Reginald Hill - Midnight Fugue

She pressed the close button. It was easy to categorize people, she thought. This was a side of her employer she hadn’t seen enough of. With the right guidance, maybe he could make it all the way. The UK’s first mixed-race prime minister. And he had the qualities to make a good if not a great one. With the right guidance.

Her shift of feeling about Dave made her feel suddenly guilty at the dark suspicions about Goldie that today’s events had sent fuguing around her mind once more. If the combined efforts of Scotland Yard, the left-wing media, and Tory Central Office hadn’t been able to lay anything on Gidman, then he really did have to be clean, didn’t he?

Her phone rang. The display said Number withheld but she recognized instantly the voice that said, ‘That you, Maggie?’

‘Yes, Beanie,’ she said.

She listened as the Bitch talked. After a few seconds she sat down on the chair in front of the control panel.

‘Listen, hon, don’t know why I’m doing this, except maybe you ought to know and also ’cos I gotta talk to someone about it. I’ve just had a call from Gwyn. I was ready to chew his balls off over lying to me, and banging that Huntley child and all, but I could tell something was wrong soon as I heard him. My ma used to tell me, never tell lies ’cos you never know when they’ll come true. Gwyn said he had to deal with a family crisis. Well, he’s really got one now. That kid brother of his, the one he was going to see up in Yorkshire, he’s been murdered.’

‘Murdered?’ echoed Maggie incredulously. ‘How? Why?’

‘Shot in the face. And some cop woman who was there got put into hospital too. I don’t know what’s going on, but if it’s anything to do with that stuff we were talking about, I thought you ought to know.’

‘Do you have any more details?’ demanded Maggie. ‘Have they got anyone for it?’

‘He’d have said if they had. He’s really shook up. Never known him like this. He’s even going on about the intrusive fucking press! Listen, hon, I’ve told you all I know, but you’ve heard nothing from me. And one thing more, that’s you and me squared off, OK? Take care.’

The line went dead.

For another minute Maggie Pinchbeck didn’t move.

Then she got up and went into the hallway just in time to see Sling leading Purdy upstairs, presumably for his meeting with Goldie.

The commander looked like a man with something important on his mind. She knew how he felt.

She watched them out of sight then went back into the control room.

As the old Rover sped north out of the city, Dalziel told Pascoe about his conversation with Purdy.

‘Tried to hide it at first, but he’s really worried,’ said the Fat Man.

‘Why wouldn’t he be? With his girlfriend missing and these Delays on the loose, that would worry anyone.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Dalziel.

Pascoe frowned and said warningly, ‘Andy, is there something else here, something to do with Purdy? I thought we agreed. No more secrets.’

You agreed, thought the Fat Man. It’s me as makes the rules, remember?

But he didn’t say it aloud. There would be a time for such reminders. Also it was good to have it confirmed just how fine-tuned his deputy’s sensors were.

He said, ‘I’m not keeping anything secret ’cos I really don’t know anything. Remember, I’ve not seen Purdy for ten years and we weren’t much more than drinking buddies back then. So the way this thing’s panning out, I’m not taking owt for granted.’

‘You think he might be more than romantically involved?’

‘Romantically involved? You been at the Barbara Cartland again? I’ve no idea, Pete. There’s one thing, but. That stuff in the note Gina got about the plucky little trooper and the general. Two ways that might have got into circulation. One is the guy boasting in his cups to an old mate, the other is the girl reminiscing in her bed to a new mate. Mick Purdy fits both bills.’

They drove in silence for a while. Then Dalziel’s phone rang. It was lying on the dashboard.

He said, ‘Could you get that, else I might have to arrest myself.’

Pascoe picked up the phone and bellowed, ‘What?’ in a fair parody of the Fat Man’s telephone style. His reward was a verbal assault that made him wince.

He held it away from his ear and said, ‘I think it’s your old chum Chief Constable Glendower, who seems to believe your mother had intercourse with a sow that was badly infected with both foot and mouth disease and swine fever.’

Dalziel laughed and said, ‘Pass it here.’

Pascoe frowned and compromised by holding it up to his boss’s ear.

The abusive rant was unabated. Dalziel listened with a widening grin on his face.

‘Hooky, Hooky,’ he interrupted finally. ‘You should be careful, man of your age. Back seats are for teenagers. You’ll give yourself a hernia if you’re not careful. Nay, don’t start up again. Just listen, will you? You know a journalist called Gareth Jones?’

There was a pause. Then Glendower’s voice, more controlled now, said, ‘Yes, I know a muckraker of that name.’

Pascoe, hearing the reference to Gareth Jones, leaned close so that he could catch the caller’s words.

‘And would it surprise you if it turned out he were doing a surveillance job on you while you were enjoying your romantic weekend?’

‘What? The little shit!’ Glendower’s voice was now very alarmed. ‘What’s going on, Andy?’

Dalziel spelled things out with brutal economy.

When he’d finished, Glendower, his tone changed yet again, said, ‘Oh Christ. And it’s definitely Gareth Jones who’s dead, is it?’

‘Looks like it.’

‘Poor bastard.’

‘He wasn’t looking to do you any favours, Hooky.’

‘I know that. But he was just a kid. All right, he got on my wick, always hanging around my office, asking cheeky questions, making innuendos. Deserved to have his arse kicked, fair enough. But not this.’

‘Aye well, does you credit, Hooky,’ said Dalziel. ‘But it’s time to look out for yourself. Listen, I’m ahead of the game right now, but my DCI-him you met in the car park-he’s a bright lad, he’ll have to be told.’

He glanced across at Pascoe and winked.

‘But he’s not a blabbermouth,’ he continued. ‘And I’ll do what I can to screw things down at the Keldale. Bit like you, eh? All right, sorry, no time to be frivolous. Listen, Hooky, there’s bound to be some bugger who knows what young Jones were up to, so I doubt you’re going to be able to keep the lid on this. But you can mebbe do a bit of damage limitation, right?’

There was a silence.

‘Yes, Andy. You’re right. Damage limitation it is,’ said Glendower finally. ‘Thanks, mate. Sorry I blew my top. I thought you were just having a laugh at my expense.’

‘Nay, Hooky, if us old stagers can’t look out for each other, who will? Listen, first thing I’d do is take a close look at your staff. You did the hotel booking and everything from your office, I suppose?’

‘Yes. Well, I wasn’t going to do it from home,’ said Glendower defensively.

‘Very considerate of you. But it means some bugger at work has probably been checking out your computer and phone and feeding this young reporter tit-bits. I’d look for someone who goes to chapel three times on a Sunday, sings in the choir, and reckons Sodom and Gomorrah are villages in Shropshire. But I expect you’ve got a lot of them.’

‘Oh yes, but I reckon I know which one it is,’ said Glendower vengefully. ‘And with luck I’ll have time to get the bugger sorted before I’m clearing my desk.’

‘Nay, Hooky, it needn’t come to that. A man’s entitled to a private life. Unless you’ve been charging your naughties to expenses. You’ve not been doing that, have you? Tell me you’ve not been doing that.’