On Beulah Height

by Reginald Hill

  ‘Where exactly?’ demanded Dalziel.

  ‘Just here,’ said Perriman, disgruntled at having his narrative flow interrupted.

  He indicated a spot on the watery side of the exposed pile of rubble and went on, ‘I was just coming out, stood up to walk the last couple of yards and felt something under my foot. Of course it would have been a lot deeper here before the drought. But where’s the rest, that’s my question.’

  ‘Perhaps there is no more,’ suggested Wield.

  ‘What? Someone cut off an arm and hoyed it into the mere?’ said Dalziel. ‘Still means there’s the rest of him somewhere, or some bugger caused a bit of comment by going out for a stroll with a full set of arms and coming back one short.’

  ‘Some very secretive folk in Mid-Yorkshire, sir. Any road, chances are it’s nowt to do with our case.’

  ‘Oh aye? So what are you suggesting, Wieldy? Chuck it back and if any bugger asks, tell ‘em it got away? Listen, even if it’s not our case, it’s certainly another of our cases. Bag this lot and get them down to the lab, Tom. And keep looking.’

  The Fat Man turned and headed toward his Range Rover, Wield following.

  ‘There’s been a few suicides up here, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Aye, I think of them every time I mash my tea, Wieldy,’ said Dalziel. ‘But we usually trawl them out, don’t we?’

  ‘The ones we know about,’ agreed the sergeant. ‘But anyone could come up here and take a walk into the middle with a pocketful of stones and end up a statistic on our missing persons list.’

  ‘I may have to give up tea,’ said Dalziel. ‘You know, I never liked this water from the first time I saw it. Something about Dender Mere always gave me the creeps. Here, that sounds like George Headingley laying an egg on the car radio. What’s woken him up, I wonder?’

  ‘Soon find out,’ said Wield, picking up the mike and responding.

  ‘Is he there, Wieldy?’ demanded Headingley. ‘Tell him we’ve just got a message in from DC Novello. She says she’s sitting in the cafeteria of the Orecliff Services on the coast road watching Geordie Turnbull having a chat with Benny Lightfoot. You see what this means? They could be in it together! Two of them, not just the one. That ‘ud explain a hell of a lot, wouldn’t it?’

  Dalziel reached over and took the mike.

  He said, ‘It wouldn’t explain what you’re doing telling the world and his mother this on the open air, George. So shut up unless you’re sending the four-minute warning. We’re on our way!’

  ‘So what do you think, sir?’ said Wield as they drove away. ‘Two for the price of one?’

  ‘I think George Headingley got his brain on the National Health and his immune system’s rejecting it,’ said Dalziel. ‘But if yon Ivor really has got us Benny Lightfoot, I think I might have to marry her.’

  At about the same time, Rosie Pascoe woke again and announced she was hungry. When she was only allowed a very light amount of liquid intake, she started to complain bitterly and her parents looked at each other with broad smiles.

  ‘Am I very ill?’ the little girl asked suddenly.

  Pascoe’s heart jolted for a second, but Ellie’s ear was much more attuned to the note of calculation in the question.

  ‘You’ve been fairly ill,’ she said firmly. ‘But now you are much better. And if you’re completely better in time for the Mid-Yorks Fair, Daddy will take you and you can go on the Big Loop. Now, Mummy’s got to go out for a little while, but I’ll be back shortly.’

  Pascoe followed her to the door.

  ‘What was all that about?’ he asked.

  ‘The trick is to make the reward for getting better, not for being ill, otherwise she’ll spin the invalid state out for months,’ said Ellie patiently.

  ‘Yes, I got that. I meant about the Big Loop. You know it makes me sick.’

  ‘Peter, though I’ll deny ever having said it, sometimes a little more Schwarzenegger, a little less Hugh Grant, would be a useful corrective.’

  ‘OK. Where the hell do you think you’re going, babe?’

  ‘That is pure Cagney,’ she said. Then, more serious, ‘I’m just going to check on Jill. OK, I understand what you said before, and I’m not going to push myself on her. She’ll be at home now anyway, I should think. But I wanted to talk to someone about her and try to work out what’s best for us to do.’

