recoil in horror from ourselves for being part of the same humanity that produced whatever it is that you are.
A rasping noise rose from between his legs. Tig had fallen asleep with his head on Wield's thigh and was snoring.
And what the hell is Edwin going to say when he sees you? Wield asked himself.
And then, as he felt the ease with which he'd made the leap from cosmic despair to domestic problem, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
The half of the woman visible above the reception desk of the Mid-Yorkshire Water Company was welcoming and fair, but her implacability toward those seeking entrance to the world behind her hinted the presence of a cry of hell hounds below.
Pascoe looked easy meat. During the past couple of years, as complaints about drought, pollution, and directors' perks had multiplied, she had become adept at repelling much heavier onslaughts than promised by this slim, pale, disheveled figure.
'I'm afraid Mr. Purlingstone is unavailable today. If you leave your name I'll see he's told you called.'
'Just tell him I'm here now. Pascoe's the name. Pascoe. Just tell him.'
He saw her right hand move and guessed it was on its way to a security button. With a sigh, he produced his warrant card.
'Chief Inspector Pascoe. Tell him.'
She picked up the phone and moments later Pascoe was floating to the top floor in a scented musical lift.
Purlingstone was waiting for him when the door slid open.
'What?' he demanded. 'What's happened? Why've you come?'
'It's okay,' said Pascoe. 'Nothing to do with Zandra. Really. It's okay.'
He felt a huge pang of guilt. He wasn't thinking straight, coming round here like this. Just because the man was dealing with his trauma by fleeing from its center to the place where he still had power and control didn't mean he wasn't in pain. And what else would he think on hearing of Pascoe's arrival but the worst?
The two men hadn't spoken since their quarrel, and this, thought Pascoe, is no way to build bridges.
'Derek,' he said. 'I'm sorry. I should have rung. Everything's fine at the hospital. They'd be in touch direct if anything was wrong, wouldn't they?'
This appeal to logic seemed to work, as worry was replaced by suspicion.
'Okay, so what the hell are you doing here?' demanded Purlingstone.
'I'm sorry,' repeated Pascoe. 'There are just a couple of questions I'd like to ask.'
'You sound just like a policeman,' sneered Purlingstone.
It was true, thought Pascoe. His phraseology was straight out of a TV cop show. But so what? We are what we are.
He said, 'Where did you stop on Sunday?'
'What?'
'Rosie said you stopped for a breakfast picnic on your way to the coast. I just wondered which way you went and where…'
He faltered to a halt, not because the other man was looking angry, but because his annoyance was visibly fading and being replaced by a sort of wary pity.
He thinks I've cracked, thought Pascoe. He thinks I've lost it entirely.
It might have been clever to use this wrong impression as a basis for winning both sympathy and information, but he wasn't able to go along with that. What he felt about his sick daughter was his business, not communicable to anyone save Ellie, and certainly not usable in this kind of situation to gain an advantage.
He said sharply, 'Come on. It's a simple question. Where did you stop to picnic?'
'On the moor road out of Danby,' replied Purlingstone. 'I prefer to go that way to the coast. It's a bit farther but it misses a hell of a lot of the traffic. Look, what's all this about? I can't believe it's police business… but it is, isn't it? Jesus Christ, how insensitive can you get, Pascoe?'
No pity now, just anger.
'No, not really, well, in a way but…' Pascoe was stuttering in his effort to offer an explanation and avoid another open quarrel. He saw from Purlingstone's face that he wasn't making much headway either way.
'It's just that Rosie lost this cross she wore -well it wasn't really a cross, one of Ellie's earrings shaped like a dagger, actually, and one of my DC'S found one like it in a trash bin, and I wondered how… it is it, you see… I checked… I mean, it's probably just coincidence but…'
A phone had been ringing in a room behind Purlingstone. It stopped and a young woman came out.
'Derek,' she said urgently.
'What?'
'Sorry, but it's the hospital. They said, can you get back there straightaway?'
'Oh, Christ.'
The two men looked desperately at each other, each hoping for a reassurance the other couldn't give. Pascoe was thinking, they could be ringing home, and I'm not there, and I've had my mobile switched off…
He said, 'Can you give me a lift? Please.'
'Come on.'
Ignoring the elevator, together the two men ran down the stairs.
They could have rung from the car, but they didn't. The pain of ignorance can end. The pain of knowledge is forever. They knew it was very bad as soon as they entered the waiting room. The two women were clinging close, but on sight of her husband Jill Purlingstone broke loose and rushed to his arms.
'What's happened?' demanded Pascoe, going to Ellie.
'Exactly what, I don't know, but it doesn't sound good,' said Ellie in a low voice.
'Oh, Christ, and she was doing so well. I should never have left.
…'
'It isn't Rosie,' hissed Ellie in his ear. 'She's doing fine. It's Zandra.'
For a moment his relief was so strong, he could have laughed out loud. Then his gaze went to the other couple, locked in an embrace which looked like an attempt to crush out all feeling, and shame at his joy came rushing in.
'Should I go and try to find out something?' he asked Ellie, his voice as low as hers.
'No. They said they'd let Jill know as soon as there was anything more to tell.'
The door opened. Mrs. Curtis, the pediatric consultant, came in. Ignoring the Pascoes she went toward the Purlingstones, who broke apart like guilty lovers surprised. Only their hands remained in fingertip contact.
'Please,' said the consultant. 'Shall we sit down?'
'Oh, God,' breathed Ellie, for the woman's voice had the ring of death as sure as any passing bell.
Pascoe took her arm and drew her unresisting body out of the room.
In the corridor she looked up at him pleadingly, as if in hope of finding contradiction in his face. He had none to offer. There was a hush about the wards and a set look on the faces of two nurses who went quietly by which confirmed what they already felt.
Ellie turned back toward the door, but Pascoe tightened his grip on her.
'Jill will need me,' she said fiercely.
'No,' he said. 'We're the last people on earth those two will want to see at the moment.'
From inside the waiting room a voice-it could have been either male or female-screamed, 'Why?'
It was the universal cry of loss; but it contained in it the particular question, Why my child? Why not someone else's?
Ellie heard it at all its levels and ceased her efforts to pull away.
'Let's go in and see Rosie,' said Pascoe.
They found the attending nurse full of excitement.
'She opened her eyes just now. I think she's beginning to wake up,' she said. 'I've been talking to her, but it's your voices she'll be wanting to hear.'
They stood on either side of the bed, leaning over the small, still figure of their daughter. Ellie tried to speak, but there were too many conflicting emotions squeezing at her throat.
Pascoe said, 'Rosie, darling. Come on, now. This is Daddy. Time to wake up. It's time to wake up.'
