manage a Scotch, but.' A lesser woman might have glanced at her watch. Wendy Stamper went without hesitation to a cabinet and from a decanter poured him a measure which had the twin merits of being generous and a malt of great quality and strength. He rolled it round his mouth, failed to identify it and asked, 'What's this, then?' 'Glencora,' she said. He'd never heard of it and she added, it's a very small company, and most of its output goes for export.' Which explained the strength. He'd read somewhere that the Yanks liked their liquor stronger because they preferred their drinks in mixtures, which in the case of Glencora was like using fresh salmon to make fish fingers. He said, 'You don't get on with your brother, then?' 'Did he say that?' 'No, but it stands to reason. You working here and him having nowt to do with your dad.'
'You can agree to differ without falling out,' she said. 'Oh aye? Even when he reckons your dad's a jumped-up nowt who tret his wife like shit?' She didn't let herself be provoked, even managed a slight smile. 'I think I do recall you now. I assume it's the Mickledore Hall business you want to talk to him about? Because that woman has been let off?' 'You didn't like Cissy Kohler, then?' he said. She thought, then said grudgingly, 'Yes, I suppose I liked her well enough.' But you don't want to like her, thought Dalziel. He said, 'Do you still think she did it?' She replied, 'Who else?' but it came out as a real question rather than the rhetorical affirmation she probably intended.
A buzzer sounded on her desk. She picked up a phone, listened, said 'Right,' and put it down. 'He'll see you now,' she said to Dalziel.
'Come this way.' If the daughter's office was Regency lady's drawing-room, the father's was Victorian gentleman's study. Stamper rose from behind a huge desk and came to meet him, hand outstretched.
'Come in, Mr Dalziel. It's been a long time since we met. You were only a constable. You've come a long way since then. Congratulations.'
'You've not done so bad yourself, Sir Arthur,' said Dalziel, slightly taken aback by this easy recognition. But why not? Stamper himself was little changed except for a deeper channel in his greyer hair. And if there had been any rough edges to his social act all those years ago, they had been long since polished away. 'Drink?' he said. 'I've got a whisky I'd be glad of your opinion on…' 'Glencora, you mean? I've tried it and I'll not say no to the other half.' He sank into a leather sofa big enough for a small orgy and said, 'By gum, you've got some nice stuff in here.' It was a test. Gentlemen didn't boast about their possessions. Self-made Yorkshiremen gave you provenance and price. 'Have I? I suppose I have,' said Stamper with a faint note of surprise at finding himself judged a man of taste. He handed Dalziel a crystal tumbler full of the pale nectar and sat behind his desk. 'One tends to accumulate things,' he said. 'But I'm not what you'd call a collector. Except for the desk. I collected that. Recognize it?' 'Any reason I should?' asked Dalziel. ‘It's from the library at Mickledore Hall! They sold off some of the furniture before the National Trust got their claws on the place.' 'I see. You wanted a souvenir? Present from Blackpool sort of thing?' 'I wouldn't quite put it like that. But it was undeniably a memorable weekend. None of us came out of it unchanged.' 'Pamela Westropp didn't, that's true,' said Dalziel. 'And Westropp neither. And Partridge's career went up the spout too. But I can't see how it affected you, Sir Arthur.' 'No?' Stamper sounded faintly surprised. 'Ah well. I suppose what you're here for is to find out if I had any doubts about the verdict. Well, I can put your mind at rest. I had none, nor did I find anything reprehensible in the way that Superintendent Tallantire conducted the case.' 'But now that Kohler's been set loose…' 'Administrative incompetence,' said Stamper shortly. 'You mean, like someone left the door open and she just walked out?' said Dalziel. 'I mean that the woman should either have been paroled years ago or if, as is reported, she refused to apply for parole, this should have been judged prima facie evidence of mental derangement and she should have been returned to the psychiatric hospital she started her sentence in.' 'But if she's innocent – and that's what the Home Secretary reckons isn't it… ?' 'Yes, yes,' said Stamper testily. 'So perhaps she didn't help Mickledore directly, but at the very least she probably knew what he was up to and afterwards felt guilty enough to associate herself with the crime. Silly notions these lovesick girls get, don't they?' 'I wouldn't know, sir,' said Dalziel stolidly. 'Must have been a nasty shock for you too, being such a close friend of Sir Ralph's.' 'We weren't all that close.' 'Close enough for him to borrow money, but?'
'To borrow a tenner some degree of closeness may be necessary,' said Stamper. 'For larger sums, a commercial arrangement is enough.' 'You got your money back, did you, sir?' 'I got what I wanted. Money's not everything, Dalziel. But perhaps you find that hard to understand.'
