The wood beyond dap-15

by Reginald Hill

  Pascoe finished reading then gathered the papers up and took them through to the lounge where Ellie was sitting in front of the fire, nursing a glass of Scotch.

  'Hi. All done?'

  He knelt beside her and laid the fax sheets on the flames.

  'I wish I could feel that was symbolic,' said Ellie. 'Shall I pour you a Scotch?'

  'Better not,' said Pascoe.

  'That doesn't mean what I think it means, I hope.'

  'I need to see Studholme and I doubt if I'll have time tomorrow.'

  'They've invented this thing called the telephone.'

  'I need to see him,' repeated Pascoe.

  She didn't argue but rose and went out into the hall. He heard her using the telephone. When she returned he looked at her enquiringly.

  'Just fixing a baby-sitter. Hit lucky with Myrtle down the road. She'll be here in ten minutes. Any objection?'

  'Yes,' he said smiling. 'If you hadn't been so quick getting stuck into that whisky, you could have done the driving too.' xv

  'You won't be late?' said Edwin Digweed.

  'Definitely not.'

  'Good, because Dora's promised us something really special.'

  'I'm practically on my way,' said Wield.

  He put down the phone and returned his attention to the TV screen. Behind him he heard the door of the CID audio-visual room open.

  'Working late?' said Dalziel. 'Or do you just get lousy reception out in the sticks?'

  Wield shifted sideways to give a clear view of the screen. On it a frozen frame over Des Patten's shoulder of Cap Marvell, lightly crouched, holding the heavy wire cutters at her side like a broad sword in a double-handed grip. Her expression was calm, with the calmness of concentration rather than repose, and her unblinking gaze was focused on the man before her.

  Wield pressed his remote control and let the tape move forward frame by frame. The left foot advanced, the chest and arm muscles bunched visibly as the shoulders began to turn, taking the cutters behind her, like a tennis player winding up for a double-handed forehand drive. As she reached the furthermost point of her backswing, Wendy Walker came into the picture, putting her skinny body between the woman and the security guard, her back to Cap, her arms spread wide to inhibit any blow. Behind her they saw Marvell slowly relax. Then Wendy turned to face her, putting her hands on her upper arms and clearly speaking to her. They saw Cap's mouth open in reply, her expression relaxing into exaggerated surprise. Jimmy Howard appeared behind them and took the cutters from Cap's unresisting hands.

  Up to this point Patten hadn't moved. Now he stepped forward and spoke. And the two women closely escorted by Patten and Howard moved out of shot through a door.

  'So what do you think, sir?' said Wield glancing at Dalziel for the first time. If the Fat Man had needed a moment to control his expression, he'd put it to good use.

  'It's OK but it's not Disney,' he said. 'We could do with subtitles.'

  'Yes. I asked Patten what were said and he could only give a general idea. So I thought I'd get Howard up here to see if his memory were any better. Novello's gone to fetch him.'

  Dalziel looked surprised.

  'Chancing your arm a bit, Wieldy. You told his brief? I'm sure he'll be able to quote something in PACE that makes taking a prisoner from the cells to chat about another case without telling his brief a capital offence.'

  'Probably,' said Wield. 'Except he's not a prisoner. There's nowt'll stick except driving when disqualified. So Novello's processing him out, then inviting him as an ex-colleague and a fellow professional in the security business to lend us a hand here.'

  'Oh aye. Very green.'

  'Sorry?'

  'Recycling rubbish,' said Dalziel scornfully.

  'We've got to take help where we can find it,' said Wield. 'I gather we've let Ms Marvell go?'

  'Aye. Like Howard, nowt to hold her on.'

  'Difference is, we know Howard's guilty, sir,' said Wield gently.

  'And after watching them pictures, you reckon she's off the hook, do you?'

  Wield was saved from reply by the opening of the door to admit DC Novello and Jimmy Howard.

  'Hello, Jimmy. Nice of you to give us a hand,' said Wield.

  'You've got a nerve after banging me up like that,' said Howard. But there was little force in his protest as he took in the brooding presence of Dalziel who'd spread himself across a chair which didn't look like it was enjoying his proximity either.

