Ellie said, You and your daughter, youre both mad. But youd better go. Its going to be bad enough if the fat bastard dies without you feeling personally responsible.
In her mind, Ellie had already given up on Dalziel and was gathering her strength to deal with the aftermath of his death. She did not doubt it would be traumatic, like losing aHere her imagination failed her. Like losing what? No human simile fitted. Humans went. It was their nature. You grieved. You got on with living. But Dalziel, when he went it would be like losing a mountain. Every time you saw the space where it had been, youd be reminded nothing was for ever, that even the very majesty of nature was only smoke and mirrors.
If anything she was more worried about her daughter than her husband. Peter knew that his reaction was daft. OK, he still went ahead, but he knew. Rosie, by contrast, had reacted to the news of Uncle Andys coma with apparent indifference. When Ellie had gently tried to make sure she understood the seriousness of the situation, she had reversed the roles and with the patience of mature experience addressing childish uncertainty replied. Uncle Andy will wake up when he wants to, dont you see?
Ellie had promised herself when Rosie was born that she would never be anything but completely honest with her daughter. Often her resolution had been strained close to breaking point, but shed always tried. Now she nodded and said, Lets hope so, love. Lets hope so. But he is very ill and weve got to face it: maybe hes so ill that he wouldnt want to wake up, and hell just die. Im sorry.
Her words clanged dully in her own ears, but Rosies expression didnt change.
That doesnt matter, she exclaimed. Hell still wake up when hes needed.
Like King Arthur, you mean? thought Ellie. Or, perhaps more aptly, the Kraken?
But she said no more. What else was there to say but the clichés of comfort? And the time for them, though close, had not yet arrived.
So, leaving behind a wife absolute for death and a daughter buoyed up by a sure and certain hope of resurrection, Peter Pascoe returned to work.
Determined to conceal any evidence of debility, as he approached the CID suite he took a deep breath which proved rather counterproductive, sending a spasm of pain through his rib cage that made him momentarily let up on the effort of will necessary to control his left knee.
Thus the first sight his junior colleagues had of him, he was limping, wincing and breathing hard. Edgar Wield followed him into his office and said anxiously, Pete, you OK? I thought you were laid up for a week at least.
Bloody quacks, what do they know? said Pascoe roughly. Right, Wieldy, bring me up to speed.
Not a lots changed, said the sergeant. Three more break-ins up on Acornboar Mount; spate of credit-card fraudlooks like someones recording PINS; couple of muggings; an affray outside the Dead Donkey
Jesus, Wieldy! interrupted Pascoe. Thats not what Im worried about. Someone blew up half a street, three dead, Andy lying in a coma, thats the only case Im interested in. So whats the state of play there?
Wield shrugged and said, Sorry, out of our hands. Youll need to talk to CAT. Dans told us to co-operate fully. So far thats meant pointing Glenister and her men towards the best pubs and restaurants.
Dan was Chief Constable Dan Trimble.
So hes had his arm twisted, said Pascoe. Two can play at that game.
He reached for the phone.
Wield said, Actually, hes here. In Andys room, I think
Andys room? What the hells he doing in there? demanded Pascoe.
Well, he is the chief constable began Wield, but he was speaking to Pascoes back as the DCI headed out of the door.
He didnt bother to knock when he reached Dalziels office but burst in.
Peter! said Sandy Glenister, her round farmers-wife face lighting up with a welcoming smile. Good to see you. We were just talking about you, werent we, Dan?
Er, yes. But I wasnt expectingShouldnt you still be on sick leave? said Chief Constable Trimble.
Glenister was sitting in Dalziels extra-large chair behind a desk which was as clear and tidy as Pascoe could recall seeing it. Trimble was sitting opposite her so that he had to twist round to look at the newcomer.
Im fine, sir, said Pascoe shortly. Couldnt lie around when theres so much to do. Who have we got heading up the Mill Street investigation, sir?
That would be me, I think, said Glenister.
No, I meant from our side, said Pascoe.
Our side? I hope thats what Im on too. She smiled.
Sir? said Pascoe, addressing himself pointedly to Trimble.
