Terrified, she nodded and retreated to the pool.
He turned and looked down the hill. Bridie Heighway and the boy were close to the gate now. Jane was still standing like a statue, watching and willing. He went into the villa, tried Beck’s pulse, picked up a telephone and dialled. It was answered almost immediately. He said in Italian, ‘I am a colleague of Endo Cicero. He said if I needed any advice or assistance I should contact you …’
When he had finished talking he closed the Venetian blinds, then slipped behind them and out of the door which he locked.
He went and stood beside Jane. Bridie Heighway was at the gate now, kneeling and talking to Noll. Then she put her arms round him, hugged him, and passed through the gate without a backward glance up to the villa.
‘I bet the bitch takes my taxi,’ said Dog.
But Jane was no longer there. She was racing down the pathway towards the gate where her son was waving goodbye to the receding cab.
He started to walk slowly down the track towards them.
Endo’s friends would clear up this mess, he had no doubt, extracting their payment from Beck’s estate, leaving enough to keep Maria quiet. But the larger mess, the mess of lives and emotions, of pasts and futures, would need a lot more than a network of bribes, favours and fears to tidy up. He tried to look inside himself to see if he had the strength, the staying power, but he quickly gave up the search. Some things you only found out by doing.
He reached Jane, who was kneeling as Bridie Heighway had knelt with her arms around her son. He leaned over them and lightly embraced them both. Then Noll, who clearly found all this hugging a bit of a bore, wriggled free and raced away up the hillside.
Gently he raised Jane to her feet.
She looked into his face and said seriously, ‘Dog, have I ever said thank you?’
‘Once,’ he said with a faint smile. ‘At least I think that’s what you said.’
‘I don’t know what’s going to happen now,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m numb. I don’t know what I feel about anything, about the future, about you. Except that I … that we owe you more than I can ever repay.’
‘You owe me nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s a new game. But from now on, I’ll collect everything I win.’
‘That may not be much,’ she said softly. ‘She was right. God keeps on dealing you a lot of losing cards.’
‘There ain’t no such thing as losing cards,’ he said. ‘Only losing players.’
‘Uncle Endo?’ she asked.
He considered.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I think that was pure me.’
The sun was slipping fast behind the mountains, sending their shadows racing eastwards across the dark blue reaches of the sea towards the still gleaming horizon.
He took her hand lightly in his and, swinging their arms between them like children, they began to climb the steep and narrow path up to the villa.
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About the Author
Reginald Hill, who died in 2012, was a native of Cumbria and former resident of Yorkshire, the setting for his novels featuring detectives Andy Dalziel and Peter Pascoe. Their appearances won him numerous awards including a CWA Gold Dagger, the Diamond Dagger for Lifetime Achievement and the Theakstons Old Peculier Outstanding Contribution to Crime Fiction Award. The Dalziel and Pascoe novels have also been adapted into a hugely popular BBC TV series.
By Reginald Hill
Dalziel and Pascoe novels
A CLUBBABLE WOMAN
AN ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING
RULING PASSION
AN APRIL SHROUD
A PINCH OF SNUFF
A KILLING KINDNESS
DEADHEADS
EXIT LINES
CHILD’S PLAY
UNDER WORLD
BONES AND SILENCE
RECALLED TO LIFE
PICTURES OF PERFECTION
THE WOOD BEYOND
ASKING FOR THE MOON: A DALZIEL AND PASCOE COLLECTION
ON BEULAH HEIGHT
ARMS AND THE WOMEN
DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD
DEATH’S JEST BOOK
GOOD MORNING, MIDNIGHT
THE DEATH OF DALZIEL
A CURE FOR ALL DISEASES
MIDNIGHT FUGUE
Joe Sixsmith novels
BLOOD SYMPATHY
BORN GUILTY
KILLING THE LAWYERS
SINGING THE SADNESS
THE ROAR OF THE BUTTERFLIES
Other
FELL OF DARK
THE LONG KILL
THE COLLABORATORS
DEATH OF A DORMOUSE
DREAM OF DARKNESS
THE ONLY GAME
THE STRANGER HOUSE
THE WOODCUTTER
About the Publisher
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