Midnight Fugue (11 page)

‘Except bodies under buses get noticed, and even suicides usually draw attention to themselves. All Wolfe’s details would be on record, so even if they found him bollock naked, it wouldn’t be long before the magic box popped him up, would it?’

‘Still on the ball, eh?’ said Purdy admiringly. ‘Gina said you struck her as being very sharp. Made an impression there, Andy.’

‘Save the bullshit for your roses,’ said Dalziel. ‘If he is dead and hasn’t been found, then it’s likely ’cos someone didn’t want him found. Any suggestions, Mick?’

‘You’re thinking Gidman, right?’

‘It’s a motive.’

‘Only if Gidman is a wrong ’un, and Alex was bent. I don’t think so.’

‘Either or both?’

There was a silence, then Purdy said, ‘You and me have been around a long time, Andy, and we’ve seen a lot of good coppers caught with their hands in the till. Circumstances change people. You got a dying kid on your hands, there’s not much you won’t do to try and buy a cure.’

‘So a maybe there. And Gidman, what’s your take on him?’

‘Pure as the driven snow, on paper at least. Lots of stories about his younger days, several accusations, but nothing ever proved. And since he got into the big money game, what with doling out cash on a regular basis to good causes, and sitting on financial advisory boards, he’s fast approaching sainthood.’

‘Not surprising if you can afford the best PR firms,’ said Dalziel cynically.

‘He can certainly do that,’ said Purdy. ‘My reading is, if they really want to get rid of MRSA, they should give Goldie Gidman the NHS cleaning franchise.’

‘So you do think he’s got things to hide?’

‘We’ve all got things to hide, Andy. All I know is the Met gave it their best shot. And long after everyone else had given up on the job, old Owen Mathias kept on niggling away. But try as hard as he could, in the end he didn’t even lay a parking ticket on him.’

‘Why was Mathias so obsessed then?’

‘Well, he was always a man of principle, Owen. Signed up with South Wales but got himself transferred to the Met in the late seventies. Operation Countryman time, remember? Robert Mark cleaning out the stables. Owen reckoned Mark was the new Messiah. Wanted to be around to do his bit. Cynics said that he was a wily Welshman who worked out that all the corruption sackings meant lots of opportunity for quick promotion.’

‘And what did you say?’ asked Dalziel.

‘I saw him close up. Believe me, he was the real thing, a full-blown zealot! He started in the East End, he was mid-twenties then, just made sergeant, and one of his first jobs was dealing with an allegation of assault against Goldie Gidman. I was not long in the job myself and I worked under him for a bit. Came to nothing, of course. The guy who’d made the accusation died in a fire that gutted his flat. Accident, they reckoned; the electrics were shot, but Owen was convinced Goldie was behind it. Couldn’t prove anything, but never stopped going after Goldie till the end of his career. Got to be a bit of a laugh in the end.’

‘So you think he just got it completely wrong?’

‘It happens. I heard of this guy up north was convinced that the England selectors had been bribed to keep Yorkshire lads out of the team — come think of it, that was you, wasn’t it? Me, like everyone else down here, I just came to the conclusion that if all them smart lawyers at the CPS and at Tory Party Central Office couldn’t find anything niffy in Goldie’s linen basket, then it wasn’t worth looking.’

‘You take notice of lawyers down at the Yard these days? Jesus!’

‘I take notice of Gidman’s lawyers, that’s for sure. I tell you, Andy, if this call’s bugged, then I’m in deep shit! Even the papers have had their fingers burned too often to risk more than the obliquest of innuendoes. In fact, they wouldn’t even bother with that if it wasn’t for his beloved son.’

‘Oh aye. Dave the Turd MP, the soft crinkly buttock of Conservatism.’

‘That’s the one. Andy, why am I telling you all this when obviously you’ve dug it up already? Don’t you have anything better to do on a Sunday?’

