For a moment he is lost. He, the great Dalziel, who on his day has danced from dusk to dawn and then washed down the Full British Breakfast with a tumbler of whisky, has no strength to resist as Death, or Hector, bears him off to oblivion.
Then at the very point of submission, something happens.
New resolve seems to course through his weary limbs like an electric shock. Then another, even stronger. A thirda fourtha fifth
Sod this for a lark! he thinks. Ill give this bugger a run for his money afore I let him dance me off my feet!
Pressing Death or Hector even closer to his chest, he rises on to his toes and goes whirling round the room, once more the leader not the led, faster and faster, till he leaves the wild music trailing in his wake. And this time, instead of blurring out his surroundings, the speed of the dance seems to bring them back into focus. First the high windows with their multi-coloured lights, and then white-clothed tables laden with provender, and finally he becomes aware that the brittle bones in his arms are once more clothed in the warm and yielding flesh of Tottie Truman from Donny.
8 blame
Hes stable now, but it was a close-run thing, said Dr John Sowden. With anyone else Id have called it after the fifth shock. But I looked down at the fat old bastard lying there and I thought, Im not going to risk being haunted by you! And I gave him one more go.
Dr Sowden was an old acquaintance of the Pascoes, a relationship which had started way back in a close encounter with Andy Dalziel under suspicion of causing death by drunk driving.
And that did the trick? said Ellie Pascoe.
It started his heart beating again. Which is something, but dont get your hopes up. Hes only back to where he was. Still showing no sign of regaining consciousness. And weve no idea what state hell be in if and when that happens. You, Peter, on the other hand are looking remarkably spry, considering.
So when can I go home? said Pascoe. I feel fine.
It was almost true. The anxiety caused by the news about Fat Andy, the relief at hearing theyd got him back, and the pleasure of having Ellie sitting on his bed, had seemed to combine as a sort of tonic. John Sowden ought to be showering praise on him for his resilience rather than pursing his lips.
Lets see how you are in a couple of days, said the doctor dismissively. Ellie, nice to see you again. Make sure he behaves himself.
He went out.
John ought to brush up his bedside manner, dont you reckon? said Pascoe.
I think hes a bit worried there may be some delayed emotional reaction, said Ellie carefully.
Hes been talking to you, has he? Dont tell me he actually used those tired old words posttraumatic stress disorder! Pascoe laughed harshly. Listen, if ever I start feeling sorry for myself, I just have to think of Andy lying up there in a coma.
Ellie took his hand and squeezed it.
I know, I know, she said. I often wished the earth would open up and swallow the fat bastard, but its almost impossible to imagine a world without Andy, isnt it?
Not almost, said Pascoe. You said youd seen Cap. Hows she taking it?
Hard to say. She once told me that the only worthwhile thing she learned at St Dots Academy was to deal with crisis and catastrophe by not letting it mark your upper crust. While us plebs scream and shout and run about, people of Caps class maintain an even keel and look to the practicalities.
Pascoe smiled at us plebs. Ellies family were irremediably petit bourgeois despite all her efforts to downgrade them to acquire street cred in the class war. By contrast Cap Marvell, while making no effort to deny her upper-class background and education, had been much more successful in her efforts to disoblige her old connections. Having a secret weapon like Andy Dalziel you could produce at will cant have been a disadvantage either.
Pascoe liked her in a cautious kind of way. She was good for Dalziel emotionally and intellectually and, one presumed, physically, but her readiness to strain the law in pursuit of her animal rights causes was a ticking bomb for a working cop. On the other hand it struck him as one of Gods better jokes that after many years of heavy-handed jesting about Ellies unbecoming behaviour as a political activist, Dalziel should find himself hoist with the same petard.
What are you grinning at? demanded Ellie.
Just smiling with pleasure at having you here, he said.
I hope so. I cant stay long. Rosies rehearsal finishes at seven.
Pascoe shuddered. Public performances by the school orchestra in which his daughter played the clarinet were bad enough. He couldnt bear to think what a rehearsal must sound like.
