Beneath him Linda Steele opened her eyes and gasped, OK, Dalziel. What the hell are you going to do? Rape me or preach me a sermon?' And he realized that his upraised hand was clutching Kohler's Bible. 'How the hell did you get in here?' he demanded, slipping the book into his jacket pocket. 'Power of the Press. I looked all over for you, finally came back here and the guy downstairs said someone that sounded like you had gone up with Kohler, then Waggs came back and not long after, the two of them left like they'd conjured up the devil. Talking of whom, I realize now that you're just glad to see me, but could you be glad vertically for a while?' 'Eh? Oh. Sorry.' He pushed himself off the bed. She'd not been altogether wrong, he realized. There had been a certain element of pleasure creeping into their contact and not the sort he'd ever experienced on a rugby field. Standing upright brought pain to join the pleasure. He put his hand to the back of his head and winced. 'You OK?' said Linda Steele, sharp-eyed. 'I will be. Someone slugged me. Waggs, I think.' 'Jee-sus. How bad is it?' she said, touchingly solicitous. 'You need a doctor?' 'Nay, lass. I've heard what them buggers charge over here. It is you who can provide all I need.' 'What do you have in mind?' she asked uneasily. He smiled and said, 'Just look at the time. It's hours since you bought me breakfast and my belly thinks me throat's been cut!' Dalziel hadn't made his mind up how much to tell Linda Steele but his instinct advised very little. She was after all not only a woman but a journalist, neither of whose need-to-know ratings occupied much space in Dalziel's scheme of things. A woman's started at how to boil an egg, then got debatable. A journalist's stopped at how to breathe in. On the other hand, as well as giving him his only lead, she was picking up his expenses, which aroused his curiosity as much as his gratitude.
There's no such thing as a free journalist.
Also she was strangely attractive, even dentally speaking. He got a warm glow from the memory of their legs interlocking beneath the breakfast table.
She took him to what she claimed was the best deli in town. They sat side by side, which limited opportunities for patellar interlock but was a great promoter of gluteal frottage.
Interestingly she seemed happy to accept his sketchy account of how he'd spotted Kohler coming out of the apartment house, followed her round town for an hour or so, then accosted her when she was about to re-enter.
'So you've no idea where they've bolted? Or why?' she said.
'Wish I had,' he said. 'Don't bother with the menu, luv, I'll have some of that.'
He pointed at a neighbour's overcrowded plate. But when the waitress came, he heard Steele order him a sandwich and scowled at her meanness, till a piled high plate was put before him.
'This is a sandwich?' he asked in amazement.
'Something wrong?' said Linda Steele.
'Nay, lass. This looks like the best thing that's happened to me since I got here!'
'That's hard to believe, Andy,' she said. 'I'd have thought a well-set-up guy like you would have struck lucky, no problem.'
As she spoke she regarded him sultrily and ran her prehensile tongue round the Grand Prix circuit of her lips.
Dalziel regarded her thoughtfully over a sheaf-sized forkful of corned beef. OK, so he had to admit he fancied her. But that didn't entitle her to jerk him around just because she felt safe in company.
Time to get this thing on the table, so to speak. He forked another bale of beef to his lips and clamped his free hand round her upper thigh. 'You lost something, Andy?' she asked. 'I were just wondering what's for afters?' 'Anything particular you fancy?' 'We could go back to my hotel room and try room service,' he said. He thought that was pretty smooth. In Barnsley it would probably have won an award for smoothness. But this unsophisticated woman threw her head back and howled with laughter. 'That's what they call it in England these days, is it? Well, why not? There must be worse ways of spending a wet afternoon.' Whatever her motive, she gave with unstinting hand and everything else. He was happy to find himself entirely free from jet-lag or whatever they called it. In fact the only trouble was that, as any demolition man knows, if you place a stick of ageing gelignite too close to a source of heat, it may explode spontaneously. 'Come on, Dalziel!' she protested. 'You got another date or something?' 'Thought that was how it were done over here,' he said with an uncharacteristic effort at insouciance 'Sort of American Express.' 'Stick to what you know,' she advised. 'Meantime, I think we'd better take some time out.
