location.
Finally there was no doubt. It had definitely gone.
Vince was untroubled.
‘So she’s gone for a drive again,’ he said.
‘How come you didn’t notice her?’
‘She probably went out while we were in the garden,’ he said. ‘So she can’t be far. We’ll pick her up on the laptop. Come on, sis. Don’t always be looking for trouble!’
He led the way up to his room. Fleur followed, thinking, Sometimes he gets it right. It might do me good to listen to him for a change. Maybe then I can stop lying awake wondering what’s going to become of him.
The laptop was on the bedside table where he’d left it, but the screen was blank, not even a screensaver.
He tapped a key. Nothing happened.
‘What’s up?’ demanded Fleur.
‘Nothing. Must have gone into hibernation,’ said Vince.
‘Let me see.’
She touched a couple of keys, frowned, picked up the laptop and shook it in his face.
‘You’re on battery and you’ve run the batteries flat. Why didn’t you plug it in, for God’s sake?’
‘The mains lead’s in your room and I didn’t want to disturb you,’ he explained. ‘I was just being thoughtful.’
‘No you weren’t. Thoughtful means being full of thought. How come the batteries have run flat anyway? Should have lasted another hour at least, just checking the tracker. What the hell have you been doing, Vince? Have you been downloading your mucky videos again?’
‘No,’ he denied unconvincingly. ‘Maybe I did do a bit of surfing for a couple of minutes; it gets boring just looking at that green blob all the time, especially when it isn’t moving…’
‘It’ll be moving now!’ she screamed at him. ‘Only we can’t see it.’
‘Hey, I’m sorry…’
She wasn’t listening. She unlocked the communicating door, went through into her own room and returned with the mains lead. Stooping, she dragged the bedside lamp out of its socket and inserted the plug. Then she connected the other end to the computer.
It glowed back into life. She went online, entered the tracker code.
The sat-map came up. The green dot was stationary.
‘There,’ said Vince triumphantly. ‘No problem. She’s stopped.’
‘And that’s not a problem?’ said Fleur, studying the screen closely. ‘Why do you think she’s stopped, Vince?’
‘Run out of petrol? Needs a slash?’
‘How about she’s stopped because she’s met up with her long-lost husband and they’re sitting in her car, having a nice heart-to-heart?’
She went into her room again, this time returning with an OS map.
‘Now let’s see exactly where they are. Got you! Come on, it’s going to take us about twenty minutes, half an hour, depending on traffic. Let’s hope she doesn’t move off before we get there!’
‘No problem,’ said Vince. ‘We can track her through the laptop.’
‘And how are we going to manage that, Vince? You ran the battery flat, remember? It won’t work in the car.’
‘It’s working here,’ objected Vince.
‘Great. So all we’ve got to do is find a way of moving the hotel! Come on!’
‘So I shan’t bring the laptop then?’
She felt an urge to scream at him, but what was the point?
‘Shove it under the bed out of the way. Leave it switched on. At least it’ll be charging up the battery while we’re out. Though let’s hope we get there quick enough not to need it again.’
She led the way out of the door. Vince followed. They didn’t wait for the lift but hurried down the stairs, not the main stairway but a service stair that would bring them out at the rear of the hotel, near the car-park entrance.
Of course, thought Fleur, if Gina Wolfe had come down this way, she wouldn’t have passed across Vince’s line of vision. Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier? Why had she sat in the garden, smoking and babbling on about Spain, instead of heading straight out into the car park to confirm the Nissan was still there?
Because you’re sick, she answered herself. Because you’re losing the capacity to think straight. Or to walk straight, for that matter, she thought, staggering a little as she hurried towards the VW.
Behind her, Vince noticed the stagger. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen it. Not so nimble on her pegs as she used to be, he thought. With anyone else he’d have suspected too much booze, but not Fleur. Probably her age; she was in her forties now. Probably a woman’s thing, that stuff that happened when they stopped having their periods.
It would pass, he told himself confidently. One thing you could be sure of with Fleur, she wouldn’t go funny with it like some women did. No, not good old Fleur. She’d deal with it, take it in her stride. He hadn’t learned much in his life, but one thing he had learned.
No matter what shit came at him, he could always rely on Fleur.
16.41-17.15
When Dalziel and Pascoe entered the Keldale, they found Seymour waiting for them.
Clearly not certain who he should be reporting to, he diplomatically aimed at a spot midway between their heads and said, ‘It’s Room 25, sir. I’ve got it sealed off like you said till the SOCO team gets here. Talking of which, the manager would like a word. Think he’s a bit worried about SOCO worrying the guests.’
‘You’d best see to that, Pete,’ said Dalziel. This was ambiguous, both deferring and commanding. It was also suspicious as Lionel Lee, the manager, was, like most men in charge of premises licensed to sell intoxicating liquor, a close acquaintance of the Fat Man’s. But the suspicion didn’t really surface till Pascoe emerged from Lee’s office to find Seymour alone.
‘Where is he?’ he demanded.
‘The Super took the key and said he’d go on up,’ explained the DC nervously. The Dalziel/Pascoe relationship was a much-favoured subject for analysis among the intellectuals of the locker room, but the favoured conclusion was they didn’t know what the fuck was going on.
Pascoe bit back an irritated response. How could he expect a lowly DC to exert control where chief constables had failed? A moment later he was glad of his restraint when Seymour said, ‘By the way, sir, when I did a quick check round the room, I came across this tucked behind the pillows.’
He took a small evidence bag out of his pocket and handed it over, his face a mask of studied neutrality.
Pascoe examined it for a moment then said, ‘Thanks, Dennis. You wait in the car park for SOCO. Take them up in the service lift; let’s keep the management happy, eh? I may want to buy you a drink here some day.’
Which, interpreted, meant, You’ve done well, but this is between us, OK?
He found Dalziel standing in Gina Wolfe’s room looking pensively at the bed.
Pascoe said, ‘No, she didn’t find it, Andy. Seymour did.’
He held up the plastic bag.
It contained a note scrawled in a hand as familiar to members of Mid-Yorkshire CID as their own.
It read Sorry to pass out on you, put it down to old age. Next time I’ll try to stay awake! I’ll be in touch. A.
‘I did wonder,’ said Dalziel, apparently unfazed. ‘Was a time when Dennis would have handed it over to me.’
‘Tempora mutantur,’ said Pascoe, who often armoured himself with pedantry in anticipation of a verbal skirmish with the Fat Man. ‘So you thought you’d get up here first just in case it was still lying around. And your
