there, what was it like?'
'Break for lunch now,' said Pascoe. 'Then we'll have the reverse singles.'
'Fine. How was the Dutchman?'
'Phlegmatic. And the Italian?'
'A bit up in the air,' said Dalziel. And laughed.
The Europa crew ate together in their dome, segregated partly by choice, partly by command. Druson had invited Pascoe and Dalziel to join him in the central mess. Conversation stilled for a moment as they entered but quickly resumed.
'So how's it going?' asked Druson.
'Early days,' said Pascoe. 'The crew are naturally eager to get this over and get back to work. Would you have any objection to a limited resumption of duties? It would ease a lot of tension.'
'You mean turn them loose on the surface?' said Druson doubtfully.
'Why not? It's not Jack the Ripper we're dealing with. And there's a hell of a lot of money invested in this programme.'
This appeal to the Great American Motivator just made Druson laugh.
'Hell, they're not going to find anything out there they couldn't read about in our college manuals!'
'Perhaps not,' said Pascoe equably. 'Think about it, anyway. Meanwhile I think at least we ought to have one of our people back on Europa. We've tied up your man long enough.'
Again Druson looked doubtful.
Dalziel, who was carving a steak like a Sunday joint, said, 'What's up, Ed? Scared we'll pick the killer and he'll make a run for Mars?'
'Funny. Yeah, OK, why not? Anyone in mind?'
'Rabal, the Spaniard's the obvious choice. She's the pilot. Also, though I've not talked to her myself yet, Andy here reckons she's in the clear and I've never known him wrong.'
You lying bastard! thought Dalziel, chewing on his steak. He got the feeling that Druson for all his street- wisdom was being edged into doing exactly what Pascoe wanted.
'OK,' said the American after a pause for thought. 'Why not? I'll arrange for one of our pods to make the transfer. No need to fuck around with that steam-powered module of yours!'
Dalziel noted the transfer of irritation. You've got the feeling you've been stitched up as well, my lad, he thought. And you've no idea how or why!
Pascoe pushed aside his almost untouched omelette and stood up.
'If you'll excuse me,' he said. 'Couple of things to do. Back to work in, say, fifteen minutes, Andy?'
He just about got the interrogative lift in, dulling the imperative edge of the sentence.
'Whatever you say,' said Dalziel.
They watched him walk away, a slim, upright figure, from behind very little changed from the young detective-constable Dalziel had spotted signs of promise in so many years ago.
'Hard man, your boss,' opined Druson. 'And in a hurry. Man in a hurry can make mistakes.'
'Whoever fixed the Frog's suit must have been in a hurry and he didn't make mistakes,' said Dalziel. 'Apart from leaving yon microprobe thing in his locker.'
'Could be even that wasn't a mistake,' said Druson. 'Could be he got instructions to put himself under suspicion and stir things up between the Germans and the French.'
'Oh aye. From which of his masters?' wondered Dalziel.
'From whichever wanted it most,' said Druson. 'I'm just a plain security jock. I don't mess with politics. Now if you'll excuse me, Andy. Anything you want, just ask, OK?'
He's getting worried about the lad wandering around free, thought Dalziel.
He said, 'Aye, there's one thing you could tell me, Ed. What do you lot do about sex up here?'
Back in their dome after lunch Dalziel said, 'Nice guy, Druson. Quite bright too, for a Yank.'
'Indeed,' said Pascoe. 'This afternoon, Andy, let's whip them through at a fair old pace. Don't give them time to think. How does that-sound to you as a strategy?'
It was the old Peter Pascoe's voice, easy, friendly, slightly diffident. But running through it now like a filament of high-tensile steel was the unmistakable tone of a man used to giving orders and having them obeyed.
'Sounds fine,' said Dalziel.
He followed Pascoe's instructions to the letter with Kaufmann, hitting him with rapid-fire questions all of which the German handled with the assurance of a man well grounded in the interrogative arts.
'Did you like Lemarque?' he asked finally.
'He knew his job, he did his work,' answered the German.
'Aye, but did you like him?'
Kaufmann considered, then said, 'As a man, no. He was like many small men, too aggressive. Always compensating for his lack of height.'
'Give me an example.'
'Well, I recall during training, he found out that O'Meara had been a boxer in his youth, an amateur, you understand. All the time after that, he made jokes about it, pretended to fight with him, challenged him to a bout in the gym.'
'And did O'Meara take up the challenge?'
'Naturally not. Such things would not be allowed. We were training for the mission. Physical injury would have been disastrous for any one of us.'
'So what happened?'
'Nothing,' said Kaufmann. 'O'Meara kept his temper, though I think it was difficult for him sometimes. Eventually Lemarque found a new target.'
'Which was?'
'Me, I think. The Germans in the wars of the last century, something like that.'
'And you kept your temper too?'
'Oh yes. Sometimes I imagined what I would like to do to the troublesome little creature, but it stayed in my imagination.'
'Oh aye. And can you prove that?'
The answer came unhesitatingly.
'All I can say is, if I had decided to kill him, one thing is sure. Everyone would have been quite convinced it was an accident.'
'He had a point,' said Dalziel. 'But not just for him. How come with all their electronic know-how, whoever did it made such a pig's arse of covering their tracks?'
'We've been through this, Andy,' said Pascoe. 'It must have been done in a hell of a hurry. I gather there's only room for one person at a time in the Europa's hold and the TV camera is blocked by the body. So the opportunity's there. But if anyone spent an unusually long time down there, it'd stick out in the recordings at Control, and it doesn't.'
'Aye, well, mebbe I'll get the chance to see what it's like up there for myself before we're done,' growled Dalziel.
'Still thinking we're not following proper procedure?' mocked Pascoe. 'You're such a stickler! It wasn't always like that, I seem to recall. Incidentally, I assume the new Andy Dalziel has been carefully checking out the order they got themselves ready in?'
Dalziel looked uncomfortable and Pascoe allowed himself a superior smile.
'Good news and bad news,' he said. 'The good news is you haven't missed anything by not checking, for the bad news is Lemarque was last into the hold, so it could have been anyone who fixed his suit!'
'How does an Irishman get to be an astronaut?' asked Dalziel.
Kevin O'Meara cocked his head on one side in best leprechaun fashion and said, 'Is it an Irish joke you're after telling?'
'Sorry?'
'Do I say, I don't know, and you say, he lights a rocket but doesn't retire till he's sixty-five? Or is it a real question?'
'That's the only Sort I know.'
