him.'
'I can see how my absence has aged you,' she replied. 'Half of best and a beef and mustard please.'
There was a copy of last night's Evening Post on the bar and she glanced at it idly as she waited. Then a name caught her eye.
And for the second time that morning 'Oh shit!' seemed the only appropriate response.
She slid off the stool and headed for the telephone by the door. The infirmary number had been etched into her memory bank during the time Peter had been in there recovering from his injuries down Burrthorpe mine. She got through straight away.
'I'm ringing about a friend who's in Intensive Care,' she said. 'Wendy Walker.'
There was a hesitation, then a new voice asked, 'Are you a relative?'
'No. A friend.'
'Could I have your name, please?'
For a moment she came close to explosion.
Then she said, 'Is this just mindless bureaucracy or a police job?'
That did it.
'Is that Mrs Pascoe? Dennis Seymour here.'
'Dennis, great. How is she?'
'She's still not recovered consciousness yet, Mrs Pascoe, but they're hopeful. Er, is it yourself you're ringing for or the guv'nor?'
'It's myself, Dennis. The guv'nor, as you so archaically call him, hasn't seen fit to mention Wendy's accident.'
That was unfair. Of course Peter would have told her if he'd known.
She said, 'What exactly happened, Dennis?'
'Oh, looks like hit and run,' he said vaguely. 'Knocked her off her bike.'
'It said in the Post it was on Ludd Lane.'
'That's right.'
Ellie considered. There was something not right here.
She said, 'Dennis, what are you doing there?'
'Just waiting. Mr Dalziel said he wanted to know soon as she woke up.'
'Oh yes.' Which was really English for the more expressive American 'Oh yeah?!' She knew her Dalziel and he didn't waste valuable CID time letting his officers hang around hospitals waiting for traffic accident victims to wake up. Not even when it was hit and run. That was a job which even PC Hector, Mid-Yorkshire's contribution to Care in the Community, could manage with a more than even chance of success.
She knew it wasn't fair to browbeat Seymour into telling more than he should, but if that's what it took to get at the truth…
Then behind her she heard a voice say, 'Jack, one Scotch pie and some mushy peas, and a lettuce sandwich for my rabbit.'
Ellie said, 'Thanks, Dennis. Regards to Bernadette. See you.'
She turned to see Andy Dalziel inserting his buttocks into the only chair in the pub fit to receive such a generous offering. With him was Wield. The landlord was already advancing from the bar with a foaming pint in either hand. Not even a cabinet minister at the Ritz could command better service.
'That lettuce, Mr Wield, you want something with it?'
'Tomato 'ud be nice, Jack. And mebbe a slice of onion.'
'Jesus, just because you're living like a vegetable, there's no need to eat the bloody things,' said Dalziel in disgust. 'Well, hello, lass, is that you? By God you're looking well. Take heed, Wieldy. You don't fill your jeans like that on peas and parsnips!'
'Hello, Andy. Don't get up. Hi, Wieldy.'
Wield who had half risen sank back into his seat, smiling. Dalziel, who hadn't moved, said, 'Take the weight off your feet, lass. Have you got a drink?'
He's only spoken a couple of sentences, thought Ellie, and twice he's implied I'm getting fat!
'I've ordered something. Oh thanks, Jack.'
The landlord had arrived with her gill and sandwich.
'Is that the beef?' said Dalziel. 'Jack, tha's not been buying them carcasses from the Ministry vet again, have you?'
Quickly Ellie bit into her sandwich.
'It's fine,' she said. 'Andy, what's going off about Wendy Walker? I'd ask Peter-'
'Aye. Didn't he once used to work for me? How's he finding retirement?'
'-only as he didn't mention it last night, I assume he knows nothing about it.'
'Surprised it's taken you so long to catch on. Happened the night afore last, same evening as that university do. Didn't you say you thought she'd be coming? Well, she were found knocked off her bike in Ludd Lane, so mebbe she was on her way.'
'Not from home, she wasn't,' said Ellie. 'Her place is in exactly the opposite direction. And she said she wasn't coming on her bike because she wanted a lift back.'
'Lift back don't mean you can't arrive on a bike,' objected Dalziel.
Ellie said quietly, 'Andy, what's going on? She's my friend. Why're you playing with me?'
'Nay,' said the Fat Man taking a long pull at his beer. Seems to me like it's you doing the playing. Friend gets knocked down, you don't start thinking foul play, not without reason. Now in polite conversation, it's ladies first. And in police conversation, it's witnesses first. Either way, that's you, luv.'
It's not fair, thought Ellie. Only two people who can outpunch me, and I've got to take 'em both on in the same day!
Wield said, 'Hello, Pete. Get you a drink?'
A hand touched her shoulder and she looked up to see her husband's pleased but puzzled face. She smiled at him and he stooped to kiss her.
'So where've you been then?' said Dalziel menacingly. 'Somewhere interesting I hope?'
'I thought so,' said Pascoe sitting down. 'Jack's bringing me a pint, Wieldy. Incidentally, I've got a nice little job, right up your street. Out at Wanwood House. Which is where I've spent a not uninteresting morning.'
'It'll keep,' said Dalziel. 'We were just talking about Wendy Walker's accident.'
'Good lord. What happened?' asked Pascoe glancing anxiously at his wife.
She'd never doubted his ignorance but it was good to have it confirmed nonetheless.
Dalziel gave the bare facts, paused, then went on. 'But we've got reason to think it's mebbe more than a simple hit-and-run. Could be she were hit, in one sense or another, a long way off Ludd Lane, and just dumped there to die.'
He's decided the best way to get me talking is to give it straight, thought Ellie. And as usual the fat bastard's right! Well, I just hope he likes it when he hears it.
She said quietly, 'I may have some information which can help.'
Pascoe looked at her in surprise. Dalziel said, 'All contributions gratefully received.'
'Wendy came to see me the afternoon of the uni party. She had something she wanted to tell me, or at least talk over with me. But it wasn't convenient then.'
She glanced at her husband who was wearing that little frown of concentration which made him look like Thomas Aquinas. Should she have waited till they were alone before telling him this? In other words, was she doing that most unwifely thing of making your husband look foolish in front of his peers? She didn't think so, but there were still areas of the male psyche which remained terra incognita. Too late to draw back now. And in any case all she'd really have done talking to him privately would have been to off-load the perilous task of putting Andy in a quandary.
She went on, 'Walker is Wendy's married name. She kept it when she split with her husband partly because she liked the alliteration but mainly because she had no desire to relive the childhood embarrassment of her family name. Shufflebottom.'
She paused and looked at the three men. Pascoe frowned a little harder. Dalziel said, 'Nowt wrong wi' Shufflebottom. Good honest Yorkshire name.'
