He returned to the bedside.
'We'll see about breakfast after the quack's checked you over,' he said.
'I'm not hungry,' said Farr.
A nurse came in, shook a thermometer and put it in Farr's mouth. While it was still there, a white-coated Asian doctor appeared and examined the chart at the foot of the bed. The nurse removed the thermometer and showed it to the doctor who gave her the chart to make an entry, then approached Farr and shone a pencil light into his eyes.
'Any pain?' he asked.
'Bit of a headache.'
'You shouldn't drink so much. Follow my finger with your eyes. Good.'
He pulled back the sheet and probed and prodded at shoulders, chest and legs.
'India rubber and iron by the feel of you,' he said.
'Does that mean he can be shifted?' said the constable hopefully.
'Shifted? Why?'
'We're keen to question him.'
'I'm keen to keep him alive. You'll have to ask your questions here under strict medical supervision. Liquid diet, Nurse. And that doesn't mean more beer, Mr Farr. I'll see you later.'
'Bloody foreigner,' said the constable. 'Still thinks we use rubber truncheons. Nurse, can I have the phone?'
The nurse wheeled in a mobile phone and the policeman rang Burrthorpe and reported the situation.
'Anyone been asking after me?' said Farr to the nurse.
'Your mam came up in the night and saw you sleeping. I think she's been on the phone this morning, but I don't know about anyone else.'
The constable finished his conversation and replaced the receiver.
'Can I use that?' asked Farr.
'No way, sunshine. Who do you want to ring, BUPA?'
'What about visitors? Can I have visitors?'
Now the policeman laughed.
'You'll have visitors all right,' he said. 'But don't expect many grapes.'
The first visitor was Detective Chief Inspector Alex Wishart. Though grapeless, he at least started conventionally, inquiring after Farr's health. But when the young man replied equally conventionally that he was all right, Wishart moved smoothly into his proper role, saying, 'Fit enough to answer a few questions, then?'
In the corner Detective-Constable Collaboy was taking notes. The uniformed constable whom Wishart addressed as Vessey had been dispatched to enjoy a cup of tea. It would be easy lying here in a warm comfortable bed listening to this soft-spoken courteous Scot to forget what was going on.
'So you felt unwell and you told Neil Wardle you were going to leave. And he said . . .'
'He told me to be sure to let Satterthwaite know.'
'Why Satterthwaite?'
'He were the deputy in charge of that section.'
'Fair enough. And was that all that Wardle said to you?'
'I can't recall owt else.'
'Didn't he say something like, "And be careful, Col. No bother, no matter what he says"?'
Farr put his hand to his head and said slowly, 'He said, "If the bugger says anything, tell him you don't want any bother and will he take it up with the Union." '
'You see. You remember very precisely when you try.'
'More than you do from the sound of it,' said Farr.
'Why did Mr Wardle think it necessary to make this warning?' asked Wishart.
'Deputies don't like men going off in the middle of shift,' said Farr.
'Is that all?'
'No, but it's an important part of it and I'd like to be sure your girl's got it down.'
Collaboy looked up angrily and Wishart said, 'It's all right, Constable. Miners' humour. The trick is not to bite, isn't that so, Mr Farr?'
'The trick is knowing when it's meant,' said Farr.
'I see. To resume: accepting that there might be an irritated reaction from a deputy as part of a general principle, what particular reaction or interaction between you and Satterthwaite was Wardle warning you against?'
'Am I supposed to understand all that?' mocked Farr. 'And me just a poor working lad.'
'Me too,' smiled Wishart. 'Shall we both play stupid or would you rather develop the role alone?'
Farr nodded, not in response but at some judgement of his own.
'Harold Satterthwaite didn't like me and I didn't like him,' he said. 'There was likely to be trouble most times we met. Just verbal, though it had come close to blows odd times. That's what Neil were getting at.'
'Any particular reasons for this friction?'
'Mebbe, but I think they were almost as much effect as cause. When you got down to it, we just naturally hated each other's guts.'
'That's very frank of you, Mr Farr.'
