the complacent mien of one who has done his duty.
Ellie felt guilty at snapping. Her irritation wasnt with the dog, there was some other cause less definable.
She rolled out of the hammock and said, Im too hot. Think Ill cool down in the shower. You OK by yourself?
Rosie gave her a look which said without words that she hadnt been much company anyway, so what was going to be different?
Ellie went inside, turned on the shower and stepped under it.
The cool water washed away her sweat but did nothing for her sense of unease.
Still nothing definable. Or nothing that she wanted to define. Pointless thinking about it. Pointless because, if she did think about it, she might come up with the silly conclusion that the real reason she was taking this shower was that she didnt want to be wearing her bikini if bad news came
Andy Dalziels partner, Amanda Marvell, known to her friends as Cap, was even further away when Mill Street blew up.
With her man on duty, she had followed the crowds on the traditional migration to the coast, not, however, to join the mass bake-in on a crowded beach but to visit the sick.
The sick in this instance took the form of her old headmistress, Dame Kitty Bagnold who for nearly forty years had ruled the famous St Dorothys Academy for Catholic Girls near Bakewell in Derbyshire. Cap Marvell had ultimately made life choices which ran counter to everything St Dots stood for. In particular, she had abandoned her religion, divorced her husband, and got herself involved in various animal rights groups whose activities teetered on the edge of legality.
Yet throughout all this, she and Dame Kitty had remained in touch and eventually, rather to their surprise, realized they were friends. Not that the friendship made Cap feel able to address her old head by her St Dots sobriquet of Kitbag, and Dame Kitty would rather have blasphemed than call her ex-pupil anything but Amanda.
A long and very active retirement had ground Dame Kitty down till ill health had finally obliged her to admit the inevitable, and two years earlier she had moved into a private nursing home that was part of the Avalon Clinic complex at Sandy-town on the Yorkshire coast.
At her best, Dame Kitty was as bright and sharp as ever, but she tired easily and usually Cap was alert for the first signs of fatigue so that she could start ending her visit without making her friends condition the cause.
This time it was the older woman who said, Is everything all right, Amanda?
What?
You seemed to drift off. Perhaps you should sit in this absurd wheelchair while I go inside and order some more tea.
No, no, Im fine. Sorry. What were we saying?
We were discussing the merits of the govern-ments somewhat inchoate education policy, an argument I hoped your sudden silence indicated I had won. But I fear my victory owes more to your distraction than my reasoning. Are you sure all is well with you? No problems with this police officer of yours, whom I hope one day to meet?
No, things are fine there, really
Suddenly Cap Marvell took her mobile out.
Sorry, do you mind?
She was speed-dialling before Kitty could answer.
The phone rang twice then there was an invitation to leave a message.
She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, disconnected, and stood up.
Im sorry, Kitty, Ive got to go. Before the mobs start moving off the beaches
This effort to offer a rational explanation produced the same sad sigh and slight upward roll of the eyes brought by feeble excuses for bad behaviour in their St Dot days.
OK, thats not it. Sorry, I dont know why, said Cap. But Ive really got to go.
Then go, my dear. And God go with you.
Normally this traditional valediction would have won from Cap her equivalent of the old headmistresss long-suffering expression, but today she just nodded, stooped to kiss her friends cheek, then hurried away across the lawn towards the car park.
Dame Kitty watched her out of sight. There was trouble there. Despite the bright sun and the cloudless sky, she felt it in the air.
She stood up out of the wheelchair which the staff insisted she should use on her excursions into the gardens, gave it a whack with her stick, and began to make her slow way back to the house.
4 dust and ashes
Later Peter Pascoe worked out that Dalziel had probably saved his life twice.
The Fat Mans car which theyd been sheltering behind was flipped into the air then deposited upside down on the pavement.
If he hadnt obeyed the Fat Mans command to follow, he would have been underneath it.
And if he hadnt been walking in the lee of that corpulent frame when the explosion occurred
As it was, when some slight degree of awareness began to seep back into his brain, he felt as if every part of his body had been subjected to a good kicking. He tried to stand up but found the best he could manage was all fours.
The air was full of dust and smoke. Like a retriever peering through the mist in search of its masters bird, he strained to penetrate the swirling veil of motes and vapour. An amorphous area of orangey red with some consistency of base gave him the beginnings of perspective. Against it, marked by its stillness in the moving air, he made out a vague heap of something, like a pile of earth thrown up alongside a grave.
He began to crawl forward and after a couple of yards managed to rise off his hands into a semiupright crouch. The shifting coiling colour he realized now was fire. He could feel its heat, completely unlike the gentle warmth of the sun which only an hour ago hed been enjoying in the green seclusion of his garden. That small part of his mind still in touch with normality suggested that he ought to ring Ellie and tell her he was all right before some garbled version of events got on to local radio.
Not that he was sure how all right he was. But a lot all righter than this still heap of something which he was now close enough to formally identify as Andy Dalziel.
He had fallen on to his left side and his arms and legs were spread and bent like the kapok stuffed limbs of some huge teddy bear discarded by a spoilt child. His face had been shredded by shards of glass and brick, and the fine grey dust sticking to the seeping wounds made him look as if he were wearing a kabuki mask.
There was no sign of life. But not for a second did Pascoe admit the possibility of death. Dalziel was indestructible. Dalziel is, and was, and for ever shall be, world without end, amen. Everybody knew that. Therein lay half his power. Chief constables might come and chief constables might go, but Fat Andy went on for ever.
He rolled him over on to his back. It wasnt easy but he did it. He brushed the dust away from his mouth and nose. He definitely wasnt breathing. He checked the carotid pulse, thought he detected a flutter, but a combination of his dull fingers and Dalziels monolithic neck left him in doubt. He opened the mouth and saw there was a lot of debris in there. Carefully he cleared it away, discovering in the process what he hadnt known before, that Dalziel had a dental plate. This he tucked carefully into his pocket. He checked that the tongue hadnt been swallowed. Then he cleared the nostrils, undid the shirt collar, and put his ear to the mighty chest.
There was no movement, no sound.