  ‘OK,’ said Pascoe. ‘I’ll entertain the monster.’

  After a fairly short spell of ‘entertainment’, the monster looked ready to go back to sleep again.

  ‘That’s right, sweetie. You have a nap, get your strength up,’ said Pascoe. ‘In hospital you need to be fit to keep an eye on all the visitors trying to steal your grapes.’

  ‘Will I get a lot of visitors?’ asked Rosie sleepily.

  ‘Depends on the quality of your grapes.’

  ‘Will Zandra come?’

  Pascoe made a huge effort to keep his voice light.

  ‘If she can,’ he said.

  He didn’t know when the time would be ripe to tell her, but he knew it wasn’t now.

  ‘I haven’t seen her since Sunday. Not to talk to, anyway. She might have the photos Derek took by now.’

  ‘Yes. Darling, remember when you had your breakfast picnic on Sunday?’

  He felt guilty about asking but assured himself he wouldn’t have brought it up if she hadn’t mentioned Zandra herself.

  Yes. And f saw the nix taking Nina,’ she said.

  It was as if he’d somehow conveyed the trend of his thought to her.

  ‘That’s right. You were using Derek’s binoculars, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes. They make things a lot bigger than yours, you know,’ she said seriously.

  ‘I’m sure,’ he said, smiling. ‘And you saw Nina down in the valley. By herself was she?’

  ‘Yes. No. She had a little dog.’

  ‘Then the nix came.’

  ‘Yes. He came running down the hill and he threw her into a hole in the ground. I expect his cave is down there somewhere.’

  Her voice was very faint and weary now.

  Pascoe pulled Novello’s Post out of his pocket and unfolded it so that the double-page spread at its centre showed.

  ‘Just before you drop off, darling, anyone here you recognize?’

  She peered through half-closed eyes, then smiled and stabbed with her finger.

  ‘That’s Uncle Andy,’ she said.

  ‘Hello. What’s this game you’re playing?’ said Ellie’s voice.

  She had come in undetected and her tone was light and playful. But something in her husband’s manner as he looked up must have alerted her, for now she asked suspiciously, ‘What is that you’re showing her, Peter?’

  ‘Just a photo of Uncle Andy, that’s all,’ said Pascoe, starting to fold the paper.

  But before he could do this, the little hand reached out and the finger stabbed again.

  ‘And that’s the rotten old nix,’ said Rosie Pascoe.

  Then she yawned hugely and fell asleep.

  THIRTEEN

  The Summer Festival Concert was due to start at seven o’clock.

  After a light lunch, Elizabeth went into the garden, stretched out on a lounger shaded by a parasol and fell asleep.

  She was woken by a sound and opened her eyes to Arne Krog looking down at her.

  ‘I was moving the umbrella,’ he said. ‘The sun’s moved round. I didn’t think you’d want to sing with your face looking like a partial eclipse. And you have such delicate skin, don’t you?’

  ‘No, I’ve got skin like a cucumber, but I like it to look delicate,’ she said. ‘As you, of course, know.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Aye, you don’t miss a lot, Arne. Especially when it comes to watching women. Not that it’s just women you watch.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘What did you see when you followed Walter this morning?’ She laughed as he looked taken aback. ‘Gotcha! I guessed that’s what tha we
re up to.’

  ‘You are a clever girl, Elizabeth. Or perhaps I should call you Betsy when your accent is as broad as this?’

  ‘Please yourself,’ she said, swinging her legs off the lounger.

  ‘Not if, as I observe, it doesn’t please you. You were asking about Walter. I saw him park his car in the usual spot and take his walk up the Corpse Road to the top of the Neb where he stood looking down into Dendale. I had a look myself after he’d gone. It’s quite fascinating to see how the valley has been resurrected by the drought. Have you been to take a look, Elizabeth?’

  ‘Got the wrong word, I think, Arne. Resurrected means fetched back to life. And no, I haven’t been.’

  ‘I think you ought to. I’ll be happy to accompany you, if you feel the experience might be too arduous.’

  She stood up and stretched, yawning widely.

