Deadheads

Singh's eyes the violent digit looked as if it could have managed it figuratively) in the station wall to reveal the outside world.

'Out there it's dark and dangerous and dirty,' said Dalziel. 'Out there, there's men with clubs and knives and sawn-off shotguns who don't much care who gets in their way when they're at their work. Worse; out there, there's men with paving stones and petrol bombs whose work is to provoke us to get in their way. Oh, it's an interesting job all right.

'And then there's the other place and that's in here.'

The finger stabbed down. Singh grasped that what was being indicated was not the interior of Dalziel's desk, but the police station, indeed perhaps the whole of the police force.

'Out there is bad. But sometimes,' said Dalziel, 'sometimes in here makes you long to be back out there, like you long for a pint of ale when you've had a hot, hard day and you're drier than a Wee Free Sunday. Do you follow me, lad?'

Curiously, Singh did. There was no way that he could know that Dalziel was still smouldering at the memory of his last encounter at Scotland Yard. Summoned to the office of the Deputy Commissioner co-ordinating the conference, he had been told in no uncertain terms that his behaviour had caused so much complaint that an adverse report was being sent to his Chief Constable. Insubordinate, disruptive, inattentive and absent were the principal epithets used, not all of them compatible with each other, Dalziel had pointed out, which had provoked the final outburst. Last words are a privilege of rank, and Dalziel was still smarting.

None of this was he about to tell Singh, of course, but the cadet was already beginning to realize that in here was peopled with monsters, or monstered with people, who could cause as much terror and pain as any robber or rioter. So he nodded his head in genuine not just sycophantic agreement.

'Good. You've nearly finished your attachment here, haven't you?'

'Yes, sir. Just another four days.'

'You've done well,' said Dalziel unexpectedly. 'Not much chance usually for a cadet to do well as far as CID's concerned. But you've shown a bit of initiative. I'll see it gets mentioned on your report.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Singh, his stomach turning with pleasure. 'Thank you very much.'

'Right. Push off now. Tell one of them idle buggers down below I'd appreciate a mug of tea. I'm only away a few days and they're sliding into idle habits!'

'Yes, sir,' said Singh standing to attention. 'Sir . . .'

'Don't hang about, lad,' said Dalziel.

But Singh, emboldened by praise, said, 'Sir, if there's going to be a stake-out, at Rosemont, I mean, sir, because of my information, like, I wonder if mebbe I could . . .'

Dalziel's basilisk gaze froze the trickle of words.

'Fancy a bit of action, do you, lad? Bloody a couple of noses, get a police medal?'

'No, sir. I just thought mebbe the experience . . .'

'Let me tell you about the experience,' said Dalziel. 'Either you'll sit on your arse, bloody uncomfortable, all night, and you'll end up in the morning, cold and tired, with bugger-all to show for it, and the officers you're with will all know it's been on your say-so they've wasted their time. Or the villains'll come and there'll be a bit of aggro and mebbe a bit of blood. Any road, when the lights go on, there'll be you, standing there feeling all pleased; and looking right at you will be your old mate, what's his name? oh yes, Jonty Marsh. Are you ready for that, lad? Whichever way it goes?'

Singh hesitated, recalling Wield had warned him along similar lines.

There was a tap on the door behind him.

'Come in!' bellowed Dalziel.

The door opened and Pascoe appeared with Wield behind him.

'Here they are, the heavenly twins, Castor and Bollocks,' said Dalziel. 'Run along, son, and don't forget about that tea.'

Singh left, passing under the craggy indifference of Wield's expression like a nervous pinnace beneath a fortified cliff.

'Welcome back, sir,' said Pascoe, observing the swollen nose with keen interest. 'We weren't expecting you till this afternoon.'

'I skipped the fond farewells,' said Dalziel. 'I've been going through all this stuff on Aldermann, then I had a word with young Abdul.'

'Singh, you mean, sir? Shaheed is his first name, I think,' said Pascoe.

'Aye, Abdul. He's not daft, that lad. Has someone been giving him a hard time? I just got an impression he might be feeling he's being shoved around a bit.'

He glared accusingly at the two men.

'I won't have officers throwing their weight around,? he said. 'Consideration for subordinates, that's what it takes to knit a good team together. Understood?'

Pascoe glanced at Wield, then said, 'I entirely agree, sir.'

'Good. Now what have you two idle sods been at these past few days? This joker Aldermann, are we arresting him or protecting him?'

'Protecting him,' said Pascoe promptly. 'I've found nothing concrete to suggest he's ever stepped over the line except in the case of the old lady's money when he was working for Capstick in Harrogate.'