was reputed to have arrived in town at the age of sixteen with a barrow-load of junk and two and ninepence in his pocket. The war was on. He was an evacuee, said some; others that he had absconded from a Borstal. No one took much notice of him then. No one who mattered. It was only when he plunged, wallet-first, into the great post-war building wave that people began to take notice. He lived chancily, moved into many crises, both business and legal, but always emerged from the other side safely – and usually richer, more powerful. Those who remembered him with his barrow recalled a cheerful, toothy smile, an infectious, confidence-inspiring laugh. Armed with this information, they wouldn't have picked him out on an identity parade. Dalziel wouldn't need an identity parade if he wanted to worry Jacko. He knew enough about him, had done enough research on his origins and his company, to worry him a great deal. But his knowledge wasn't official. Yet.
He was saving it up for a rainy day.
'How's business, Andy?' asked Noolan. 'Putting many away?'
'Not enough. Not near enough.'
There was a pause. A new record had started. Slower, softer. Some of the dancers actually came in contact now. Sid Hope was doing the rounds, having a friendly word with those who were late in paying their subscriptions. They were due at the start of the season. Sid gave plenty of leeway, right up to Christmas. But, Christmas past, he was adamant – non-payers were ejected, quietly if possible. But noisily if necessary. 'These two coughed up, have they, Sid?' asked Noolan with a laugh. 'Oh, ay,' replied the treasurer as he passed. 'See you at the meeting.'
'Meeting?' asked Dalziel.
'Yes. The committee. At eight. Just time for another, eh? Jacko?'
'You'll be one short tonight,' said Dalziel casually.
'One? We usually are. Oh, you mean Connie? Yes, I expect so. Can't expect anything else in the circumstances. Sad. Very sad.'
'Man gets shot of his wife, that's not sad.'
'Jacko, my lad, you're lovely.'
'Didn't some bastard offer to get them in?'
'That's very kind of you, Jacko,' said Dalziel. 'Another pint. Please.' Without a word, Roberts rose and headed for the service hatch. 'You've got a way with Jacko, Andy. I've often noticed.' 'Observation's anyone's game. Detection's my business, though. Don't start looking too deep.' Make them feel almost a part of it, thought Dalziel. Just a hint's enough.
He's after something, thought Noolan.
'You were saying about Connie.'
'Was I? What?'
'About it being sad.' 'Well, it was. Very. Not that we'd seen much of Mary lately. In fact I can't remember the last time. It was probably at the bank, anyway, not here.'
'Bank with you, do they?'
'Yes.'
'Interesting account?'
'Not particularly. Just the usual monthlies, and weekly withdrawals for the housekeeping.' 'Nothing out of the ordinary, then. Recently? In or out?'
'No. Not a thing.'
Dalziel pulled up his trouser-leg and began scratching his ankle.
'Much left at the end of the month?'
'Enough. Not much. But enough to give them a week in Devon.'
Dalziel scratched on.
'You're not trying to extract confidential information from me, are you, Andy?'
They both laughed.
'And what the hell's wrong with your ankle?'
'I've got an itch. Nasty inflammation.'
'Been putting your foot in it, have you?'
They both laughed again.
'Still at it?' grunted Jacko, slamming a tray laden with three tankards on to the table. 'Like a couple of bloody tarts.' 'Is that the time?' said Noolan. 'I'd better go and convene this damn meeting. You'll be here for a while?'
'What do you think?'
'See you later, then. Cheers, Jacko. See you later.'
They watched him shoulder his way jovially through the dancers towards the door of the committee room at the far end of the social room.
'A real card,' said Jacko, deadpan.
'He's been a good help to you, Jacko. Saw you through when many wouldn't have.' 'Surely,' said Jacko. 'Beneath these pinstripes hang three balls of brass. Did he tell you owl?'
Dalziel shrugged.
'Nothing helpful.' It was no use playing games with Jacko Roberts, he thought. But then it was even less use trying to play games with Andy Dalziel – unless he'd invented the rules.
'Was she insured?'
'No. No cover at all as far as we know.' 'No cover? That'd be a sight for sore eyes with that one. By God!'
Dalziel put down his tankard in mock amazement.
'Do I detect a note of enthusiasm, Jacko?'
'There's plenty as was. Once.'
'Just once? Nothing lately?'
Jacko scowled.
'How the hell would I know?'
Dalziel nodded thoughtfully.
Td have heard, too. What about Connie? Has he been having anything on the side?' 'Nothing said. But he moves without you noticing, that one.' On and off the field, thought Dalziel. Yes, it's true. Not inconspicuous, nothing grey about Connie, no blurred edges there. But self-contained. An area of calm.
Like the eye of a storm.
'Jacko,' he said.
'Yes.'
'If you hear anything…' but as he spoke he became aware of someone standing behind him and Jacko's gaze was now aligned over his head.
'I didn't know you were bringing the wife,' said Jacko.
Dalziel was startled for a moment and twisted round in his chair.
'Hello,' said Pascoe.
Tm going for a run-off,' said Jacko. He stood up, his lean hunched figure making his clothes look a size too large for him. He leaned forward and said softly to Dalziel: 'I'll tell you something. Someone's fishing in Arthur Evans's pond. Welsh git.'
Pascoe watched him go with interest.
Tell me, sir. Does he always take his tankard to the loo with him?' 'What the hell are you doing here? I told you, you'd had your go. Now get out.'
Pascoe sat down.
'Nothing like that, sir. I'm here socially.'
He felt in his top pocket and produced a blue card.
'Here you are. I'm a paid-up member. The place interested me. I decided to join. I don't think that your Mr Hope was all that happy, but what could he do?' 'I'm not happy either. And I can do something, Sergeant.'
But Pascoe's attention was elsewhere.
'Before you do it, sir, just have a look at who's come through that door.'
Dalziel knew who it was before he turned.
Connon, rather pale but perfectly composed, wearing a dark suit and a black tie, stood in the open doorway.
