Reginald Hill - Midnight Fugue

When Dalziel dropped the water jug, Vince Delay turned his head to look and said, ‘Clumsy bastard. Probably got the DTs. Only time them cunts hold their hands steady is when they’re getting a backhander.’

His sister said, ‘Don’t swear, Vince. And if all cops were as thick as you think, you wouldn’t need me to keep you out of jail.’

She was facing the garden terrace and had observed the Fat Man’s brief conversation on his mobile immediately before the accident. When, shortly after the table had been reset and the debris removed, she saw him take out his phone again, she leaned back in her chair and took a long pull on her glass of mineral water, letting her gaze drift round the other diners. She spotted three using mobiles, but two of them continued talking after the Fat Man had switched off.

The third was a young woman sitting alone on a table quite close to the Delays at the edge of the upper terrace. As Fleur watched, the Iti waiter who fancied himself approached with a tray bearing an open prawn sandwich and a glass of white wine. He engaged the young woman in conversation, gently flirtatious from his body language, and she smiled back as she replied, but she seemed to be asking questions, one of which made the young man glance across the garden terrace to the couple on the corner table.

Finally he made as if to move away, but the woman, instead of settling down to her lunch, started up from her chair, an expression of dismay on her face. She was looking across the lower terrace towards the gardens where a buffet party was taking place. Then she said something to the waiter and dashed past him into the hotel.

Fleur said, ‘Vince, sit tight. Make sure your phone’s switched on.

She stood up, nice and easy with no sign of undue haste, but she still moved fast enough for the young woman to be in sight as she went through the door into the hotel.

She followed her out into the car park, digging the VW keys out of her shoulder bag in anticipation of another pursuit. But the young woman ignored the ranks of parked cars and made straight for the exit on to the road. Here she paused and took a mobile out of her pocket and started talking into it. But she hadn’t touched the number pad. She was faking it, Fleur guessed, giving herself an excuse to be standing in the car park.

Fleur worked out the reason simultaneously with having her conclusion confirmed. A man approached the exit on a small motor bike. Most of his features were hidden by his helmet and goggles, but she could see he had a moustache. As he passed the young woman, her gaze followed him. The bike turned left, passing the entrance gap close to where Fleur was standing. She took out a ballpoint and scribbled its number down on the palm of her hand.

Could it be as easy as this? she wondered. She needed to move quick. If, as she assumed, the young woman was working for Tubby, then it would only take a single phone call for her to get all known details of the motor cyclist.

Two could play at that game if you had the right contacts, and one thing Fleur Delay had was the right contacts. The young woman didn’t seem in any hurry to get on the phone. In fact she was standing in the same place, giving every impression of uncertainty over her next move. So there could still be time here to get ahead of the game.

She put a number into her mobile as she walked towards the VW.

‘I need a vehicle check,’ she said. ‘Quick as you can.’

She rang off then speed-dialled her brother.

‘Vince,’ she said, ‘come to the car.’

‘They’re still at the table,’ he protested. ‘And my pudding’s just arriving.’

‘The car, Vince. Now!’

She opened the door of the VW and slid into the driver’s seat.

The young woman was on the phone now but she looked as if she were having a conversation rather than simply making a request.

Vince came out of the hotel, looking sulky.

Fleur’s phone rang.

‘Alun Watkins, Flat 39, Loudwater Villas,’ she repeated.

By the time Vince got into the car, she’d entered the address into her sat-nav.

‘What’s happening, Sis?’ asked Vince.

Fleur started the engine and smiled at him.

‘We may be going home sooner than you think.

The Fat Man rarely needed an excuse to be hungry, but this morning he’d been in such a rush that he’d scrimped on breakfast. Now he tucked into his roast beef with relish. And with horseradish too.

Gina on the other hand merely poked her fork at the wafer-thin slices on her plate, but nothing got near her mouth except her wine glass.

Finally she said, ‘If Alex is behind this, then I don’t need to worry about getting his picture in the paper or on the box, do I?’

He said, ‘I’d say not.’

She went on, as if thinking aloud, ‘But I can’t make that assumption, can I? If the photo didn’t come from him, then I’ve got to do everything I can to find him.’

‘Why?’ said Dalziel.

For a second she looked at him as if he’d asked a stupid question. But the look faded as she started to answer and discovered her reasons were not so clear cut as she’d imagined.

‘Because…because I need…because of what we felt for each other…what we went through together…Because I need to know!’

She stared at him defiantly, as if challenging him to ask, know what?

Instead he said, ‘What about him? Mebbe he doesn’t want to be found.’

‘We don’t know that. He may still be in a state of fugue.’

‘Like old Bach, you mean? Thought you said he weren’t all that musical.’

‘I think you know very well what I mean,’ she said dismissively.

Reckons she’s got my number now, he thought complacently. That was OK. He liked dealing with folk who believed they knew how his mind worked.

He said, ‘So if he’s in trouble, all mixed up, don’t know who he is or what’s gone off or owt, you’d like to help him, right?’

‘Of course I would.’

‘And if you find he’s alive, but not in trouble, what then?’

She took another drink of wine then said, ‘I may just kill the bastard!’

She spoke with deadly emphasis. Dalziel pursed his lips as if pondering the idea before nodding in approval. Now her features relaxed into a smile and finally she laughed out loud.

‘Sorry! What am I like? Mixed feelings is putting it lightly, Andy. Can I call you Andy?’

‘Why?’ said Dalziel.

‘Because Mick says it’s your name. Also because anyone overhearing me call you Mr Dalziel will imagine you’re either my boss or my sugar daddy.’

‘And calling me Andy ’ull make them think I’m your toy boy, is that it?’

She laughed again. A couple of glasses of wine had really loosened her up. What might a third do? It occurred to him that if Pascoe was keeping an eye on him, he might be getting the wrong idea about this lunch date. Serve the bugger right!

Gina said, ‘The thing is, Andy, you’re Mick’s idea, not mine. When he suggested contacting you, I thought that probably it would be a complete waste of time.’

‘And you don’t now? Why’s that?’

‘You’re not the only one who’s done some checking up,’ she said provocatively.

‘You’ve been checking on me, you mean? How’d you manage that?’

‘For a start, I spoke to Mick. I asked him to tell me all about you.’

‘Can’t have been that much to tell, we only ever met the once.’

‘Your reputation seems to have spread pretty widely in police circles, Andy. Do you like cowboy movies?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Mick’s a great fan. John Wayne, Clint Eastwood. We often spend a night watching old DVDs. When it’s my turn, it’s The Red Shoes or Tales of Hoffman. With Mick it’s Unforgiven or True Grit. That’s his favourite.’