‘Aye, I’m going out to an intimate lunch with this smart tart. Your fiancée, I believe. That were a surprise.’

‘To me too, if I’m honest. But a great one. You won’t want the soppy details, not unless you became a Mills and Boon fan same time as you started digging swinging old Bach. Couldn’t believe it when Gina told me. What were you really doing in that cathedral, Andy?’

I’m not the only one who’s stayed sharp, thought Dalziel.

‘Mebbe I were praying for guidance,’ he said.

‘Girl guidance, perhaps,’ said Purdy, laughing. ‘And you’re too old to get one of them. Well, a man’s entitled to his operational secrets.’

‘Not you, not if you want my help,’ said Dalziel. ‘Listen, you don’t sound like you’ve changed your mind about Wolfe being dead. So what about this photo? Gina says it’s definitely him.’

‘That don’t stop it being a fake. You checked it out yet?’

‘No,’ admitted Dalziel. ‘It looks fine to me.’

‘Andy, they could give you tits like Jordan and they’d look so real, you’d be shopping for a cantilevered bra. No, I’ll bet you’ll find it’s a fake.’

‘OK. And if I do, what then?’

‘Listen, I think this is more about me than Gina. My money’s on the whole thing being set up by someone down here who doesn’t like me and has heard about me and Gina getting it together, so he decided to stir things up and jerk us about a bit.’

‘Hard to believe with someone as lovable as you, Mick.’

‘Ha ha. You know we have to deal with some pretty sick fucks, Andy. In fact, one or two of the bastards we even have to work with! My first guv’nor warned me, keep your eyes wide open, especially in the office. Working in the Met’s like having your drink spiked with roofies. Doze off and you can be pretty sure someone’s fucking you.’

‘So why’d you not just tell Gina this when she rang?’

‘If she’d been able to get hold of me when she got the photo, I probably would have done. But I was on this op, mobiles off, security silence, all that crap.’

‘Sod’s law, eh?’ said Dalziel.

‘Maybe not,’ said Purdy. ‘Maybe it was part of the plan. Anyway, when I got back to her and found she was already up there, I could tell she was in a hell of a state.’

‘Seemed pretty calm to me,’ said Dalziel, unwilling for reasons he didn’t altogether recognize to share his own diagnosis of Gina’s mental state.

‘That’s her way. Believe me, Andy, underneath the surface, she’s really seething. No wonder, with all that background stuff I’ve given you. I could tell if I’d suggested this was about someone getting at me, she’d probably have erupted and ended up on local telly flashing Alex’s picture and asking anyone who recognized him to get in touch.’

‘Aye, they’d have lapped that up down at MYTV,’ admitted Dalziel.

‘Exactly. And I’m sure you’ve got plenty of loonies up there who’d be ringing in to say they’ve seen him, he’s living next door, he drinks down their pub, he looks just like their local vicar. Our sick joker would be rubbing his hands to see this all get into the public domain. And once he’s got the taste of blood, who knows what he might try next?’

Dalziel digested this, then said, ‘So what exactly do you want from me, Mick?’

‘I need someone to keep the cap on things. I’d been reading about you recently when you had your little blow-up. You back to full fighting fitness now, I hope?’

‘Nice of you to ask. Yes, I’m getting back into the swing.’

‘Great. Andy, if I’d been able to get away, I’d have been up there myself by now. But I’m stuck here on this job and I’ll be tied up a good few hours yet. I don’t want this to be official because that would just complicate things. But if you could check that photo out, that would be great. Learning it was fake is something she’d probably take better from you.’

‘And if it’s not a fake?’

‘Then I’d be even more grateful to have someone up there I can trust to keep an eye on her. Look, Andy, put simply, I’m just asking a favour from an old friend. OK, I know that’s maybe putting it a bit thick, seeing as we only ever met over a few days and that was a long time ago. But that’s how I’ve always thought of you.’

‘Glad we don’t have video,’ said Dalziel. ‘Can’t bear to see a grown man crying.’