  ‘Going with you might be too arduous, I reckon you’re right there,’ she said. ‘But it might be interesting to take a look.’

  She went into the house. The Wulfstans were sitting in the lounge, Walter studying some papers, Chloe reading a book.

  ‘Walter, I wouldn’t mind going off to Danby a bit early,’ she said. ‘I thought you and me could take a walk up the Neb. You too, Chloe, if you fancied it.’

  ‘I don’t think so, dear,’ said the woman, not looking up from her reading.

  ‘You don’t want to rest before the performance?’ said Wulfstan.

  ‘I’ve rested. Any road, you said you’ve fixed up a room at the Science Park for me to change and smarten up in. I might as well be there as here.’

  ‘I suppose so. What about you, Arne … ?’

  ‘Arne can bring Chloe and Inger when they’re ready,’ said Elizabeth firmly. ‘Right. I’ll just get my stuff and we’ll be off.’

  They didn’t speak at all on the journey to Danby, but when Wulfstan slowed down as they approached the entrance to the Science and Business Park, Elizabeth said, ‘Can we go straight on to the Corpse Road and come back here after?’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Wulfstan.

  Passing through the streets of Danby, Elizabeth stared out of the window and said, ‘Funny. I felt nowt when we came yesterday, but I thought it might just be a sort of numbness. It’s not though. I really do feel nowt. It’s not like coming home. I weren’t here long enough for that. Three years, was it? Four? And with what happened and all, it were never home.’

  They drove past the school and the church. She looked at the police vehicles parked outside St Michael’s Hall, but made no comment. When they’d bumped up the Corpse Road as far as the Discovery could take them, Wulfstan parked and they got out.

  ‘You are sure you want to do this?’ he asked.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s very hot. And steep. You do not want to tire yourself out.’

  She laughed and said, ‘Don’t talk daft. I’m a country lass, remember? When I went out on the fell helping Dad fold his sheep, I could cover more ground than these hikers do in a hard day’s walk, and never notice it.’

  He looked at her without speaking then set out up the track.

  She matched him stride for stride and wasn’t even breathing hard when they reached the crest.

  She stood in silence for a while looking down into the sunlit valley, then she said quietly, ‘Now I’m home.’

  He said harshly, ‘How can you say that? What is there down there for any of us to call home?’

  She said, ‘The buildings, you mean? They were nowt but heaps of rock to start with and that’s what they are now. Couple of months’ hard work and you could raise them up again. No, this is it for me. Full circle.’

  ‘Full circle implies completion,’ said Wulfstan.

  ‘Is that right? Time for a fresh start, eh? You and Chloe never really managed a fresh start, did you? I mean, you went off, but back you came to Yorkshire eventually, which is a bit of a full circle. But I don’t see the fresh start.’

  ‘There are things you cannot leave behind, not without amputation,’ said Wulfstan.

  ‘Mary, you mean? Little Mary. She’d be same age as me, right? But she’d never have had my voice. That’s something, eh? She’d never have had my voice. Except, of course, if what happened hadn’t have happened, I’d likely never have had the chance to use it. Singing down the pub. Karaoke. That would likely have been the limit. ‘Stead of which in a hundred years they could be looking back to me like we look back to Melba. First great diva of the new millennium. Could be a plan, eh? You might almost think it could have been a plan.’

  He looked at her with an intensity almost tangible, but all he said was, ‘You are planning to raise your register?’

  ‘What? Oh, Melba. Yeah, mebbe. I could do it, I think. We’ll see what that old woman in Italy says next year.’

  ‘That old woman in Italy is one of the finest voice coaches living,’ said Wulfstan. ‘And not cheap.’

  ‘Oh aye,’ said Elizabeth indifferently. ‘When she hears me, she’ll likely work for IOUs and know her money’s safe. What’s going off down there, do you think?’

  There were men standing in the shallows close by the ruins of Heck. One of them moved out of the water and went to a parked Range Rover and took a long crowbar out of the back. As they watched, he returned to the water’s edge and began to probe in the rubble.

  ‘It seems they are looking for something,’ said Wulfstan.