'Job satisfaction, you mean? Oh, I think I understand that.' 'Then perhaps you'll understand what a joy it was to be a British businessman in those days. The 'fifties and early 'sixties. We'd won the war from 'thirty-nine to 'forty-five, but we nearly lost it again from 'forty-five to 'fifty- one. Cleaning up after those socialists was a frightful chore, but we did it, by God we did it! And we got our reward.' 'Oh aye. I remember. You'd never had it so good.' 'And Macmillan was right! And we'd have had it even better if it hadn't been for that stupid tart! Sixteen years we lost because of her.' 'I always heard Mr Profumo had summat to do with it as well,' said Dalziel, with a mild attack of feminism. 'Any road, the good days came round again for you and your mates.' ‘Indeed they did. But it never felt the same. In those days we were set fair to get back on top of the heap again. Now, we've got to struggle to keep up with the French, for God's sake!' He glanced at his watch. End of interview? thought Dalziel. Instead Stamper plucked the glass from his hand and said, 'Refill?' 'As much as you like. It's grand stuff.' 'I'm glad of your approval. I always take expert advice before an investment.' ‘Investment? You mean…?' Sir Arthur smiled. 'Come, come. Can't have senior police officers mixed up in insider dealing, can we?' 'I suppose not. Getting back to Sir Ralph, did he strike you as the kind of man who'd sacrifice himself for a mate?' 'What?' Stamper considered. 'Yes, it's possible. Certain kinds of breeding develop a sense of loyalty incomprehensible to outsiders.' 'Like in pedigree dogs, you mean? I've never thought of it like that,' said Dalziel, his face aglow with innocent interest. A line of loathing momentarily creased Sir Arthur's mask. A phone squeaked on the huge desk. He picked it up, listened, and said, 'No, that's fine. Send him up.'
Replacing the receiver and his good-natured smile, he said, 'How's your drink, Mr Dalziel?' So once again, all was made clear. It was Hiller who'd arrived, Dalziel had little doubt of that, and even less that this clever bastard had known all along his own visit was unofficial, keeping him talking to engineer a head-on collision with Adolf. Sooner or later such a confrontation was inevitable. Dalziel wasn't frightened of it, but he'd rather it had been later, and he didn't care at all to be manoeuvred into it. He could lie about their discussion, of course, but it occurred to him that the sly bastard probably had a tape running in his desk. On the other hand, it had been Stamper who set the reminiscence ball rolling by recognizing him … He said, 'Well, it's been nice talking about old times. Sir Arthur, but I really must get down to business. Private security forces. There's been a lot of concern expressed lately about the use of private security groups, the way they're recruited and trained, and the limits of their authority. We've got an inquiry team operating in Mid-Yorkshire and I'm going round neighbouring police authorities gathering facts. Now, here at Inkerstamm you've got your own organization and there's been some disquiet expressed about it…'
Stamper was looking surprised, a genuine dropped jaw surprise, not an upper class raised eyebrow imitation. But the voice was holding out.
'I'm sorry? What on earth are you talking about?' Suddenly Dalziel was on his feet, leaning over the desk, his mouth almost touching Stamper's face so that though his whispered words would be beyond reach of even a sensitive microphone, they would reverberate thunderously in the man's ear. 'I'm talking about puffed-up noddy merchants who keep private armies so no one can get close enough to tell 'em what pathetic little pricks they really are.' 'Now just tha' hold on, Dalziel! No bugger talks to me that way!' It was there, the old Yorkshire accent, loud and sweet. Dalziel stood back and said, 'Ee bah gum, Art. It's grand to have thee back wi' real folk again.' There was a tap at the door which opened almost simultaneously to reveal Deputy Chief Constable Hiller. 'What fettle, Geoff – sorry – sir?' cried Dalziel. 'Sir Arthur and I are just this moment finished. Thanks for your cooperation. I'll see myself out.' Pausing only to make sure his glass was empty, he pushed between the lowering-faced Hiller and the puzzled-faced Wendy Stamper, and went quickly across the hallway into the woman's office. There was an outside phone on the desk. He picked it up, dialled. A voice said, 'South Yorkshire police, can I help you?' 'CID. Mr Monkhouse, please. That you, Des? Andy Dalziel here… I'm grand. Listen, you know that private security review we set up in the county? Well, I'm taking a personal interest and I'd like your OK to me asking a few questions round your patch…
Thanks. Oh, and I'd like it yesterday, if that's OK… Aye, I'll tell you about it some time. Thanks a lot. I owe you a pint. All right, two. Cheers.' He put the phone down as Wendy Stamper came back into the room. 'Just checking the time,' he said. She said, 'That man Hiller seemed surprised to find you were here.' 'Adolf? I shouldn't worry. His short-term memory's going. Anything surprises him that happened later than nineteen sixty-three. That's why he's on this inquiry.' 'And why are you on it, Mr Dalziel?' She hadn't, he decided, been in on her father's little trick, but she had worked out for herself that something fishy was going on. 'Justice,' he said sternly.