The Chief eyed him speculatively, decided to make allowances and said, Peter, in view of the national security aspects of the business, I think its reasonable that we follow Home Office guidelines and let the specialists deal with the investigation
Sir! interrupted Pascoe. Theres been a major incident on our patch, weve got bodies, Mr Dalziels in a coma, the people of Mid-Yorkshire, our constituents, will be expecting their own police force to provide answers. The local media will want to see faces they know, not listen to the meanderings of some imported spin doctor. Our own men need to feel theyre involved instead of being sidelined by a bunch of
Enough, Chief Inspector! said Trimble, rising.
He wasnt a very big man, but even Dalziel grudgingly allowed that, when he wanted, Trimble could be quite formidable. Clearly he wanted now.
Decisions have been made. Your job when you return officially to work will be to follow and to implement them. Im sure that Chief Superintendent Glenister will keep you informed of progress, on a need-to-know basis, of course
You mean there may be things relating to criminal activity in Mid-Yorkshire that I dont need to know? exclaimed Pascoe incredulously. Has there been a change of government or what?
Trimble went fiery red. But before he could reply, Glenister said, Hey, come on, you two! My da used to say that the English were a cold, unfeeling race, no passion. He should be here now! Dan, Peters quite right. Id feel the same in his position. Home Office guidelines! What do those wankers know about life at the sharp end, eh? And I could do with all the help I can get. Why dont you leave me and him to get acquainted and work out a modus operandi?
The chief constable thought for a moment, during which his cheeks cooled to their normal healthy glow.
That sounds reasonable, he said. But if you should decide that in your estimation the chief inspector needs to rest for the full term of his prescribed convalescence, just let me know.
He left.
Pascoe said, You and the Chief seem to be very close.
Oh yes, we go way back, me and Dan, said the woman. Started out together in the days of auld lang syne.
And now, thought Pascoe, Dans chief constable and youre chief super which, making allowances for what Andy called the handicap of tits and twat in the police promotion stakes, puts you several lengths ahead. Definitely one to watch.
She stood up and came round the desk to his side.
Anything new on Mr Dalziel? she asked.
He shook his head.
Well, while theres lifeSorry if that sounds banal but, at times like this, theres no gap between banal and pretentious. I found that out when I lost my man. Banals sincere; pretentious means they dont give a damn.
She stood up and came round the desk to his side.
Anything new on Mr Dalziel? she asked.
He shook his head.
Well, while theres lifeSorry if that sounds banal but, at times like this, theres no gap between banal and pretentious. I found that out when I lost my man. Banals sincere; pretentious means they dont give a damn.
Yourman, was he job?
Oh yes. Funny really. Wed been married seven years. I was at the point where I really had to decide, kids or career. Then I woke up one morning realizing I could have both. Just as me and Colin would share the kids, so wed share his career, which looked set to be glorious. It all seemed so obvious. Id never felt so happy. And that of course was the day it happened.
She fell silent. Pascoe didnt ask what happened. Her motives for telling him this much were obscure. If she wanted to tell him more, she would.
After a while he said, Im sorry.
Thank you. So am I. On the other hand, if it hadnt been for that, I wouldnt be here now. Peter, why dont you sit there?
She indicated the chair behind the desk which shed just vacated.
If anyone should keep this seat warm, its you, she said. Ive got an Ops room down the corridor. Dan asked me if Id sit in here if I had any spare time. With his two best CID officers out of the frame, I think he wants someone senior to make sure things keep ticking over. I didnt much care for the idea, but, like I say, hes an old friend
She smiled the smile of someone who finds old friends hard to refuse.
In fact, guessed Pascoe, what she was probably doing was checking through Andys files to see if there was anything there which tied in even remotely with the events in Mill Street. Shed be lucky. Dalziels system of paperwork was sibylline.
Left to himself he would have been reluctant to take over the Fat Mans seat, but now he refused to play coy.
He sat down, looked around and said, Some-ones been tidying up.
Me, Im afraid. The way I work. Set things in order, then youll see what they mean. Your Mr Dalziel, from all accounts, belongs to the opposite school. Ignore chaos and ultimately its meaning will come looking for you.
I think rather he hadhasthe ability to set things in order in his mind, but reckons that chaos has its meaning too, said Pascoe.
