When he reached the next landing, he saw Charley Perm sitting slumped against the wall beside a door which Bowler was bouncing off like a demented squash ball. Fearing that Penn might have been put there by Bowler's fists, he took hold of the writer's shag of greying hair and raised his head. To his relief the slack and dull-eyed face showed no sign of physical assault and every sign of alcoholic impairment.
He caught the DC on his next bounce and held him tight.
'You'd do better using your head, lad’ he said. 'Your lass changed the lock, right?'
'Yes, and it's locked and bolted, which means she's in there, doesn't it?' cried Hat.
'Aye, and she's probably terrified 'cos this idiot's been banging and shouting out here on the landing. So what makes you think she's going to open up straight off when some other idiot starts banging and shouting?'
It was a good point and Hat seemed to be taking it on board till Mrs Gilpin's door opened revealing the red and yellow hat.
Is it safe now?' said Mrs Gilpin. 'I told them when I rang, I thought they might need an armed response team, he was making such a racket. You've not shot him, have you?'
'Just the anaesthetic dart, luv,' said Dalziel.
Hat cried, 'It was you who rang, not Rye?'
And started bouncing himself off the door again till Dalziel got him in a neck lock.
'Missus,' he said. 'Would you mind tapping at that door and telling Ms Pomona who you are and asking her if she'd mind opening up? Thank you.'
Moving gingerly around the slumped form of Penn, Mrs Gilpin did as she was asked.
After a long pause, they heard the lock click and the door swung slowly open.
Rye stood there, and Dalziel's first thought was maybe she'd been attacked after all.
She was wearing a bathrobe and so far as he could see not much else. Her face was deathly pale except for the twin black pits out of which her eyes peered like those of a prisoner who does not know if she's been called forth to freedom or execution.
Then they registered Hat and her features were suffused with such joy that even Dalziel's hyperborean heart had to admit a respondent glow.
He relaxed his grip on the boy and watched with sad envy as he rushed forward to fold his arms round the girl.
'I knew you'd come,' she said, collapsing against him. 'Such dreams I was having… horrid, horrid… but I knew you'd come
'I always will,' said Hat fervently. 'Let's get you inside, shall we?'
He half carried her into the flat.
'Story of my life,' said Dalziel to Mrs Gilpin. 'I take the call, someone else gets the girl.. Thanks for your help, luv. You can get back to your party now. Merry Christmas.'
Reluctantly the woman retreated behind her door, which she left slightly ajar till Dalziel glared it shut. Then he turned to Charley Penn, who was showing signs of revival. Dragging him over to the stairs, the Fat Man cuffed his left hand to the metal balustrade.
As he straightened up he heard footsteps on the stairs. He looked down to see a woman ascending. She was in her thirties, with fashionably short hair and a pleasant round face well suited to show concern, which was what registered there now as she took in the manacled man and his menacing captor.
'Police,' said Dalziel. 'Who are you?'
'Mrs Rogers. Myra Rogers. I live there -' She indicated the door on the other side of Rye's from Mrs Gilpin. 'What's going on?'
'Just a drunk causing a fuss. You heard nowt?'
'No. I've been out…' Her gaze went to Rye's open door. 'Is Miss Pomona all right?'
'I think so. This man look familiar?'
'Vaguely. He could be the one I glimpsed that morning the nice young officer asked about, Rye's boyfriend, only I didn't know that till later. You're sure she's all right?'
'Aye, she's grand,' said Dalziel. 'Young Hat's in with her now. You know her well?'
'Quite well… not that I've known her long… in fact just since that same day, you know, when she came back and there'd been the bother… it's good for us both, I think, women alone, to know we've got a friend next door… just for reassurance
More reassuring than Mrs Gilpin, Dalziel guessed. There was beneath her diffidence an air of competence about Mrs Rogers. Widow? Divorced? Didn't matter. On her own long enough to know she could hack it. Not that she'd be without offers. Hers wasn't a face to stick in your mind – though there was something familiar about her – but close up, those gentle brown eyes and smoothly rounded features were rather attractive.
There's nowt like a good neighbour for reassurance,' he said. 'Nice to meet you, missus. Merry Christmas.'
The woman came on to the landing, skirted Penn fastidiously, and went into her flat.
'Don't go away, Charley,' said Dalziel.
He went through Rye's door.
There was no sign of disturbance here, confirming his belief that Penn had never got inside. Hat had placed Rye on a sofa and was trying to pour a full bottle of vodka into a wine glass. The girl had recovered sufficiently to make a protective adjustment to her robe under the Fat Man's appreciative gaze.
'Not to worry, luv,' he said. 'When you've seen one you've seen two. Thanks, lad.'
He took the glass from Hat's hand, emptied it with a shudder, and said, 'No wonder them Russkis talk mush. Get the lass a cup of tea, will you? Strong, lots of sugar.'
For a second Hat looked insubordinate, but a narrowing of Dalziel's eyes was enough to send him into the kitchen.
'Right, Ms Pomona,' said the Fat Man, helping himself to another slug of vodka. 'Just a couple of quick questions. Has Charley Penn been inside your flat today?'
'Penn?' She looked bewildered. 'No. Why?'
'That was him banging at your door. You did hear someone banging at your door?'
'I was asleep… I didn't feel so good this morning, I had this dreadful headache, and I took some tablets and went to bed. There was a lot of noise, but I thought it was in my dream… I was dreaming about being back out at Stang Tarn… it was all mixed up, the noise and everything… even when I woke up I didn't know if I was only dreaming I'd woken up… then I heard Mrs Gilpin… it was Mrs Gilpin, wasn't it?'
'Aye. So, you weren't feeling too well, went to bed, had a nightmare, that sum it up?'
She shook her head to clear it, not in denial, and said in a stronger voice, 'Yes, I suppose it does. Mr Dalziel, it's always good to see you, but why are you here?'
She was definitely coming out of it. Hat reappeared with a steaming mug. Dalziel said, 'Young Bowler will explain. I've got someone waiting for me outside.'
Hat looked gratefully at the Fat Man who mouthed at him, 'Five minutes,' then left.
Outside he found Penn had been sick on the landing.
Uncuffing him from the balustrade, Dalziel half led, half dragged him down the stairs. In the street the bitter east wind hit the novelist like a bucket of ice water. He swayed for a moment then stiffened himself against the blast.
Dalziel nodded approvingly and said, 'Back in the land of the living, Charley?'
'Heading that way. You wouldn't have a flask in your pocket, would you, Andy?'
'Aye, and it's staying there.'
'Can't we get in your car at least?'
'With honk all down your gansy? You must be joking.'
'You're not arresting me then?'
'You done owt I should arrest you for?'
Penn tried a laugh, it changed to a cough, then a bout of dry retching.
'How should I know?' he gasped. 'Don't remember much since lunch.'
'Which you had where?'
'None of your business.'
'No? Let me guess.'
