Pascoe glanced at his watch and stood up. Abandoning Dalziel at the Hall had seemed an amusing idea at the time, but it was a joke to be enjoyed from a safe distance.
“Bowler still out there?” he asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“I think I’ll take a little trip out to see Miss Mac and, from the sound of it, I may need a guide!”
7
After his attempt to close the gates on his exiting car had failed, Andy Dalziel went back into the big living room. Kay Kafka hadn’t moved.
“Looks like it’s just thee and me, luv,” said Dalziel.
“I’ve got no complaints,” she said, regarding him affectionately. “Your Mr Pascoe is a very pleasant man but there’s something… do you know Lamia?”
“Would that be Lamia Shufflebottom, kept a disorderly house in Neep Street?”
She smiled.
“Keats’s poem. There’s a philosopher in it, Apollonius. He sees to the heart of things and by fixing his severe eye upon Lamia turns her from the beautiful woman who has seduced his star pupil back into the serpent she was. I think Mr Pascoe fancies himself as Apollonius.”
“Waste of time, then, as you’re not a serpent. Are you?”
“What do you think, Andy?”
He shrugged.
“All yon magic stuff’s way beyond a simple soul like me. Give me a decomposing head in a plant pot any day. I’ll just do a bit of ringing round, see if they’ve got a line on your man yet.”
He took out his mobile and started making calls. She sat and watched, wondering, as often before, what to make of him. If you listened carefully to what he said, you started noticing juxtapositions which could be significant, or might simply be the product of your own over-subtlety. She liked the way he didn’t go out of the room to make his calls. If there were bad news, he was strong enough to give it to her upfront, and he believed she was strong enough so to take it.
Or perhaps he wanted to observe her reaction to his reaction as he talked.
“Nowt,” he said finally. “Which is good. But only ’cos it’s not bad. Could be he’s sitting on a plane somewhere over the Atlantic. Does he ever travel under another name?”
“Why should he do that?”
“Don’t know. Mebbe Kafka’s not his real name, just one he uses professionally, and his passport’s in his real name.”
“What a curious idea.”
“Why? He’s not Czech, is he? I mean, I know he’s Yank now, but he’s never struck me as very Middle Europe. Funny cheekbones, but they’re not Czech cheekbones.”
“You’re very observant, Andy.”
“You’ve noticed?” he said complacently. “Aye, well, I learned the hard way. When I were a young DC, I described someone as looking foreign and my boss tore a strip off me. ‘What the fuck use is that?’ he said. ‘It’s like saying you saw a vehicle and it looked like a car. You’d better start thinking in 3-D, lad, or you’re no fucking use to me.’”
“Sure you weren’t talking to yourself, Andy?”
“Eh? Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, I picked up a few tips from old Wally. Any road, you’ve not answered my question.”
She said, “No. Kafka is the name on his passport. It was the name he got from his father.”
“But mebbe not from his granddad?”
“I don’t think he went back beyond one generation,” she said. “But that didn’t bother him. He was a good man, Andy. A good American. That was important to him.”
“You said was. Twice.”
“I know. The first time was a slip. The second time it felt true. Andy, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“I thought you did,” he said. “Any particular reason?”
“No. What reason could there be?”
“Threatening phone calls. Nasty letters. Sinister strangers hanging around the garden. Or mebbe he’s just been acting odd lately.”
“None of those. Just a feeling in my stomach. Do you know what I mean?”
“Not unless it’s hunger,” he said. “Which reminds me, I’ve eaten nowt since breakfast and you look like you could do with something to keep your strength up. How about we raid your larder? Or I could take you down yon pub. I’ve only been in there once since they tarted it up.”
“And it’s kind of you to offer to grit your teeth and brave the horrors again on my account,” she said, smiling. “But no thanks, Andy. Don’t worry about me. I’m not going to sit around here all day. I’ve promised Helen I’ll call in at the hospital.”
“Means a lot to you, that lass, doesn’t she?”
“Children are a gift from heaven, Andy. A very precious and fragile gift. I got mine twice. And now twice more.”
“Perfect is she, then?”
She laughed and said, “Don’t be silly. Love can be perfect but not people. In fact I’m beginning to get just a little worried about Helen. She seems to have difficulty contemplating any version of the future that doesn’t involve lying in a nice comfortable bed with nurses at her beck and call and people dropping by to tell her how wonderful she looks.”
“Understandable. Twins is a pretty big stone to have dropped in your nice calm pool,” said Dalziel. “That husband of hers, he going to be a help or a hindrance?”
“Sorry?”
“You know, these PE guys, all brawn, not much brain,” he said. “I just wondered if he were going to give her the kind of support she’ll likely need.”
“Don’t worry about Jase,” she said firmly. “He’ll pull his weight. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just fix my face to meet the world.”
She stood up.
“Looks good enough to me,” he said. “You’ll need to drop me off somewhere. Them buggers have hijacked my car.”
“My pleasure, Andy.”
Twenty minutes later they were driving through Cothersley.
“Hello,” said Dalziel. “What’s going off here?”
On the green right in front of the pub reared what looked like a model of Great Gable, as if some gigantic mole had been at work under the earth. A police car was parked nearby and Constables Jennison and Maycock were standing there talking to what looked like a very unhappy man.
Kay’s attention was focused on the other side of the green where several women were spectating from the entrance to the church hall.
“Oh dear, the jumble sale,” she said. “I promised I’d look in. Do you mind, Andy?”
She brought the car to a halt.
Dalziel said, “Never mind about me, luv. I’ll get a lift with these lads. Bloody hell!”
As he opened the door of the car the nature of the strange mountain was made manifest. It was potently ripe manure.
Kay got out, her attention focused on the Church Hall rather than the steaming hillock. She started walking across the green. Dolly Upshott detached herself from the knot of watching women and came to meet her.
“You OK?” she said.
“Not sure. You?”
“The same.”
They regarded each other uncertainly for a moment then Kay said, “What’s happening over there?”
“Someone ordered that pile of manure to be dumped in front of the pub,” said Dolly. “It’s the third odd thing that’s happened this week. Blue beer, then a bunch of pensioners turned up for a cut-price lunch. I know it’s incredible, but I’ve got a feeling that Pal might be behind it. He hated the Captain and he loved a joke.”
“Yes, I do believe he did,” said Kay, sniffing the air. “Can’t be helping your sale much though.”
“They don’t seem to mind. Are you coming in?”
Kay said, “I don’t think I will. But I wouldn’t mind a talk.”
“Me too. Tell you what, let’s slip into the church.”
“But your sale…?”
“They can manage without me for a few minutes. For a few years even!”
“OK,” said Kay.
Dalziel watched the two women go up the path to the church, then strolled towards the two constables who had their backs towards him.
“Hello, hello, what’s going off here then?” he cried as he approached.
Jennison glanced round, did a comic double-take, and muttered out of the side of his mouth to Maycock, “Bloody hell, is there a CID holiday camp round here?”