'Well, let's not get excited. It's a common enough name.'
'Yes, sir. Not all that common a face, but.'
'What do you mean? You said this Holmes woman were an off-comer-'
'That's right. But I got an old photo of Benny from the file, ran it through the copier, touched it up a bit to put a few years on in, and showed her that.'
'And?'
'And she said it were him. Mr. Slater. No doubt at all.'
Cap watched Dalziel come back into the bedroom carrying an armful of clothes, which he dumped on the bed prior to starting dressing.
'You're going, then? I hoped you'd stay the night.'
'Me too. Sorry. Something's come up.'
'Something you can tell me?'
'Nowt to tell, really. Just a possible.'
'And you've got him?'
'No. Bugger's still out there somewhere. But if he's the one, we will get him, never have any doubt about that!'
He spoke with such vehemence, she had a vision of being pursued with extreme prejudice by this relentless man, and shuddered.
He observed the effect of the shudder on her breasts with undisguised interest.
She said, 'Well, take a key just in case you feel like dropping in later.'
'I'll see what I can manage,' he said.
After he left, she put on a robe and poured herself a Scotch, digging out the bottle of supermarket blended she'd hidden in the kitchen. It was a gesture. No getting away from it, the single malt was infinitely superior, but sometimes gestures needed to be made.
Things were moving faster than she'd anticipated -the bedding, the key. Too fast? How to say? She was playing this by ear, and her ear was not as reliable as once it had been. What she needed was a sign, or better still a sound, something for her to fix her fine-tuning by.
The telephone rang.
Well, that was a sound. Was it an answer?
She picked it up and said, 'Hello? Beryl, hi! Yes, it's fine. No one here, not at the moment. No that doesn't mean… well, perhaps it does… my God you've got a disgusting mind… but if you've got an hour to spare, and as you're paying for the call, relax, and I'll tell you all about it.'
'Don't imagine just 'cos you don't show it, I don't know you think this is a waste of bloody time,' snarled Dalziel.
Wield, by his side, viewing with his customary impassivity the overgrown hedgerows reducing the already narrow road along which they were moving at a perilous speed, did not bother to reply.
They were on their way from Danby to Nether Dendale to talk again with Mrs. Holmes, and though the sergeant was certain he'd got all there was to be got out of the woman, and that he'd done all there was to be done about it, viz., put out an alert for a white camper with the C, two, and a seven in its plate, arrange for copies of his updated picture of Benny Lightfoot to be distributed to all reliefs, and send a fax to Adelaide saying their previous inquiry about the Slater family was now urgent, he didn't think this revisit was a waste of time. This inquiry was building up a head of frustrated energy in the Fat Man which a wise subordinate took every opportunity to release. And besides, the very sight of the Fat Man at full throttle was often a remarkable aide-memoire, even to the most cooperative of witnesses.
In fact, in terms of Mrs. Holmes, it did turn out to be nonproductive. She had given Wield her all. Dalziel kept on pressing till finally her husband growled through his tangle of beard, 'Enough's enough. You buggers got no beds to go to? You missed him last time, what meks you think all this durdum's going to get you any closer this?'
'What's that you say?' demanded Dalziel rounding on him.
Holmes didn't flinch.
'I said my missus has told you all she's got to tell and it's about time-'
'No, no,' said Dalziel impatiently. 'You said, all that durdum, right?'
'It means fuss, or noise,' Wield interpreted helpfully.
'I know what it bloody well means,' said Dalziel. 'Mrs. Holmes, I'm sorry to have kept you up late. You've been a great help. Thanks a lot. And, Mr. Holmes…'
'Aye?'
'I seem to recollect it's a farmer's responsibility to keep his hedges from blocking public roads. You should get them seen to afore there's an accident. Good night.'
They got back in the car but instead of heading back to Danby, Dalziel drove up the valley till they reached the locked gate across the reservoir road.
'Fancy a walk?' he said.
They took flashlights but didn't need them. There was an almost full moon hanging like a spotlight in the inevitably clear sky. By its light they climbed the steps up to the top of the dam wall and stood there, looking across the silvered waters of the shrunken mere to the sharp silhouette of Lang Neb and Beulah Height.
'Search is knackered over Danby side,' said Dalziel. 'And Desperate Dan wants his plods back. Mebbe we should have spent more time looking on this side, eh? At the very least, we should have looked in the mere. I'll have a team of mermaids over here first thing in the morning. What do you think?'
'Good idea, sir,' said Wield. 'I'll see to it if you like.'
Privately he thought that trawling the mere was a waste of time, but he knew that the Fat Man was being driven by more than mere duty here, so he looked up at the magnificent sweep of stars and held his peace.
Nor did he complain when back at Danby, though there was nothing more to be done, Dalziel kept him from his bed for another half hour or more with fruitless speculation. But finally they were done and took leave of each other, and drove their separate ways home. Or rather, Wield drove home, but Dalziel drove back to Cap Marvell's flat.
He didn't know whether he'd have gone in if a light hadn't been showing, but it was, so he did.
Cap was waiting up. She looked at him inquiringly and said, 'Anything?'
He said, 'Nowt that makes sense. If it is Benny back, it needs a wiser head than mine to suss out why.'
As on his first arrival, the revelation of vulnerability touched her deeply and she went to him and took him in her arms.
This time their lovemaking was slower, deeper, though its climax was as explosive as ever.
'Jesus,' she said. 'That was like… like…'
'Like what?' he said.
'I don't know. Like as if someone had shaken a bottle of bubbly up in heaven and popped the cork, and we were in one of the bubbles streaming out across the cosmos.' Then she laughed at her own floweriness and went on. 'Sorry about the purple prose, but you know what I mean, don't you?'
'Oh, aye,' he said, 'but likely it were just God farting in his bath.'
She pushed herself far enough back from him to beat his insensitive breast, then let him pull her close again.
'How on earth have I let myself get involved with a Neanderthal like you, Andy?' she asked.
'It's the uniform,' he said.
'You don't wear a uniform.'
'I'm speaking metabolically,' he said. 'It's the authority turns you on. I've had snouts like you before. It's my body they want, not my money.'
'I'm not your snout,' she protested.
'No? Then it must be my natural charm. Am I to keep the key in case I can get tomorrow night?'
'I suppose it's marginally better than having you kick the door down. But tomorrow night I shall be busy myself till quite late. In Danby, oddly enough. It's the first concert of the festival.'
'I'd not forgotten,' he said. 'The Turnip and yon Wulfstan lass. I've been thinking about her.'
'Me too,' she said. 'In fact, I've been doing more than thinking. I've been talking. My friend, Beryl-you remember? the headmistress who had Elizabeth in her school…?'