late than never, eh?'
The absence of a decent security system in the Centre had been one of the obstacles to an early solution of the Wordman case. By an irony not unremarked by his civic colleagues, Stuffer Steel had been the man mainly responsible for the penny-pinching approach which had led to the installation of the Centre's original bog-standard basic CCTV system.
'I don't think it's their staff they're worried about,' said Rye. 'Heritage is displaying the Elsecar Hoard next month, and it was a condition of getting it that our security was right up to date.'
'Poor old Stuffer must be spinning in his grave,' said Dalziel.
Councillor Steel, when news of the controversy about the Hoard first hit the headlines, had opined that the remaining Elsecars should be sent down the mines (if a mine could be found for them to be sent down) and their Hoard sold and the money distributed among the poor and oppressed of Yorkshire.
Andy Dalziel, no great lover of the councillor, for once agreed with him.
'Yes, I suppose he must,' said Rye.
There were tears in her eyes again and Dalziel cursed himself for his insensitivity.
He said, 'Better be off now. Take care, lass. And don't be too hard on young Bowler. But I'd not be too soft either! Cheers.'
On his way out of the library, he met Penn coming back in.
Dalziel took the book out of his pocket and flourished it.
'Nice one, Charley’ he said. 'Can't wait to read it.'
Penn watched him go, then made his way to his usual place and sat down.
Rye was back behind the counter.
Their gazes met, and locked.
It was Rye who broke off first. She grimaced as if in pain, put her hand to her head, then retreated into the office, kicking the door shut behind her.
Charley Penn smiled a wintry smile.
'Gotcha’ he mouthed. Then he turned to his books.
On Wednesday morning, despite the early hour, the passengers on the overnight flight from New York to Manchester strode into the public arrivals area with the sprightly step of the born-again who'd not only survived six hours trapped in a tin can but had passed through the Green Channel without some fish-eyed customs official attempting to investigate their private parts.
One, an attractive athletic-looking young woman with a papoose harness tied tightly against her breast so that it didn't impede her from pushing her luggage trolley, scanned the crowd waiting along the barrier eagerly as if in search of a familiar face.
She didn't find it, but what she did see was a man in a sober grey suit holding up a piece of white card bearing the name carnwath.
She went to him and said, 'Hi. I'm Meg Carnwath.'
'Hello,' he said. 'I'm Detective Sergeant Young, Greater Manchester CID.'
'Oh God. What's happened? Has Oz had an accident…?'
'No, no, he's fine, really. It's this case he's a witness in… he's told you about it?'
'Yes, he has. He rang up yesterday to say that it had been put back till this afternoon, but he'd still have plenty of time to meet me and drive me back home.'
'How'd he sound?'
'A bit nervous. He said he'd be glad when this first stage was over. After that he thought he'd be OK, like a first night.'
'Well, he's right to be nervous. We got a whisper there might be an attempt to bring pressure on him via you. Probably nothing in it, but for everyone's sake, it made sense for us to pick you up and keep you nice and safe till Mr Carnwath has given his evidence.'
'Oh God,' exclaimed the woman, wide-eyed. 'Oz said this guy who killed the girl was pretty heavily connected, but this is like something out of the movies.'
'We'll try to keep the car chases within the legal limit,' said Young, smiling. 'Anyway, even if there was anything to worry about, there isn't now. Here, let me take that.'
Pushing the trolley he led her out to the waiting car which was a big Mercedes.
'Well, this is nice,' she said. 'Didn't realize the police were so upmarket.'
'We didn't want to draw attention,' he said. 'Escort you to a police car and everyone would have you down as a drug smuggler! Besides, you deserve a bit of comfort after being squashed in a plane seat so long. There's a baby harness in the back if you want it.'
'Later maybe. He yelled all the way across then went out like a light when we landed, so I'll let sleeping dogs lie as long as he stays that way.'
She climbed in and made soothing clucking noises into the papoose hood while Young put the cases in the boot.
'Husband not with you this trip?' he said over his shoulder as he drove slowly and carefully through the morning traffic building up around Manchester.
'Partner. He's coming on later. I wanted to get here early and have some time with my brother, show him his nephew, they've not met yet.'
‘That'll be nice’ he said.
There was a little more desultory conversation, but when the car left the suburbs behind and began to climb eastwards over the Pennines, Young saw in his mirror that the woman's eyes had closed, so he stopped talking and concentrated on driving through a mist which grew thicker as they got higher. After about twenty minutes he turned the car gently down a side road without disturbing his passenger, and some minutes later turned again along a narrow rutted track which the Merc's suspension negotiated without causing more than a restless shifting.
Finally he brought the car to a halt before a low stone-built farmhouse whose tiny windows, too small to admit a sufficiency of daylight in good weather and useless in these murky conditions, were ablaze with light.
The cessation of movement woke the woman.
She yawned, peered out of the window and said, 'Where are we?'
'Here’ said Young vaguely. He picked up the car phone, pressed some buttons, listened then handed it to her, saying, Thought you might like a word with your brother.'
'Oz?' she said into the mouthpiece.
'Meg? That you? Are you OK? Where are you?'
'I'm fine. Not sure where I am though, looks like a scene from a horror movie. Where did you say we were, Sergeant?'
'One of our safe houses’ he said.
'A safe house? I thought we were heading straight for home.'
'Well we are, but not quite straight. Few hours here till the committal proceedings are over, then we'll be on our way. It's OK, Mr Carnwath knows all about it, ask him.'
'Oz,' she said into the phone, 'Sergeant Young says I've got to stay here, wherever here is, some safe house, till the proceedings are over. He says you know about it.'
There was a pause then Oz Carnwath said, 'That's right, Sis. You sit tight till this thing's finished. It won't take long.'
If you say so, Bro. You're OK, are you?'
'Oh yes, I'm being well looked after.'
She handed the phone back to Young. The farm door opened and another man came out and walked towards them, a slightly menacing figure silhouetted against the rectangle of orange light. She tried to open the car door, but found she couldn't move the handle.
Young said, 'Sorry. Force of habit,' and pressed the lock release.
The new man held open the car door for her. He was young, leather jacketed, with the bold eyes and leering smile of one who imagines himself irresistible to women.
'Get the luggage, Constable,' said Young.
'Luggage? I'm going to be here long enough to need luggage?'