  'Just take a look at this tape of what happened the other night, Jimmy, and see if you can recollect exactly what was said. Not just you. Everyone,' instructed Wield.

  He wound the tape back and ran it through at normal speed.

  'Bloody hell,' said Howard. 'You're not still going on about this, are you? I mean, what's the problem?'

  'No problem, Jimmy. Just try to recall what was said,' urged Wield.

  Once more he ran the sequence, this time in slow motion.

  'I've been through all this,' said Howard. 'OK, when I came in after the skinny lass, t'other, her with the headlights, she's standing in front of Des, looking like she's just about to swing yon cutters at him

  'How do you work that out?' said Wield. 'You must have been looking at her back.'

  'Aye, but you could see she was getting ready for a swing. I mean, just look at the pictures. There it goes. She's not getting ready for a clog dance, is she?'

  'Any words spoken?'

  'Des said something like, Easy now. She said nowt, but she were breathing pretty hard.'

  'Then what?'

  'Skinny lass is in front of me. We've both stopped short when we saw what was happening…'

  'I'm sorry. Why was that? You stopping, I mean.'

  'Well, it's like bursting into a room and finding someone with a knife at someone else's throat. You pause to take stock, don't you?'

  'You felt there was as real a threat as that, did you?' said Wield glancing at the Fat Man who yawned and looked at his watch.

  'You could have cut the air,' said Howard. 'Then the skinny lass shoots forward and jumps between the two of them.'

  'What's she saying at this point?'

  Howard stared at the screen then said, 'Hold it, Cap. Something like that.'

  'And when she turns round?' said Wield letting the tape run on.

  'She said, Cool it, Cap. We don't want anyone getting hurt here, do we? Not without cause. Something like that.'

  'And did Marvell say anything in reply? She seems to open her mouth there.'

  'Yeah. She said, Jesus, sort of long drawn out on her breath, like she just couldn't believe her ears. But she relaxed and me and Des moved forward and got them sorted, no more trouble. Look, what's the point of this? No one's pressing charges, are they?'

  'Not about the break-in, no,' said Wield.

  'About what then? I mean, what odds can it make to anyone who said what? You need a formal complaint for threatening behaviour.'

  'Not always,' said Wield. 'And especially not when it's threatening with a deadly weapon.'

  'That thing? Deadly?' Howard laughed.

  Wield regarded him seriously and said, 'It's intent that counts, Jimmy, thought you'd have remembered that. And swung hard enough at your head, that thing could kill you, which in my book makes it deadly.'

  'Kill…? Like up at Redcar you mean? You still harping on about that?'

  'Mustn't leave any stones unturned even if it means turning some of them twice,' said Wield. 'So you're sure that's all you can remember of what was said.'

  'Yeah. Sure. Why don't you ask them as did the talking anyway?'

  'Well, we have. As far as possible.'

  'What's that mean?' asked Howard suspiciously.

  'It means you can't talk to the dead,' boomed Dalziel. 'Sergeant, get this scrote out of here. He were no use to us in the Force, why the hell should he be any use to us out of it?'

  Howard wasn't bothering with even a token indignation, Wield noticed. There was quite a different expression o
n his face. The sergeant nodded at Novello who also looked as if she wanted to say something. But Dalziel rose and stretched himself and the movement, though free of menace, set the DC urging an unresisting Howard through the door.

  'No further forward then, Wieldy,' said the Fat Man scratching his neck as though it contained something he would like to get out.

  'No, sir,' said Wield. He wanted to add that Dalziel's dismissal had got rid of Howard before he'd finished with him, but felt that the moment was so unripe he could break a tooth on it.

  'Peter gone home?'

  'Yes, sir. He'd just gone when I got back with this tape.'

  'And you didn't reckon it were important enough to call him back to take a look at it? Well, you were dead right, weren't you? The lad'll learn more watching Coronation Street than this. So, Howard set loose, Cap Marvell set loose, no more useless revelations from Troll Longbottom or Dr Death, we might as well hang the Vacancies sign outside the cells and head off to enjoy the weekend, Wieldy. Fancy a pint?'

  'No thanks, sir. Better get back.'

  'Quite right. Mustn't let your dinner spoil. What's it tonight? Parsnip pie?'