'No point in lying about what every big mouth in Burrthorpe knows. But it doesn't matter anyway as I never saw the sod on my way outbye.'
'Did you look for him?'
'Not very hard. I just wanted to get out.'
'Did you ask anyone if they'd seen him?'
Farr smiled. He looked not much older than seventeen when he smiled, thought Wishart. As beautiful and as dangerous as a fallen angel. My God, am I on the turn? he mocked himself. But his professional mind was thinking of Ellie Pascoe and the effort her husband had put into keeping up an appearance of simple domestic upset rather than personal crisis. It wasn't yet clear to Wishart how much Pascoe was still fooling himself.
'I think you know I did,' Farr answered, 'I ran into another deputy and told him I were going off shift and asked him to tell Satterthwaite.'
'This was Mr Mycroft?'
'That's right. And before you ask, I don't get on very well with him either.'
'You seem to have a problem with authority, Mr Farr.'
'No problem,' said the young man with easy assurance.
'Mr Mycroft says he advised that you ought to see Mr Satterthwaite personally.'
Farr shrugged and winced.
'I can't have been listening,' he said. 'I was in a hurry to get out. I just got on the paddy and didn't stop till I was back on the bank.'
'Your ringer,' said Wishart. That's what they call it, isn't it? Your working tool. Did you take that with you when you left Wardle and your other workmates?'
'I dare say so. Or mebbe not. Someone else would need it, wouldn't they?'
'I assume so. Wardle and the other man, Dickinson I think it is, seemed uncertain, though on the whole they favoured seeing you leave empty-handed.'
'It's funny how people find it hard to remember, you must find that all the time,' said Farr.
'Too true. You showered on the way out, I suppose.'
'Bloody right! And it were a bloody sight hotter than it normally is at proper knock-off time.'
'And you'd normally leave your pit-black in the dirty lockers?'
'I'd hardly take it with me, would I?' said Farr but his scornful assertiveness faded even as he spoke. 'Hold on. You mean it's not there? And you think I hid it in case there were traces of blood or anything on it?'
Now it was Wishart's turn to smile.
'That's very sharp for a poor working lad,' he said. 'Why didn't you go home?'
'What?'
'You were ill. Why not go home and seek rest, relief, medical advice?'
'The fresh air made me feel better. I didn't want to worry my mam by getting back early. I thought I'd just go for a ride around till it were my normal time for getting back.'
'But you were already well past that when you rang Mrs Pascoe.'
'Look, she's got nowt to do with any of this.'
'I don't suppose she has. Why did you ring her in particular?'
'I don't know. I suppose I just wanted to talk to someone who had nowt to do with Burrthorpe or the pit.'
'And she came to mind first?'
'First and last,' said Farr savagely. 'All the other buggers I know on the outside are likely tossing around in the Bay of Biscay. And I'd not have rung 'em anyway.'
'Why?'
Farr answered hesitantly, as if dealing with a question of his own.
'I m
ade some good marras but not for talking to, you understand. Oh, if I got into a fight or into bother with the pigs or if I were strapped for cash, they'd stick by me, no question. But sorting things out in your mind, that takes something . . . different.'
'Like Mrs Pascoe?'
'Aye. She might be a bit stuck up and a bit of a dogooder, but she'd know what I was on about and be able to listen and not end up by saying another pint would put me right, or I ought to get active in the Union, or wasn't it time I found a nice girl and settled down and had a family?'
'So you rang her. Her husband answered, I believe.'
'Aye.'
'But you didn't ring off?'
'Eh?' Farr looked puzzled, then he laughed scornfully and said, 'I'm not her fancy man, if that's what you're thinking.' ‘Why the hell should I ring off?'
'Husbands can misunderstand things,' said Wishart, watching him closely. 'For all you knew, Mr Pascoe could have been a short-tempered heavyweight boxer.'
'Could have been. I doubt it, but. Women like her usually end up married to teachers, them kind of twats.'
'So you never talked about Mr Pascoe?'
'No. Why should we? Hey, he's not a heavyweight boxer, is he?'
