Pascoe moved fast.
No doubt Wield, and everyone else, would have rational explanations for all this, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
He called up Hospital Security and got a man posted outside Hector’s room.
“No one in unless they’re known to you,” he commanded. “Especially not this chap.”
He showed the photo on the back of the book he’d confiscated from the grumpy patient whose name was Mills and who was in the Central for a hemorrhoidectomy, which perhaps explained his grumpiness.
Compared with the jacket photo, Hector’s drawing gave a rather clearer picture of the man’s features, but Pascoe felt the armor and the jaguar might be a distraction.
“I’ll get one of our officers stationed here as soon as possible,” he told the security guard. “Till then, don’t budge.”
Two of the other three Security men on duty he set to checking waiting rooms and public areas just in case Youngman was still on the premises. The third he dispatched to the car park to take note of any Jaguars left there. But Pascoe had a feeling that his man was long gone.
He rang through to the Station and found Paddy Ireland on duty. When he inquired about spare bodies, the inspector began Uniformed’s standard moan about shortage of manpower and deep cuts in the overtime budget till Pascoe silenced him with, “Paddy, remember you got your knickers in a twist about Mill Street? Well, you were right then, I humbly admit it, and I apologize. But I’m right now.”
“In that case, I’ll see what I can do,” said Ireland.
A car with Alan Maycock and Joker Jennison in it appeared on the scene within ten minutes. Jennison said, “Got another fireworks display laid on for us, sir?” Maycock kicked him violently on the ankle and said, “Mr. Ireland says he’ll try and get another couple of bodies along in the next half hour.”
Pascoe said, “Thank you for that, Alan. And for the kick,” and put them to work.
He was grateful to Ireland but didn’t doubt he’d cover his own back, so it was no surprise when Chief Constable Dan Trimble showed up a quarter of an hour later, looking like a man who’d been snatched unwillingly from the bosom of his family.
“Peter, what’s going on?” he demanded. “Paddy Ireland says you think someone might be trying to kill Hector. Why in the name of God should anyone want to do that?”
Paddy’s told him what I think, thought Pascoe. But he wants to make me say it myself, and then he can bollock me for not ringing him straightaway.
Trimble listened without comment till Pascoe concluded, “I think that Hector’s accident wasn’t an accident, but someone deliberately ran him down for fear he might be able to identify the man he saw in the video shop on Mill Street. And I think the same man came here today to try and have a second bite at the cherry.”
Now the Chief spoke.
“I thought I made it clear that I was to be kept apprised of anything that could have a connection with the Mill Street explosion,” he said coldly.
“Yes, sir. And I was going to ring you just as soon as I got things sorted on the ground here. When an officer’s at risk, practicalities come before protocol, that’s what Mr. Dalziel always says.”
In fact, he couldn’t recall Fat Andy ever saying any such thing, but if he hadn’t, it was only because it was too sodding obvious to need saying.
It certainly gave Trimble pause.
“Right, then. Let’s hear about these practicalities.”
Pascoe filled him in on what he’d done, concluding, “I did a quick check with the ward staff. A couple of them recall seeing the man around the ward earlier, and one of them spotted him sitting in the dayroom reading a paper, about an hour ago.”
“I haven’t had much truck with hired assassins. Is that normal behavior?” interrupted Trimble.
“He’s not going to go around with a homburg pulled down over his eyes, carrying a violin case,” said Pascoe with some irritation. “Mr. Mills, that’s Hector’s roommate, recalls the door to their room being opened earlier this morning. Someone looked in—he didn’t see who it was—then went away. I think it was Youngman. When he realized that Hector had someone else in the same room, he went and waited quietly in the dayroom till he saw Mr. Mills come in. Then he headed back to the ward, only to find myself and Rosie arriving to visit Hector at the same time. He probably kept an eye on things till he saw Mr. Mills return and realized that this wasn’t really his day. Like I said, I’ve got Security looking for him, but I reckon he’s gone. But he could come back.”
If he’d had to give a rating to his report, it would have been Beta minus at best. He’d started with a heavy handicap. In Mid-Yorkshire anything with Hector at its center needed a supporting affidavit from the angel Gabriel. And he couldn’t blame the Chief for looking shell-shocked when he heard about the constable’s vision, nor for his uncontrollable twitch when the charioteer sketch was produced as supporting evidence.
But Trimble was a man who liked to give his officers leeway. Anyone with Andy Dalziel under his command soon learned that the likely alternative was to find yourself high and dry on a sandbank.
He said, “All right. Leave someone on watch here. I don’t suppose you’ve had time to contact Superintendent Glenister yet, though of course you were going to ring her immediately after you rang me?”
“That’s right, sir,” said Pascoe.
“Good. Well, just as Mr. Ireland saved you the trouble of contacting me, I’ll extend the same courtesy with regard to CAT.”
Meaning you don’t trust me to do anything about it for the next couple of hours, thought Pascoe.
But Trimble was wrong. Locally Pascoe knew all the shortcuts and short circuits. He’d been well taught. Getting after Youngman outside Mid-Yorkshire, where he guessed the search would have to begin, was another matter. Dalziel might have been able to manage it. He had strings to pull whose far ends were tied to some very strange places. But for Pascoe that kind of network was still being woven.
In any case the quickest way to show CAT you didn’t trust them was to act like you didn’t trust them, and he wanted a far better hand before he made that play.
“Peter!”
He turned to see Ellie coming toward him with Rosie.
He’d got one of the nurses to look after her. He’d suggested taking her to the hospital crèche at first but this had evoked such a furious response that he’d changed it to the canteen and offered as placation a tenner for refreshment.
Then he’d rung Ellie, said there was a bit of an emergency, and asked if she could come and pick the girl up.
Ellie as always had responded to the word emergency without question.
But now she was here, she expected to hear what was going on.
Her response echoed Trimble’s.
“Someone wants to kill Hector?” she said incredulously. “But why?”
She listened to his theory with the kind of expression Galileo probably saw on the face of his Chief Inquisitor.
“Pete, for heaven’s sake, this is Quentin Tarantino stuff. I mean…Hector!”
“All right,” he said testily. “One way to check is, I’ll cancel the guard on Hector’s room and if he gets killed, then I was right!”
“Now you’re being silly.”
He glowered at her, then turned his attention to his daughter, intending to short-circuit the discussion before it became a row by asking for his change. How much refreshment could a girl ingest in forty minutes?
She regarded him with her mother’s wide-eyed candor, then before he could speak said, “I think Dad’s right. I didn’t like that man.”
“You didn’t?” said Pascoe delighted at this unexpected support. “Why was that?”
“Well, he smiled as he held the door open but I could tell he was really pissed off,” said Rosie. “I mean, a lot more pissed off than you’d be just because someone you’d come to visit wasn’t in his bed.”
Do I reprimand her for saying pissed off—twice!—or let it go because she’s said it in support of my case? Pascoe asked himself.
Ellie had no doubt.
“Come on, my girl,” she said grimly. “We’ll get you home and on the way we’ll have a little heart-to-heart about your special relationship with the language of Shakespeare. Any idea how long you’ll be, Peter?”
Truce offered and accepted. “Not long,” he promised. They kissed. Definitely accepted.
She said softly, “Just in case you’re right, which I don’t admit, take care.”
He watched them go. She was right. If he was right, he should perhaps take care.
And of course the people he should take most care of weren’t lying in a hospital bed but walking away from him.
At the door Ellie turned and called, “I forgot to ask. How’s Andy?”
Pascoe looked at his daughter who smiled at him complicitly.
He said, “No change there. Either.”