  Provoked by the sneer, Wield said, 'Meatless day were yesterday, sir. Day after, we always get Dora Creed to go to town on a nice bit of lamb or mebbe a rib of beef. You remember Miss Creed, sir? Runs the Wayside Cafe?'

  A glint of interest and envy touched Dalziel's eyes as he recollected the superb nosh Dora Creed dished up for hungry travellers out at Enscombe.

  'Sounds like your ship's really come home at last, Wieldy. I'm glad for you. No one deserves it more. Goodnight then.'

  He turned and left the room. Wield stood in thought for a moment.

  Sympathy to the Fat Man was like flashing The Satanic Verses at a mullah. Clever thing was to head on home and let the memory of Dalziel's unhappiness season his own content. But while his partner, Edwin, might have the shot-silk sensibility to enjoy such a refined Gallic pleasure, his heart was Yorkshire homespun.

  He went into the corridor and called after the retreating figure, 'Mebbe just a pint then, sir.' xvi

  Cap Marvell sat in front of the television with a glass of her ersatz whisky in one hand and the remote control in the other, zapping across the channels in search of one which might lead her out of the dark maze of her mind for a few minutes. Vain hope, even with the service which vaingloriously trumpets itself as the best in the world.

  She turned off the sound but left the picture on for the sake of the shifting images and flickering colours which brought the illusion of life into the room.

  She had had a good decade and more in which to find herself, and now here she was, feeling completely lost again. That was real progress! But she had to be practical. Was there anything that could be saved from the situation? Only herself, perhaps; and the way she was feeling now, she wasn't sure she was worth the effort.

  Fuck that fat bastard! Five days ago she hadn't known him and she had felt unassailable in mind, spirit and conscience. Now here she was, feeling as adrift as she had felt all those years ago when she had seen the first cracks filigreeing the delicate eggshell structure of her life as Mrs Rupert Pitt-Evenlode.

  She sucked on her whisky. She had seen him flinch as he tasted it, and now she drained the glass in defiant affirmation of her own identity which had felt so whole and permanent till he showed up. And would do again. That was the only possible response to this crisis. To survive, to carry on. To show the bastard!

  She found herself smiling at her own illogicality. As lovers all over the world know (and how many have not been lovers?), showing you don't care is evidence incontrovertible that you do. But it was a start. Not the showing, but the smiling. Life after Dalziel was a real possibility.

  But the bastard, oh the bastard!

  Jimmy Howard was also drinking Scotch. It had come out of a pub optic and he neither knew nor cared about the brand. The pub was situated on the far side of town from where he lived and he'd never been in it before. Even so, he had found himself the remotest shadiest corner. He wanted to sit in peace, with minimal risk of being recognized or approached.

  There were things to work out, decisions to be made. The trouble with decisions was that they tended to be decisive. His mind went back to that first occasion, not so distant in real time, but light years away in perceived, when he had taken his first silencer. Mr Howard – he was still Mr Howard then, the police constable being addressed respectfully by the ingratiating suspect – Mr Howard, can't we talk this over like sensible men? Sit down like friends even, over a drink. There had been an unmistakable stress on the word drink. And that had been the moment when a step in one direction would have kept him firmly in the fold, while a step in the other… But he had genuinely thought you could step out, then step back in again, with no real harm done, and he'd replied, It would need to be a bloody large drink.

  Now here he was again at a crossroads. Different ins, perhaps, and different outs… oh yes, certainly the possibility of very different outs!

  He rose and went to the bar, feeling the need of more Scotch.

  As the barman set the glass in front of him, 'I'll get that one, Jimmy,' said a voice.

  Dalziel said, 'Pete seems happy enough these days. Him and his missus, I mean. Don't think he'll ever feel safe, mind. Way yon Ellie's mind works, a good cop can never feel safe with her. But secure, aye, I'd say he's feeling pretty secure just now. Kiddy helps, of course. Harder to walk out on a kiddy. Aye, a kiddy might have helped.'

