Death

My part of death no one so true Did share it.

When she started the theatre was full of noise and her soft voice was like the song of a lark above a cattle mart. But by the time she finished, every other sound had stopped, and all eyes were fixed on this slim young woman stock-still at the front of the stage.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet On my black coffin let there be strewn.

Not a friend, not a friend greet

My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown.

A thousand thousand sighs to save

Lay me 0 where

Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there.

She finished. There was silence. Then Lynn Crediton began to applaud and soon everyone else joined in. Flushing, Rye clambered down off the stage.

That was great’ said Lynn. 'Maybe not quite the mood for Aladdin, but you got pretty close to the day!'

'What? Oh, Twelfth Night, you mean. Don't know why I chose that. It was just something we did at school.'

'And you played Feste?'

'No. I loved the play so much I think I had the whole thing by heart. I played Viola, who found her lost brother. Maybe I should have played Olivia who knew how to mourn hers.'

'Lots of time for that. Like I said, can you come tomorrow morning … are you OK?'

She was looking with concern into Rye's eyes, which were brimful of tears.

'Yes, yes, never better… happy and sad… lost and found. .. I'm sorry, I've got to go.'

She hurried away towards the exit. Lynn called after her, 'You'll come in the morning then for a proper audition?'

Over her shoulder Rye cried, 'No. Sorry. No more auditions, no more acting. Sorry’

And ran through the exit door, leaving the director uncertain whether she had just played a small role in a comedy, a tragedy, or simply a pantomime.

On Tuesday morning Pascoe, after several unsuccessful attempts to hack into the Central Police Computer in search of information about Sergeant Thomas Roote, disgraced, deceased, did what any sensible man did when matters of high technology were concerned, he went to see Edgar Wield.

Usually when faced with such special requests, the sergeant's mosaic features underwent a small rearrangement which experienced Wield-watchers took to indicate a certain degree of pleasure at being given another opportunity to go places that neither Dalziel's strength nor Pascoe's subtlety could reach. Today, however, as soon as Pascoe said, 'Can you do me a favour, Wieldy?', he rolled his eyes and ground his teeth and looked unambiguously pissed off.

'Something bothering you?' asked Pascoe.

'Just get the impression sometimes that no bugger round here thinks I've got owt better to do than hack into places I shouldn't be,' he replied.

'Himself, you mean? As well as myself, of course.'

'Aye, he's on my back to dig up all I can about some guy called Tristram Lilley, but without letting anyone know we're taking an interest. I ask him why he's after this guy and he just growls like a bear that's swallowed a hornets' nest! So it's me fishing blind again, and if I wake some sodding great shark, it's only me that'll get bitten!'

'Come on, Wieldy, you can't say that. You know full well we'd come and visit you in the prison hospital,' said Pascoe. 'So what have you found out about this Lilley?'

'That if you want your computer hacked, your phone tapped, your bank account audited and your intimate moments on video, he makes me look like an amateur.'

'Interesting. But Andy often plays his cards pretty close to his chest till he's ready to thump his Royal Flush on to the table. So why does this one get up your nose so much?'

Wield looked at him speculatively then said, 'I'm getting as secretive as he is. There's more. He's got me checking on a German called Mai Richter a.k.a. Myra Rogers.'

'That rings a faint bell.'

'It should. Myra Rogers lives next door to Rye Pomona and from what Hat's said they've become good mates. He told me not to bother with her official check sheet, so presumably he's got that already. What he wants is how she came into the country, when she changed from Mai to Myra. Well, I took a look at her sheet anyway. She's a journalist, Pete. A ferret. Got some big stories to her credit on the Continent. So what's she doing here, cosying up to the girlfriend of one of my lads, that's what I want to know. That's what I think I'm entitled to know!'

'Me too,' said Pascoe feelingly. 'And I'm going to find out.'

He turned for the door.

Wield said, 'Pete, what was it you came to see me about?'

'Hardly dare mention it’ said Pascoe. 'At least it's no secret. Roote. And before you start lecturing me, it's not Franny, it's his father and it's something Ellie found out.'

He explained.

'Now that is interesting’ said Wield. I'll get on to it. For Ellie's sake, you understand. I still reckon the less you have to do with that fellow the better.'

'Me too,' said Pascoe. 'But we all have our albatrosses. You seen Lubanski yet?'

It was a low shot but it hit. Wield, slightly hungover, had attended a conference with Dalziel and Pascoe on Sunday to discuss the implications of the confirmation that Linford, or LB, was backing whatever job Mate Polchard was planning. The Fat Man's reaction to the death of Liam and the others had been, as Wield had anticipated, good riddance. He'd been more interested in the possible effect of the tragedy on the relationship between Belchamber and Linford. 'He'll be looking for some bugger to blame. He had Belchy in his sights already and he'll not be in the mood to take a new aim.'

'How can he blame Belchamber for getting his son out on bail, which is what he must have been screaming at him to do ever since the committal?' asked Pascoe.

'Fathers, sons, logic goes out the window, specially when they're dead,' said Dalziel. 'Wieldy, set up a meet with young Lochinvar, see if he's heard owt.'

'Yes, sir. Can be a bit hard to get hold of,' said Wield, who'd thought it wiser not to mention that he'd sung a karaoke duet with Lee a few minutes after hearing about Liam.

'Hard to get hold of? He's a rent boy, for fuck's sake!' said Dalziel.

All of which helped explain the sergeant's state of pissed-off-ness with the Fat Man.

Now he said to Pascoe, 'Haven't been able to contact him yet.'

'No?' said Pascoe. 'Wieldy, none of my business, but you're not letting yourself get too close to this lad?'

For a moment it looked like Wield might explode, then he took control and said, 'I'd like to help him, if that's what you mean, get him out of the life he's leading‘

'But he's not interested?'

'No, it's not that. In fact I think I could get him to make a change but only at the expense of letting him think there was something between us. Not sex, I can deal with that, you learn over the years, but some kind of commitment. I'm not sure exactly what he wants me to be, but I know I can't be it. It would be wrong of me to lead him on, only it can't be right to let him stay like he is if I can do owt about it…'

'You try to explain any of this to him?'

'What's the point? The more personal I let things get in the way I talk, the more he takes it as a signal he's making progress. So all I can do is fall back on being a cop, tell him not to waste my time till he's got something really solid to tell me. Now I wonder if that's not just inciting him to take unnecessary risks.'

He sounded so unhappy, Pascoe touched his shoulder and said, 'Come on, mate. What's to risk? If Belchamber catches him poking around, all he's going to do is kick him out, which is what you'd like! Don't think Fat Andy would be very happy, though.'

That bugger's happiness isn't high up my priority list at the moment,' retorted Wield.

Pascoe went looking for Dalziel but discovered he'd gone out, no one knew where. He retired to his office,