Good Morning, Midnight

13

After the tape had finished Pascoe once more sat staring at the windscreen, his gaze going no further than the insect-smeared glass.

No question, it was a powerfully moving statement. Even without anything but a superficial knowledge of the woman, he could feel himself being magicked by her.

But was it enough to explain Dalziel’s relationship with her? He thought not.

The Fat Man was beyond simple enchantment. He wouldn’t have needed to be bound to the mast to listen to the sirens singing. He’d have sat in a deck chair with a pint in his hand, applauded politely when they finished and said, “Aye, very nice, but they’re not the Beverley Sisters, are they?”

No, though the statement may have reinforced his feelings for the woman, their relationship pre-dated it. Wield had spotted something between them from the start, and the way she addressed him and the things she said in the tape’s little coda confirmed a relationship already established, a judgment already made before Pal Senior’s suicide brought Kay into his life professionally.

And here he was again ten years on, the perfect gentle knight riding to his lady’s aid.

“God help the horse!” said Pascoe out loud, and smiled.

Conclusion: the only thing he was certain of was that if the Fat Man believed hearing the tape would make him steer well clear of Kay Kafka, he was wrong. Their brief encounter at the hospital hadn’t told him much, but then he hadn’t been asking much. He was still a long way from seeing how the link between stepmother and stepson could have any bearing on the latter’s death, but after listening to the tape he knew he would like to confront the enchantress again and make up his own mind about her.

And why not now? Cothersley Hall was only a few miles away. He’d noticed it on his map when he’d been looking for Casa Alba, which didn’t figure. You needed more than money to get your house name on an OS sheet, you needed antiquity.

So, he was resolved. Like the tinker in the ballad he would ride boldly up to the hall. But not quite straightaway. It was a long time since breakfast, which as a result of his late rising (oh, the sweet memory) had consisted of a mouthful of coffee and a gobbet of bread. Now, despite the Fat Man’s warning and his own observations, the fripperies of the Dog and Duck were seeming quite attractive. In addition there were a couple of things he’d like to check out with the Captain.

As he turned on the engine, he glanced up at the house.

Sue-Lynn was standing at an upstairs window watching him. She was holding something to her jaw, probably a bag of frozen peas.

No, he corrected. Not peas. Dublin Bay prawns, or Beluga caviare. She looked like a woman with expensive tastes.

Which from the sound of it she wasn’t going to enjoy for long.

He gave her a wave, resisted the temptation to gun his engine and dig up more gravel as he tried to break the records so recently established by the two women, and set off down the drive at the speed of a cautious cortege.