D&P23 - The Price of Butcher's Meat aka A Cure for all Diseases

by Reginald Hill

  —Min—I said—whats with all this marrying?—thats the way old books end. Nowadays on the other hand . . .

  I wasnt sure how to fi nish. I neednt have worried. Min was quite up to the task.

  —people just do sex—she said—but youll still be my sister-in-law if I do sex with George—wont you?—

  —Ill always be your friend Minnie—I said—now bugger off!—

  ’Cos I wanted to get back to educating Gord!

  There you have it. Crazy huh? Me & the healer! Nowhere for it to go of course—but somehow Im looking forward to going nowhere with him!

  What about Loathsome Liam & his fulsome apology—you ask?

  Well—I read through the letter a dozen

  times—couldnt make up my

  mind—one minute it was forgive!—next it was forget!—but no problem now.

  First thing I did when I got back here was—tear it up! Why repeat an old mistake when theres a whole world of new ones out there just waiting to be made!

  Cant wait for the Headbanger to meet Gord! Tonight perhaps—or maybe tomorrow morning. Havent told George

  yet—but hes just taking my bag

  home—me—Im getting a lift in the famous sidecar—& its my intention to return to Willingden by way of Willingdene—where I look forward to putting Godly Gordons miraculous powers to a strenuous & extended test!

  But I shouldnt joke. After all—I did see today what in another age would be called a miracle. I hope—for Frannys sake—it proves permanent.

  & I suppose—in a way—me snogging Gord has to be some kind of miracle too—hasnt it? Or is that just overstating the totally unexpected?

  Doesnt matter. Getting what you know you want is rarely a big deal. Plus theres usually some small print somewhere that we havent noticed.

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  Its when you get what was unimaginable—even in your daftest dreams—that you may find youve got an unconditional bargain!

  Callous? Selfish? Certainly daft as a brush? I hear you say.

  So whats new? Youve called me all of those—several times—ever since I was old enough to take notice of what you were saying!

  For the time being the important thing is—Im happy. Like you—I hope.

  Your good works may get you to heaven—but I bet its the mahogany hunk that makes you glad to wake up every morning!

  So sweet dreams sis. Come home safe to us sometime soon. Bring the mh with you. Or if it all goes pear shaped—well—never worry. Completely free of charge—Godly Gordon will cure your physical ills—& for a very reasonable fee your clever little sister will give you a one to one analysis session!

  Love love love

  Charley xxx

  VOLUME THE SIXTH

  . . . There is something wrong here . . . But never mind . . . It could not have happened, you know, in a better place.—Good out of Evil—The very thing perhaps to be wished for.

  1

  It was late afternoon when Andy Dalziel got back to the Avalon.

  It had been a peculiarly unsatisfactory day. He had set out for the Grand Opening determined to resolve some of the questions still nig-gling away in his mind. But instead of answers, all he was coming back with was more questions. A lot of them centered on Franny Roote, but there’d been no chance to put them. The deliriously happy young man had been taken over by Lester Feldenhammer who, aided by Pet Sheldon, had probed and prodded at his legs, watched as he took a few still unsteady but increasingly confident steps, then invited him to attend at the Avalon for a comprehensive examination. After that he had sat down again in his wheelchair—talking to the crowds of people who came to congratulate or simply gawk—occasionally standing up as if to reassure himself he could still do it—& all the while smiling so broadly it would have taken a harder man than Andy Dalziel to try and wipe it off his face.

  Maybe it was for the best, thought Dalziel. Maybe for once in my life I should let sleeping dogs lie.

  But an old lion on the prowl doesn’t give a toss about dogs, waking or sleeping. It’s his nature to carry on hunting till he sinks his teeth in his natural prey!

  His temper had not been improved when he decided to call in at the Hope and Anchor on his way back to the Avalon. A perfect pint and a quiet chat with Alan Hollis, for whom he also had a few questions, seemed a good way to end his sojourn in Sandytown. But a notice in the window said the pub would not open on Saturday until six p.m., presumably to allow Hollis and his staff to go to the festival opening, though he could not recall seeing the landlord there.

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  So it was in a mood of some disgruntlement that Dalziel pushed open the door of his room.

  Despite the fact that it was bright daylight still, the curtains were drawn.

  He switched on the light.

  The beams from the central bulb bounced back off the silver surface of Mildred, resting demurely on his pillow.

  His mind threw up a possibility—some more than usually conscientious cleaner had looked in the lavatory cistern, spotted this intrusive object, removed it, and left it on the bed for its owner to claim.

  His mind threw this up and in the same mental gesture threw it away.

  He went slowly forward and picked the recorder up.

  He knew at once this wasn’t his. The same make, the same model, meaning it was probably exactly the same in weight and shape. Yet one touch told him this wasn’t Mildred. Man doesn’t get to survive as long as he had without instantly being able to identify the woman he’s touching.

  He went quickly into the bathroom to confirm what he’d guessed, that Mildred was no longer there.

  Then he sat down on the counterpane with the false Mildred and looked at it for a long moment.

  Finally he let his thumb stray to the Play button.

  And pressed.

