'On it or in it?'
'On top of it.'
'Wasn't that a bit… wet?'
'No. We got dry first. We dried each other, then went to the bedroom.
One thing led to anuvver and we did it again. She was lapping it up, and I was past caring what she was like. It was bloody good.'
'So you dried her and she dried you,' Maggie stated.
'Yeah, that's right.'
'One towel each or did you share it?'
'Er, one each, I fink.'
Turner stopped twiddling his pencil.
'What colour were they?' Maggie asked.
'Inspector,' Turner said, ignoring Maggie. 'In a moment of such high passion I think it unlikely that any man would remember the colour of the towels, don't you agree?'
I ignored him and when his words had settled out of the air Maggie repeated the question. 'What colour were the towels, Darryl?'
'White,' Buxton said, defiantly. 'They was white.'
We tried to pin him down with other details, but it was like trying to lasso the clouds. Janet, he'd claimed, had asked him to stay the night with her. When he refused she wanted to know when he would see her again, and what his phone number was. He'd made it plain that this was just a one-night stand, whereupon she'd demanded money. Darryl, as we already guessed, had 'never paid for it in his life'.
Crying 'Rape!' Turner told us, was the last resort of an unscrupulous rejected woman.
We bailed him to report back in twenty-eight days but we were only posturing. As we hadn't charged him we couldn't even apply conditions.
We suggested that it might be a good idea for him to stay away from Mrs. Saunders and the Tap and Spile and Turner nodded wisely. It wasn't much to offer Janet but it was the best we could do.
We watched them leave, Turner holding the door wide for his client, ushering him away to safety.
'The boss wants you,' the custody sergeant said as he closed his book.
'Since when?'
'He rang down about an hour ago.'
I looked up at the clock. 'Is he still here?'
'Yep.'
'Right. I'm on my way.'
Maggie said: 'What do you want me to tell Janet, Boss?'
'The truth?' I suggested, after a few seconds' thought. 'But break it gently. Tomorrow will do, Maggie. Have a think about it overnight.'
The superintendent was up to his elbows in paperwork when I breezed into his office. 'Just the man,' he said. 'What would you prefer: body armour for everyone; three police dogs; or new tyres on the pandas?'
'Decisions, decisions, decisions,' I replied. 'I wouldn't have your job for all the tea in Greenland.'
He replaced the cap on his fountain pen. 'I suppose that's why they pay me such vast amounts of money. So, how did it go?'
'Like trying to kill a pig by stuffing butter up its bum with a hot knitting needle.'
'Slippery, eh?'
'Fraid so. He has us over a barrel and he knows it.' I gave him the gist of the interview.
'In which case,' Gilbert said, with that self-satisfied expression on his face that means he's found an easy way to break bad news, 'you should have some time on your hands.'
'I wouldn't go that far. What is it?'
'Your friend Chief Superintendent Isles has been on the phone.
Apparently DCI Makinson has broken his leg while attempting a double-back flip-flop, with pike, and is now lying in Invercock-a-leekie hospital, tucking into copious supplies of grapes and chocolates sent to him by concerned colleagues. Isles wants you to take over the murder enquiry.'
'Oh no!' I gasped, burying my head in my hands.
'I'm sorry, Charlie,' Gilbert said, reaching across the desk and placing a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. 'I didn't realise you and Makinson were so close.'
'It should have been his bloody neck!' I hissed.
'Now now, Charlie. That's not a nice thing to say.'
I sat back and blew my nose. 'I don't need this, Gilbert,' I said.
'And I definitely don't want it.'
'Why not? You're my murder specialist. I'd have thought a nice little society killing like this would be a welcome change to an up-and-coming detective like you.'
'I was up-and-coming when you were, Gilbert. About the same time as the Wright brothers. The trail's gone cold. We were up a gum tree with Skinner. I'd probably have come to the same conclusions as Makinson, but I like to think I'd have kept an open mind.'
'And you wouldn't have gone gallivanting off on holiday in the middle of an enquiry.'
'No? Well, maybe all that's changing. From now on I'm going to be a bit more like him.'
'But not yet, eh?'
I scowled at him. 'Can I use your phone?' Nigel was still in the office. I told him the news and asked him to organise a big meeting at City HQ for the following morning, with everybody there who'd been on the original enquiry. The first step towards becoming like Makinson was delegation.
'Great!' Nigel said. 'Great! But it's a bit short notice, isn't it?'
'They've all got telephones, haven't they?' 'Er, yes.'
'Right, then.'
Mr. Wood and I walked out of the building together At his car I said:
'Listen, Gilbert. This Darryl Buxton character might get away with this rape, but it's only a matter of time before he does something really bad. I want his prints and DNA on record. He does a lot of drinking around town I'dike to target him, if you've no objections.' In theory, we can take DNA samples from anyone convicted of a reportable offence, but because of the cost we generally limit it to sex otienders, crimes of violence and maybe burglary If we could do Buxton for drink-driving we'd splash out for him Gilbert slammed the door and wound down the window What will you suggest next, Charlie?' he said 'OK but make it swift and subtle. Don't forget he has some clever allies.
'Swift and subtle. I like that. Goodnight.'
'Goodnight.'
I was unlocking my car door as Gilbert drew alongside. 'I fOrgOt to mention,' he said through the Pen 'Mmm.'
'Makinson's leg. Apparently it's his fib ia and tibia. Just thought you'd like to know.'
'I don't think it's amusing,' I told him, but I couldn't help smiling as I said it.
Before driving off, I tried Annabelle's number, but she wasn't at home.
I knew that trains from London arrived at Leeds at about twenty to seven and twenty past; if I dashed straight over there I had a sporting chance of meeting her.
I missed the station turning and had to go on a city tour round the one-way system before I approached it again. This time I made it. The parking arrangements were obscure, but I eventually deduced that the first thirty minutes were free. I bought a platform ticket and ran down the steps. The 1839 had arrived, but Annabelle wasn't waiting for the Huddersfield connection. I rang her at home again, but she still wasn't there.
When my half hour was up I went out of the concourse and moved the car to a different space, to fool the attendant, if there was one.
Annabelle wasn't on the 1918, either. I rang her number and after two rings she picked up the phone.
'Ah, you're home,' I said.
'Hello, Charles. This is a pleasant surprise. Yes, I came up on the ten to four from Kings Cross.'
'Was it a good trip?'
