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The only time Vince had seen him in the flesh, trouble had wiped that smile from his face but otherwise he’d looked the same.
Fleur had said, stick to Blondie and she’ll lead us to him, and this is where she’d led.
He let his gaze drift from the photo to the bulky figure sitting close to the tart. Question was, could anything have changed this to that in seven years?
Didn’t seem likely.
Pity, he thought. Would have been nice if things had turned out so easy. Not that it bothered him. Not his responsibility, not since Fleur took him in hand. Would have been nice for Fleur though. Or maybe not. Fleur was clever and for some reason clever people often seemed to prefer things a bit complicated. Himself, he’d have been delighted if it had been Tubby. Whack! And then back down the motorway, leaving this northern dump to fall to pieces in its own time.
One thing was sure: whoever Tubby was, all that praying, he had some heavy stuff on his mind. And now it looked like Blondie was laying some more on him. This surveillance stuff was real boring.
Couldn’t even light up. Not many places you could these days. No laws to stop the bastards lighting candles though. Back in the car he guessed Fleur would be on her second or third ciggie by now, probably having a coffee from the flask. Maybe a little nip in it. No, scrub that. Not Fleur. On a job you had rules and you stuck to them. You look after the rules and the rules would look after you, she was fond of saying. And if she caught you breaking the rules–her rules–then retribution was instant and unpleasant.
Though sending him to do the tailing was breaking the rules, wasn’t it?
Maybe it meant she’d decided he wasn’t just muscle, he could think for himself.
The idea was both flattering and disturbing. It suggested a change in their relationship and he didn’t like change.
She’d laid down the terms pretty categorically in the prison visiting room as his last and longest stretch came within sight of the end. He’d served them years the hard way and he’d got respect, but at a price. Fleur was the only person he could share his horror with at the prospect of going back inside. In another sort of man this admission might have been linked to a resolve to go straight. Delay’s resolve was different.
‘I’ll top myself first,’ he said.
Fleur had given him the look that since she was nine had reversed the three years between them and made him feel like her kid brother.
‘Don’t talk stupid, Vince,’ she’d said brusquely. ‘Now, where are you going when you get out?’
He looked at her, puzzled, and said, ‘Thought I’d come home to start with…’
‘Home’s gone, Vince. I’ve got my own place now. You’re welcome to come and live with me, but there’s rules. You do things my way, in or out of the flat. Break the rules, and you’re on your own. For good. What do you say? Yes or no?’
‘Well, sounds all right, sis, but a guy’s got to have a bit of choice, know what I mean…’
‘Yes or no, Vince. That’s one of the rules. I ask yes or no, you answer yes or no.’
‘OK, keep your hair on. I mean yes.’
‘Something else. I think I can get you a job.’
‘You mean, like…a job?’ he said, horrified.
She shook her head. She knew her limitations.
‘I mean like the kind of job you’re good at,’ she said. ‘Except that what you’re not good at is not getting caught. So if you come to live with me, you come to work for me too, OK? No branching out on your own. I call the shots, OK?’
‘Is that a yes or no question, sis?’
‘It’s a yes or yes question, Vince. If you want to live with me, that is.’
‘Then yes.’
It had been a good decision. There’d been a couple of rebellious moments–like he’d said, a man’s got to have a bit of independence–but they’d all got sorted, and Fleur had one great argument to support that her way was the best way: for more than a dozen years now he’d stayed out of jail!
He put the photo back in his wallet and for want of anything better to do let his gaze focus on the open hymn book once more. Some of this stuff was dead easy, but a lot of it was like reading the instruction book for a computer.
A servant with this clause Makes drudgery divine. Who sweeps a room as for thy laws Makes that and the action fine.
What the hell was that all about?
He sighed and shifted in the chair whose wickerwork seat felt as if it was stamping its imprint on his behind. The thought took him back to his first time inside. They’d made him strip and take a shower. One of the screws had said mockingly, ‘Nice arse, Delay. You’re going to enjoy yourself here.’
It had taken half a dozen of the bastards to drag him off the man and then they’d given him a good kicking. But he’d been limping round the yard a couple of days later, an object of respect, and the screw had still been in hospital.
Happy days.
But not the kind of happy days he ever wanted to enjoy again. He was going to stay out whatever it took. And if ever Fleur’s way looked like failing, then he’d just have to do things his own way.
09.15–09.30 (#ulink_4565fe45-2adc-51c4-b000-fa86256e3c17)
Normally Andy Dalziel was to diplomacy what Alexander the Great was to knots, but this time he hesitated the cutting edge and essayed a bit of gentle plucking.
