‘Hold on, luv,’ said Dalziel. ‘What you’re saying is very important, I think mebbe we need to get you down to our headquarters so you can make a proper recorded statement. Excuse me.’

He walked away and climbed into the caravan.

Pascoe and Wield were standing together looking at a creased and soiled copy of MY Times open at the page containing the picture of the loyal citizens cheering the royal visitor.

‘By God, Wieldy that were quick,’ said Dalziel admiringly.

‘There’s some recycle dumpsters round the side of the building,’ said the sergeant. ‘I set a couple of lads to go through the paper skip. Take a look, sir.’

He held it up alongside the page that Gina Wolfe had received through the post to show that, in the genuine copy, the face in the space occupied by Alex Wolfe was that of a balding middle-aged man.

‘Mick were right then,’ said Dalziel.

‘Why would someone go to all the trouble of faking this?’ wondered Pascoe.

‘Not much trouble,’ said Wield dismissively. ‘Kid could do it with a decent scanner and printer.’

‘Purdy reckons someone might be wanting to have a pop at him,’ said Dalziel.

‘Blowing a man’s face off and putting a cop in hospital’s a bit more than a pop,’ said Pascoe. ‘I think it’s time to have a long chat with Mrs Wolfe.’

A phone rang. The constable who answered it called, ‘Sarge-Seymour for you.’

‘So what do you make of the Duttas, Andy?’ asked Pascoe.

‘You got a problem. Keep them here and they’ll drive you mad and she’ll be into everything. Turn ’em loose and she’ll be on every channel, spilling everything she’s seen and heard. I’d get her taken down to HQ and let her talk her head off to some poor sod. Paddy Ireland’s a good listener. With a bit of luck, eventually she’ll go into labour, then we’ll be shut of her for a while.’

‘Andy, you’re all heart. But it’s not a bad idea. I’ll get Wieldy to sort it.’

But the sergeant had other things on his mind as he rejoined them.

‘That were Seymour from the Keldale,’ he said. ‘Seems Mrs Wolfe checked out half an hour back.’

Pascoe turned on Dalziel.

‘Well, Andy,’ he said. ‘How’s your instinct feeling now?’

‘Bearing up,’ said the Fat Man. ‘Likely it means nowt. Decided she wanted to get out of reach of everyone to consider her options.’

It sounded so feeble he almost smiled apologetically as he said it.

Pascoe said, ‘Wieldy, put out a call. You should be able to get the details of her car from the hotel…’

‘No need,’ said Wield. ‘Call’s out. I knew the details already. Super asked me to check them this morning.’

‘So he did. Lucky to have him around, aren’t we?’ said Pascoe savagely.

But this chunk of heavy irony fell short of its mark.

Dalziel had moved away and was talking urgently into his mobile.

‘Mick,’ he said. ‘When you get this, don’t care if you’re saving the fucking universe from aliens, ring me!’

13.35-17.30

Finding Dalziel still in her room when she returned had been a serious disappointment to Gina Wolfe.

She hadn’t expected a senior police officer to drop everything and devote himself totally to her concerns, but the degree of interest shown by the Fat Man over lunch had given her hope that he’d do everything in his power to help. Lying in her bed, sleeping off an excess of booze, did not strike her as a very promising start.

Her mood had not been improved by her afternoon. She’d gone out into the Keldale garden and rung Mick Purdy to give him a progress report. His phone was switched off so she left him a message. She sat for a couple of minutes longer, trying to work out if she was any further forward. Then her phone rang. It was Mick.

He said, ‘Sorry. Still at my desk, tying up loose ends.’

He sounded very tired, not surprising as she guessed he hadn’t had much sleep for the best part of two days. But he listened very carefully to her account of what had happened, constantly interrupting with questions, till in the end she got a strong impression that he had a better understanding of what was going on than she did. Maybe he was able to put himself in Dalziel’s place and create a whole picture out of disconnected fragments.

In the end she got rather annoyed with his insistent questioning and said, ‘Look, Mick, I’m not in one of your interview rooms, OK? I’ve told you what happened and the net result, so far as I can see, is that I’ve got another boozed-up cop snoring in my bed!’

‘You’ve never complained before,’ he said.

‘That’s not funny.’

‘No. Sorry. Listen, I’ll talk to Andy when he wakes up…’

‘To get a truly professional picture, you mean? The things I’ve missed, or maybe the things he’s not telling me?’

‘Hey, don’t be so sensitive. We’re cops, we speak the same language, that’s all. Listen, what are you doing now?’

‘I’m sitting in the hotel garden talking to you on my phone.’

‘That’s fine. Good idea to stay there, don’t go wandering off. Look, I need to finish stuff here, than I’ll get back to you…’

‘No need. I’m perfectly capable of managing myself. And you sound like you could do with getting your head down for a couple of hours at least.’

‘Couple of days would be better. Listen, keep in touch. And remember what I say. Until we’re sure what’s going off here, be careful. Don’t go wandering off by yourself.’

Maybe she should have been touched by his concern, but all it did was irritate her.

What right did he have to start dishing out instructions? So he was worried on her behalf. How much more worried would he have been if she’d told him about her several sightings of Alex, both the obviously fallacious ones this morning, and especially the much more powerful image she’d glimpsed just before Dalziel dropped the water jug.

This was one of the reasons she’d come into the garden, to stare at the space the image had briefly occupied in hope of recreating it.

It didn’t work. She looked at her watch. Two o’clock. The christening party looked as if it was breaking up. Dalziel would soon have had his half-hour, but she suspected he might need a little more. Dissatisfied with herself and also with the tone of her conversation with Mick she rose from the bench she was sitting on and headed for the car park. Aimlessly driving around wasn’t going to advance matters but at least it was doing something in a world where men expected her to do nothing without their imprimatur.

It was of course totally non-productive. This time she didn’t even imagine she’d spotted Alex. So finally at half past three she’d returned to her room, not in the mood to make any allowances whatsoever if she found the fat slob still in her bed, which of course he was.

The shower soothed her bodily and mentally. As she was towelling herself down she heard the phone ringing in the bedroom. Checking first that the Fat Man had definitely gone, she picked up the receiver and said, ‘Hello?’

There was no reply, just a faint sound of breathing.

She said, ‘Room 25, who is this, please?’

Distantly a voice said, ‘Gina?’

She froze.

After a while the voice said, ‘Gina, you there?’

She managed to relax her throat muscles sufficiently to say, ‘Alex, is that you?’

Now it was the caller’s turn to pause. When he finally spoke, he said, ‘Yes, it’s me,’ but hesitantly, like a witness whose certainties begin to crumble in the witness box.

Gina heard the doubt and forced herself to restrain the torrent of questions welling up in her head.

She said, ‘Alex, it’s so good to hear your voice. Where are you? Can we meet?’

Another long silence made her wonder if even that had been a question too far, then the voice said, ‘Why are you here?’

She said, ‘Someone sent me the photo of you in MY Life magazine.’

‘Photo? Which photo?’ He sounded puzzled, with a faint note of alarm.