Reginald Hill: Under World

‘All I did was tell May not to trust the fat sod!’

Pascoe moved so that he could see Mrs Farr, who was sitting down, partly screened by Dalziel’s bulk. She was pale and clearly distraught.

‘For God’s sake you two, why don’t you have your squabbles somewhere else?’ he said angrily. He pulled up a chair and sat down in front of the woman and took her hands in his. ‘It’s all right, Mrs Farr,’ he said.

‘Is he telling the truth, this one?’ she asked, looking him straight in the eyes. ‘Ellie says not to trust him, he’s likely just lying to find out where Colin’s hiding.’

Pascoe glanced towards Dalziel, who said bluntly, ‘He’s off the hook.’

‘He’s telling the truth,’ said Pascoe to Mrs Farr. ‘He’d not lie about something like that, not to me anyway.’

Dalziel looked ready to dispute this assertion, then pulled on a conciliatory expression like a nylon stocking over a bandit’s face.

‘But Ellie’s not altogether wrong,’ he said. ‘I do still want to find the lad. Before he comes to any harm.’

Pascoe followed his gaze to Ellie. Her cheeks were still flushed from argument and her eyes were bright. Usually he felt proud and turned on when he saw her in full Valkyrie flight, but this time he felt separated from her by Colin Farr who had occupied her mind so exclusively that she had been able to ignore May Farr’s distress.

‘Why did you come back, Ellie?’ he asked quietly.

Still she looked defiant, then May Farr said, ‘For God’s sake tell him, woman. Do you not trust your own man?’

The reproof seemed to bewilder Ellie, then the tension ebbed from her body and she said, ‘Oh shit. He asked me to tell May he was all right. Peter, he was hiding in my car. I dropped him off along the road that runs up to the pit. He went up into the woods on the left-hand side.’

‘Gratterley Wood,’ said Mrs Farr dully. ‘He’ll be up by the White Rock, isn’t that what you said, lass?’

Ellie said, ‘He asked me to get Mr Downey to bring some food up to him.’

‘And have you seen this Downey fellow yet?’ demanded Dalziel.

‘Yes. I went to see him first, before your spies got on to me,’ flashed Ellie.

‘Damn.’

‘It’s all right. I just saw Downey cycling down the main street,’ said Pascoe.

‘Good. Mebbe we can catch him.’

‘You don’t think Colin’s going to hang around once he sees you lot, do you?’ demanded May Farr.

‘There’ll just be the three of us,’ said Dalziel. ‘I don’t want to scare him off, just get close enough to let him know the heat’s off. Sergeant Swift, you know where this White Rock is, I dare say?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right. Let’s go.’ He headed for the door, closely followed by Swift.

Pascoe looked at Ellie.

‘It’ll be all right, won’t it?’ she said.

He didn’t dare to ask what she was talking about but said, ‘Yes.’

Outside, Dalziel said, ‘We’ll take your car, Peter, in case there’s any rough driving.’

They got in, Swift in the back.

He said, ‘Head for the main street.’

As he drove, Pascoe’s mind was filled with a nagging unease.

‘Why are we still chasing around after an innocent man, sir?’ he asked.

‘Why’s an innocent man not bother to tell us he’s innocent?’ said Dalziel. ‘That farce with Mycroft. He hates the guy. Why not just point the finger at him instead of blackmailing him into helping him escape?’

‘Perhaps he felt partly responsible for Satterthwaite’s death.’

‘So what? He hated him too. In fact, come to think of it, there aren’t a lot of people young Mr Farr likes.’

‘So what’s your theory, sir?’

‘No theory, lad. But a man who doesn’t give a toss about being chief suspect for a murder he didn’t do isn’t someone I want running round loose.’

They had passed down the High Street. Now at Swift’s instruction, they swung left up the lane alongside the Welfare Club.

‘It gets a bit rough,’ said Swift, ‘but if you can get round this bend we’ll be out of sight of nosey eyes.’

Pascoe managed it with some slight protest from his silencer box as it grated against a stone, but it wasn’t concern for his undercarriage that made him stop. Up ahead was another car blocking the way.

They got out and approached it. From the damp bloom on its paintwork and the yellow leaves clinging to the roof and bonnet, it had been there a little while, overnight at least.

‘It’s that reporter’s,’ said Swift. ‘Boyle. I saw him in it the night Farr chucked him through the window.’

Dalziel swept his hand through the screening dampness on the front window and peered inside.

‘Nowt,’ he said. ‘Except a cauliflower on the back seat.’

‘The boot?’ suggested Pascoe.

Dalziel came round the back, sniffed, shrugged.

‘Best be sure.’

And raising his foot he drove his heel with great force against the lock.

The boot flew open. There was nothing there that didn’t belong in a boot.

‘I hope he’s got good expenses,’ said Pascoe.

‘He’ll need ’em if the bugger’s up there, queering my pitch,’ said Dalziel.

They all looked up the track to where along the looming ridge desperate fingers of light were still scrabbling for purchase. Even here, by the car, with the Welfare’s chimneys still visible, industrial South Yorkshire seemed a long way away and Pascoe thought coldly that this was a wilderness long before man had made it so and these had been hills under which a lost traveller could dream and never waken.

‘You coming or not?’ demanded Dalziel, who was already ten yards ahead in close pursuit of Swift.

Reluctantly Pascoe set out after them.

A few yards further on, Swift said, ‘Look, sir. That’ll be Downey’s bike.’

Dalziel put his hand on it.

‘Seat still warm,’ he said in his best Sherlockian manner. ‘We can’t be far behind.’

Now the track became a path. Pascoe glanced back. No sign of the cars nor even of the bike, surely they couldn’t have come so far so soon? He hurried on, suddenly fearful of being left behind in this frightful dark wood in which mist was beginning to drift like the fetid exhalations of some lurking troll. What was he doing here, for God’s sake? It occurred to him that he had never laid eyes on Colin Farr! What a great qualification for a searcher! If someone dropped down out of a tree in front of him at this very moment, he wouldn’t know if it were Farr or some passing primate.

His acceleration had brought him up against the other two. For the simple sake of hearing a voice, he said, ‘Sir, I don’t even know …’

‘Shh! We’re almost there,’ hissed Dalziel. He was peering ahead and upwards to where the mist seemed to have concentrated at the far end of a narrow glade. Pascoe strained his eyes and became aware that in fact the area of whiteness was not all mist but a patchy overhanging outcrop of striated limestone. Presumably this was the famous White Rock, not much to write home about, not perhaps unless you spent your days digging black rock out of the earth.

A choking cry cut through his thoughts, there was a flurry of movement at the foot of the overhang, and Dalziel lumbered forward a few steps, shouting. If it was meant to be reassuring, Pascoe couldn’t blame anyone for missing the point. A writhing shadow separated, became two men, one upright, one prone. The upright figure took a couple of steps towards them. One of the last drowning fingers of light caressed his face. It was so young, so defiant, so despairing. So beautiful. Here he was at last, the Marvellous Boy. The phrase no longer a mockery. I was fooling myself when I said I’d never recognize him. I’d have picked him out in a riot.