Didnt she want to visit me? he asked plaintively.
Of course she did. But no point in traumatizing the kid. I wanted to be sure you werent going to be too much of a shock to the system, so I told her the hospital had banned child visits till tomorrow.
Ill be coming home tomorrow, protested Pascoe. I really do feel fine, no matter what the amateur psychiatrists say.
Lets wait and see what John says, said Ellie. They may need to do more tests.
You know me, said Pascoe confidently. Show me a test, I sail through it.
Yeah? Well lets try this one, said Ellie.
She leaned forward and kissed him long and hard, at the same time slipping her hand beneath the bed sheet.
After about thirty seconds she pulled back and said, Yes, you seem to be making firm progress.
Better than you imagine, said Pascoe rather hoarsely. Test me again.
I think once is enough at this stage in your convalescence, she said primly.
You reckon? Do you think the NHS trains its nurses in this technique?
Yes, but you need BUPA for that. By the way, that nice matronly woman with the Scottish accent, who is she exactly?
Sandy Glenister? Shes a Chief Super from the anti-terrorist unit.
I thought thats what she said, but I wasnt paying too much attention.
So what did you talk about?
I dont know. You, I suppose.
Me? said Pascoe, alarmed. What did you tell her?
What do you think I told her? retorted Ellie indignantly. Where youve stashed all that drug money youve stolen? I was upset, believe it or not, and she was kind.
Yes, Im sorry, said Pascoe placatingly. She does seem very kind. All the same, better check your purse and change your PINs.
Ellie smiled the smile of a woman confident that no one of either sex could sweet-talk her out of anything she didnt want to give.
Id better go, she said, looking at her watch. Last time I was late picking Rosie up from rehearsal, I found her sitting on the school wall, playing her clarinet. There was some change on the ground in front of her, but I suspect shed put it there herself.
Pity, said Pascoe. Nice if she could be self-supporting. Give her my love. And tell her Ill see her tomorrow.
Yeah. Pete, what shall I tell her about Andy? I think she needs to know how bad things are, just in case
Yeah. Pete, what shall I tell her about Andy? I think she needs to know how bad things are, just in case
In case what? snapped Pascoe. Sorry. Tell her the truth; thats what weve always tried, isnt it? But keep it cool, yes?
Sure, she said. By the way, they gave me what was left of your clothes. I went through your trouser pockets before I dumped them. Found a dental plate.
Its Andys, he said. Clean it up, will you? Hell want it when
His voice creaked into silence.
Ill clean it, said Ellie, stooping to kiss him. Now Ive got to dash. But you wont be lonely. I think I spotted another visitor lurking.
She grinned as she spoke and a few moments later Pascoe realized why. The door slowly opened and a dolorous visage appeared, its brow puckered with uncertainty, like a sheep contemplating a gap in the hedge which separated its field from a busy motorway.
Hector, he said. Nice of you to visit. Or are you just looking for the lavatory?
He was surprised to hear himself make the joke. Usually he made a conscious effort not to join in the friendly piss-taking which Hector provoked among his colleagues.
Maybe somewhere deep inside, or not so deep, I blame him, he thought. If it hadnt been for Hector, none of this would have started. Or if someone else had started it, then perhaps Dalziel would have taken it more seriously. Or
He pushed the thoughts aside and forced a smile.
Come in then, he said. Have a seat.
Slowly Hector advanced. Like many lanky men, he walked with his head held low and thrust forward, as if to distract attention from his height. At moments of maximum uncertainty, which were many, the posture was so exaggerated that he put Pascoe in mind of those men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders that Desdemona seemed to find a turn-on. Dalziel, less literary but in his own way just as poetic, had once said to him, For Gods sake, straighten thyself up, lad. You look like someones hung your tunic on a coat hanger with you still in it!
Perched on the edge of the chair, he stared fixedly at Pascoe.
So, said Pascoe heartily. And how are things down at the factory? I mean, the Station. The Police Station.
It was as well to be precise in your intercourse with Hector.
OK, said Hector. I mean, everyones dead worried about you and Mr Dalziel, but.