  ‘Oh aye? And is there owt to find, do you think?’

  He looked at her for a moment, then said, ‘I saw him, you know.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Benny Lightfoot. I was up here and I saw him.’

  ‘Down there?’

  ‘No. Up here on the ridge. Walking towards the Neb.’

  ‘And what did you do?’

  ‘I followed him, of course. Isn’t that why evil spirits visit us, so they can lure us to our destruction.’

  ‘And did he?’

  ‘Of course. It wasn’t a long journey. Elizabeth…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘One thing remains. If…’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think mebbe it’s time we made a start.’

  ‘That fresh start, you mean?’

  ‘Aye, that too. Though mebbe that’s been made for us. Walter, I’m sorry.’

  ‘For what? How is anything your fault?’

  ‘Nay, but I always thought everything was, and I can’t be altogether wrong, can I? Let’s talk. But not till after I’ve sung, eh?’

  She took his hand and turned him away from the valley and hand in hand they began to descend the Corpse Road.

  FOURTEEN

  It had been a risk but a small one for Novello to leave the cafeteria to ring in for back-up. She had spent enough hours in the police gym to feel fairly confident about confronting one unarmed man, but two was pushing things. And while Turnbull with a weapon other than his charm seemed unlikely, she couldn’t be sure about Lightfoot.

  Moving back to the entrance, she saw that she’d just been in time. The two men were rising together and making for the door. She noted that Lightfoot was carrying the leather bag, which meant he had one hand occupied. She retreated before them to the car park.

  No sign yet of any help, but it should be close. The coast road was well patrolled. She wouldn’t hear it coming as she’d asked specifically for no siren. Sometimes she suspected some of her male colleagues learned more from cop shows than police college. No one on the telly seemed to have worked out the advantages of sneaking up on a suspect. They either rang a warning bell or simply shouted, ‘Oy! You!’ from a distance of fifty yards. Of course this meant you got an exciting chase or lively shoot-out, which was a visual plus. In real life, you wanted to be neither seen nor heard till you’d got within half-nelson distance.

  Anyway, close or not, she couldn’t wait. A suspect in a car was an arrest problem squared.

  She turned away as they approached, watching them in the window of a parked Peugeot. Then, as they drew level, she turne
d, smiled widely, and said, ‘Geordie, how’re you doing? Why don’t you introduce me to your lovely friend?’

  Turnbull instinctively smiled back before recognition began to dawn. She reached out her hand to Lightfoot. Instinctively he took it. She twisted his arm sharply, at the same time pulling him off balance and driving her toe cap into his shin.

  He fell forward against the car, setting its alarm off, and Novello forced his arm up between his shoulder-blades till he yelled with pain.

  Into his left ear she told him he was being arrested on suspicion of murder and advised him of his right to remain silent, but he carried on yelling all the same. She glanced sideways to see how Turnbull was taking all this. To her surprise he was standing watching with an expression in which resignation warred with admiration.

  ‘I hope you and me are going to stay good friends, bonny lass,’ he said. She smiled. He had the great gift of making you smile, but in this case half her pleasure came from the sight over his shoulder of a police car nosing into the car park. Attracted by the alarm and also a gathering group of spectators, they came straight to her, and two young constables got out.

  ‘You Novello?’ asked one of them.

  ‘That’s right. Cuff this one, I’ll take care of the other.’

  Relieved of Lightfoot, she bent down and picked up the bag he’d dropped. She pulled open the zip.

  It was full of money.

  Lightfoot, upright now with his hands cuffed behind his back, was glaring in angry disbelief at Turnbull.

  ‘Why the hell’d you do this, you stupid bastard? You think this is going to get you anywhere but jail?’

  He spoke pure Strine.

  ‘Get him into the car,’ said Novello. A crowd was forming. She didn’t want anyone to have the chance to recognize Lightfoot and warn the media pack.

  They pushed him into the back seat of the police car and she turned to the onlookers.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Show over. Nothing to bother yourselves with.’

  They looked unconvinced.

  The owner of the beeping Peugeot arrived, pressed his remote key and silenced it.