The Death of Dalziel: A Dalziel and Pascoe Novel
The highly anticipated return of Dalziel and Pascoe, the hugely popular police duo and stars of the long-running BBC TV series, in a new psychological thriller.Caught in a huge Semtex explosion, it seems the only thing preventing Superintendent Andy Dalziel from death is his size – and sheer bloody-mindedness.An injured DCI Peter Pascoe is convinced there’s a conspiracy at work, despite the security services concluding the blast was in fact an accident. Who, then, are the mysterious Knights Templar with their gruesome acts of vengeance? And what of a hit-and-run on one of Pascoe’s colleagues? And, most importantly, will Dalziel ever wake up to hear the truth…?
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REGINALD HILL
THE DEATH OF DALZIEL
A Dalziel and Pascoe novel
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain
by HarperCollinsPublishers 2007
Copyright © Reginald Hill 2007
Reginald Hill asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780007313228
Ebook Edition © JULY 2015 ISBN: 9780007353590 Version: 2015-06-25
For the peacemakerswhichever godâs children they are
What, old acquaintance? Could not all this flesh Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewellâ¦Death hath not struck so fat a deer today.
Shakespeare Henry IV Part 1, Act V scene iv
A Knight of the Temple who kills an evil man should not be condemned for killing the man but praised for killing the evil.
St Bernard of Clairvaux,
Liber ad milites Templi
never much of a street
westâthe old wool mill a prison block in dry blood brick its staring windows now blinded by boards its clatter and chatter a distant echo through white haired heads
eastâsix narrow houses under one weary roof huddling against the high embankment that arrows southern trains into the cityâs northern heart
few passengers ever notice Mill Street
never much of a street
in winterâs depth a cold crevassespring and autumn much the same
but occasionallyon a still summer day
with sun soaring high in a cloudless skyMill Street becomesdesert canyon overbrimming with heat
At least it gives me an excuse for sweating, thought Peter Pascoe as he scuttled towards the shelter of the first of the two cars parked across the road from Number 3.
âYou hurt your back?â asked Detective Superintendent Andy Dalziel as his DCI slumped to the pavement beside him.
âSorry?â panted Pascoe.
âYou were moving funny.â
âI was taking precautions.â
âOh aye? Iâd stick to the tablets. What the hell are you doing here anyway? Bank Holidayâs been cancelled, has it? Or are you just bunking off from weeding the garden?â
âIn fact I was sunbathing in it. Then Paddy Ireland rang and said there was a siege situation and you were a bit short on specialist manpower so could I help.â
âSpecialist? Didnât know you were a marksman.â
Pascoe took a deep breath and wondered what kind of grinning God defied His own laws by allowing Dalzielâs fleshy folds, swaddled in a three-piece suit, to look so cool, while his own spare frame, clad in cotton jeans and a Leeds United T-shirt, was generating more heat than PMâs Question Time.
