Mrs. Coe said, 'For crying out loud, my niece is missing out there and all you're worried about is the sodding dog!'
The sergeant replied, 'Not that I know of. I mean, with everything else…'
'Do it now, will you? I don't like to see an animal in pain, but just as important, I want to know how it got its injuries.'
'Oh, aye. I didn't think, sir,' said Clark guiltily. 'I'll get onto it right away.'
The woman, who'd busied herself mashing the tea, pushed past them angrily. Clark, following her, paused at the door and said, 'Owt else I should have thought of, sir?'
'Unless Lorraine turns up okay in the next half hour or so, this thing's going to explode into a major inquiry. We'll need an incident room. Somewhere with plenty of space and not too far away. Any ideas?'
The sergeant's broad features contorted with thought then he said, 'There's St. Michael's Hall. It's shared between the church and the primary school and it's just a step away…'
'Sounds fine. Now get that vet. Good job you thought of it before the super, eh?'
He smiled as he spoke and after a moment Clark smiled back, then left.
One thing about Dalziel, thought Pascoe. He provides solid ground to build a good working relationship with the troops.
He opened the back door of the kitchen, which led into a small, tidily kept yard with a patch of lawn and a wooden shed. He stepped out into the balmy air and opened the shed door. Some gardening tools, an old stroller, and a child's bike.
Carefully controlling his thoughts, he next went to the yard door and unlatched it. He found himself looking across an area of worn and parched grassland scattered with clumps of furze whose bright yellow flowers threw back defiance at the blazing sun. This had to be Ligg Common with, beyond it, the long sweep of Danbydale rising northward to Highcross Moor.
Sunlight eats up distance and the head of the valley looked barely a half hour's stroll away, while the long ridge of the Neb stood within range of an outfielder with a good arm. He let his gaze cross to the valley's opposite lower arm and here caught the glint of the sun on the glass of a descending car, and suddenly its tininess gave a proper perspective to the view.
There was a huge acreage of countryside out there, more than a few dozen men could search properly in a long day. And when you added to the outdoors all the buildings and barns and byres from the outskirts of the town to the farmed limits of the fell, then what lay in prospect was a massive operation.
He stood and felt the sun probe beneath his mop of light brown hair and beneath the surface of his fair skin. A few more minutes of this and he'd turn pink and peel like a new potato, while another hour or so would beat his brain into that state of sun-drunk insensibility he usually experienced on Mediterranean beach holidays while Ellie by his side only grew browner and browner and fitter and fitter.
Sometimes insensibility was the more desirable fate.
'You taken root or wha'?'
He turned and saw Dalziel in the yard doorway.
'Just thinking, sir. Anything happened?'
'No. She's quieter now. Much better with her mam than yon sister-in-law. Where's Clark? I want to ask him about Dennis Coe, the brother.'
'Mrs. Coe's husband?'
'We'll make a detective of you yet. Six or seven years older than Elsie, if I recall. We'll need to take a close look at him.'
'Why? Was he in the frame fifteen years back?' asked Pascoe, thinking that Dalziel's coup with Mrs. Coe's name was looking a pretty simple conjuring trick now.
'Missing kids, every sod old enough to have a stiff cock ends up in the frame. He'd be eighteen or thereab. Bad age. And all the kids who went missing were blond and he wed himself a blonde…'
'Come on!' said Pascoe. 'You reach any further and you'll be in the X-files. In any case, I'd say Mrs. Coe's color comes straight out of a bottle.'
'So he married dark but let her know he preferred blondes. Okay, stop flaring your nostrils, else you'll get house martins building. One thing you can't argue with, he's Lorraine's uncle, and uncles rate high in the statistics for this kind of thing.'
Pascoe shook his head and said dully, 'Mrs. Coe said she'd not have our job for a thousand pounds. She's way out. Sometimes a million's not enough for the way we have to look at things.'
'Talking of looking, what's yon?'
The Fat Man was staring north. Over the distant horizon the heat haze had coalesced into something thicker.
'Never a cloud, is it?' said Dalziel.
'Not of rain,' said Pascoe. 'I'd say smoke. Slightest spark starts a grass fire this weather.'
'Best make sure some other bugger's noticed,' said Dalziel.
He pulled out his mobile, dialed, spoke, and listened.
'Aye,' he said, switching off. 'They know. It's a big one. And not the only one either. Brigades on full alert and they're using our uniformed, too, which isn't good news for us if we have to hit the red button.'
'When?' said Pascoe. 'You don't think that there's-'
He was interrupted by Sergeant Clark from the doorway.
'Excuse me, sir, but Mr. Douglas, the vet, is here. We got him on his mobile coming back from a farm call.'
'Vet?' said Dalziel to Pascoe. 'What's up? Feeling badly?'
In the kitchen they found a broad-built gray-bearded man kneeling down by the dog basket. His examination of the mongrel produced the odd rumbling growl but nothing as menacing as the snarl provoked by Pascoe's inexpert probe.
Finally he stood up and turned his attention to the humans.
'Peter Pascoe, DCI,' said Pascoe, offering his hand. 'And this is Superintendent Dalziel.'
'We've met,' said Douglas shortly. His voice had a Scots burr.
'Aye, what fettle, Dixie?' said Dalziel. 'So, what's the damage?'
'Shoulder and rib cage badly bruised. I don't think there's a fracture, but he needs an X-ray to be sure. Possibility of internal injury. I think it's best in all the circumstances if I take him back to the clinic with me. Any news of the wee lassie?'
'Not yet,' said Pascoe. 'These injuries, what do you think caused them?'
'No accident, that's for sure,' said the vet flatly. 'If I had to guess, I'd say someone had given the poor beast a good kicking. Good day to you.'
Gently he lifted the dog out of the basket and went out of the kitchen.
'Good man, that,' said Sergeant Clark approvingly. 'Really worries about sick animals.'
'Aye, well, he supports Raith Rovers,' said Dalziel. 'So someone gave the dog a kicking. That's enough to get the show on the road. Good thinking to have the beast checked out.'
Pascoe said, 'Yes. Well done, Sergeant Clark. So what do you want me to do, sir? Call in the troops and set up an incident room?'
'Aye, best go by the book,' said Dalziel without enthusiasm. 'Any suggestions, Sergeant? As far as I recall, your section office isn't big enough to swing a punch in.'
'St. Michael's Hall, sir,' said Clark with brisk efficiency. 'Doubles as assembly hall and gym for the primary school and as a community center. I've spoken on the phone with Mrs. Shimmings, the school head. You'll likely remember her, sir. She were in Dendale, like me. Miss Lavery, she was then. She's really upset. Says she'll go to the school now to be on hand in case we needed her help, talking about the little girl and such.'
Dalziel looked at him reflectively and said, 'Well done, Sergeant. You're thinking so far ahead, you'll end up telling fortunes. Okay, Peter, off you go. Tell 'em I want someone from uniformed who knows left from right to head up the search team. Maggie Burroughs'll do nicely. And we'll need a canteen van. It'll be thirsty work tramping round them fells. And an information van for the common. I'll be here to see they get themselves sorted. Any questions?'
'No, sir,' said Pascoe. 'Lead on, Sergeant.'
