Delaney picked up the slight catch in her voice and the sparkle in her eye. Danny Vine had competition. He nodded at the man, not risking another handshake. He recognised him from somewhere, but couldn't quite place him. 'I know you?'
'You'd have seen me earlier, sir.'
'Like I said, no sirs. When you're out of uniform I'm just plain old Jack Delaney.'
'I'm not uniform.'
'Oh?'
'I'm the police photographer.'
Delaney nodded a little guiltily. 'Sure, I thought I recognised you.' The truth was he hardly noticed any of the myriad support staff when he was working. Especially if they were all kitted out in white spacesuits. Some detective.
'Any developments on the case, Inspector?' Danny Vine asked. He was clearly eager to show he was keen. Sally had better look out, Delaney reckoned. Youth and energy were dangerous enough, particularly when you added testosterone to the mix.
'Nothing new. We'll track down who she is tomorrow with any luck. Give us somewhere to start.'
'How are you going to do that?'
Michael Hill this time. Delaney sensed that they weren't really interested in talking to him per se, but thought that if they got on his good side they'd get on the good side of Sally Cartwright.
He was relieved to see Bob Wilkinson coming in and heading up to the bar. He smiled apologetically at Sally. 'Sorry, got to have a word with Bob.'
Sally nodded back distractedly but Delaney could tell she had other matters on her mind. Young love, he thought as he worked his way back through the noisy hubbub, God and all his angels save us from it.
'Inspector.'
'Get us a pint, Bob, for Christ's sake.'
Bob smiled at the barmaid and jerked his thumb at Delaney. The barmaid, a button-nosed temptress called Angela something, Delaney never could remember, grinned at him as she poured a fresh pint of Guinness. 'Shot with that, Jack?'
'No. Being a good boy tonight.'
Angela laughed, a throaty, husky laugh that started somewhere low. 'Can't see that somehow.'
Delaney winked at her. 'Turning over a new leaf. Jack Delaney. Modern man.'
'Yeah, you and Hugh Hefner.' She put the pint on the counter. 'Let it settle and if you want a top-up give me a whistle.' She moved off to serve some others at the end of the bar. Her hips swinging like a Tennessee two-step.
Bob looked at Delaney watching her. 'They reckon if a woman swings her hips like that, she isn't ovulating.'
Delaney looked back at him. 'That a fact?'
'Mine of them, me. Fuck police work, I should have been a black-cab driver.'
Delaney couldn't be bothered to wait for the Guinness to settle properly and took a long gulp. 'Got a stupid question for you, Bob?'
'Shoot?'
'What's a belt buckle used for?'
Bob Wilkinson shrugged. 'Well, in the good old days it would be used to keep your women and children in line.' He grinned. 'Nowadays just to keep your dignity, and your trousers up.'
'Yeah.' Delaney nodded.
Bob frowned. 'Why do you ask that?'
Delaney shrugged and immediately regretted asking