  Wield for once had refused to submit to Dalziel's eleventh commandment which stated, When I drink, every bugger drinks. He had sat nursing his glass, rising obediently whenever the Fat Man said, 'Your shout, lad,' and getting another pint and whisky chaser. On his own shout, Dalziel ignored the sergeant's demur and always returned with two pints and chasers, both of which he supped almost absent-mindedly as Wield hung on to his initial drink.

  One thing you weren't likely to get with the Fat Man was a maudlin, let-it-all-hang-out, I'll-be-sorry-I-said- this – in – the – morning – but- not – as – sorry – as – you'll – be – you-heard-it confession. But Wield knew from long experience that, as the drink took hold, he might give you a quick flash of the truth of his heart through a gauzy veil of obliquities.

  'She's a grand lass, Ellie, but,' said Wield who was a considerable fan of Ellie Pascoe.

  'I know that, but trouble, you can't deny that. Mebbe it doesn't matter, but, if the rest's all right.'

  He waved a glass vaguely to comprehend 'the rest', then emptied it and picked up one of Wield's.

  'There was this lass I once knew, a while back, a widow, just after Pete got wed… were you at the wedding, Wieldy?'

  'No, sir. Recovering from having my appendix out.'

  'Oh aye. Well, like I say, I had a bit of a holiday after, got friendly with this lass. Got pretty close. Looked like it might come to summat. You get these daft ideas, seeing the lad get wed, all that stuff…'

  He looked reflectively into his glass and Wield took the chance to look reflectively at the clock he could see in the bar mirror. Shit. Edwin's not going to be pleased, he thought.

  'Not boring you, am I, Wieldy?' said Dalziel sharply, as if the sergeant had pulled out a half-hunter and held it to his ear.

  'Never came to anything then?' said Wield refusing to be diverted into defence.

  'We had our moments,' said Dalziel. 'But there was summat a bit iffy about the way her husband died… I didn't think I could take a chance…'

  'In case she topped you as well, sir?' Wield couldn't resist saying.

  'In case I had to finger her collar,' retorted the Fat Man. 'I was right, wasn't I?'

  'You must have thought you were,' said Wield.

  'I knew I was, as a cop. And I was fifty-fifty sure as a man…'

  'Sounds like a landslide majority to me,' said Wield.

  'Aye, but suppose I'd not been so sure as a man? Suppose I'd felt eighty-twenty she were in the clear? Would
I still have been right?'

  Crunch time, thought – Wield.

  'Depends what's most important,' he said steadily. 'I mean, generally. If it's the job number one always, and the rest runners-up, then that makes things easy, even when they're hard.'

  'Yeah? You reckon Peter would jack the job then, if Ellie gave him an either-or?'

  'I'd say so. Mebbe it's knowing that that makes her not do it,' said Wield.

  'You sound like you've been getting your nose stuck into some of your mate's Reader's Digests,' mocked Dalziel. 'Talking of which, how about you? Desperate Dan says get yourself out of Brigadoon and back into your bachelor flat in town, what do you do?'

  While Dalziel was as far from mealy-mouthed as you could get without injections of Pentothal, he'd never before come so close to inviting discussion of Wield's domestic situation.

  'Easy,' said Wield. 'I'd take early retirement.'

  And it was easy now he'd said it. He felt the constraints of the job which had always been at the very centre of his life slip away like silk off a stripper. Hey, I'm a swan after all, he thought.

  'Them twitchings of your lip, you grinning or having a fit?' enquired Dalziel.

  'Sorry, sir. It's a matter of priorities, I'd say. You were right not to let things go any further with yon widow if what you felt was, when things went wrong, you'd be fingering her collar.'

  'What would be the alternative?' demanded Dalziel.

  'Helping her pack her suitcase and buying two tickets to Rio?' suggested Wield. 'And, no, I won't have another drink, sir. It's time I got off home.'

  Knowing how expert the other was at delaying tactics, he rose even as he spoke and headed for the door. But before he reached it, a hand grasped his sleeve and he glanced aside to find himself looking at Detective Constable Novello.

  'Buy you a drink, sarge?' she said.

  'Some other time, thanks,' he said. 'I'm a bit late.'

  She released his sleeve but remained at his side, looking at him.

  Something she wants to talk about, he thought, but not important enough to spit it right out. Therefore not important enough to drop me even deeper in it with Edwin.