Suddenly Dalziel was there. How a man of his girt could be sudden, Broomfield never knew, but when he wanted he could lurk like a Brazilian striker. 'George, what are you saying? Cooperation's the key word here. Isn't that young Hector I see through there playing with himself? Send him out to help. Fragile stuff, is it. Sergeant?'
Proctor, recognizing the weight of authority, said, 'Yes, sir. Couple of computers, software, hardware, that sort of thing.' Broomfield was looking alarmed. Not even a cockney deserved PC Hector, who didn't break cups when he washed up, he broke sinks. 'Computers, eh?' said Dalziel. 'Then Hector's your man. Strong as an ox. Hector! Come on out here!' He stood by the desk till Proctor and the bewildered-looking constable had gone into the car park. Then he said very seriously to Broomfield, 'These people are our guests, George. We've got to take care of them,' and set off up the stairs. He'd reached the first landing when he heard the first crash, and its accompanying cry of anguish followed him all the way up to the second. He smiled and went on his way to Sergeant Wield's room. 'Don't get up,' he said to the Sergeant who hadn't moved. 'The lad not back yet?' 'No, sir.' 'Bloody nuisance. I wish he'd not volunteer all the time for these skives.'
Wield, who knew very well that it was Dalziel who had volunteered Pascoe for the cadet lecture ('right up your street, being a Master of Ceremonies or whatever it is you are'), said nothing. 'Tell him to drop in when he gets back, will you?' Dalziel hesitated at the door, then went on, 'Matter of no importance, but how's he been looking to you lately?' 'Bit rough,' said Wield. 'He's not really been himself since that lass jumped off the cathedral tower. It seemed to knock all the stuffing out of him, somehow.' 'Certainly knocked the stuffing out of her,' said Dalziel. He stared hard at Wield's inscrutably craggy features as though challenging him to reprove his callousness, but the Sergeant just held his gaze unflinchingly. 'Right,' said Dalziel.
'Well, keep an eye on him, eh? I know I can rely on your feminine intuition.' He went on to his own office, opened a drawer, and took out the glass of Scotch he'd been drinking when he'd noticed the South Thames van pulling into the car park below his window. He was just finishing it when the door burst open and Hiller came in. 'Well, come on in, Geoff,' said Dalziel pleasantly. 'Have a seat. Getting settled in, are you?' Hiller remained standing. 'I think it's time to lay a few ground rules,' he said. 'First, in front of other officers, I think we should observe protocol. That means "sir" not "Geoff", OK?'
'Fair enough. No Geoffing around,' said Dalziel. 'Secondly, Inspector Stubbs tells me he found you in the room allocated to us by your man Pascoe.' 'Just checking you had everything you need, Geoff. Pascoe's a good lad but a bit rough at the edges. He might have overlooked a few of the refinements.' 'I found Mr Pascoe very helpful and obliging,' said Hiller. 'But I want to make it clear that my inquiry room, especially now I've got my equipment here, is off-limits to all Mid-Yorkshire staff. That includes you, Andy. And especially it includes that moron, Hector. Is he brain- damaged or what?' 'Hector?
He's reckoned to be one of our high fliers.' 'He'll fly high if he comes within kicking distance of my boot,' said Hiller. A joke, thought Dalziel. Adolf had really come a long way. 'That all, is it?' he inquired politely. 'Just one more thing. While I was talking to Mrs Tallantire yesterday, she let slip that you'd been asking her about Wally's personal papers.' 'Oh aye? Then she'll have told you that there weren't any,' said Dalziel. 'Yes, that's what she said you said,' replied Hiller. 'You're not implying I'd try to hide summat as important as that?' said Dalziel indignantly. 'I'm implying nothing.
I'm saying loud and clear that if I get any proof that you're attempting to interfere with or obstruct my inquiry in any way, I'll bury you, Andy.' 'You'd need to scratch a big hole, Geoff,' said Dalziel, his fingers mining his groin as if in illustration. Hiller smiled thinly. 'I don't do my own digging any more,' he said. 'By the way, I've asked Mr Trimble if your DCI Pascoe can act as liaison between us. Like I said before, he seems a sensible sort of fellow, and I think it's in all our interests to keep things on an even keel.'
'Right,' said Dalziel. 'Pascoe's your man for even keels. Full of ballast. It'll be plain sailing with him.' 'Plain sailing's what we all want, isn't it?' said Hiller. Dalziel showed him out with all the surface regret of a society host losing a favourite guest. He watched him out of sight along the corridor then he said, 'You can come out now.' The door to the storeroom opposite opened and Pascoe emerged.
'Saw you lurking a few minutes back,' said Dalziel. 'Hear all that, did you?' 'The door was open,' said Pascoe defensively. 'Don't apologize. There's three things a good copper never passes up on, and one of 'em's a chance to eavesdrop.' Pascoe didn't care to inquire as to the other two. He followed Dalziel into his room and said, 'In this case, eavesdropping hasn't left me much the wiser. I'd appreciate being told what's really going off here.' 'You've stopped reading the papers and watching the telly, have you?' 'I've not had much time recently.' 'Oh aye? Family all right, are they?' Why was it so hard to tell Dalziel anything without getting the sense he knew it already?
Pascoe said as casually as he could, 'Fine. Well, in fact, Ellie's away visiting her mother for a couple of days. And Rosie too, of course. The old girl's been a bit under the weather. The strain of looking after Ellie's father. He's got Alzheimer's, remember? He's gone totally now, no memory, never speaks, incontinent, the works. So they got him into a home last month and now Ellie's gone down just to check her mum's coping…' He was talking too much. Dalziel said, 'OK, is she?' 'Yes. I think so. I mean, Ellie rang just to say they'd got there OK…' A message on his answering machine. 'Peter, we've arrived safely. Rosie sends her love. I'll ring again tomorrow.' He hadn't tried to ring back. 'Well, it's an ill wind,' said Dalziel.
'Lots of time on your hands now to catch up with what's going off. You must've seen that telly programme yon Yank, Waggs, made, a while back?
The one that caused the big stink?' Pascoe shook his head. 'Well, no great loss. Them TV twats get carried away. Funny angles, fancy music, all film festival stuff without the titties in the sand. I've got a video of it I'll show you some time, but best for background is this radio thing they did a couple of years back before they started this miscarriage of justice crap. I don't suppose you heard that either?'
He rummaged in a drawer, brought out an audio cassette. 'You listen to that. That was the truth for twenty-five years. Now they're telling us it's a load of lies.' Pascoe took the cassette and said, 'I gather you know Mr Hiller from way back.' 'Oh aye. He got dumped on us but Wally soon saw him off. I reckon that's how he's got on so well. Everyone he worked for'd be so keen to get shot of the bugger, they'd give him a glowing testimonial to get him on his way! Big mistake. You don't get rid of a snake by pushing it into someone else's garden. You keep it close where you can stamp on it.' 'It's a nice theory,' said Pascoe.
'But he must have some ability.' 'Too true. The ability to dig up whatever bones the Emmies have buried for him and come running back with them, wagging his tiny tail behind him.' 'I'm sorry?' said Pascoe, baffled. 'Emmies? I don't quite follow…' 'Emmies!' said Dalziel in exasperation. 'MI this, MI that. The funny buggers.' 'The Security Services, you mean? Come on, sir! Why the hell should Security be interested in Mickledore Hall?' Dalziel shook his head.