Wishart smiled and shook his head. It had bothered him that Farr, possibly on the run after committing murder, should ring up the house of a police inspector and be unconcerned when a man answered the phone. But Ellie had obviously decided that her close links with the filth wouldn't create a climate of confidence in her class.
'What did you want to talk to Mrs Pascoe about?' he inquired.
'What?'
'You rang her because you wanted to talk to someone with a different outlook from your marras. That was what you said, wasn't it? All right. Talk about what?'
'That's my business,' retorted Farr.
'It could be mine,' said Wishart.
'How's that?'
'If you wanted to talk to her because you were confused about what to do after bashing Harold Satterthwaite over the head and dumping his body in the gob, that'd be my business, wouldn't you say?'
'Aye.'
'So?'
'So ask Ellie . . . Mrs Pascoe, if that's what I wanted to talk about, and when she says no, you'll see I'm right and it's none of your sodding business, won't you?'
Wishart regarded him shrewdly and said, 'I dare say the truth is what with the booze and that bang on your head, you can't really be sure yourself what you did talk about.'
It was a subtle bait. Amnesia must look a very tempting escape route from these persistent questions, but once taken it was damnably hard to follow.
Farr shook his head, winced and said obstinately, 'No, I don’t forget things, not even them I'd like to forget.'
He sank down against his bank of pillows and his eyes closed. If his smile bore him back to boyhood, this weariness was more regressive still, turning him into a lost child. Wishart felt a sudden pang of conscience. The doctor had set a strict time-limit on questioning of his patient and Wishart had assured him that at the first sign of fatigue, he would desist. But his professional instinct was to press on now while the defences were weak.
But before he could speak, there was a sound of voices outside and the door burst open. Wishart looked round guiltily, sure it was the doctor, come to accuse him of the third degree. Instead he saw two strangers, one male, middle-aged, balding, dressed in a creased blue suit and clutching a battered briefcase in nicotine-stained fingers. The other was female, in her thirties, with spiky red hair, dressed in an apple green jump suit, and carrying a glossy leather document case under her arm.
Wishart, suspecting Press, rose instantly and prepared to be outraged.
'Who the hell are you?' he demanded.
They both spoke at once and as neither seemed prepared to concede the primacy it was only the coincidence that they were both saying more or less the same thing that allowed Wishart to grasp at their thread.
'You're both his solicitor?' he said incredulously.
'Wakefield,' said the man. 'Neil Wardle asked me to come on behalf of the Union.'
'Pritchard,' said the woman. 'A friend of Mr Farr's was concerned that he might be unrepresented.'
Wishart felt like Solomon called to judgement. Perhaps he should offer the patient to be dissected. After all, they were in the right place for it. But before he could pronounce, a third figure appeared, like Jove in a masque, rising to mend mortal destinies. It was Dalziel, flushed and breathing hard after climbing the stairs to avoid the concentrated contagion of a hospital lift.
"Morning, Chief Inspector Wishart,' he said. 'What's this? A public meeting?'
During Wishart's explanation, it seemed to him that Dalziel's flush pulsated like a nuclear core as he looked at Pritchard. But there was nothing but sweet reason in his tone as he said, 'No problem, is there? The client chooses the lawyer, not the lawyer the client, Mr Farr, which of these legal eagles would you like to crap on you?'
Colin Farr, who had kept his eyes resolutely closed during all that had passed hitherto, recognized in Dalziel's voice that summons which cannot be denied.
He sat up, regarded those present with unwelcoming eyes, and said, 'None of 'em. You can all fuck off. And that includes you, Porky!'
Chapter 11
In the hospital car park Adrienne Pritchard climbed into an ancient green Mini.
'What happened?' demanded Ellie. 'You've been gone hardly any time.'
Laconically the solicitor told her tale. When she got to the bit when Colin Farr called Dalziel Porky, they both laughed.
'I'm sorry you've wasted your time,' said Ellie. 'I shouldn't have dragged you out here.'
