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'It's all there,' he said. 'It had fallen out of his pocket when he fell, I suppose. When I saw all them notes, I just stuck it in my jacket, just for safety. Then when I heard he was dead, I didn't say owt. And when no one else said owt about any missing money, well, I began to wonder if I hadn't best hang on to it.'

Hammy had accompanied them to the station. There had been no debate. Seymour was not about to argue with a dog which even an upright man, not dying and in daylight, might be forgiven for mistaking for a horse.

Pascoe doubted if it would come to prison for Cox, but it wasn't up to him.

'Get a statement, put the fear of God into him, then send him home till we need him again,' he said.

'On bail, you mean?'

'Who needs bail with a dog like that?' asked Pascoe. 'Can you imagine him fleeing the country with Hammy in tow?'

Hector showed surprising stubbornness when Seymour tried to wish the taking of the statement off on him.

'I'm off duty in an hour,' he said.

'So it probably won't take that long,' said Seymour. 'Anyway, what's wrong with a bit of overtime? You've not got anything urgent to do, have you?'

'Yes, I have,' replied Hector surprisingly.

'Oh,' said Seymour, taken aback. 'In that case…'

The one thing about Hector was that you always knew if he was lying. It was something about the way the rather pointed tips of his ears went bright red and he started stammering like a loose sash-window in a high wind. When he told the truth, on the other hand, he merely looked gormless. As now.

Seymour had finished taking the statement and was seeing. Cox and, more importantly, Hammy, safely off the premises when Charley Frostick walked in, looking very smart in his uniform.

'Is that Inspector Pascoe around?' he demanded of the desk sergeant.

'Could be, colonel,' answered the elderly sergeant to whom inferiority of rank negated the need for his customary courtesy. 'What's your business with him?'

'Private,' said Charley.

'Well, it wouldn't be general,' quipped the sergeant, grinning broadly in self-applause.

Seymour intervened.

'It's Mr Frostick, isn't it? I'll look after this, Sarge.'

On their way upstairs, he ascertained that all Charley wanted to do was have a look at his grandfather's medals. Pascoe agreed to see the youth straight away and Seymour left them together.

'Your mum identified them,' said Pascoe, spreading them out on the desk. 'You weren't around.'

'Yeah. I know. I just wanted to take a walk by myself. It really gets me, thinking that the bastard that did that to Granda is walking around free somewhere. I'd like to get my hands on him, me and a few of my mates, just for five minutes..’

A look of rage settled on the young man's face, but not altogether convincingly. It was, Pascoe suspected, conventional, an expression learned to please instructors during bayonet practice or whatever aggressive equivalent the modern army went in for nowadays. Here it was a macho mask for the deeper feelings of grief and pain which had sent this likeable young man in search of solitude after yesterday's funeral. Not that he wouldn't be capable of taking a swing at his grandfather's killer if confronted by him, but who wouldn't?

The boy examined the medals, the stage rage fading from his face as he touched the faded ribbons and ran his fingers over the embossed metal.

'You didn't get the watch, then?' he said.

'No,' said Pascoe. 'I gather that had Mr Deeks's name on. The medals are anonymous. Your grandfather never had them engraved.'

'Never saw no need to,' said Charley. 'He knew they were his, and he said no one else mattered 'cos you had to win your own medals. But I'd like them, specially if his watch never turns up. He always said I was to have the watch; that was useful, he said. But I'd like the medals.'

'They'll be returned to your mother eventually,' said Pascoe, removing the medals and putting in their place the Identikit picture made up with Mr Moody's help. Moody had not been a good witness and the picture was even less convincingly human than usual.

'This remind you of anyone?' he asked.

'Yeah,' said Charley.

'Really. Who?'

'One of the Kraut gardeners in Germany. And he's a bit like that Scottish sweeper, him who played in the last World Cup.'

With a sigh, Pascoe removed the useless picture and asked, 'When do you go back?'

'Tonight.'

'As soon as that?'

Charley nodded and said, 'To tell the truth, I could've stayed till Sunday, but now with the funeral over and all, well, there's nothing to keep me. Don't get me wrong, it's grand seeing me mam and dad again, but you can't be sitting around the house all the time, and I'd as lief get back to me mates.'

'No mates around here any more?'

'Well, yeah, I suppose so. Only it's not the same, is it, not now I'm in the Army. I could put on my civvies, I suppose, and go round some of the old places, but it'd just be me talking big and telling them how bloody marvellous it was in the Army, and likely there'd be a bit of aggro. I could always go to the depot and see some of the boys there, but if I'm going to do that, I might as well be back with me real mates in Germany. There's always a lot going off on Saturday night, you can have a right good time over there.'

Pascoe smiled, liking Charley more and more and thinking he'd done well to get out of the clutches of the anorectic Andrea.

'You'll be able to chase the Frauleins with a clear conscience now,' he said, testing the strength of the separation.

'Eh?'

'Now you're not engaged.'

'Oh. Yeah, that's true, I suppose.'

He didn't sound too convinced.

Pascoe probed further, thinking Ellie would be amused at his interest, but also just as keen to know.

'Have you seen Andrea again?'

He thought for a moment he was going to be told, quite rightly, that it was none of his sodding business, but Charley settled for shaking his head.

'Right, then,' said Pascoe, feeling it was time the interview came to an end.

'She's started her new job,' said Charley abruptly. 'Her mam told me.'

'At Haycroft Grange?'

'Yeah. She'll like it there. Married folk. Like there was at that Paradise Hall.'

'She didn't seem to like it there much.'

'I think she did till she got the sack. It was me as didn't like her being there.'

'Why? It was handy for the camp, surely.'

'Yeah, there was that all right. No, it was just the idea of her sleeping there, you know. She just laughed and said there was nothing to worry about, the owner was an old poof.'

'Oh? A married old poof,' corrected Pascoe.

'Yeah, I know. But she said it didn't make any difference. She thought he was still as queer as a clockwork orange.'

'And what did you think?' inquired Pascoe, maliciously amused at these descriptions of Jeremy Abbiss.

'Me? I never met him.'

Ah, but he met you, thought Pascoe, recalling Abbiss's description of catching them in flagrante across the reception desk.

But hadn't Abbiss said that words were exchanged?

He said carefully, 'You mean that when you used to visit Andrea at Paradise Hall you never encountered Mr Abbiss, the proprietor.'

'No, never laid eyes on him,' said Charley. 'I made sure of that, didn't I? Andrea said it was all right, she was entitled to use her room the way she liked, but I didn't want any trouble, not with me still doing my training and all that.'

He rose to his feet and awkwardly held out his hand.

'Cheerio, Mr Pascoe,' he said. 'I hope you get the bastard. It's not a right way to end up, not after living all them years, is it?'

'Perhaps after all those years it doesn't make too much difference, Charley,' said Pascoe gently. 'But rest assured, we'll do our best.'

He sat for a little while in deep thought after the boy had left, then summoned Wield. ‘Sergeant,' he said. 'How do you fancy a little trip to Paradise?'