‘So you and Mick, this a long-standing engagement…?’
She laughed, a pleasant sound which the old cathedral absorbed with indifference though a few human heads turned in surprise.
‘What you mean is, how long have we been at it? Or even more bluntly, were we at it while Alex was still around? Very much not. Mick stayed in touch, we became good friends, we were close, I could tell he was interested romantically, so to speak, but it wasn’t till the end of last year that I finally acknowledged that Alex was gone for good. Mick’s told me since he was starting to think I’d never get Alex out of my system. It came as a real shock to him when I finally made the break.’
Hearing himself proposing marriage must have come as a bit of a shock to Mick, too, thought Dalziel. He recalled Purdy declaring one boozy night that the only woman worth marrying was a billionairess with huge tits, no family, and an hour to live.
Still, men often change their views on marriage. He certainly had.
He went on, ‘So you left Mick a message telling him to ring you. And then…?’
‘I called my solicitor. He wasn’t all that pleased, it being Saturday. That didn’t bother me. I’m paying the louse and no doubt he’ll charge me double time.’
‘Good lass,’ said Dalziel, who loved anybody who hated lawyers. ‘What did he say?’
‘He said he wished I hadn’t told him about the photo. Because now I had, he was bound to include knowledge of it in his plea for assumption of death.’
‘Covering himself in case it later came out that Alex was alive, right?’
‘Right. I asked him what I should do. He said that all I could do was make every reasonable effort to check out the possibility that my husband was alive and living in Mid-Yorkshire. He said that on receipt of my written assurance that such an effort had been made, he would go ahead with the application.’
‘Lawyers,’ said Dalziel, ‘I’ve shit ’em. So what did you do then?’
‘I rang the Keldale Hotel.’
‘Oh aye. Why’d you do that?’
‘Because I wanted somewhere to stay when I got here and it was the obvious place. Why use the hotel’s notepaper unless it meant something?’
Mebbe because it meant nothing, thought Dalziel, nodding as if in agreement and saying, ‘And then?’
‘Then I threw some stuff in a case and drove up here,’ she said.
‘Don’t hang around, do you?’ said Dalziel admiringly.
‘You might say I’ve been hanging around for seven years,’ she said. ‘But no more. I was determined to get this thing settled one way or another.’
‘So you’d worked out a plan of action, had you?’
‘That makes it sound a bit grand,’ she said ruefully. ‘At the Keldale reception, I showed them a photo of Alex, but it didn’t ring any bells. The only other idea I had was to run a small ad in the local paper using the same photo of Alex and offering a reward to anyone supplying information. But it was too late when I got here, the newspaper office was closed.’
‘Aye, we like to keep civilized hours up here,’ said Dalziel. ‘We don’t let news happen at the weekend. So what did Mick Purdy have to say about all this? You must have got to speak with him if he’s ringing me.’
‘Yes, I did, but not till last night after I’d arrived here. When he realized where I was, he didn’t sound very happy. And when I told him what I planned to do, he sort of groaned. I wasn’t in the mood to be groaned at and I’m afraid I snapped at him. To tell the truth, I was really frustrated I couldn’t get on with things straight away.’
‘Should have thought about that afore you came rushing up here,’ said Dalziel portentously. ‘Could have saved yourself a couple of night’s rent at the Keldale, which won’t be peanuts.’
‘You know, you sound just like Mick!’ she said. ‘It ended with me saying one thing I could do on Sunday was call in at the local cop shop and check if they were any more helpful up here than down in the Met. He asked me–asked, not told–he’s a quick learner–he asked me not to do anything till he got back to me. Then he had to rush off–he was still in the middle of his op.’
‘And you sat up anxiously all night waiting for your wise fiancé to call with instructions like any good girl would,’ said Dalziel.
She smiled and said, ‘Naturally. Actually I didn’t sleep so well and I was up and out not long after seven, driving around. I know it’s stupid, but I thought I might just happen to spot Alex on the street or something.’
‘Aye, I’ve had daft buggers in the CID who thought that was how it worked,’ said Dalziel. ‘But not for long!’
He expected that to provoke a rueful smile. Instead she frowned and looked away.
‘Come on!’ he said. ‘You’re not saying you clocked him!’
She shook her head and said, ‘No. Worse than that. I thought I did. Three times. I even followed a car for half a mile, and the driver who looked like Alex turned out to be a woman!’
