'That's why you remember, is it?' she laughed. 'Yeah, I think you're right. And funny thing, now I come to think of it, you know what those guardian nymphs were called. The Hesperides. That's right. Like Jay Waggs's backers.' That's all right then. I were worried when I thought they might be a bunch of gangsters, but naked nymphs are right up my street.' 'You say so? Well, let's see. But none of this American Express this time, Andy. Let's try for a bit of English reserve, huh?'
He took a deep breath, thought of England, the Dunkirk spirit, once more unto the breach, rule Britannia… 'Andy, they should use you to pay off the National Debt,' said Linda Steele. 'OK if I take a shower.' 'Help yourself,' he said. He lay on the bed and listened to the water running. Then he rose quietly and went through her handbag.
There was nothing of any interest except a journalist's card and more spare condoms than a nice girl ought to carry. Condoms made him think of Arthur 'Noddy' Stamper. Of William Stamper, crime writer and broadcaster. Of his voice on the Golden Age of Murder programme… my mother was… a Bellmain of Virginia, no less… Of the receptionist at the clinic… Mr Bellmain's on a fifteen-minute visit cycle. Kohler had gone to a clinic where a patient called Bellmain was being visited by Scott Rampling. It didn't make much sense. Normally he was a patient man. Everything made sense if you gave it time. Even perhaps life. But time in this mad scrambling place was a much scarcer commodity than it was back in Mid-Yorkshire. There, he had often mocked the boy Pascoe's tendency to go scampering round a case, dropping hypotheses like crap from a dysenteric duck, but he wouldn't have minded that muddying flow here and now. Perhaps he'd ring him later. Linda Steele came out of the shower, glowing darkly, like charcoal on a barbecue. Perhaps, thought Dalziel, I'll ring Pascoe much later. 'I left the shower on for you,' she said. 'If you'd come in to rub my back, think of the water we'd have saved.' 'Nay, lass. Likely we'd have been in there yet,' he said, reaching out. She slipped out of his grasp like a Welsh fly half, got behind him and pushed him showerwards. 'I gotta run,' she said. 'You've fucked up my schedule.' 'That's what I 'm here for,' he said. But he didn't resist too much. It would have been demeaning to find his eyes were greedier than his belly and besides, when you weren't sure what people wanted, best thing was to let 'em have their own way. He got into the shower, started carolling one of the rugby songs of his muddy youth, and after a while he lowered the volume and moved back to the door which was slightly ajar. Through the crack he saw Linda Steele bending over his suitcase. She was still naked and the view convinced him he needn't have worried about his appetite. Now she closed the case and picked up his jacket from the scatter of clothes about the floor. Christ, the Bible and the notes on Waggs's and Kohler's half-heard conversation were still in his pocket! He turned his head away and called, 'Hey, luv. Pour us a drink, will you? I hate being wet out and dry in.'
'OK,' she called. She still gave herself time for a quick shufti through his wallet, but she dropped everything pretty quick when he turned off the shower, and she had her pants on and a glass in her hand as he emerged swathed in a towel. 'Service is lousy here,' he said. 'See the management,' she said. That depends who they are, he thought as he sipped and watched her finish dressing. He said, 'Where do we go from here?' ‘I’m all for long engagements,' she said. 'Or are you talking about Kohler? You're the cop.' Not here,' he said. 'Like I said before, I just came over on impulse. I don't know what I'd have done with her even if Waggs hadn't thumped me.' He took a long pull at his bourbon and watched her through the bottom of his glass. She ought to have been looking disappointed at the revelation that he was just another dumb cop with no ideas outside his nightstick. She was merely looking thoughtful. She was also looking at her watch. 'Shit. Andy, I gotta run. Listen, why don't we both poke around some more? I'll see if I can get some kind of trace on Kohler through my contacts. She may still be in the city. We'll meet tomorrow and cross-check, OK?' 'Fine.
Where? When?' 'There's a bar next to the deli where we ate. Stroke of noon. Last there pays. See you.' After she'd gone he opened the wardrobe door and studied himself in the full-length mirror inside.
'What makes you so fucking irresistible?' he asked. The mirror didn't reply. Or perhaps it did. As he got dressed he studied his notes on the half-heard conversation. Filling in the blanks was easy enough to start with, but became problematical halfway through. KOHLER: Jay, what the hell have you done? WAGGS: I found him poking around in here. I thought he was a burglar. K OHLER: It's that cop who was in the papers. He was at the Hall that weekend. He was waiting for me when I got back. I went to the Clinic. WAGGS: Christ Almighty! Why did you do that? I told you not to. What happened? KOHLER: They wouldn't let me in. I gave your name. It made no difference. I thought you said – WAGGS: Yeah, yeah. Listen, Ciss, you could've ruined everything. I came back to tell you I'm seeing William in town this afternoon. KOHLER: You're sure he'll be at home today? W AGGS: Sure I'm sure. Grab some stuff quick. I want to be away when this burglar awakes. KOHLER: Will he be all right? Shouldn't we call a doc? W AGGS: He'll be fine. He's built like the side of a stone barn. So move it. Let's get out of here! He didn't like the middle much. Who the hell was William? The only William he'd come across in the case so far was Stamper and what would he be doing over here? Unless he'd come to see his mother… or this mysterious male Bellmain who was terminally ill in the Allerdale Clinic. A Bellmain of Virginia. Where the hell was Virginia anyway? For all he knew, New York was in Virginia. He should've paid more attention in Geography instead of letting himself be distracted by little Lettie Lovegrove whose thirteen-year-old tits stuck out like a pair of rugby balls under her sweater. He'd noticed a travel desk in the hotel foyer. They ought to know. He went down. A young woman with sinus block smiled gamely through her pain and said reedily, 'Can I help you, sir?' 'Mebbe.
Where's Virginia?' 'You mean generally? Here, let me show you.' She produced a map. 'This is New York. And down here's Virginia.' His heart sank. There looked a lot of it and by British standards it looked a long way away. 'Well-populated, is it?' he asked, thinking that maybe it was mainly desert or something and the first village post office you went into, they'd point you to the Bellmain residence straight away. 'All the space you'd want, sir, but with plenty of big cities too. Is it business or holiday you're thinking of?' 'If there's that much of it, it's academic,' he said. 'Academic? In that case what you're probably interested in is historic Virginia. There's so much to see. Mount Vernon. Fredericksburg. Jamestown. Williamsburg. Appomattox – ' 'Hold on,' said Dalziel. 'That last but one, Williamsburg, was it?
There's a place called Williamsburg down there?' 'Yes, sir. Very famous, it's where – ' 'Aye, aye,' he said impatiently. 'I had a friend, name of Bellmain. Marilou Bellmain. I think she came from Williamsburg. House called Golden Grove. How could I set about finding if she were still down there?' The woman said, 'One moment,' turned to a phone behind her, dialled and began a murmured conversation. Dalziel took his notes out of his pocket and studied them. The woman wrote something down on a pad, said, 'Thanks a lot,' turned back to him and pushed the pad towards him. 'Would this be your friend, sir? It's a very good address, if you're thinking of paying a visit. Right in the historic area. We'd be happy to make all your travel arrangements..