Free Death Comes for the Fat Man by Reginald Hill Page B

before heading into her “study” to get on with some very necessary work on her second novel.
    (If asked – which few people dared–how things were going, Ellie would reply that it was one of the great myths of publishing that the most diffi cult thing of all was to follow up the success of a universally acclaimed first novel. No, the really difficult thing was to produce a second novel after your first had attracted as much attention as a fart in a thunderstorm.)
    Now she reimmersed herself in her book, confident that all she needed to do here to produce a best-seller was apply the same subtle understanding of human nature that she had just demonstrated in her management of her husband.
    Meanwhile, two streets away, Pascoe was climbing into a car driven by Edgar Wield, who wasn’t happy.

    d e a t h c o m e s f o r t h e fa t m a n 61
    “Ellie’s going to kill me when she finds out,” he said.
    “Relax. She’ll not find out,” said Pascoe confi dently.
    Wield didn’t reply. In his experience there were two people who always found out, and one of them was Ellie Pascoe.
    The other was still lying in a coma.
    “So what’s Sinister Sandy up to?” said Pascoe.
    “Oh this and that,” said Wield vaguely.
    Pascoe looked at him suspiciously.
    “Start with this, then move on to that,” he ordered.
    “Well, she plays her antiterrorist stuff pretty close, that’s understandable,” said Wield. “But with us being a bit shorthanded at the top, it’s been a real help her being an old mucker of Desperate Dan’s. She keeps well back from the hands-on stuff, of course—says it’s our patch, so it should be our calls—but when it comes to structuring organization and paperwork, she’s really got on top of things. Now it’s not just Andy who knows what’s going off, it’s the lot of us.”
    Pascoe’s suspicions were thickening by the second. Praise from Wield on matters of organization was praise indeed. Well, he was entitled to call it like he saw it. But that crack about Dalziel came close to high treason.
    He said, “You sound like you’re a convert, Wieldy. Hey, you didn’t tell her I rang this morning, did you?”
    “What do you think I am?” said Wield, hurt. “Anyway, she had to drive down to Nottingham. The Carradice trial’s started and she’s involved.”
    “Involved in the great cock-up, is she?” said Pascoe, not without satisfaction. “God, and she’s the one calling the shots in our investigation!”
    They drove the rest of the way to their destination in silence except for the excited panting of Tig, who always insisted on having a car window open sufficiently for him to stick his snout out. Basically a terrier, he condescended to treat most humans as equals on condition they fed him, played games to his rules, and took him on adventurous walks, all that is except Rosie Pascoe, whom he had elected Queen of the Universe.
    Now as the car came to a halt the little dog tried to squeeze the rest of his body through the narrow gap in his eagerness to explore what to him was new terrain.

    62 r e g i n a l d h i l l
    “So here we are,” said Wield. “What do you want to do?”
    “Just take a look,” said Pascoe. “No harm in that, is there?”
    They were parked at the end of Mill Street. The rubble of the wrecked terrace had not yet been cleared away and barriers had been set up at either end of the street. A PC Pascoe recognized as a probationer called Andersen regarded them suspiciously till Wield wound down the window and waved.
    “Taking their time, tidying up,” observed Pascoe. “That down to Glenister?”
    “I suppose. But the Council Works Department are still assessing damage to the viaduct wall. Word is it looks OK and they’re starting running trains over it again with a ten mph speed restriction. The diversions were causing absolute chaos.”
    “So bad that folk noticed, you mean?” said Pascoe. “What about our royal visitant?”
    “Coming by chopper. What he