'You did rather give the impression your boy was being held in a dungeon with no access to legal aid, whereas . . . well, never mind. He looked fine, by the way.'
'Did he?'
'Yes, I could see you were dying to ask but afraid of giving yourself away. A little pale with interesting shadows under the eyes. Very Romantic poetish. I could see the attraction.'
'Adi, there is nothing going on!'
'I'll see you in court,' said the other disbelievingly, opening the car door and struggling out over the coils of unreconstructed seat-belt. 'Ellie, why don't you get a decent car? Two minutes in this heap and your husband would be on his way to the car showroom - by taxi!'
'Are you going back to town?' asked Ellie.
'You've guessed. There's nothing for me here. If young Lord Byron up there does decide he needs a lawyer, he'll be all right with that shark the Union sent along. Are you heading back too? I'll drive along behind you if you like, to pick up the pieces.'
'No, thanks, I've got a couple of things I want to do here.'
'By yourself? Well, as long as you don't frighten the horses. See you.'
Ellie watched Adrienne get into her shiny red sports car and roar away.
'At least mine's British,' she muttered turning the ignition key to produce a pneumonic wheeze. Before she could try again, a fist like a fender rapped against the passenger window which was almost immediately filled by a face like a flitch.
'I thought it were you,' said Dalziel with delighted surprise, opening the door and climbing in. ‘Just visiting, I hope? A rich relative, is it?'
'Don't muck around, Andy,' said Ellie irritably. ‘You know it was me that got Adi Pritchard to visit Colin Farr. So Peter was right when he said you lot might get landed with this case.'
'Yes. I've got him working on it himself. But don't worry. He's a long way away from here.'
He tapped his nose in a gesture both salacious and conspiratorial. Ellie was not certain which element most offended her, but what she was sure of was that in-fighting with Dalziel was like trying to tickle a grizzly to death. The only valid approach was with a flame-thrower from fifty yards.
She said, 'I hope you get the man who killed Mr Satterthwaite very soon. Now, if you'll excuse me.'
He didn't move but said, 'Reckon we've got him already. Your friend,
Farr. Bird in the hand, like they say.'
'What evidence do you have?' she asked angrily.
He smiled and said softly, 'I didn't say we'd got any evidence yet. Just that we've got him. Evidence'll turn up. Weapon. Bloodstained clothes. Something he did or said on his way out of the mine. Or later when he got himself kaylied and came off his bike. Said nothing significant to you, did he?'
'You've read my statement,' evaded Ellie.
'Aye, I've read it,' said Dalziel. 'Funny, that, I thought. Here they were, sitting in a car - it'd be this car, would it? very cosy - and neither of 'em said owt to the other. Some people might take that the wrong way, of course.'
'You dirty-minded old sod,' said Ellie, her resolve not to be provoked bending as easily as it usually did.
He looked at her in amazed indignation, and said, 'Nay, Ellie. You've got me wrong. I never meant owt like that. All I was trying to say was, if you don't fill in the detail of what you and him did say, some folk might think you were trying to cover up for him. Now I know how easy it is to think things aren't worth putting down in a statement, all the ordinary trivial chat. "Nice weather we're having, have you seen the price of eggs in the market? That's a lovely dress you're wearing, my sister in London had one just like that four or five years ago." The sort of thing you and your mates pass the time of day with over your morning coffee.'
I'll kill him! thought Ellie wildly.
Steadying her voice she said, 'No, we didn't talk about the price of eggs or the dress he was wearing.'
'No? Then what did you talk about?' asked Dalziel. 'No, don't answer me now. Have a good think about it and then you can broaden out your statement when you call in at the local station later on.'
'At the station?'
'Aye. That was why you drove all the way down here, wasn't it? To modify your statement and mebbe check up on the result of your blood test.'
Her expression showed him that she had forgotten all about the test and also that Pascoe hadn't been in touch with her since he called at the lab that morning. Probably because she had already left to winkle out Pritchard. Possibly because he felt in the mood to let her sweat a little longer. Well, it was none of his business to interfere between man and wife. Yet.
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