lightning conductors sticking towards the sky. Except that the copper fairies had already removed everything non- ferrous from this one.
'It's an old Coal Board substation,' Sparky explained.
'Where did you leave the money?' I asked.
'Inside. There's a pit in the floor, with the old door across it. I had to leave the money in the pit.'
'OK. You two wait here; I'll have a look.'
I picked my way through the wet grass to the gaping doorway of the building. A pair of magpies flew up and crashed noisily through the branches of the surrounding silver birches. Inside was a rotting jumble of domestic garbage. Liberally strewn about were screwed-up pieces of pink toilet tissue.
Yuk! I thought, wishing I'd asked Sparky to do the dirty work.
The big door that had once protected the entrance now lay inside, on the floor. It was reinforced with a steel sheet, but fortunately had a large handle to grasp hold of.
I tugged at it. It was heavier than I'd expected. Slowly a hole underneath was revealed. I pulled some more and exposed the secret of the substation. There was a Nike sports bag down there. I lifted it out and wrenched back the zip. It's hard to judge these things, but at a rough guess I'd say it contained about three hundred and fifty thousand smackeroos.
We tipped the money into the boot of my car and put the bag, with a few stones inside, back down the hole.
'You didn't tell me it was a public convenience,' Sparky complained as he helped me push the door back over the hole.
'Just watch where you put your feet,' I told him. 'And wipe them before you get in the car.'
We phoned the local CID and a sergeant arrived a few minutes later. He was sceptical at first, but I lifted my boot lid and showed him some real money. It convinced him.
'Fuckinell! I wish I'd known that was in there. How long do you want us to watch for?' he said.
'A couple of days should be enough. I'll make it right with your super. Now, do you mind if we leave you and continue with our treasure hunt?'
He didn't mind. As we drove away he was radioing for assistance. 'Back to the roundabout and take the Blythe road,' instructed Sparky. I did as I was told.
'Quarter of a mile, left on a dirt road.'
It was marked Private, owned by the local council and leading to a storage area for their vehicles and various materials like lampposts and road grit. After a while a narrow bridge took us over the Al and the road petered out. We were in a wood again.
'Next instructions, please,' I asked.
'I had to park here, leaving the car unlocked, then walk through the trees to the services. They're about a quarter of a mile away. After an hour I was to come back. Georgina should have been in the car.'
'I see. OK, you and DS Sparkington retrace your steps to the services.
I'll guard the money. See how long it takes you, Dave.'
'Right, boss.'
My bladder was complaining of neglect. As soon as they were out of sight I watered the grass beneath an oak tree. Then I telephoned Heckley CID.
'Heckley CID. DS Newley speaking. Can I help you?'
I had to admit it: Nigel would make a brilliant telephonist. 'Hi, Nigel. It's Charlie.'
'Hello, boss. Where are you?'
'Somewhere in deepest South Yorkshire. Listen, I want you to do a little job for me.'
'Fire away. I'm all ears.'
'In the car park is a Nissan Patrol. It belongs to Miles Dewhurst.'
'Yes, I've seen it.'
'Good. The keys are at the front desk. Raise a friendly SOCO and have him go over it with his sticky tape. Just take a few samples for the file.'
'Will do. Anything in particular?'
'Not really. A few fibres from a pink toilet roll might be interesting. Check his driving gloves, if he has any. Take some prints from them. You've got about… oh, two hours, no more.'
Villains assume they are safe if they wear gloves, not realising that we have a secret weapon. These days we can take glove prints We had another cup pa at the services and returned to Heckley at a leisurely pace. Sparky and I could have eaten a mangy gnu between us, but Dewhurst said he wasn't hungry and it seemed unsympathetic to tuck into anything in his presence.
Gilbert gave Dewhurst a bollocking, or as close to one as I've ever heard him deliver. Gilbert's reprimands are normally of such well-honed subtlety that you come away thinking you've been praised until you reflect on it afterwards. I almost felt sorry for Dewhurst as he loaded the money into the Nissan and drove back to The Firs, Edgely Lane, via his bank. No, I didn't.
'So?' Gilbert said, after we'd settled down in his office with a coffee each.
'Got any biscuits?' I asked.
'Sorry, no. How'd it go?'
'Complete waste of tine. It was a good scheme, could have worked.
Don't believe a word of it, though.'
'It was a bit risky, leaving the money, don't you think?'
'A bit, but not much. The place was full of toilet paper. You didn't feel like doing much nosing around in there. I think it was a ploy to keep people away.'
'We could always send Scenes of Crime to give it a good going-over,'
Gilbert suggested with a wicked smile. 'Why didn't he just steal the money and make it look as if it had been picked up?' he added.
'Then he'd have his own money, but illegally. And we'd be more suspicious.'
'Mmm.'
'Let's keep playing him along, Gilbert. Things are building up we'll get a breakthrough soon.'
Gilbert looked grave. 'I'm afraid you might not have the chance,' he said.
'Why not?'
'Acting Chief Constable Partridge has been on to me. He wants us to spin Dewhurst's premises. I let him know your feelings, so he said you can have a fortnight.'
I stared at Gilbert in disbelief. 'A fortnight?' I repeated. 'Why a fortnight? What difference does it make if it takes a month? Or a year?'
'That's what he said.'
'He's mad. We'll blow it. Everything we've got is circumstantial.
You've seen Dewhurst perform; he'll twist a jury round his Filofax.
We'll be the baddies; or I will be.'
I'd stood up to leave, but I sat down again. Dewhurst's story about how he was missing his little girl had been heavily featured in the tabloids. He was receiving letters of sympathy from all over the country, and prayers were regularly said for him in the local churches.
If we went off half-cocked I'd be as popular as a turd in a Jacuzzi.
'You're naive, Charlie,' Gilbert stated.
'So it appears. Go on.'
He sat back in his big chair and tapped the polished top of his desk with a pencil. He said: 'Acting Chief Constable Partridge's immediate, overriding ambition is not to apprehend little Georgina's abductor. No, it's to lose the Acting tag. It's the chief constables' conference in three weeks and he'll be there. Sometime after that there'll be the interviews for the vacancy. This is a high-profile case and he wants an arrest under his belt. The result, when it eventually comes to court, is secondary. If it goes wrong he'll be able to say that it was initiated before his appointment. In the interim he'll take all the credit.'
I shook my head slowly from side to side. 'You're right, Gilbert,' I said. 'Naive is hardly the word. I thought all we had to do was catch villains.'
'He's an ambitious man, Charlie.'
