‘Where’ve you been skiving all day?’
‘Oh, you know. A little shopping, weeded a couple of herbaceous borders, took in a show.’ I plonked K. Tom Davis’s file of poison pen letters on her desk. ‘Take a look at those when you have a minute, but not as bedtime reading.’
‘What are they?’
‘Customer reaction, after losing their life savings. Oh, and when you have a chance have a word with the Devonshire Hotel, please, find out who’s been staying there the last couple of nights. Anything for me?’
‘No. The couple of villains among the creditors had alibis that you could have lined a nuclear reactor with. I suppose it would have been less suspicious if they hadn’t.’
‘You mean they could have taken a contract out on Goodrich?’
‘It’s possible?’
‘I don’t know. It wasn’t exactly an IRA job, and I can’t see the Mafia sentencing anyone to death by blow to the head with a flower pot, can you?’
‘Unless they realised he was already dead.’
‘Mmm. Could be.’
‘Mike Freer rang,’ she told me. ‘Said you’d offered to do a bust for him. Wants a word with you about it. Apparently a load of heroin from the Continent has suddenly started appearing on the streets.’
‘Great.’ I tried his number but he wasn’t in.
‘How’s Annabelle keeping?’ Margaret enquired as I replaced the phone. She’s kept a weather eye on my love- life ever since my divorce.
‘Huh, don’t ask,’ I snorted.
‘Oh no,’ she sighed. ‘What have you done now?’
I told her about the swans in the park, about Donald and the episode with the rat, and how I had purloined his coffee mug for a sample of his prints.
She shook her head with disbelief. ‘This is serious, Charlie,’ she declared.
‘You think so?’
‘You let her down and I bet that’s a big sin in the eyes of someone like Annabelle. This is going to take more than a bunch of flowers.’
I was saved from further depression by the phone. ‘What’s the difference between an astronaut and constipation?’ Mike Freer’s voice intoned in my ear.
‘I’m…longing to hear,’ I told him.
‘An astronaut goes to Mars but constipation mars your goes.’
‘Gosh, yes. What else did it say on your cornflakes packet?’
‘It said that we’d be very grateful if you could hit Michael Angelo. We picked somebody up who’d just made a collection from him, at his home. It’s the same stuff that we’re finding all over the place. From the Continent, and we think he’s the major distributor.’
‘How do you know it’s all the same stuff?’
‘Analysis — gas chromatography, mass spectrometers, all that gizmology. Far too complicated for you, Charlie. Basically, what it tells us is that if it grew in yak shit, it comes from Tibet. We can nearly describe which field.’
‘Right. Let me give it some thought. Pencil us in for the middle of next week.’
‘Will do. Oh, and Charlie…’
‘What?’
‘Remember, possession might be nine points of the law, but it’s twelve at Scrabble.’
‘Definitely, and there’s many a true word spoken in Chester. S’long. I’ve work to do.’
I replaced the phone before he could come back to me and gave my brow a mock wipe.
‘Freer, at a guess,’ Maggie said.
‘The one and only.’
‘No, he’s not — I know where there’s a big houseful like him. So what are we doing next week?’
I rocked back on my chair and tried to grip my pen between my nose and top lip, but I couldn’t manage it. Outside, the sun was shining, and a couple of jet fighters streaked by, a long way off, looking for defenceless sheep to fire pretend missiles at. I might have been a fighter pilot, if you didn’t have to wear those overalls with pockets down below the knees.
‘Maggie,’ I said.
‘Yes, Charles.’
‘What would happen…just supposing…if I did something really stupid? I mean…stupid. Would they retire me early, do you think?’
‘How stupid do you mean?’
‘Stupid stupid.’
‘That stupid?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Nobody would notice.’
‘C’mon, Maggie. I’m being serious.’
‘OK. What you’re saying is, if you did something that was an embarrassment to the force, would they retire you early on full pension?’
‘Exactly,’ I declared, giving her a thumbs-up.
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘Shit. Why not?’
‘Times are changing. They won’t let you out on ill health these days if you still have one of all the things God gave us two of.’
‘Mmm, that’s a disappointment. Never mind, we’ll do it just the same.’
‘Do what, Charlie? Trying to hold a conversation with you is worse than talking to Freer.’
‘Right. I’ve just invented something called a rhubarb run, and we hold the first one next week, against Michael Angelo Watts. Pass the telephone directory across, please. I’ll just make a phone call and then explain it to you. Do you think they still have a sewage department at City Hall?’
They did, but it wasn’t called that. Maggie and I drove over to talk to the people who ran it and spent half an hour poring over street plans of the Sylvan Fields estate. It’s unbelievable what’s going off under our feet.
‘It’s no wonder the roads are so bumpy,’ I said, in a spirit of understanding of their problems. The surveyor who was helping us nodded his agreement and smiled happily.
‘They’re not bumpy in Bourton-on-the-Water,’ Maggie reminded him.
We explained what we were trying to do, and made a firm arrangement to meet two of their staff at six thirty on the following Wednesday morning. We would be paying their overtime. Gilbert would love this, but I decided not to spoil his holiday by telling him before he went. On the way out we had a little explore, wandering along corridors that had coloured arrows on the floor and lighting that didn’t cast shadows. The signs and furniture were a cross between Habitat and the Early Learning Centre.
‘It makes Heckley nick look like a squat,’ Maggie remarked.
Back at the nick I said, ‘Put the kettle on, Maggie,’ as we strode into the office, adding, ‘Bet they’re not allowed their own kettles at City Hall.’ The young constable who’d discovered Goodrich’s body was standing near my desk, helmet under his arm like a guardsman at a court martial. ‘Hello, Graham,’ I greeted him, hoping I’d remembered the name correctly. ‘Come to ask for a transfer to CID?’
‘No, sir. I was wondering if I could have a word with you in private.’ He sounded worried.
‘Sure,’ I replied, adjusting to serious mode. ‘Come into the inner sanctum.’ I turned and raised my eyebrows at Maggie and led him into my little partitioned-off office space.
‘Sit down, Graham. Now, what can I do for you?’
‘I’ve come to apologise, sir, for the hair.’
‘I thought I’d told you to stop calling me sir.’
‘Sorry, Mr Priest.’
