She said, 'Are we finished? If so, I shall go and sunbathe.'
'Not much point asking me, luv. You'd best ask the lord and master. Him that knows it all!'
The Yorkshire accent remained in place. So, not a piss-taking exercise after all. Dalziel felt grateful he hadn't spoken, but only mildly. Embarrassment didn't rate high on his list of pains and punishments.
'Arne will help as long as you want help,' replied the other woman.
This one was Inger Sandel, the pianist. She'd put on a bit of weight in fifteen years and he might not have recognized the face. But the voice, with its flat Scandinavian accent, triggered his memory. Not that she'd spoken much all those years back. It had nothing to do with use of a foreign language. In fact, the accent apart, her English was excellent. It was simply that she never said more than the situation warranted. Perhaps she saved her expressive energies up for her playing, but even here she had opted for being an accompanist. In his head, the voice belonging to the face glimpsed through the open door said, 'In lieder recitals, the pianist and the singer are equal partners.' But to Andy Dalziel an accompanist was still someone who thumped a guiding rhythm while the boys in the bar roared out their love of Annie Laurie or their loathing of Adolf Hitler.
'Help!' exclaimed Elizabeth Wulfstan. 'You call nonstop carping help, do you?'
There was little heat in her voice. She made it sound like a real question.
'I think you are lucky to have someone with Arne's experience to advise you,' said Inger, very matter-of- fact.
'You reckon? Well, if he's so fucking good, why's he not singing at La fucking Scala?'
'Because Mid-Yorkshire is so much cooler than Milano at this time of year, or at least it used to be,' said Arne Krog, timing his arrival with a perfection Dalziel guessed came from listening in the hallway for a good cue. Wanker. But there was no denying the Turnip had aged well. Bit heavier all round, but still the same easy movement, the same regular good-looking features with that faint trace of private amusement round the mouth which had once pissed Dalziel off.
At sight of the fat detective now, however, the face became entirely serious and he advanced with hand outstretched, saying, 'Mr. Dalziel, how are you? It's been a long time.'
They shook hands.
'Nice to see you, too, Mr. Krog,' said Dalziel. 'I'm only sorry about the circumstances. You'll likely have heard there's a little lass been missing from Danby since yesterday morning? We're talking to possible witnesses.'
'And you have come to see me?' said Krog, nodding as if in confirmation of something half expected. 'Yes, of course, I was at Danby yesterday, but I do not think I can be of help. But, please, ask your questions. Perhaps I saw something and did not realize the significance.'
Dalziel was unimpressed by this openness. Leaving your car in full view near a crime scene could as easily be evidence of impulse as innocence, and while you might keep quiet initially in the hope you hadn't been spotted, once you got a hint that you had, you got your admission in quick.
He said, 'Happen you did. You parked on the edge of Ligg Common, right?'
He'd made an instant decision to question him in front of the other two. That made it more casual, less threatening. Also it provided an audience who knew him a lot better than Dalziel did, and while there was little chance of such a seasoned performer getting stage fright, if he resorted to any bits of stage business, they might notice and react.
Neither of the women offered to leave the room, nor did they disguise their interest in what the men were saying.
'That's right.'
'Why?'
Many people would have shown, or pretended, puzzlement, obliging him to be more precise. Krog didn't.
'I felt restless yesterday morning, hemmed in by the heat and the city. So I went for a drive in the country. I felt like a walk, somewhere where the air was fresh and I could be alone, so that if I opened my lungs and sang a few scales, I would frighten nobody except perhaps the sheep. I chose Danby because I know the countryside round there. I have sung often in St. Michael's Hall during previous festivals and I always like to take a stroll by myself before I perform.'
That was pretty comprehensive, thought Dalziel.
He glanced at Elizabeth Wulfstan. Something about her that bothered him. Mebbe it was just those old eyes in that young face.
He said, 'How about you, luv? Do you like a walk afore you perform?'
She shook her head.
'Not me. On wi' the motley and over the plonk,' she said.
'And you, miss?'
This to Sandel.
'No. I take exercise for necessity, not for recreation,' she said.
He returned his attention to Krog.
'So where did your walk take you?'
'Across the common, to the right-the east, that would be? I'm not so hot on points of the compass.'
'Aye. East. Not up the beck path, then?'
'No. I had thought of going up the beck, but when I got out of the car and realized how warm it was, I decided to head in this other direction. There is farmland over there, with trees-no big woods, just some copses, but at least they provide some shade. The little girl went up the beck path, did she? I wish now I had done so too. Perhaps if I had…'
Chloe Wulfstan had come back into the room, bearing Dalziel's cold drink. As she handed it to him, behind her back Krog made a little gesture of the head, inviting Dalziel to continue his interrogation out of her presence.
Ignoring the gesture, Dalziel sipped the freshly pressed lemonade and said, 'That's grand, luv. So you saw nowt, Mr. Krog?'
'Of course I saw sky and earth and trees, and I heard birds and sheep and insects. But I did not see or hear any other person that I recall. I'm sorry.'
'That's okay. You'd see the Neb, too, of course.'
'What?'
First time he didn't appear fully briefed.
'The Neb. Being on the other side of the valley, you'd not be able to avoid looking over at it, I'd have thought. You didn't think of strolling up there along the Corpse Road, say, and taking a look down into Dendale?'
He was still speaking over Mrs. Wulfstan's shoulder. Her eyes were fixed unblinkingly on his face.
'No, I did not,' said Krog angrily. 'I have told you what I did, Mr. Dalziel. If you have any more questions to ask, I think that common courtesy, if not common decency, requires that you ask them elsewhere.'
'By gum, I reckon tha talks better English than a lot of us natives, Mr. Krog,' said Dalziel. He caught Elizabeth Wulfstan's eye as he spoke and fluttered a gentle wink her way. That got him that faint brief smile again.
Chloe Wulfstan said, 'If you're done here, Superintendent, Walter's meeting is over. He thought you might prefer to talk to him in private, so if you care to go into the study…'
'Thanks, luv,' said Dalziel. He finished his lemonade, handed her the glass, nodded pleasantly at the other two women, and went out of the door.
Arne Krog followed.
'You are seeing Walter about the Danby girl too?' he asked.
'Happen,' said Dalziel.
'Do you really think it has something to do with Dendale all those years ago?'
'Any reason it should have, Mr. Krog?'
'I drove to Danby yesterday morning, remember? I saw those words painted on the old railway bridge,' said Krog somberly. 'At the time I thought little of it. Graffiti these days is like advertising. You see the signs without registering the message, not consciously anyway. But later, when I heard…'
'Mustn't jump to conclusions,' said Dalziel with the kindly authority of one who in his time had jumped to more amazing conclusions than 'Red Rum.'
'You are right, of course. But please, I beg you, think of Chloe, Mrs. Wulfstan. In this house we try to avoid mention of anything which might remind her of that dreadful time.'
