"That's OK, Mr. Priest," she replied.
I'm growing to like Annette. She's a good sport and has a pleasant nature. That Mr. Priest never fails to put me in my place, though.
Dave came in, carrying three teas, which says a lot for my department.
I found some custard creams and we told Annette all about Kermit Shermit and his filthy habits.
The others came filtering back, high on adrenalin and braggadocio.
Maggie had socked one of the Nelson brothers and the other had fallen into a stream. Good living in Tenerife had not equipped them for cross-country running. Masks and baseball bats were recovered from the Transit and a hand-drawn map was found showing directions to the house they'd intended to rob. Somebody was doing the leg work for them. Jeff sent the map to fingerprints.
We all shared in the success, and a bonus was that I didn't have to do the paperwork. In the middle of all the laughing I heard my phone ringing.
"CID, Call It Done," I said into it.
"Is that Inspector Priest?"
"Yes."
"Morning, Mr. Priest. It's Sergeant Watson from Division. As you know, the ACC leaves at the end of the week, and there's a presentation to him on Thursday night. I understand that you sometimes do cartoons for these events, and was wondering if you could knock one up for him?"
"Gosh, that's three whole days away," I replied. "I would think I could knock one up in that time. I could probably knock up a Sistine Chapel ceiling in three days."
"Oh, right, Mr. Priest. You'll send it over, will you."
"Will do."
I looked in my drawer to make sure the one I'd done three weeks earlier was still there. I didn't particularly like the ACC, so this had been a good opportunity to embarrass him. Not many people knew this, but a long time ago, when he was a humble superintendent in another division several hundred miles away, he had too much to drink at a chief constable's leaving bash and messed his trousers. He rang his wife to ask her to bring him a spare pair and skulked in the car park until she arrived with them. He took them from her, thanked her profusely, and sneaked back into the toilets to change. He took off the offending garment, stuffed it out of the window and removed the new one from the bag his good lady had handed him. It was a skirt she'd collected from the cleaner earlier in the day. My drawing recaptured the incident in all its bladder-wrenching humiliation.
It also reminded me that I needed two frames for the abstracts I'd done. One of our uniformed PCs is a dab hand at woodwork and has a nice little sideline turning out door stops and wooden apples that he sells for charity. No wooden Indians, though. I rang him and he promised to make the frames for me. He pointed out that the exhibition was next Sunday and I'd left it a bit late. I'd thought it was weeks away.
We had a debriefing in the afternoon, eating ice creams that we'd sent out for. Barry and Len Nelson had been interviewed and fed into the sausage machine for processing. They were looking at twenty years each. I deflated the euphoria by saying that we'd missed a vital opening. The bar they part-owned was called the Pigeon Pie. "And the yob we arrested for using Joe McLelland's credit card was wearing a Pigeon Pie T-shirt." I said. "We should have asked him about it."
"T-shirts from pubs in Tenerife are ten-a-penny," someone stated.
"Fair enough," I agreed, licking the runny bits from round the edges, 'but it was still a link, and we missed it."
Jeff sid: "Ah, but with luck like yours, boss, we can afford the odd mistake." He pulled the chocolate flake out and used it as a spoon.
"What do you mean, luck?" I demanded, with mock affront.
"Going to the rhubarb sheds like you did. That was dead jam my "Luck had nothing to do with it. Good detective work, that's what it was. Right, Dave?"
"Right, Charlie," he mumbled with his mouth full.
"So how did you know to look there?" Jeff asked.
"In the rhubarb sheds?"
"Mmm."
"I'll tell you. Remember what O'Keefe said about elephant?"
"Mmm."
"So what did we call rhubarb when we were kids?"
Tusky," someone chipped in.
"There you go, then."
Jeff shook his head in disbelief.
Later, as we left for home, Dave said: "You didn't really make the link between tusky and elephant, did you?"
We were in the car park. I looked over my shoulder, then under my car and behind his. When I was absolutely sure we were alone I leaned closer and said: "I might have done."
I called in the supermarket for some ready meals and filled up with petrol. It's over three pounds a gallon now. That's something else not many people know. My favourite checkout girl was there but I went to someone else just in case she's beginning to wonder about me. Three times in a month is stalker territory.
The council had written to me to ask my address and if I still lived alone. I put es No Yes No Yes No. An insurance company reminded me that I was at a dangerous age and somebody else thought that I'd benefit from listening to the best bits of every piece of classical music ever recorded. Nearly two years of it, for only 149.99. No postcards. I had chicken korma, a currant square and tea, followed by a short snooze in an armchair.
Action is the best antidote for lethargy so I washed the car. The next-door neighbour couldn't believe his eyes and sent for his wife to come and see. "There's no hose pipe ban, then?" he whined.
"It's odd numbers this week," I explained.
"Oh," he said, and nodded knowingly.
I was flicking round the channels, trying to decide whether to watch TV or stand on one leg for a couple of hours, when the phone rang.
"Charlie Priest," I intoned into it, almost absent-mindedly.
"Charlie, it's Arthur." Arthur's the duty sergeant.
"Hello, Arthur," I said. "What's gone wrong now?"
"Bloke been after you. Said I'd give you his number. He's called Nick Kingston; do you know him?"
"Kingston? Yes, I know him. Fire away."
I didn't ring him immediately. I went over all the possibilities in my head and rehearsed the answers. Les Isles was planning to see him and I concluded that Kingston wanted to grill me about that. Les and I had agreed that he'd say we were involved in two separate inquiries; him into Fox's death, me into the fire of 1975.
He must have been waiting by the phone, and answered with a cheery:
"Nick Kingston."
"DI Priest," I said. "You've been after me."
"Charlie!" he gushed. "Thanks for ringing. Have you seen the forecast?"
"The forecast? What forecast?" I asked.
"The weather for tonight," he explained. "Bright and clear, but best of all, it's a full moon, and it rises at just after one. It'll be another world up there, Charlie. Francesca and I are going up Helvellyn. Fancy coming with us, eh?"
"Helvellyn?" I mumbled. This hadn't been in my expectations.
"That's right. High enough, but nice and straightforward. We'll see the stars in all their glory, and then the biggest moon you've ever seen in your life will come over the horizon. It's a perfect night, I guarantee you'll never forget it. Power will be in the air. Shall we wait for you?"
"Oh, er," I stumbled. "Er, it'll take me a couple of hours to get there."
"Good man, Charlie. You're in for a treat. Shall we say the car park at Patterdale, at midnight?"
I looked at my watch. "I've my boots to find," I said. "I might be a few minutes late."
"We'll wait for you. See you soon."
I knew exactly where my boots were. Right where I took them off last time. The kettle had just boiled so I made a flask of coffee and pushed it into my rucksack with a packet of biscuits and a sweater. I donned a thicker shirt and my Gore-Tex jacket and turned the lights out.
First stop was Heckley nick. I punched the code into the lock on the back door and let myself in. We were in the lull before the pubs shut.