Meaning now Ive put stuff where it ought to be, he wont be able to find a thing, she laughed. Anyway, heres the deal, Peter. Youll have full access to my Ops room. Ill have full access anywhere I care to go in CID. Ill consult with you first before using anything I think may be relevant. And I expect you to return the courtesy.
Seated at Dalziels desk, it occurred to Pascoe that the proper response would be to say he didnt take kindly to folk offering to do him favours on his own CID floor, but he swallowed the words and said as mildly as he could manage, That sounds reasonable. Why dont we stroll along to your Ops room now and you can bring me up to speed?
He rose, went to the door, opened it, and stood there to usher her out.
For a moment she looked slightly non-plussed at the speed with which he was moving things along, then gave him the open matronly smile again and moved through the doorway.
The CAT Ops room bore the Glenister trademark. It was as tidy and well organized as shed left Dalziels desk. Three computers had been set up on a trestle table at the far end. Not a spare inch of power cable showed. On a wall-board were pinned six photos, three showing the remains found in the ruins of Mill Street, each connected to a headshot of a man, two of them distinctly Asian in colouring and feature, the third less so. Beneath each photo was a name. Umar Surus, Ali Awan, and Hani Baraniq.
Surus and Awan are positive IDs, said Glenister. We have dental records and, in Awans case, DNA. Baraniq isnt positive yet but were eighty per cent sure.
Youve shown these pics to Hector?
Naturally. Could be his sort of darkie was Awan, and the other possibly Baraniq, though hes even vaguer there. Ive tried to push him beyond sort of funny, not so much a darkie, but no luck. I hope we never have to put poor Hec up on the witness stand.
She spoke with a smile.
Pascoe thought, Two minutes on our patch and already shes making our jokes.
He said, Look, what Hector doesnt see is most things. But what he says he does see, you can usually rely on. His shortcomings are verbal rather than optical.
This wasnt just a knee-jerk Hector-might-be-an-idiot-but-hes-our-idiot reaction. Pascoe had once spotted Hector sitting on a park bench, notebook open on his knee, eyes fixed on a pair of sparrows dining on a discarded cheeseburger.
Making notes in case you have to arrest them, Hec? hed enquired jocularly as he came up behind.
Hector had reacted as if caught committing an indecent act, jumping up so fast he dropped his pencil stub, all the while regarding Pascoe as if he carried a flaming sword. At the same time, he was ripping the page out of his notebook, but not before Pascoe glimpsed what looked like a sketch of the two birds.
Can I have a look? Pascoe had asked.
With great reluctance Hector had handed the sheet over.
Smoothed out, it revealed what proved to be a lively and accurate depiction of the feeding sparrows.
Please, sir, you wont tell anyone, please, said Hector tremulously.
This is good, said Pascoe, returning the sketch. I didnt know you could draw, Hec.
But you wont tell anyone, repeated the constable anxiously.
It now struck Pascoe that it wasnt being reported for misuse of his official notebook that bothered Hector so much as the idea of his colleagues knowing that he drew pictures. Everyone needs a secret, he thought. Most of us have too many. But if youve only got the one, how precious must that be.
Of course I wont, he said. Carry on, Constable!
And hed kept his word, not even sharing Hectors secret with Ellie.
So he certainly wasnt going to be specific with Glenister, who said doubtfully, If you say so, Peter. Now, is there anything else we can bring you up to speed on?
Maybe
He went to the computer table and tapped the shoulder of the operator who looked to have least happening on his screen.
Could you bring me up the Mill Street SOCO file? he said.
The man glanced up at him, blank faced. Blank was the right word here. He had a regularity of feature which made you think android. His mirror and photographic images were probably indistinguishable. In his thirties, Pascoe guessed, but metro-thirties rather than up-north-thirties. The jacket draped over the back of the chair and his open-necked shirt said bet-you-cant-afford-me loud and clear. His blond hair had more gel in it than Dalziel would have let pass without some crack about an oil change. And he had eyes the colour of slate and just as hard.
The eyes held Pascoes for a moment then the man turned to look at Glenister.
Pascoe also turned to face her, his head cocked to one side, his lips pursed in exasperation, his eyebrows raised interrogatively.
She said, Listen in, laddies. This is DCI Pascoe. What he asks for, you give him. No need to come running to me like Im your mam and you need your nose wiped. OK?