inserted a key. 'Hang on a sec,' he said.
'Belt up and get yourself in quick,' hissed Dalziel. He was pushed into the room and the door closed quietly behind him. It was pitch dark. He took a tentative step forward and caught his shin against a chair. 'Stand still,' ordered Dalziel, and next moment a small desk lamp came on, its light reflected in three computer screens with the greening pallor of a three-day corpse. Pascoe said with quiet vehemence. 'Now hold on, sir, I said I'd keep a friendly eye on Mr Hiller, but that stops well short of breaking and entering.' 'Who's broke owt?' demanded Dalziel. 'And what's the world coming to if the head of CID can't enter any room he likes in his own station?' 'Fair enough. But I don't see why a man who can enter anything he likes should need any assistance from an ordinary mortal like me.' 'Don't get cheeky, lad,' said Dalziel sternly. 'And give me some credit. If it were just desk drawers or a filing cabinet I wanted into, you could be lying all alone in your pit, feeling sorry for yourself. No, it's them bloody things I need help with.' He banged his fist in frustration on the keyboard of one of the computers. Pascoe winced.
'You know all about these things, don't you? You went on that course and you're always shooting your mouth off about us not using them enough. Right, here's your chance to give me a practical demo of how useful they'd be.' 'At the right time in the right place, I'll be glad to,' said Pascoe. 'At this time the right place for me is bed. Good night, sir.' He turned towards the door. And froze. He could hear footsteps in the corridor. They reached the door. And passed on.
Dalziel, as if he'd heard nothing, said, 'All right, lad, I'll not beg. You bugger off home and I'll see what I can do meself. Man who can play the bagpipes shouldn't have much trouble with one of these jobs.' He flexed his huge fingers over a keyboard, like a plumber about to start an eye operation with a wrench. Pascoe groaned, knowing, and knowing that Dalziel knew too, that any attempt at interference by a non-initiate would be unconcealable. 'Move over,' he said. Hope that Hiller might have made access difficult was soon dashed. The man obviously believed that a good lock and his name on a door were security enough. The poor sod had been away from Dalziel too long. 'What do you want to know?' asked Pascoe. 'Everything yon bugger knows.' Pascoe sighed and said, 'This isn't an old-fashioned interrogation. I can't just thump it and ask it to cough up the lot.
And even if I could, God knows how long it'd take to spew it all out, and you've only got me for five minutes, and that's not negotiable.'
'All right,' said Dalziel. 'Main thing I'd like to know is where Kohler's shacked up now.' The implications of this were too frightening for discussion. Pascoe hit the keys, half hoping it might prove impossible to access Hiller's program, but addresses were clearly not classified as restricted information. 'There you are,' he said tearing off the print-out. 'Now let's go.' 'You said five minutes,' objected Dalziel. 'Let's have every bugger's address, all them as were at Mickledore Hall that weekend.' 'Why should they be in here?' 'I know Adolf.' He was right. The printer spewed out address after address, balking only at James Westropp. 'This is grand,' said Dalziel, watching the print-outs roll off. 'Fit one of these in the station bog and think of the saving. Now what about…?' 'What about nothing. This is the end.' Pascoe set about tidying up. There was a chance this illicit access might go unnoticed and he wanted to maximize it. 'Stick that stuff under your jacket, for God's sake!' he told Dalziel, who was clearly prepared to wander round the station trailing clouds of print-out paper. Their roles were now reversed. It was Pascoe, made furtive by fear, who checked the corridor was empty.
'Right, let's go,' he said. Dalziel seemed to take forever locking the door and Pascoe was in an agony of impatience lest they should be discovered at this final moment. 'Right,' said the Fat Man finally.
'Let's get out of here before you faint. You're as nervous as a curate on his first choirboy.' Pascoe didn't reply. He was looking aghast at the mahogany plaque. Through the first ‘l’ of Hiller's name ran a cross-bar turning it to Hitler. 'I might have known!' he cried. 'It was you!' He licked his finger and rubbed at the bar but the ink was indelible. Dalziel drew him gently away, saying, 'Can't have Adolf thinking we'd lost our sense of humour. You eaten tonight? You've got to look after yourself even though the cook's away. Tell you what.
I'll treat you to a fish supper and we can eat it at my place while we talk about what to do next. We'll go in your car. I didn't bring mine.
Less evidence I've been here tonight, the better.' 'Whereas I don't count?' 'Nay, lad. Your great advantage is, you're beneath suspicion!'
They stopped at a chippie a few streets from Dalziel's house. He was obviously well known here, raising two fingers as he went through the door and being served immediately over the head of a thickset youth who said, more in puzzlement than complaint, 'Who the hell are you?'
