to ask why ANIMA was hardly getting a mention, and got told that in matters sub judice it was editorial policy to afford the police full cooperation, I didn't immediately think, that bastard Andy Dalziel's put the frighteners on. No, I thought, that nice superintendent's imposed a temporary media blackout in the best interests of all concerned. No need for me to go running hysterically to my cousin who does features for Channel 4 or my old school chum who's a junior minister in the Home Office, is there? Why have confrontation when you can have consultation instead?'
Not bad, approved Dalziel. Just because he'd identified three weaknesses didn't mean she couldn't still kick him in the balls. But he was still intrigued as to why she should think he was susceptible to consultation. She didn't give the impression of being thick.
He said, 'Let's get things straight. I take the frighteners off the local media and you'll sign any statement I care to dictate to you?'
'More or less,' she said.
'Talking about fitting folk up always makes me thirsty,' he said, crushing the last empty can in his huge fist.
'Have to be Mexican,' she said, going to the fridge. 'It's good. So good some of the American companies started spreading rumours the Mexican workers piss in it.'
'So what? Yon reservoir up Dendale, the one supplies most of our tap water, we fished five bodies out of there last year. Cheers. Don't have another bit of pork pie in there too, do you?'
'Another bit?' she said.
It took him a second to work this out.
'You mean it weren't pork?'
'I don't eat dead animals, Andy, nor encourage my friends to do so. It was basically tofu.'
'Bloody hell,' said Dalziel, taking a long cleansing suck at his beer. 'Two things I don't do, missus. One is feed folk stuff they don't know what it is. T'other is fit people up. Understand that and we might get on a bit better.'
'Oh dear,' she said, concerned. 'I've offended you. I'm not very good on moral codes. I suppose that means goodbye to Plan Two as well.'
'What's that when it's at home?' he asked suspiciously.
'Well, after our first encounter last night I had the feeling that my boobs hadn't been so closely scanned since my last radiography checkup. I thought if all else failed… let me rephrase that… I rather hoped all else might fail and I'd have to fall back on the flesh, so to speak. But naturally I'd never come between a man and his moral code.'
Dalziel considered. Another man might have played for time by pretending to suck on the empty bottle or making reference to the weather, but Dalziel did his considering in plain view. Offers of trade-offs of sexual for constabulary favours weren't uncommon. He rarely bothered himself. A bang was only a bang but a good result was a collar.
On the other hand, if he was honest with himself (and with himself what was the point of being other?), he really fancied this lass. Not just the boobs. These days even Mid-Yorkshire was bulging with highly visible boobs. See two, you've seen 'em all. And not the way she spoke which still carried too many overtones of the Pitt-Overload era, or whatever the prat's name was. And certainly not all this dotty animal rights stuff. And she wasn't young. And she wasn't beautiful. Any other strikes against her? Yes, of course, the big one. OK so ALBA would almost certainly decide not to proceed against her. And the possible charges he'd just listed weren't worth wasting his time on. But if he thought there was any chance at all that she'd been mixed up in this Redcar thing…
Very long odds against. One in a million. Less. She'd offered alibis and from what he'd seen he reckoned that she'd sussed out he wasn't the kind of cop who'd let a bit of nookie stop him from checking. So why was he looking for an excuse to reject what his whole being was urging him to grab with both hands?
Mebbe he was a bit scared of his own desire. Mebbe it was because there was something about her that hit the spot, like the bouquet of an untried single malt when you opened the bottle, telling you that this was one to be savoured.
She was regarding him oddly. Calculatingly?
'What're you thinking of?' he asked abruptly.
'Old friend of mine, same name as the novelist. Balzac,' she said smiling.
Bloody incomprehensible. But which on 'em wasn't?
Condition of service! And at least he now understood her motive for getting him alone. Just as he'd been identifying her weaknesses over the past hour, so she'd identified his last night, and taken a bloody sight less time about it.
Question his sodding vanity wanted answering was this. Was Plan Two a Last Resort, or really a Principle Object disguised as a Last Resort?
She read a question in his eyes, but misread it also.
She said, 'I had nothing to do with the Redcar raid, Andy. And I deplore what they did, both personally and as an activist.'
Well, she would say that, wouldn't she? Clever thing for a cop to reply was, I believe you.
'I believe you,' he replied. 'Them bones you lot found last night, looks like they could be pretty old.'
'So?'
'I mean too old to have owt to do with ALBA. With a bit of luck they might even turn out too old to have owt to do with the CID!'
'That's interesting.'
'Aye. Means there might be nothing at all to investigate. Certainly means you and the folk up there aren't mixed up in any investigation. I rang my media contacts on the way here, told 'em they could go to town.'
There. Now let's see if the chicken still crossed the road.
The phone started ringing.
'Could be for me,' said Dalziel. 'I left 'em your number. Or it could be News at Ten.'
'Shall I answer it?'
'Up to you. You're a free agent.'
'Yes, I am,' she said seriously. 'How about you, Andy? How's the moral code?'
Dalziel didn't mind a bit of obliquity but this was beginning to sound… what was that word Pascoe sometimes came out with?… sphincteresque? Summat like that. Any road, enough was enough.
He stood up and started taking his tie off.
'Moral code? he said. 'You've just cracked it.' xi
'That, I hope, is the secretaire you mentioned. Or have you gone into the funeral business?' said Ellie Pascoe.
Pascoe, reluctantly acknowledging that the passionate welcome-home embrace was over, followed her gaze to the sheet-shrouded cargo on his roof rack.
'Have no fear,' he said. 'Ada is safely scattered as per wishes, more or less. It was quite entertaining in a macabre way. Give me a hand with this, will you? How's Rosie?'
'At school. Memory that it was her friend Sarah's birthday today coincided with a miracle recovery.'
'Ah,' said Pascoe.
'Ah what? She really wasn't fit to go yesterday.'
'I know she wasn't,' said Pascoe mildly, thinking that such a hint of defensiveness in a suspect would have had him chiselling at the weakness till it gave. 'Here we go. You've got that end? Right… just let it slide. Great. Et voilai'
Dramatically he whipped the sheet off the secretaire. Ellie regarded it in silence.
'You are dumbfounded with admiration?' he said hopefully.
'You said it was Sheraton.'
'After Sheraton,' said Pascoe.
'About eighty long hard years after.'
Pascoe couldn't argue. Out of the friendly shadows of Ada's living room, the secretaire had lost much of its antique charm and stood forlorn and rather shabby in the cruel November sunlight.
'It's got a secret drawer,’ he pleaded.
He opened it and showed her the photo. She studied it with interest.