Are they? Well, you can tell them Im doing fine. And the Super, well, well just have to wait and see.
There followed a long silence and Pascoe was thinking about bringing the visit to an end with a plea of fatigue when Hector burst out, Is it true hes going to die, sir?
I hope not, said Pascoe, touched by the degree of concern shown. But Im afraid he is very ill. Look, Hector, you shouldnt blame yourself
Blame who, sir? said Hector, screwing up his eyes in the effort of concentration.
Whoops, thought Pascoe. Got that wrong, didnt I. Whatevers bothering Hector, its not a sense of guilt.
Blame anyone, he said. Its no ones fault. Just one of those awful things that can happen to anyone.
Hector nodded vigorously, very much at home with the concept of awful things that could happen to anyone but which for some reason were more likely to happen to him.
I gather youve been talking to Mrs Glenister, Pascoe went on; then, observing a familiar blankness spreading across Hectors face, he added, Chief Superintendent Glenister from the anti-terrorism unit.
Glenister? said Hector. Joker said her name were Sinister. Her who speaks funny?
Deafness clearly hadnt affected Constable Jennisons love of a laugh, thought Pascoe, for which I suppose we ought to be grateful.
Yes, she does. Its called a Scottish accent. Thats Mrs Glenister all right. I hope you were able to help her.
Oh yes, said Hector, very positive. Kept on asking about the men I saw in the shop. Asking and asking. I started getting a bit confused but Mrs Sinistersorry, Mrs Glenistersaid not to worry as the men I saw must have got blown up anyway. Then she helped me with my report.
That was nice of her, said Pascoe. And its nice of you to come visiting. But Im a bit tired now, Hector
He paused and started counting to fifty. Dropping a hint to Hector was like turning on an old-fashioned wireless. You had to wait for the valves to warm up.
At forty-six, Hector stood up and said, Id best be going.
He took a step towards the door. then turned back.
Nearly forgot, he said. Brought you this
Out of the depths of his tunic jacket he took a paper bag which he placed carefully on the bedside locker. Then he set off again, this time reaching the door before he halted once more.
Sir, he said. I hope Mr Dalziel doesnt die. Hes been very good to me.
Then he was gone, leaving Pascoe only a little less amazed than he would have been if the angel Gabriel had popped in to tell him hed been chosen to have a baby.
He settled back into his pillows to contemplate the nature of the Fat Mans goodness towards Hector, noticed the paper bag on his locker, reached out and picked it up.
It contained, rather squashed but not beyond recognition, a custard tart.
Oh shit, said Pascoe.
And suddenly for some reason beyond reason, the barrier hed been erecting both consciously and unconsciously between himself and the events in Mill Street crumbled like the walls of Number 3, and when the nurse looked in to check that all was well, she found him with his face buried in his pillow, sobbing convulsively.
Part Two
The Days that we can spareAre those a Function dieOr Friend or Naturestranded thenIn our EconomyOur Estimates a SchemeOurUltimates a ShamWe let go all of Time withoutArithmetic of him
Emily Dickinson, Poem 1184
1 a tidy desk
On the third day, there were many in Mid-Yorkshire not normally noted for their religious fervour who would have been unsurprised to hear that Dalziel had taken up his hospital bed, hurled it out of the window, and walked away.
But in an age of digital TV and the mobile phone, commonplace miracles have gone out of fashion, so the day dawned and departed with the Fat Man still comatose.
Pascoe, on the other hand, did manage to rise and limp away, not through divine intervention, but by dint of nagging Dr John Sowden into discharging him, though only on the strict understanding that he took a minimum of seven days convalescent leave.
On his second day home he announced his intention of dropping in at work to see how things were going.
Ellies objections were forceful in expression and wide in range, starting with medical diagnostics and ending with reflections on his mental stability. When she paused for breath, Pascoe said, Youre absolutely right, love. About everything. Only, I feel that, here at home, Im not pulling for Andy. I know its daft, and me going back to work isnt going to make the slightest difference. But somehow it feels like it might.