  2

  Good day to you, Andy.

  Surprised to hear my voice?

  Of course you are, but not perhaps as surprised as a lesser mortal might have been. For it is your capacity for taking a couple of long strides in a direction you’ve no reason to be going in, plus of course your sheer bloody tenacity of purpose, that have made me decide to contact you like this.

  I know you hate loose ends, you hate a story unfinished, and so do I.

  So let me, like the all- seeing, all- knowing author of an old novel, stepping from behind the scenery he or she has created and addressing the reader direct, finish this one for you. Nor is this a simple act of that overinflated egotism you have accused me of in the past. There is a strong possibility, if left to your own devices, that you might inflict considerable collateral damage traveling by your normal elephantine route to the sunny uplands of knowledge I am now going to open up for you—damage to myself, I admit it, but also and more important to Peter’s career, to the lives of various other people I have come to love, to the prospects and reputation of dear little Sandytown, which has taken some hard knocks recently, and even perhaps to yourself.

  Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore everybody, not greatly in fault themselves, to tolerable comfort. Myself included. This is not a confession. I have committed no crime, or at least none so serious as to be unforgivable by such a magnanimous judge as yourself.

  Some brief autobiography first, to confirm or build on your speculation. I went to Europe determined to find a cure, and not much caring 4 9 8

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  what form it came in. Ultimately, death is the cure of all diseases, is it not? I found a doctor as careless of his patients’ lives as I was of my own.

  To him each death was a necessary step on his way to greater understanding. I will skip the months of pain and struggle which ensued. It is not your sympathy which I am trying to win. But if you are interested, I gave Peter some of the details, slightly confused since, of course, I could only leave him with the hope of
my restoration, not its fact. Suffi ce it to say, I learned how to walk again. I would have been happy to heap praise and gratitude on Dr. Meitler, my savior, and demand that his groundbreaking techniques be universally acknowledged and developed.

  Alas, he was as reckless of his own well-being as he was of his patients’, his laboratory was a firetrap, and while I was still learning how to crawl out of my chair, the good doctor and all his research rec ords went up in fl ame.

  So I kept quiet. My motive at first was a kind of vanity. I wanted to reappear before those who knew me fully restored. I wanted to amaze them! But as the long months of recovering my strength passed, I began to see that there might be certain advantages to keeping the change to myself. Travel, for instance. As I explained to you, it had become clear that, in the present climate, there was no way I would ever be able to visit America again. But if I could find another persona, another identity for my upright, perambulating self . . .

  When I returned to the Davos Avalon, my thoughts were still confused, and I think I might have revealed everything to the head of the clinic, Dr. Kling, with whom I’d developed an excellent relationship.

  But I found he had done an exchange with Lester Feldenhammer, so I kept quiet, and kept to my chair. Then two things happened. Firstly, and sadly, a young man I had become friendly with in my previous stay at the clinic, Emil Kunstli-Geiger, died. He had just been admitted when I first met him and there were hopes he might recover. But after some false starts, his condition had deteriorated and now the end was near. He was pleased to see me again and I gave him what comfort was in my power. Strangely it was talking to Emil then as much as my own T H E P R I C E O F B U T C H E R ’ S M E AT 4 9 9

  experience that made me start taking the ideas of Third Thought seriously. But my first and second thoughts were always of life, and one day while getting something for him from a drawer in his room, I came across his passport and his driving license. As I made the sad comparison between the way he’d looked then and the way he looked now, it struck me that there was a certain resemblance between us: shape of face, bone structure, that sort of thing.

  A few days later he died. Before he passed away he thanked me for my care and urged me to take something to remember him by. I took his passport and driving license.

  A long wig and a fringe of wispy beard, and suddenly I had another identity, though what I was going to do with it, I still wasn’t sure.

  Meanwhile my relationship with Lester had been developing. Here was a man I could talk to. We were not yet so intimate as to be on confidential terms, but when Daphne Denham and her entourage showed up last Christmas, I quickly assessed the situation. She was the predator, he was the prey! But I had little time to spare analyzing Lester’s problems. I knew I had one of my own.

  Do you believe in love at first sight, Andy? When you first encountered your partner, Cap Marvell, did you know she was the one for you?

  I can tell from the way you talk about her how much she means to you—yes, as I’m sure you’ve worked out by now, I’ve listened to all your fascinating recordings—but there’s no way of telling if it was a long slow burn or a sudden explosion.

  With me and Esther Denham it was explosive. On my side it was like a message stamped on my soul with a white-hot iron— this is the woman for you! On hers, it was rather different. More, oh Jesus, I don’t believe this—can I really fancy a guy in a wheelchair? Get out of here now, you crazy bitch!

  I could see she was attracted, could tell how much this shocked her.

  I knew she was resolved once she got out of the room, she’d make sure she never saw me again. In fact, she made an excuse almost immediately, said she needed to go to the loo. I boldly offered to show her where 5 0 0

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  it was, a bit of behavior which might have struck Lester and Daph as odd if he hadn’t been in such a state of panic and she of lust!

  We got to the bathroom, she opened the door and stepped inside, I pushed in behind her, she turned in anger which became amazement as I rose up out of my chair and kissed her.

