'Sir,' he said, 'I think we're there.'
Dalziel said, 'Constable Seymour here will start knocking your statement into shape, sir. Excuse me.'
On the way downstairs he said fiercely, 'For fuck's sake, Peter, give me a hand in there! We're losing the slippery sod and you just sit there smiling like a curate at a christening.'
In the garage he stooped over the hole. Swain's chalk marks had been very precise. It always surprised Dalziel to see what a small space the human body could fit into, especially when folded into a foetal position. He frowned severely at the young man as though willing him to speak.
Then he said, 'All right. Everyone out. Photos first, then Forensic.'
'All informed, sir,' said Wield.
'Someone will have to tell the girl,' said Pascoe, as they went into the welcome sunshine.
'What? Oh aye. For identification. Look who's here. Man his size should use a moped.'
The Chief Constable was climbing out of a big Rover. He was resplendent in full fig, and the ratepayers' generosity was still written in his face. But the message changed like a teletext screen as he took in Dalziel, and the Roads Department truck, and the two men coming out of the garage with pneumatic drills.
Dalziel approached and Trimble said, 'Andrew, am I sure I want to hear this?'
'Nowt to worry about,' said Dalziel. 'Just an unexpected visitor.'
Quickly he filled Trimble in on the course of events. The Chief Constable groaned gently when he heard about the body but otherwise he listened in silence, asked a couple of pertinent questions when Dalziel had finished, then said, 'Let's hope he's telling the truth and Forensic confirm it. A manslaughter victim in our own backyard's marginally preferable to a murder victim.'
Pascoe said to Dalziel, 'Sir, did you want me to inform Mrs Appleyard?'
He intended only a gentle reminder that people were more important than public relations, but somehow it came out like an ex cathedra rebuke. Dalziel didn't respond. He seemed to have drifted off into some unimaginable inner world. But Trimble took the point well.
'Of course. The young wife. And she's lost her father today. This will be very hard for her. Whoever tells her, I want an experienced WPC present, and the counselling services alerted. But we mustn't jump the gun. Andrew!'
Dalziel rejoined them with a start.
'Sir?'
'I was just saying we should keep the wraps on this till we're absolutely sure what we've got here. And that's for the relatives' sake as well as our own.'
This was for Pascoe's benefit. Reassured by the Chief's reaction to his earlier intervention, he could now admit a smidgeon of sympathy for Trimble's distaste for the anticipated newspaper mockery. It wasn't all that long ago that a dead Italian had been found in a car in this same park, and Pascoe could still recall the yards of wearisome waggery churned out by everyone from the yellow press to the red satirists.
'Aye, you're right,' said Dalziel vaguely.
There was something on his mind, something he was not altogether confident of bringing into the open. Pascoe didn't like this. Dalziel might not always be right, but he was rarely uncertain.
Trimble had sensed it too and he said gently, 'Andrew, I once had toothache and broke my favourite toy engine on my birthday. Since then I've been disaster-proof. What else is on your mind?'
Dalziel said, 'Greg Waterson, sir.'
'Meaning?'
'It's two months almost since he was last seen. We've looked everywhere. Not just us. The Drug Squad. And they
'So?'
'So think about it, sir. If you're looking for someone with no talent for hiding, and he can't be found in the places he seems likely to hide, doesn't it make sense to start looking in the places someone else is likely to have hidden him?'
Pascoe had to admire the way he used the Dark Lady's phrases as though struck fresh in his personal mint. And he had to admire even more the way in which Trimble digested the implications of his CID chief's remarks without spewing forth rage.
'You're sure you want to do this, Andrew?' was all he said mildly.
'Aye. I'm sure.'
Trimble sighed. He's as worried about Dalziel's obsession with Swain as I am, thought Pascoe. But he's got to let him prove himself right or wrong.
'And which part of my lovely car park do you propose destroying now?'
Dalziel pointed towards the gatehouse.
'That's the last bit done,' he said. 'The bit they were working at when Waterson did his vanishing trick.'
'Right,' said Trimble with sudden decision. 'Go ahead. But I'm not having us on public display. I want that section of the street shut off. Put out some story about a gas leak, anything. And, Andrew, try to look a little happier. The sight of anything less than utter certainty on that face of yours gives me acid indigestion.'
He strode smartly into the building.
'He's all right for a dwarf,' said Dalziel. 'Right, lad. You heard what the man said. I'll leave you to get that
