ready for the concert. It's okay, I'll see myself out.'
He left her sitting there, staring fixedly into the garden. What she was seeing he didn't know, but he suspected it was more than grass and trees and flowers.
As he moved along the entrance hall, the door of the study opened and Arne Krog stepped out.
He had a sealed A4 envelope in his hand.
'Leaving so soon, Mr. Pascoe?' he said.
'Yes.'
'Though not perhaps so soon as it seems.'
So the clever sod had worked it out.
Pascoe said, 'I was brought up to believe it was rude to interrupt.'
'Which must also be convenient in your adult profession. You heard something of the discussion between Mrs. Wulfstan and myself?'
'Something,' said Pascoe, seeing no point in lying.
The man nodded, but there was as much uncertainty in the gesture as affirmation. He was close to doing something, but not absolutely committed to the final step.
'Then you will see a part of my motive in giving you this, and may mistake it for the whole. But please believe in the other larger part which has to do with justice.' He smiled his attractive smile which made him look ten years younger. 'As with your eavesdropping, sometimes even a virtue may also be convenient.'
He handed over the envelope, gave a stiff, rather Teutonic bow, and went up the stairs.
Pascoe opened the front door. Inger Sandel was coming up the steps.
'Just leaving?' she said. 'You must have had a good talk.'
Her eyes were fixed on the envelope.
'Yes. I hope you have a good concert.'
'You are coming?'
He shook his head and said, 'No, I don't think so.'
But five minutes later as he sat in his car with the contents of the envelope on his knee, he had changed his mind.
He rang the hospital and finally got hold of Ellie.
'How is she?'
'Sleeping soundly. You coming back?'
'Not directly.'
He explained. It took a deal of explanation, but finally her disapproval faded, and she said, 'Okay, Aeneas, off you go and do what you've gotta do.'
'Aeneas?'
'Private joke. I love you.'
'I love you too. I love you both. More than any of this.'
'Which is why you've got to do it, yeah, yeah. Pete, remember way back in one of our more heated debates, you told me I was neglecting my family so that I could play at being a left-wing revolutionary?'
'Did I say that? Sounds more like Fat Andy on a good day.'
'That's what really bothered me. But all I want to say now is it's a good job you never got the revolutionary bug, because there'd have been no playing. Kalashnikovs and Semtex all the way. Take care. And if you look back and see a light in the sky, don't worry. It's only me.'
Pascoe switched off his phone, smiling. Through the open sunroof of his car he said to the delft-blue sky, 'I am probably the luckiest man alive.'
Then he set off north.
The arrival of Shirley Novello's convoy at Danby police station was observed through an upper window by Andy Dalziel with great satisfaction.
'That's what I like, Wieldy,' he said. 'Bit of swank. Like the Allies rolling into Paris in '44. We should be throwing flowers. You've not got the odd poppy or lily in your pocket, have you?'
Wield, who was just relieved the WOULDC had had the sense not to have lights flashing and sirens blaring, said, 'How do you want to do this, sir?'
'Let's see what they say about briefs,' said Dalziel.
'Duty solicitor's on standby,' said Wield. 'And I daresay Turnbull will be yelling for Hoddle again.'
'Yon death's head. Well, it'll almost be a pleasure to see him. I doubt if he can pull Geordie out of this one.'
Wield frowned superstitiously at this display of confidence. He felt they'd a long way to go before they were out of this wood.
The Australian police had still come up with nothing useful about the Slater family. The myth that modern technology made it almost impossible to vanish in the civilized world was one that most policemen saw exploded every day. Even without making any huge effort to cover their tracks, people dropped out and the waters of society closed over their heads with scarcely a ripple to show the spot. All they did have now was a record that a B. Slater, Australian citizen, had landed at Heathrow ten days earlier.
It took Novello a little while to book her prisoners in, then she came up to report.
Dalziel greeted her beamingly.
'Well done, lass. I always said you were a lot more than just a pretty face, though I've got nowt against pretty faces when you see some of the ugly buggers I've got to work with.'
Novello avoided glancing at Wield. One thing she had to give Andy Dalziel, he was an equal-opportunity employer. He was bloody rude to everyone.
'So what's the crack, Ivor? Fill us in,' continued the Fat Man.
She made her rehearsed report, succinct and to the point, and got an approving nod from Wield.
'Grand,' said Dalziel, rubbing his hands in anticipation of the interviews to come. 'Yelling for their briefs, are they?'
They weren't.
Turnbull had shrugged and said, 'I reckon I'll play this one solo, bonny lass.'
And Slater/lightfoot had said, 'What the fuck do I need with a fucking lawyer? Just fetch the bastard who's in charge of this shit pile, will you?'
She told them this verbatim.
'And there's something else,' she added, seeing that Dalziel's expression had lost some of its previous manic sparkle, and deciding that bad news was best spilled out in a single bucketful. 'Slater gave his name as Barney, not Benny. And it's there on his passport. Barnaby Slater.'
She waited to be assured this meant nowt, but from the Fat Man's face she saw it meant more than she knew.
'The younger brother,' said Wield. 'The one who stayed with his mam. He was called Barnabas. Benjamin and Barnabas. The old lady's choice, I always thought. From the sound of it, Marion were none too religious.'
'So Benny's not going to come back using his own name, is he?' said Dalziel. 'Helps himself to his brother's passport. Mebbe he had to. Mebbe he never got round to changing his own name.'
He sounded less than convinced.
Wield said, 'One way to find out, sir.'
'Aye. Let's get to it. Ivor, you sit in on this too. Don't gab on, but don't be afraid to speak up if you see the need.'
So this time she wasn't going to be dumped after doing the donkey work, thought Novello. Great!
Unless, of course, Dalziel simply wanted a sacrificial victim handy if things started turning sour. Which they gave every sign of doing from the moment they entered the tiny interview room.
Slater looked from Wield to Dalziel without the slightest sign of recognition and said, 'Jesus what's this? You gonna sit on my legs while he frightens me to death?'
'A joker,' said Dalziel. 'I like a laugh.'
'Yeah? And just who the hell are you, mate?'
'Me? I'm the bastard in charge of this shit pile,' said Dalziel. 'But you know that, don't you, Benny? We've met before.'
