vases, though.'
'Coffee jars would do,' Pete suggested. 'Not plain ones. Those fancy Kenco ones. We could start collecting them.'
'OK, OK,' Gilbert interrupted, holding up his hands. 'We'll spare you the latrine duties. But could we please have a little less gallivanting round the countryside like a bunch of cowboys? Dewsbury are threatening to sting us for the cost of the operations support unit and the chopper. Now, haven't you any work to do?'
They trooped out through the door, Dave at the rear. He paused, one hand on the handle, turned and said: 'That might be an idea, Mr Wood.'
Oh no, I thought. Don't say it, Dave, whatever it is, please don't say it.
'What's that, David?' Gilbert asked.
'What you said about cowboys. It might be an idea for the gala. They could dress up like sheriffs and their deputies. Lawmen and all that. It might go down well with the kids.'
Gilbert looked doubtful, started to voice his misgivings, but Gareth interrupted him. 'Um, well, in the absence of any other suggestions, Mr Wood, it might be worth considering,' he said, as I glared after Dave as he pulled the door shut behind him.
I was thinking about a mid-morning coffee when the man himself brought me one. 'You're a mind reader,' I said. 'Pull up the chair,' and placed two beer mats on the end of my desk. 'Gareth took the bait,' I told him.
'He'satwat.'
'That's no way to talk about a senior officer. So, how did the weekend go?'
'Terrific, Chas. He's a good lad, I really liked him.'
'That's what I thought. They called to see me on the way.' I sighed inwardly: with a bit of luck that disclosure would eliminate the need for any more untruths.
'He plays rugby, and he's devoted to Sophie. He asked me if he could marry her. Can you believe that? He actually asked me. Bet that doesn't happen too often, these days.'
'That's great. So they're engaged?'
'I suppose so. He didn't have a ring or anything.'
'What does Shirley think?'
'Oh, she's over the moon one second, tearing her hair out the next. She spent all last week doing the house, now she scared stiff about meeting his parents. They seem to be quite well off.'
'That's good. What are they called?'
'I knew you'd ask that, so I wrote it down.' He pulled a pay-and-display ticket from his pocket. 'Here we are: Merriman hyphen Flint.'
I said: 'Wow! That's a mouthful.'
'That's what I thought. Sophie says they own half of Somerset.'
It was nearly my undoing. I thought Sophie had said Shropshire, so I responded with: 'You mean Sh… Sh… Sh… she's, er, she's marrying into a wealthy family?'
'It looks like it.'
'Good for her.'
'That's neither here nor there, Charlie. They looked good together, and she's 'appy That's all I care about,'
He asked me about my weekend and I was blustering again when the phone rang. How the crooks we work with keep track of their various subterfuges escapes me. Perhaps they're cleverer than I think they are. It was Control.
'Things are happening up at High Clough, Charlie. Four vehicles have arrived in the last fifteen minutes.'
'That's interesting. Tell the OSU to start their engine and tell the FOP to give me a ring.'
Five minutes later the pair in the Transit were telling me that another three vehicles had arrived. 'That'll do,' I said. 'Stay put and direct the heavy mob straight in when they arrive. You watch out for escapees.'
The operations support unit used to be called the task force. We had one van with a sergeant and six PCs standing by, all in heavy riot gear. I told them where to rendezvous with my team, in a lay-by about a mile from the farm. I raised an armed response unit off the motorway, because there was certain to be a shotgun at the farm, plus two pandas and three unmarked vehicles with my lads in them. A video cameraman was in one of the pandas, with a bobby to act as his personal bodyguard as he recorded the scene. The chopper was up above. It's compulsory, these days. What did we do before Heinrich von Helicopter invented the craft that made him into a household name? On the drive over I told Dave to let the RSPCA know what was happening.
We were the last to arrive at the rendezvous. I jumped out and briefed the OSU sergeant, who didn't think they'd meet any resistance. We agreed that the best tactic would be to tear straight up the drive and block their vehicles in. The only other way out was to leg it over the fells.
'Let's go!' I shouted, because I get all the best bits.
The FOP Transit saw us coming and pulled across the lane. The passenger got out and directed our convoy into the dirt drive that led to High Clough farm, as nonchalantly as if he were on crossing duty. We bounced up the drive, dust billowing from the vehicles in front, gravel rattling underneath us.
'Oh, my springs,' I complained.
'Oh, my giddy aunt,' Dave said.
'Oh, my sausage sandwiches,' Pete added as we bounced out of a particularly deep hole.
'Don't be sick in my car,' I snapped, glancing at him through the rear-view mirror.
The buildings were arranged in a quadrangle. The house was single storey with a stone flagged roof encrusted in two hundred years'-worth of lichen and moss. From either side there sprang outbuildings with sagging doors and roof tiles awry. Grass grew from gutters and drainpipes hung away from walls. Apparatus with mysterious applications stood in every corner, rotting away on punctures tyres: Heath Robinson contraptions for spinning, shredding, flinging and spreading, and uses I didn't want to know about.
They heard us coming and started to dash for the shelter of the buildings. Our OSU Transit tore straight into the middle of the quadrangle and the crew baled out and started running. Jeff was right about the chicken run. A mean-looking bull mastiff-type dog with a black patch over one side of its face was leaping and snarling inside it, bouncing off the wire in its frantic desire to be part of the action and tear something apart. Another dog, equally enraged, was inside a small cage against the wall, where we'd seen the cats. I said a little prayer about the strength of wire netting and looked for someone not too physical to chase.
A few of the participants gave themselves up, turning to meet their attackers, arms raised. Others were 'followed inside and dragged out, protesting. I saw a figure run to a door, find it locked and run into an open outhouse. A figure I thought I recognised.
I stood gaping at him for a moment, not believing my eyes, until I saw one of the OSU officers emerge from the house leading a woman by the arm. I jogged over to the outhouse as one of the PCs from the pandas looked inside, and put my hand on his arm.
'This one's mine,' I whispered.
It was a pig sty. There were two stalls inside with fat sows asleep in them. I tiptoed past, looking into the corners while my eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom. The stink of ammonia made me weep and my feet squelched in the muck on the floor. The next stall had quarter-grown piglets in it which dashed squealing to meet us, hoping we were bearers of food. The next one was used for storage, with several long planks leaned up in the corner. He was pressed against the wall, trying to make himself invisible behind them, while the ordure on the floor lapped over the tops of his highly polished brogues. The PC produced a torch and shone it on him.
'Hello, Sir Morton,' I said. 'It looks as if you're in the shit.'
He was a knight, after all, so I handcuffed his hands to the front. 'I can explain, Inspector,' he protested. 'This is all a mistake.' I put my finger in front of my lips to hush him. 'Not now,' I said, and led him out into the sunshine.
Sharon Brown was standing near the transit, also in handcuffs, with a group of men. Some wore flat caps and dirty jackets, with collarless shirts; others were in leather jackets, smart trousers and enough gold ornamentation to pay off the national debt of a South American republic. I stood Sir Morton near my car and brought Sharon to join him. They faced each other without speaking.
'You wanted a word,' I said to him.
'Er, yes, Inspector. I was saying, this is all a mistake. I've never done anything like it before. I was appalled
