Deadheads

that's all.'

She let out a good honest laugh. That was another thing he'd liked about her. She wasn't one of your parakeet screechers.

'No,' she resumed. 'I'm never up long enough for that. Just the odd weekend, see the kids. He's married now, Patrick. He married a vicar's daughter, ultra-respectable you see, to make up for his wicked old mama! She's a nice girl. I'm made very welcome, but a couple of nights is enough. I don't know how I stuck it in that great barn of a place for so long.'

'Is it that big?'

She considered.

'Not really, I suppose. Half a dozen bedrooms. Absurd for just two people, and it'd need quite a family to fill it. But there's nothing outside. Just that huge bloody garden. Garden! More like a park. And when you get out of that you're in fields and woods and things. It must be a good mile to the next house.'

'I'm surprised you didn't sell it,' said Dalziel, pouring himself more tea.

'Oh, I did. Well, nearly. I did the right thing, timed it nicely so that Patrick would have finished his 'O' levels. That seemed a good time to make the break. He was talking about going into accountancy and it seemed to me he could carry on his studies as easily down here as up there. But it didn't work out.'

She glanced at her watch. Dalziel, untypically sensitive, weighed up the merits of carrying on now or trying to resume later. The latter was a gamble. If she turned him down, it'd be difficult to resume this oblique interrogation here and now without looking very suspicious. On the other hand, the easing effect of a few drinks might work wonders. And he discovered in himself a genuine desire to see Penny Highsmith again at a personal level.

‘I’m holding you back,' he said, levering himself out of the chair. 'I was wondering if I could see you again. It'd be grand to have a proper crack, and besides, us country bumpkins need someone to show us round the bright lights and make sure we don't get ripped off.'

'Ripped off? You!' she mocked. 'It'd be like ripping off concrete paving!'

'I'm all soft underneath,' he grinned. 'Well?'

She hesitated.

'Look, I'm tied up tonight,' she said, in fact, I'm pretty busy all this week.'

Shit, he thought. I should've sat tight.

'But I can manage Friday if that's any good?'

He thought rapidly. This was the last night of the conference. There was a farewell banquet which meant lots of tedious speeches. The guest of honour was some superannuated judge talking about modern interpretations of the law. God, he'd wasted more time in his job listening to them boring old farts rambling on than he'd had hot dinners, and a combination of both didn't appeal.

'That'll be grand,' he said. 'Eight o'clock suit? Right. And why don't you book us in somewhere nice and cosy to eat to start with? If you leave it to me, you'll likely end up in a chippy!'

At the door he paused. One more question, perhaps his last. It'd be easy enough for her to change her mind on mature reflection and leave a message for him at the Yard, cancelling the date.

'You never said why you didn't sell that house,' he said. 'Couldn't you find a buyer?'

'No, it wasn't that. I found a buyer all right. It was all settled bar the exchange of contracts.'

'And?' prompted Dalziel.

'He died,' said Penelope Highsmith.

14

 

NEMESIS

(Dwarf pompom. Small flowers, purply- crimson with coppery shadings, clustered on strong young shoots.)

'We have to know their names,' said Wield.

Singh's face twisted into a dark mask of distress.

'But why?' he said. 'When I spoke to you yesterday, you didn't ask. And I told 'em it had nowt to do with scratching them cars.'

'It's an offence,' insisted Wield.

'I know it's an offence, but I thought you were just interested in her in the Polo, Mrs Aldermann.'

'It's not up to you to decide who we're interested in,' snapped Wield. 'You just administer the law, obey orders and keep your nose clean, that's what's up to you.'

Why does he hate me so much? wondered Singh unhappily. When he had confessed his bit of detection work the previous day, he thought there had been a flicker of approval or at least interest in the sergeant's eyes. But now there was nothing, just that intimidating indifference which could only be a cover for dislike. Wield stared blankly at the youth and wished to hell that the interview were over. From the moment he first laid eyes on the boy, he'd resolved to have as little to do with him as possible. Normally it would have been a resolution easy to keep as cadets usually only made a superficial contact with CID work. But fate and Dalziel and Pascoe had decided otherwise. And the more he saw of Singh, the more his first response was confirmed. He loved him. No! His mind balked at the word. He was attracted, infatuated . . .he didn't know what he was. He only knew it was dangerous.

It was almost a year since the long affair which he'd begun to believe was permanent had come to an end. Separation had killed it, not for him but for his friend whose job had taken him a hundred miles away. Wield on his motor-bike had made light of the distance and his irregular and uncertain hours had seemed to justify that he was usually the one who made the journey. Later he had analysed that perhaps he had preferred to make the journey, perhaps even preferred that there was a journey to make, because it kept his job and life in such very distinct compartments. But the other man had needed proximity. The affair had withered and died.