  There followed a moment of shock and resistance on her part, and on mine of terror that she was going to start screaming rape and bring the nurses running.

  And then she started kissing me back, only stopping because she was laughing so much. It was, she said, so totally unexpected, so totally unimaginable, that it was comic!

  I knew then I was right. She was the one for me. Except, of course, there was no way in Daphne’s eyes that, in or out of my chair, I could be the one for her. And if Ess stuck two fingers up to Daph, it wasn’t just her who’d get cut off without a penny, it was dear brother Ted.

  Teddy is not, as you yourself have observed, the sharpest knife in the box. Ess has looked after him all her life. Family loyalties are, I believe, God’s way of ensuring that even the most undeserving get a bit of unconditional love. If I wanted Esther, then Ted was part of the bargain.

  We started meeting, or rather she and Emil started meeting, keeping well clear of the smart end of the resort where Daph was queening it up, and mucking down with the students at the Bengel bar where I encountered George Heywood and the lovely Charley. Things got better every time we met and I knew by the end of her holiday that, however things panned out, I had to follow her home. And God, who’s an old romantic at heart, wrote the perfect scenario!

  Soon, despite all he did to try to extend his stay, it was time for Lester to return to Sandytown. By now we were best buddies and it seemed perfectly natural for me to head home to England with him, to the Yorkshire that I knew so well, and to settle close to the Avalon and get involved with its work.

  I cannot describe with what joy I made the journey—or with what reluctance Lester made his!

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  I got myself settled in my cottage. It was as secure as I could make it.

  Sometimes Ess would come and visit me there, riding on Ted’s bike.

  Sometimes we would meet elsewhere at a distance and I would become Emil and we could manage whole weekends together. I was actually enjoying both my lives, but always I anticipated the day when I could be back on my own two feet permanently with Esther by my side.

  That wasn’t going to happen while Daph was alive, but I swear to you, Andy, that not once did I contemplate doing anything to get rid of her! The thing was, I came to like her, to enjoy watching her at play! And I became quite a favorite of hers. She saw I was close to Lester and she thought she was clever enough to wheedle things out of me about how he felt about her, and what was going on with Pet Sheldon! But I think she recognized a fellow spirit in me too, someone who is not perhaps too scrupulous when it comes to fi nding the quickest way to getting what they want!

  So to the day of the hog roast.

  I was sitting in my chair, enjoying the champagne and watching the great storm bubbling up over the sea when Esther came up to me. I knew instantly something was wrong. In public she usually treated me as if I were a piece of furniture!

  She was extremely agitated. Something dreadful had happened, she told me.

  Teddy had killed Aunt Daphne!

  I was, as you might say, gobsmacked. Esther told me she’d been wandering round the grounds and by chance she’d stumbled across the body in some long grass beyond the hog roast pit. I asked how she knew Ted was responsible. She showed me that fancy fake watch he wears and said she’d found it snagged on Daph’s dress. Also, earlier that day, Daph had shown Ted a new will in which he was disinherited and they’d had a furious row.

  Now you and I, Andy, sensible chaps with one eye always fixed steadily on the realities of life, might have reckoned that when someone has just written you out of their will, that is the last time you should choose to kill them!

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  Ted, alas, has rarely let reason cloud his behavior, and neither Ess nor myself had the slightest problem to start with in accepting his
guilt.

  Nor did his idiocy in leaving his watch at the scene of the crime strike us as anything but typical!

  I asked where Ted was now. She said she didn’t know, she couldn’t find him. The storm was starting, everyone was heading for the house, so I said, “Show me the body.”

  She took me there. There was no sign of Ollie Hollis at the hog roast, which struck me as odd. Seeing old Daphne lying there was truly upsetting. She had been so full of life, so vigorous for her age, such a dedicated goer! She didn’t deserve to end up like this. I was furious with Ted, but for Esther’s sake, I had to do my best to protect him.

  Esther had removed the watch but God alone knew what other traces the idiot had left. I cast around for some way of obscuring them and also of misdirecting the investigation. It came to me in a flash what I had to do.

  And so with Esther’s help, I hauled the roasting cage off the barbecue pit, got the pig out of it, and put poor Daphne in.

  It really broke me up to heap this further indignity upon her. There were tears in my eyes and I have begged her spirit for forgiveness and understanding since. And, knowing as I do what she herself was capable of, I do not doubt I received it.

  Esther was marvelous, doing everything I told her to. By the time we were done it was pouring down and we were both soaking and fi lthy and Ess had managed to burn her arm.

  I told her to get back to the house, find something to change into, and get hold of Ted and do what she could to make sure he didn’t do anything else stupid.

  I meanwhile headed for the lowest bit of the lawn where it was turning really boggy, tipped my chair over, and rolled around in the muck to provide a reason for my dishevelment. Then I lay there, trying to see into the future, and waiting patiently for the storm to abate.

  After Pet Sheldon took charge of me, there was nothing for me to do T H E P R I C E O F B U T C H E R ’ S M E AT 5 0 3

  but head for home and wait until Esther reported on further developments.