car. Watch me go became my creed.'
'And eventually you moved to Yorkshire.'
'I landed a permanent post, and it was further away from him. I told you I came with baggage, Charlie. Now you know what I meant.'
'That's not baggage, Rosie,' I assured her. 'It's what gave you those tiny little creases in the corners of your eyes when you smile, that's all. It's what goes towards making you a caring human being. It's… it's all part of the recipe that made Rosie Barraclough, and why I find her so damned attractive.'
She looked at me, her chin trembling. 'Do you, Charlie?'
I moved over to her, engulfed her in my arms, held her tight. 'Yes,' I said. 'Yes I do. All that's behind you. You're with me, now.'
We sat like that for a long while as it grew dark around us. I tipped her face towards mine and kissed her on the lips. I wanted to stay the night, but didn't ask. There was a ghost watching us, the ghost of her father. Soon we'd dig him up, do the tests and discover the truth. Win or lose, we'd come through it together. I drove home praying that he'd not done the deed, just so I could see the happiness it would bring Rosie. If he really were the murderer then it would be up to me to make her happy. I could do it, I was confident of that. It would just take a little longer, that was all.
I always go into the office on a Saturday morning, to clear up any paperwork and prioritise any jobs that came in overnight. Friday night brings out the worst in some people. I hadn't left home when the phone rang. It was Dave.
'Have you heard?' he asked.
'Heard what?'
'About us, last night?'
'Us? Who's us?'
'Me, Pete, Jeff and Don.'
'You went to the brass band concert.'
'That's right, but we had a spot of bother on the way home.'
'Oh no,' I sighed. A spot of bother could only mean one thing: drinking and driving.
'It's not that,' he assured me, reading my mind. 'It's something else.'
'Go on.'
'Well, we didn't stay until the end. We'd heard the set piece three times and that was enough. We decided to come a bit nearer home and have a drink. Heading along the Heckley Road, towards the Babes In The Wood, Pete just happened to notice that we were following a convoy of four-wheel-drives. Three of them. Suddenly they all slowed and turned off into this little lane that didn't look as if it led anywhere. We called in the Babes and had a couple of pints. When we came out Pete said 'I wonder what they went up that lane for? Let's go see what's up there.' He was driving and Don encouraged him so off we went. After about a mile we found the three off-roaders, parked and empty.'
'Aliens,' I said. 'They'd been abducted by aliens.'
'You're nearer than you think,' Dave replied. 'We assumed they were poachers, but then we saw these lights in a corn field, wandering up and down. We waited for ages but they just kept on wandering up and down, so we telephoned Dewsbury and told them all about it. We thought that maybe they were looking for badgers.'
'What did Dewsbury do?'
'They sent in the heavy mob, and the helicopter, and they were all arrested. Seven of them. They thought it was great fun, laughing and joking and taking the piss.'
'So what were they up to?'
'Crop circles. They were making crop circles in the corn. Said it would create interest in the area, generate publicity, help the tourist trade and all that.'
'Ha ha! And what did your colleagues from the Dewsbury force have to say to you?'
'They suggested, very politely, that in future we restrict our activities to Heckley and district.'
'They can do them for criminal damage. It's a face-saver. Not much of one but a result just the same.'
'No they can't.'
'Why not?'
'Because it was their own chuffing field, that's why.'
We get a fair number of UFO sightings around Heckley. Apparently there's a vortex somewhere up in the hills. That's a fault in the structure of the Earth that allows magnetic energy to leak out, providing a source of power for alien spacecraft. They hover overhead and recharge their power packs. Foggy nights are particularly propitious, as this allows the energy to flow more freely. It also conveniently blurs the evidence. Anybody with more than half a brain puts the sightings down to the police helicopter with its Night-Sun searchlight on, or airliners groping their way towards Manchester airport, or to too many Carlsberg Specials, but they could be wrong. The Great Crop Circle Massacre was destined to be written into the annals of Her Majesty's East Pennine Police Force, and those involved would be spoken of in hushed tones for the rest of their careers. I had a couple of hours in the office and went home to work on the paintings.
Sophie and Digby came to visit, on their way to her parents', and Digby said it was nice to see me again and it had been really generous of me to run Sophie home last week, which made me glad that we weren't holding the conversation in front of her mum and dad. Tea and coffee were refused but they insisted on seeing the paintings. Digby thought they were great, and appreciated the irony of the beautiful poetry and the careless lover's doodles. He offered to ask his father to make a telephone bid for them, but I said they weren't that good and discouraged him.
The troopers on observation at High Clough rang to tell me that all was quiet. They were in regular contact with the control room but I'd told them to give me the occasional call. The Land Rover had left at nine and returned two hours later. The postman had driven straight past.
Rosie had never visited my house but I'd have to invite her round soon, so I did a big clean-up, right through to the oven and the tops of the doors. I had a cleaning lady, once, but when she told her husband I was a cop he stopped her coming. He must have been scared she'd reveal more than she ought when we shared the obligatory pot of tea. Sunday I did all the usual Sunday things: cleaned the car; went to the supermarket; drove past the church and cursed the traffic jam near the garden centre. I rang Rosie and left a message, said I was just wondering how she was, but she didn't come back to me. Not much moved up at High Clough.
Mad Maggie Madison, one of my two female DCs, was back at work on Monday morning after a fortnight in Tenerife. She looked fit and tanned and had lost a couple of pounds.
'You look well, Maggie,' I said when I saw her. 'Good holiday?'
'Brilliant, thanks. Have you missed me?'
'You'd never believe how much. It's been unbridled sexism for the last two weeks. We desperately need the woman's touch.'
'Saveeta still on her course?' she asked.
'My little bit of Eastern promise? Yeah, she's another week to do.'
'Uh!' Maggie snorted. 'You're as bad as the rest of them.'
I met Gareth Adey on the stairs as we went up to Mr Wood's office for the morning briefing and he said something about my boys being busy on Friday night. I resisted the urge to tip him over the banister. They were already in there when we knocked and entered: Dave, Jeff, Pete and Don; the Crop Circle Four. Dave winked at me and Gilbert wore the expression of a father who has just learned that his teenage son has rodgered the vicar's wife: a struggle between anger and amusement.
'Have you heard about this lot?' Gilbert asked, looking at me.
'I've heard the expurgated version.'
Gareth, in his usual smug manner, said: 'I'd rather not intrude into private grief.'
'What do you reckon we should do with them?' Gilbert asked.
'Latrine duties,' I said. 'Put them on latrine duties for three months. Maggie's back so we won't miss them.'
'We could do it, Boss,' Pete replied. 'We'd have the cleanest bogs in the division, guaranteed. We could put those little blue things in the cisterns, and maybe even have a few flowers.'
'I could supply the flowers,' Jeff said. 'Grape hyacinths would go well with the blue water. We'd need some
