to Grenoble but he was a no-show. Trouble was, it turns out this plane was held up for five hours by engine trouble and there were quite a lot of no-shows, probably meaning people found out before they checked in that they were going to be hanging around forever, so shot off to find alternative routes.'
'Such as?'
'Cancellations on other flights. The Chunnel. Ferries. Or maybe some of them just went home.'
Joe considered this then said, 'So you've had to check every other possibility to see if he really went.'
'And to see if he slipped back in in case we do find out he really went. And of course, this time of year, on the ferries in particular, there's no real way of ever being sure whether he sailed out or sailed back in or anything!'
'A real problem,' said Joe. 'Anything else developing on the Potter case?'
He tried to make it sound like just another sympathetic-ear question but this time Doberley was on to him.
'Hey, Joe, I haven't come here to fill you in on current case business. I've probably said too much already. You want more, ask your friend, the super. Or better still, ask Sergeant Chivers!'
'You can just see me doing that, can't you?' said Joe. 'You look like you could do with a drink. What's it to be?'
He returned a few moments later with a pint and a menu. The bar was getting busier by the minute but Dick Hull, the manager, could spot cops at fifty yards and made sure they were never kept waiting. 'Quicker you serve 'em, sooner they drink up and piss off,' was his precept.
Dildo sank half a pint in one draught and said, 'That's better.'
It always fascinated Joe that his speaking voice was light and rapid and indelibly stamped with the vowels and rhythms of Luton, while his singing voice was a fine basso prof undo which might have come straight from the depths of Russia.
He said, 'Rev. Pot says there's a rumour LOS are after you for Emile de Becque in South Pacific.'
LOS was the Light Operatic Society, whose approach to one of his choristers was in Rev. Pot's eyes like seeing a randy soldier climbing over the walls of a convent school.
'Yeah, I thought about it,' said Dildo. 'They've got this bird I really fancy singing Nellie. Knockers on her like watermelons. But they're planning a whole week's run in the spring and there's no way I'm going to be able to manage that, not without taking leave.'
Whereas the one or at most two performances of the oratorios the Boyling Corner Choir specialized in were more easily accommodated into aCID officer's schedule, particularly as the Chief Constable's wife was an aficionado of the genre in general and Rev. Pot's choir in particular.
'Well, Rev. Pot will be glad to hear that you decided the Elijah was more important,' said Joe. 'Aunt Mirabelle too.'
Mild threat there. He let it register, then went on, That stuff I asked you, you manage anything there, Dildo?'
'I did as a matter of fact,' said the detective, downing the second half of his pint and placing the glass significantly in front of Joe. 'And I'll have a Glitterburger and fries. To start with.'
'Thirsty work, snouting,' observed Dick Hull as he pulled another pint.
Joe said, 'You complaining, Dick? We can go elsewhere. Only I'd have to say why.'
'Joe, you've got to learn to take a joke. This one's on the house.'
'He wants a Glitterburger and fries. That on the house too?'
'Yeah, yeah. Make sure you tell him.'
Joe did and Dildo raised his glass to the manager.
'I like it here,' he said. 'Friendly. Like me. Those names you gave me, Joe, I had a word with our collator. Nice girl. Pity she's married to the divisional cruiser weight champion. She came up with some interesting stuff. First, Mr. Starbright Jones. You want to tread carefully there, Joe. Couple of years back he was a bouncer at Miss Piggies, out Dunstable way.
There was a bit of trouble. Ended with Starbright putting a customer in his car. He got six months for assault.'
'Seems a bit strong,' said Joe.
'Maybe. Except he put him in through the sun roof. Without opening it. He's been working as a minder since he came out. He's kept his nose clean, except for doing the ton on a bike down the M1 last year. Likewise Jim Hardiman, nothing but traffic, speeding mainly. Got disqualified on a drink-driving charge last year but got off on appeal when there was that cock-up about some of the breathalyzers being wrongly calibrated. Shouldn't have mattered in his case, he was so far over, but there was the usual overkill. Douglas Endor. Back in the eighties he looked set to be one of your loadsa-money lads. Whole series of small-time communications companies, glossy brochures, big promises, small results, usually went bust but as they were always limited liability, Endor came out smiling and set up the next. Moved into PR about seven years ago and started concentrating on sports management when he spotted Billy Bream playing snooker in his local club. Did Billy a lot of good by all accounts. Won a few tournaments, nothing really big but enough to get him into the top ten, and Endor got a lot of sponsorship. Endor started collecting a little stable of up-and-coming sports people. All above board so far as we know. Endor takes a hefty percentage, but there haven't been any complaints. So far.'
He looked interrogatively at Joe who shook his head.
'Just checking,' he said. 'Honest.'
'I'll believe you, thousands wouldn't. Finally the Otos. Nothing on any of them. OK, Joe. Like to tell me what's going on? How come you're checking on Zak Oto's family, her business agent, her minder, and her ex-trainer?'
'Just routine enquiries,' said Joe, trying for a wide-eyed innocent look, feeling it come out shifty and settling for