'Doctor,' said Dalziel, it's an emergency. I've got a fish diabetic in the car.' When they got to Dalziel's house they found it had been burgled. It was the usual job. Kitchen window smashed, drawers ransacked. 'Portable radio, brass carriage clock, gold cufflinks, ten quid in loose change,' said Dalziel after a quick scout round. 'Draw that curtain to keep out the draught and let's get stuck into our haddock afore it gets cold.' He deposited a ketchup bottle and two cans of beer on the kitchen table, sat down and began to unwrap his fish and chips. 'Aren't you going to…?' 'What? Ring the station and drag half the squad round here to scatter dust over me haddock and chips? You know the score, lad. Five per cent clear-up on your normal opportunist break-ins, so what's the odds on this?' Pascoe slowly unwrapped the newspaper round his fish. It was the local Evening Post and he found himself looking at the weekly Crime Round-up column where the trivia of brawls and burglaries enjoyed a mayfly's exposure. Here was an explanation of Dalziel's cynicism. But not of its phrasing. He chewed a chip and said, 'Why should the odds be any worse on clearing up this job?' 'Cos it weren't opportunist and it weren't a break-in,' said Dalziel promptly. 'Probably came in through the front door, smashed that window as an afterthought on the way out.' Pascoe went to the window and examined it, went through into the entrance hall and looked at the front door. 'What makes you say that?' he asked, returning to his seat in the kitchen. 'I can't see anything.' 'Me neither. You've got to give credit where it's due. Are you not going to eat that haddock?' 'If it wasn't just a straight break-in, what were they after?' insisted Pascoe. Dalziel, who had rapidly devoured his own fish, broke a bit off Pascoe's and put it in his mouth. 'Wally Tallantire's papers, I'd guess,' he said chewily. 'What? But Mrs Tallantire said there weren't any. Didn't she?' 'Adolf's not the trusting type,' said Dalziel sadly. 'But I don't believe he's the burgling type either.' 'No, he'd not do owt as chancy as that. But he'd mebbe pass on his thoughts to them as would.' 'You mean this security connection you've dreamt up?' Pascoe laughed incredulously.
'You're telling me they'd set up a break-in just to have a look for some non-existent papers?' 'Who said they were non-existent?' 'You mean you have got them? This gets worse. Just what the hell are you playing at?' 'Playing at? Don't know what you mean,' said Dalziel, helping himself to more fish. 'Concealing evidence. Stealing computer files. For Christ's sake, what are you dragging me into?' 'You make everything sound so sodding sinister! All I'm trying to do is protect a mate's reputation. You'd do the same, wouldn't you?' ‘If it was worth protecting, maybe,' said Pascoe savagely. 'Oh aye? How about if I said your Ellie's a mixed-up cow who's finally found an excuse to run off to her mam? Whoops, watch it, lad. You wouldn't hit a man who's left you some haddock, would you?' Pascoe found he was standing with his fists balled. He tried to unclench them, found he couldn't.
'What was that in aid of?' he said softly. 'Just showing that sticking up for a mate's got nowt to do with truth. Even if Wally turned out as guilty as hell, I'll still smack any bugger that says so.' Pascoe's hands relaxed. 'All right, Socrates,' he said. 'But it's not as simple as that.' 'Never is, not in life, but law's different. 'Guilty or not guilty?' – 'Please, m'lud, it's not as simple as that.' Christ, the judge would hit the ceiling, then cling on up there so he could shit on you from a great height! No, our Adolf won't be perhapsing around with this one, not when there's no bugger to answer back.' 'There's you.' 'Aye, there is, isn't there? Story of my life, answering back.'
'Perhaps you'd better start answering me,' said Pascoe, resuming his seat. 'Sure you want to know? Ignorance might be your best defence.'
'It never has been with you,' said Pascoe. 'True. You're much better off knowing and lying,' said Dalziel. 'So ask away.' Pascoe chewed on a cold chip. Dalziel had lied about leaving him some haddock. And what else? He said, 'It's back to basics. That tape's filled me in on the authorized version, but I need to be brought up to date on the revised version too. I missed the telly programme and didn't pay much heed to the newspaper reports. So what happened to make the powers-that-be admit an error?' 'Jay Waggs happened for starters. He's a bit of a chancer by the sound of it. Media man, try his hand at anything, but always on the lookout for the shortcut to the big time. He claims to be a distant relative of Kohler's and says he was brought up on these stories of Cousin Cissy who disgraced the family and was locked up in the Tower of London. He researched the case, came over here, got permission to visit her, and, according to him, became convinced there'd been a miscarriage of justice. He got some backing from Ebor television because of the Yorkshire connection and made a programme about the case. I've got it on video.' Dalziel rose and put a cassette into his video machine. 'Dead giveaway, that,' he said as he pressed the start button. 'First thing any self-respecting burglar nicks nowadays is your VTR. Another beer?' 'Why not?' said
