of his windpipe being pierced by a metal spike. Here's a copy of the relevant section of a witness statement which claims the metal spike was one of those on that harrow. Would you check it out?'
'But this was three months ago and this thing has obviously been standing out in the open.'
'Yes. You've already done an examination of Appleyard's clothing. Also of the clothing of Gail Swain. I'd like some further work done on both of these.'
'Are you saying there are inaccuracies?' demanded Gentry.
'I'm inviting you to be more precise than your first brief required,' said Pascoe. 'Particularly in the area of staining on the outer garments.'
'You have authorization for this?' interrupted Gentry harshly.
'I can get Mr Trimble's signature in the hour if that's what it takes to make you do your job,' said Pascoe.
'I don't think that is called for!'
Unsure whether the man was referring to the signature or the slur, Pascoe said, 'Then I'll expect to hear from you,' and left. Such brusqueness did not come naturally to him, but it was the only way to deal with Dr Death.
Not that there weren't other sharper stings to be wary of.
'Where the hell have you been?' demanded Dalziel as he entered his office. 'Mooning around after yon dotty tart, I'll be bound.'
'If you mean the disturbed woman who has made the mistake of looking to you for help, no, I haven't,' snapped Pascoe.
'Bloody hell,' said Dalziel. 'What's up with you? Time of the month, is it, lad? Try to leave your hang-ups at home, eh? It's not fair on them you work with.'
These reasoned reproaches coming from a man who since his last talk with Trimble had been ready to boil babies was almost too much.
'Looking for something, are you, sir?' said Pascoe banging shut the drawers and cupboards which the fat man had clearly been going through.
'Bit of a tension headache. Thought you might have an aspirin. But it doesn't matter,' said Dalziel long- sufferingly. 'It's all this acting business on top of running this madhouse. I must have been doolally to get involved.'
'How's it going with your new Lucifer?' asked Pascoe, deciding that conciliation was the better part of valour.
'He's all right. You know something? I miss Swain in the part! It made it all realler somehow. Now it's nowt but pantomime. Desperate Dan was right. I should never have got involved.'
'Not to worry, sir. It'll all be over soon.'
'Christ, lad, you sound like a nun in a hospice,' said Dalziel. 'I need cheering up. I'll let you buy me a pint later to make up for being so rude to me.'
'I thought you had a headache,' objected Pascoe.
'That's what I tell all the girls,' said Dalziel.
Alone, Pascoe realized that he really did have a headache. In fact, on and off, he'd had one for some time now. It sometimes felt as if there was too much in there trying to get out. Or too much outside trying to get in.
Some time he was going to have to sit down quietly and spread his life out over a table as he'd spread the Swain case last night. But not yet. He couldn't approach his own actions in two roles and find only one inconsistency. No, the roles were as myriad as minutes in a day, and the inconsistencies . . . well, how many pins could you stick in the bum of an angel?
He tried to smile at his own joke, failed, stood up, winced as his bad leg had a relapse, closed his eyes, saw the dark mine in which he'd suffered his injury, felt the rotten ceiling sagging low towards him, saw it was crawling with millions of squeaking slithering bats..’
'Are you all right?'
It was Wield, his craggy face anxious.
'Yes. Fine. Really, I'm fine. Could do with a bit more sleep, that's all. I was burrow ing away at the Swain case last night.'
'Oh aye? Any amazing revelations?'
'You never know, Wieldy,' said Pascoe, managing a smile. 'Let me tell you about it.'
The sergeant listened in silence and when Pascoe was done all he said was, 'Well, best of luck. But I wouldn't draw my savings from the building society to invest in it!'
'Thanks a lot,' said Pascoe, disappointed. 'Let's just wait and see, shall we?'
Twenty- four hours later he was still waiting. He was resolved not to ring Gentry and give him the chance to be acid about CID's notorious impatience. Also, whatever else he felt about the man, he trusted his professionalism implicitly.
Finally a message came. Would he care to step round to the laboratories? He went. He looked. He listened.
When Gentry had finished, Pascoe said with sincere feeling, 'I can't thank you enough. You've done wonders.'
'We've done our job,' said Gentry. 'We can only work on what we're given, what we're told.'
But there was something which might have been a flush of pleasure beneath the parchment skin.
