Bones and Silence

'Summat about ships and serpents, or is that the Walrus and the Carpenter? Anyroad, here's a fifth. Eden Thackeray's no longer representing Swain.'

He tossed Pascoe the Dark Lady's letter.

'I wonder how she knows?' said Pascoe.

'Oh, sod that,' said Dalziel impatiently. 'All that matters is, it's true.'

'So what's so wonderful about a man with new money wanting a new lawyer?'

'Nowt. Except that that's not the way it was. I just rang up the firm to check, old Eden's away in Sardinia till the weekend but I charmed his secretary into telling me the truth. It was Eden who sacked Swain, not the other way round. And a lawyer giving up money, that's a lot too wonderful for me!'

Pascoe still couldn't share the fat man's wonder. The Swain case was yesterday's news, the only loose end being the continued absence of Greg Waterson and his girlfriend, and they were more the Drug Squad's concern than Dalziel's. His lack of enthusiasm showed, for Dalziel snarled, 'All right. Doubting bloody Thomas, leave it to me. I'll sort old Eden out when he gets back. Meanwhile what have you got that needs a conference on a Monday morning? And it had better be something a lot more important than tracking down that dotty tart!'

This seemed grossly ungrateful in view of the significance the Superintendent seemed to have found in the Dark Lady's information, but only a fool tried to score debating points off Dalziel.

Pascoe said, 'It's this football gang. Leeds have come up with something positive.'

'Not afore time,’ said Dalziel. 'Further West you get, more useless and idle the buggers become. Lancashire, Wales, Ireland, America. Must be something to do with the Gulf Stream. So, what have they got, lad?'

'Seems now that the season proper's over, these yobboes are at a bit of a loose end. So our City breakaway group have issued an invitation to their Leeds mates to come across here and have a bit of a joust.'

'You're joking! You're not? When?' demanded Dalziel.

'Three weeks' time. Bank Holiday Monday, May thirtieth. Day of your dramatic debut, sir. Perhaps that's the real attraction...’

The fat man's face told him he'd picked the wrong subject for humour and he quickly became serious. 'Leeds reckon their undercover team have got enough evidence for conspiracy to cause an affray. They've given us four names...’

'Four? Is that all they could manage?'

'They're the ringleaders. With another dozen being rounded up in Leeds, it should nip things in the bud and prevention's better than cure.'

'I suppose so. It'll just leave the steamers, the druggies, the yardies and the dips to sort out. What's the plan?'

'There's a few loose ends to tie up. Then next week, Tuesday morning, at the crack, we'll pick up our four, do a preliminary interrogation here, then ferry them over to Leeds to join their dozen.'

'What's up? Don't the miserable sods trust us?'

'They've done all the graft,’ said Pascoe, 'so we've got to play their rules. But it'll give us a chance to see if we can tie any of our lot in with chucking that lad off the train or smashing up the Rose and Crown.'

'You'll be lucky,' said Dalziel pessimistically. 'Still, it's better than nowt. Let's make a really big splash out of this and mebbe it'll persuade some of the other villains to pick somewhere else for their holiday outing.'

He really doesn't want his debut spoiled! thought Pascoe.

He said, 'How's it all going, sir? The Mysteries, I mean.'

Dalziel eyed him assessingly, decided to take it this time as genuine interest, and said, 'It's bloody hard work, I'll tell you that for nowt. I sometimes wonder how I got conned into taking it on.'

'Chung's hard to resist,' smiled Pascoe complacently, sure now that his role as Judas-goat was undetectable.

'A lot of 'em are,' growled Dalziel. 'At first. Then you let 'em talk you into something daft, like marriage or play-acting. That's when you see the change. But I've said I'll do it and I'll not go back on my word. Someone round here's got to show a bit of community spirit. I'm surprised you've not got yourself involved, Peter, your missus being so thick with Chung. You must have boxed real clever to keep out.'

He was regarding Pascoe assessingly once more and Pascoe's sense of security evaporated like spit on a flatiron.

That night he described the scene to Ellie and said casually, 'Chung is completely discreet, I suppose?'

'No, thank God, else I'd have a very dull article.'

Ellie was now deeply immersed in preparing a profile of Chung for the Evening Post's Mysteries Souvenir Edition. She'd been flattered when Chung had insisted she should write it rather than one of the paper's regular reporters, who, she alleged, couldn't be trusted to get the facts straight about a flower show. Ellie's enjoyment of the task was marred only by the difficulty of getting Chung to sit still. Most of her interviews were given on the move, but it was all great copy and Ellie was increasingly optimistic that her piece would be the jewel in the crown of the Souvenir Edition.

'Any chance of a preview?' asked Pascoe.

'No way. You'll pay your money like everybody else,' said Ellie firmly.

There was nothing in her tone to hint reprisal for his own unwillingness to let her see the Dark Lady letters, but he felt it as such. Since that unacknowledged clash, he had made an effort to talk about this and other cases, but she had registered only a polite interest and slipped away from the subject as soon as possible. He felt, though did not feel ready to argue, that police evidence was a bit different from Chung's biography. Instead he managed a