‘Listen, got to go. They all think this must be some important operational message I’m dealing with and even so, they’re looking impatient. So you’ll do what you can?’

‘I’ll see how it all looks after we’ve had lunch.’

‘Thanks, Andy. Only wish I could be there to pick up the tab.’

‘Not to worry, lad. This being unofficial, I’ll send you an expense claim. Cheers!’

Dalziel put the phone down. There was stuff going off here he didn’t yet understand. Be nice to have some input from Mr Clever Clogs and Mr Ugly, but not till he was sure if it amounted to owt or nowt. As things stood, he could ill afford to let himself be seen flapping around on a wild-goose chase.

At least he now had something to get his teeth into over lunch aside from the Keldale’s famous Aberdeen Angus beef.

He rose and went upstairs to his bedroom. Here he regarded himself in the long wardrobe mirror. He’d told Novello scruffy was the new smart, but that didn’t apply to overweight fellows in advanced middle age. There, scruffy was just the old scruffy.

As he stepped into his shower he felt an urge to break into song.

Bit of Bach might have been appropriate. From what he knew about the old Kraut, he’d had about fifty kids, so likely he’d written a tune or two to celebrate the prospect of having lunch with a well-stacked blonde
Mädchen
. Gina Wolfe would probably know.

In the meantime, it was the thought that counted.

He opened his mouth and in a bass-baritone more leathery than velvety but nonetheless melismatic he boomed out the opening lines of ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’.

con forza

PRELUDE

Happy days are not even a memory for him. He does not have memories.

Merlin-like, he lives backwards.

He clings to the present, would make it infinite if he could, but inexorably he advances to the past.

Once he woke to flee from dreams. Now he sleeps to hide from visions.

If he pauses to study how he feels, the best answer is he feels safe.

He does not ask
safe from what?
for knowing what you are safe from means you no longer are
.

Forgetfulness is his friend.

For a man in fugue is like a beast of the plains that takes refuge in a dense wood.

He can move but not freely. Trunks impede, roots trip, briar hooks, mire sucks.

He can see but not clearly. The canopy of foliage filters the light and each gust of wind fragments and scatters it.

Forgetfulness is his friend and fear is his companion.

Fear tells him when to move, when to keep still. Fear shows him how to blend with the forest.

He survives by limitation and simple repetition. He makes the unfamiliar familiar by staying in one area. He makes his own existence familiar by following patterns as strict as a square dance.

From time to time a brighter light through the crowding trees tells him he is looking towards the boundary beyond which stretch the sunlit pastures where he once roamed free.

But he looks and turns away, for though he has forgotten who they are, fear tells him there are hunters out there, and he lies very still for fear tells him also that once his presence among the trees is suspected, they will send in their dogs to flush him out.

Yes, forgetfulness is his friend, fear is his protector.

Anything that challenges fear and forgetfulness is dangerous. So the first faint scent of the possibility of happiness sets off alarms like the first faint scent of a distant forest fire. He is not sure what it is, but instinct warns him that it means change and change means movement and movement brings the past closer and the past is pain.

How he knows this he does not know, but he knows it.

But happiness is insidious, it does not make a frontal assault, it creeps up gradually. And because it is gradual, he feels he can control it, just a little step at a time, just the tiniest relaxation with each step, advancing like a wild beast towards the proffered hand, ever suspicious and ready to flee at the breaking of a twig.

And suddenly, without realizing it, he is there, close up, in contact, the hand caressing his head, the fingers combing his hair.

The past is closer now, but no longer does it feel like a pain that must be relived. It begins to feel like a tale that can be re-told.

Then in the space of a few words, happiness explodes into joy.

Joy clears memory but clouds judgment, joy lets him see the sunlit fields but dazzles his eyes so that they miss the hidden hunters.

Joy makes him feel whole again, brings him love again.

But love is his betrayer.