block off the truth. And it wasn't till Dr. Appleby, the psych, got to work on her that it all came back.'
'But she didn't tell her it had come back, did she?' said Pascoe.
'No. Not the psych. By then she was old enough to work out the full implication of what she'd seen. And obsessed enough to grasp that she had it in her power to force Wulfstan into the loving father role she'd tried to persuade him into by losing all that weight and bleaching her hair.'
There was silence in the car. They were on the outskirts of Danby now. It wasn't exactly a place that throbbed at night, she thought. There was next to no traffic, and the few figures visible in the streets moved slow as wreaths of smoke through the evening sunlight.
A ghost town. A town full of ghosts come drifting down the Corpse Road from the Neb. But not to haunt. Rather to ask to be laid to rest.
'So you reckon Wulfstan's in the frame for them all, including his own daughter?' said Dalziel.
'He wouldn't be the first,' said Novello.
'The first what?' enquired Pascoe.
'The first child abuser and killer not to let distinctions of family get in the way of his kicks!' she exclaimed with more vehemence than she intended.
'And Betsy knows he's this monster but still sets her heart on becoming his daughter?' said Dalziel incredulously. 'One thing I'll say about you, lass, is you're not one of them girls-can-do-no-wrong feminists.'
'I'm not talking right or wrong, I'm talking truth,' retorted Novello angrily. 'And it would probably make our job a damn sight easier if only men were as willing to face up to the truth about themselves as women are.'
Oh, shit, she thought, sinking back in her seat. Up there being hallelujah'd with the Trinity one moment, over the battlements and cometing down to hell the next!
And this was the point where Pascoe rifled his storehouse of palliatives and could only come up with 'What is truth?'
The rest of the journey to the Beulah Chapel passed in a contemplative silence.
Once in the chapel, Pascoe abandoned meditation for observation. He had a sense of things coming to an end. But as in all the best shows, before it was over, the Fat Man had to sing.
A voice cut through the hubbub which broke out after Dalziel's declarations of thirst. It was clear, classy, and came from a well-built, handsome woman whom Pascoe recognized without surprise (he was past surprise) as 'Cap' Marvell, Dalziel's ex-inamorata. She was proclaiming, 'Ladies and gentlemen, it's such a fine night, refreshments are being served out in the yard.'
As the audience began to file out, she approached the Fat Man, put her hand on his arm, and said softly into his ear, 'Andy, what's happened?'
'Tell you later, luv,' he said. 'It 'ud be a help if you could get shut of that lot too.'
A few of the audience, motivated by parsimony, curiosity, or arthritis, had opted to remain in their seats. Cap Marvell moved among them speaking quietly, and one by one they rose. She shepherded them to the exit, exchanging a smile with Dalziel as she passed.
Perhaps, thought Pascoe, I should cancel the ex.
Dalziel glanced his way, and without thinking he cocked his head to one side and made a hello! hello! face. Christ, I'm getting bold, he thought.
Marvell closed the door behind the last of the audience. Persuasive lady, thought Pascoe. Or maybe she'd taken lessons from her petit ami and simply told them to sod off out while they still had two unbroken legs to walk on.
She rejoined Dalziel and said, meek as a housemaid, 'Anything else, sir?'
He said, 'I've got a feeling the concert's over, so you could always lead them in a singsong to stop 'em asking for their money back. Seriously, pack 'em off home once they've had their refreshments. Talking of which, I weren't joking when I said I were parched. You couldn't jump the queue, could you, and fetch us a mug of tea? Better still, make it a pot and enough mugs to go round.'
He looked to the far end of the chapel where the three Wulfstans and Arne Krog stood by the piano, at which Inger Sandel remained seated. Like a barbershop quartet waiting for a cue, thought Pascoe.
'Five of them, four of us, that makes nine,' said Dalziel. 'Wieldy, you're house trained. Give the lass a hand.'
The lass gave him a submissive smile, trod hard but ineffectively on his toe, and went out, followed by Wield.
Pascoe caught a brief flicker of pleasure on Novello's face. Thinks she's forgiven because she's not been elected tea girl, he guessed. Poor sprog. She'd learned a lot. But until she learned that in re Dalziel, pleasure was as emotionally irrelevant as pique, she had not learned enough.
'Well, let's not be unsociable,' said the Fat Man.
And beaming like an insurance salesman about to sell annuities on the Titanic, he set off toward the group by the piano.
'Now, this is nice,' he declared as he approached. 'Family and friends. It'll likely save time if I can talk to all of you at once, but if any of you think that could be embarrassing, just say the word and I'll fix to see you privately.'
Like a wolf asking the sheep if they want to stick together or take their chances one by one, thought Pascoe.
No one spoke.
'Grand,' said Dalziel. 'No secrets, then. That's how it should be with family and friends. Let's make ourselves comfortable, shall we?'
He helped himself to a chair and sat on it with such force, its joints squealed and its legs splayed. Pascoe and Novello brought out chairs for the others and placed them in a semicircle. Then the two detectives took their places behind Dalziel, like attendants at a durbar.
Elizabeth was the last to sit down. As she draped herself elegantly over the chair she pulled off her blond wig and tossed it casually toward the piano. It landed half on the frame, half off, hung there for a moment, then slithered to the ground like a legless Pekinese.
No one noticed. All eyes were on the singer as she scratched her bald head vigorously with both hands.
'Bloody hot in yon thing,' she said. 'I think I'll give it up.'
'Change of color, eh?' said Dalziel.
'Aye. I think my blond days are just about done.'
She sat there like an alien in a sci-fi movie. Pascoe whose impression of her till now had been of a woman striking in appearance but chilling in effect surprised himself by having a sudden image of pressing that naked head down between his thighs. She caught his eye and smiled as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. He turned his attention quickly to her CD, which he was still carrying.
And that was when goose turned to rabbit.
At this moment Wield reappeared bearing a tray laden with teapot, cups, sugar, milk, and a trayful of biscuits.
'Here comes Mother,' said Dalziel. 'Funny thing, that. When weather's hot and you're really parched, there's nowt cuts your thirst like a cup of tea.'
He spoke with the conviction of a temperance preacher. Pascoe watched with resigned amusement as the Fat Man made a big thing of seeing the ladies were served first before lifting his own cup to his great lips with little finger delicately crooked in the best genteel fashion. Either he was still planning his strategy or he felt that something which had been fifteen years coming deserved a leisurely delectation.
Finally he was ready.
His opening gambit surprised Pascoe, because it repeated his offer of separation, only this time targeted and sounding sincere.
'Mrs. Wulfstan,' he said gently, 'this could be painful for you. If you'd rather we spoke later, or at home…'
'No,' she replied. 'I'm used to pain.'
Krog, seated to her left, gripped her hand, which was dangling loosely almost to the floor, but she offered no return pressure and after a moment he let it go. Wulfstan did not even turn his head to look at her. All his attention was concentrated on Dalziel.