‘Could have had a sex change, I suppose,’ said Dalziel. ‘But I shouldn’t let it bother you, luv. Your mind can play funny tricks when you’re not quite right with yourself. Look at Blair and Bush and all them weapons of mass destruction. And I once thought I saw England win the world cup.’
That got a smile and she went on, ‘Anyway, chasing that woman driver convinced me I was acting stupidly. Then my mobile rang and it was Mick. When I told him what I’d been doing, I heard him start that groaning again, but he managed to choke it off. Then he told me about you.’
‘Let me guess,’ said Dalziel. ‘He said he had this old mucker who was top-man on the Mid-Yorkshire Force and he was just the guy to make a few discreet enquiries afore you started your public manhunt, right?’
It made some kind of sense.
She said, ‘More or less. That was about eight o’clock, He said it was probably better to contact you at home because this wasn’t really official police business. He said he was going to ring you there to put you in the picture and would let me know as soon as he’d made contact. I told him I’d wait for his call at the hotel, but soon as he rang off I stuck the address he gave me in my sat-nav and headed round to your street. I just had to be doing something, even if I thought…’
She tailed off and he said, ‘Even if you thought I’d probably be a waste of time. So, soon as Mick rang and said he’d talked to me, you were going to be ringing my bell!’
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Sorry. Anyway, it didn’t work out. Suddenly you shot out, jumped in your car and drove here like you were late for a funeral.’
‘How’d you know it was me?’
‘Mick described you.’
‘Oh aye. Young, slim and sexy, was it? Don’t answer that.’
Time to review the situation. He’d been weighing up the woman as she talked. A few years older than his first assessment, well into her thirties, but she knew how to use her make-up and she kept herself in good shape. Very good shape. Bright blue eyes, teeth in good nick, hair naturally blonde and elegantly arranged by someone who probably charged a tenner a snip. Clothes to match, expensive but not designer expensive, though her shoes (he knew a lot about shoes; they were Cap’s sartorial weakness and she had enough fancy footwear to kit a WAGs convention) probably cost more than he’d paid for his last suit. But then he did get very good discounts.
As for personality, she was strong. She’d come close to losing control a couple of times–and from the sound of what she’d been through, it would have been understandable if she had–but she’d managed to pull back from the brink. She was, he judged, a woman who felt that action was the better part of reaction. Heading straight up to Mid-Yorkshire in response to that weird missive, driving around the streets first thing this morning then camping outside his door, all this suggested someone who would rather do something than sit around doing nothing.
Or perhaps, rather do anything than sit around thinking about what the past had held and what the future might hold.
All in all, he liked her. Not that that signified. His life was punctuated with trouble spots that had started with women he liked.
So, decision time.
He couldn’t see what this could have to do with him professionally, but it was his day off, and having someone else’s confusions dumped in his lap had certainly diverted his mind from his own.
On the other hand, his knight-errant days were long past, he wasn’t about to rush into anything, not even for a damsel in distress as tasty as this.
He said, ‘I’ll need to brood on this a bit, luv. Tell you what, why don’t we meet up later? Have a bit of grub mebbe?’
Giving her the chance to say thanks but no thanks. If after meeting him she didn’t care to pursue the acquaintance, it was no skin off his nose.
‘OK. Where?’ she said without hesitation. So he must have made an impression. Or she were really desperate!
He said, ‘You’re at the Keldale, right? All the best folk take Sunday lunch on the terrace there. Tell them you want a table overlooking the gardens. Any problem, tell Lionel Lee, the manager, you’re meeting me.’
‘Mick said you were a man of influence,’ she said.
‘Did he now?’
For perhaps the first time since his return, he actually felt like it.
He stood up. She remained sitting.
‘You not leaving?’ he said.
‘I think I’ll sit and listen to the music for a while,’ she said.
‘Oh aye?’ Then recalling he was allegedly here because he was fond of this chase-me-round-the-houses stuff, he added, ‘You a fan of old Bach then?’
‘Very much so. Occupational hazard. I’m a music teacher by profession.’
That surprised him. His notion of music teachers involved wire-rimmed spectacles, scrubbed cheeks, and hair in a bun. Mebbe he should get out more.
‘Grand job,’ he said, overcompensating for his uncharitable thoughts. ‘Kids can’t get too much music’
‘Indeed,’ she said, smiling at him warmly. ‘It’s good to know we have music in common, Mr Dalziel. It wasn’t something I anticipated from the way Mick spoke of you. Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude…’
‘Forget to mention I was Renaissance Man, did he?’ said Dalziel. ‘Mind you, all I can recall of his tastes is he fancied himself as Rod Stewart on the karaoke.’