You got anything to drink?' They lay together drinking whisky and talking. She was almost as good as Dave Thatcher in the subtle art of casual interrogation, and he saw no reason not to tell her as much about his quest as he'd told the airport man. But still she probed his mind as her assessing fingers probed his body. Mebbe this was how all American journalists worked. In which case he was lucky he hadn't got those guys who shopped Nixon! Finally he tired of being quizzed, but he'd found out the hard way not to be rude to a lass who'd got her hand where Linda had hers, so he said, 'What about you, luv? You a native New Yorker?' 'Do I sound like I am?' she asked almost indignantly. 'Nay, you all sound alike to me," he said. 'There's differences, is there?' 'You're joking? No, you're not joking! Well, let me tell you, I'm from Ohio. I came to the Big Apple about five years back to make my fortune. I'm still working at it.' 'Could be your luck's turned today,' said Dalziel complacently. 'By the by, I've often wondered, what's all this Big Apple stuff? More like Big Anthill from what I've seen so far.' 'Careful who you say that to, they're very sensitive, these New Yorkers,' warned Linda. 'I've heard all kinds of explanations. One I like best is that to you European folk, America was like those legendary islands way out west, you know, where the sun always shone and there were golden apples growing on the trees. New York being the first landfall for most people got the name, Big Apple.' 'Oh aye, I remember summat of that at school. Weren't there some nymphs used to run around naked, guarding the apples?'
'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..
.' Dalziel wasn't listening. He was hearing different words. Ciss, you could've ruined everything. I came back to tell you they're moving him to Williamsburg this afternoon. You're sure? He's going home today?
Sure I'm sure. Grab some stuff quick. I want to be half way to Williamsburg when this guy wakes. 'Sir, sir,' said the woman, a note of impatience at last creeping into her voice. 'Would you like our assistance or not?' 'Of course I would, missus,' said Dalziel in an injured tone. 'What else do you think I'm here for?'
NINE
'All here is so unprecedented, so changed, so sudden and unfair, that I am absolutely lost.' Pascoe awoke. There was sunlight across the bed and for a moment, as he opened to its touch like the lesser celandine, he felt as he'd felt in childhood when sleep swept away all yesterday's woes and each new morning's prospect was bright and serene. Then he saw the clock and flower turned to flesh. It was five to nine and he was due in Trimble's office at nine-thirty. He walked through a cold shower and shivered into his clothes in two minutes flat. He noticed there were a couple of messages on his answer machine, recorded while he lay senseless under his pall of pills and booze. He listened to them as he drank coffee and ate a crust of dry bread dunked in the marmalade jar. The first was from Ellie, timed at a quarter to ten the previous night. 'Hi, where are you? Walking the mean streets protecting us all? Or out on the bash with the other top guns? Sorry. I know you'd ring if you could. Anyway, Rose is fine and I'm fine and Mum is… well, I think it's worse than I imagined, only, after what she went through with Dad, she doesn't want to know, so she hides it from herself by hiding it from me. I noticed she was going to bed later and later, and when I nagged her into talking about it, it came out that often when she wakes up in the morning, she doesn't know where she is or even who she is, and that's making her scared to go to sleep. I tried talking to that adolescent doctor again but all I got was a shrug of her skinny shoulders, so in the end I went along to the hospital and asked to see the geriatric consultant.
Christ, you'd have thought I was an Irishman trying to deliver a package to the Home Secretary, they got so defensive! In the end I lost all patience… OK, I mean I started shouting at them! Well, there was this bloody staff nurse… for God's sake, I've stood on picket lines to get them more pay! I'm sorry. You're probably getting the message that diplomacy failed. So here's what I've decided to do.
I'm booking Mum in for a full-scale check at the Lincolnshire Independent Hospital. Yes, that's right, I'm going private, and you know what I feel about that, but I've got to be sure everything that can be done is getting done. She was surprisingly easy to persuade once she heard the magic word Private. First time I've ever been pleased about her middle-class conditioning! In a way I'm glad you're not in, Peter. It means you'll have time to practise a completely neutral tone of voice because I swear that if I get even the ghost of a whiff of ho
-ho-ho-I-told-you-so from you… Anyway, I know that all I'm probably doing is postponing the admission that she's irreversibly on the same route as Dad, but I've got to try. All my principles for a moment of time, eh? Peter, ring me. And ignore what I said about the ho-ho-ho. I could do with a good laugh with you, even if it's on me. 'Bye.' Shit shit shit! He looked at his watch. He was going to need St Christopher on his side already. No time for the second message even if it were the voice of God… Oh Christ, it was! He paused in the door-way and listened. 'Where're you at, you dirty stop-out? Listen, I'm off to a place called Williamsburg in Virginia tomorrow. I'll be staying at the Plantation Hotel, don't know the number but you can easy find it. Give us a ring and let's know what's going off. If you see Dan Trimble give him a big wet kiss from me. And if you see Adolf, try a quick goosestep up his backside.
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