Death

'Tobe? Who the hell's Tobe?'

'It's Belchy's web name, the one he uses when he talks to his mates on the net.'

'How do you know that?'

'Sometimes he's been online while we're… you know. Likes to send messages to say what's happening.'

Belchamber, you are a nasty piece of shit! thought Wield.

He said, 'This is a chat room he uses then?'

'Yeah, but it's real complicated to get in, passwords, and all kinds of shit. You want me to find out more about it?'

'No,' said Wield firmly. 'You mustn't do anything that makes him suspicious. So when he went online was this something to do with the call to the man in Sheffield?'

'I think so. I saw this message he left on the noticeboard. LB call Tobe.'

'LB?'

'Yeah, it's one of these pervs in the chat room, but this one Belchy knows personal and sometimes he'll just leave a message there.'

Someone whose line he doesn't trust to be secure, thought Wield.

'And did this LB ring?'

'Yeah. A bit later. Didn't need to make a note of that, it were really short. LB said what? And Belchy said he'd told his mate the money was through and was it? And LB said he always did what he said he'd do and mebbe Tobe should remember that. End of call.'

'Doesn't sound very friendly.'

'No,' said the boy. 'Come to think of it, when I've heard 'em before, Belchy and LB, I mean, they've always sounded a lot more friendly.'

'And the man in Sheffield didn't sound like a close friend either from what you say.'

'Him? No, definitely not.'

'But you said that Belchamber talked about 'his mate's money' when he was talking to LB. Why should that be, do you think?'

'Don't know. Yeah, it is a bit funny. I mean, old Belchy's really posh. Not the kind of guy goes around calling people mate, know what I mean? But he did call the Sheffield guy mate a couple of times. Mebbe he was trying to suck up to him, do you think?'

'Yes,' said Wield softly. 'Maybe he was. Lee, you've done well, picking all this up.'

The boy's face lit up.

'You reckon?

‘Well, you know. Keeps your mind off the job, doesn't it?'

'And how long have you been working for old Belchy?'

'Few weeks now. Real regular. It's good money and no hassle.'

'You sound like you sort of like him?'

Lee looked at Wield blankly and said, 'Like him? He's a punter. I mean, someone like you I can like, but not a punter… liking don't come into it… and he treats me like a kid

'Sorry?'

'Well, he goes on like I'm just a kid, you know, ten or eleven or such. He's got these clothes he likes me to put on, school uniform, green blazer with yellow edging, grey shorts and a cap, all that crap, and he gets narked if I say owt that a grown-up would say. Other times he dresses up like them soldiers in that film Gladiator and I've got to run around bare arse like I'm a slave or summat. Still, it's his money and you gotta give what you get paid for, that's how things work, right?'

'I'm afraid it is, Lee,' said Wield with infinite sadness. 'I'm afraid it is.'

‘Let me get this straight,' said Dalziel. 'While this lad's under the table chewing his dick, Belchamber's chatting away with his dodgy clients on the phone? Or else he's on his computer giving a running commentary to some other sad shirt-lifters? God, that makes the bastard thick and sick!'

'Wouldn't call him thick,' said Wield. 'It's a power thing. The lad doing this to him is a Roman slave. Or else he's a ten-year-old schoolboy. That uniform Lee mentioned sounds like Thistle Hall Prep School to me. I checked. That's where Belchamber went. Mebbe something bad happened to him there.'

'Not bad enough. He's a disgusting excuse for a human being,' said Pascoe fervently. 'I've never liked him. It will be a pleasure to send him down.'

'Hang about’ said Dalziel. 'Let's not get ahead of ourselves. OK, one reading of this is that Belchamber's put a toe over the line and may be acting as a bagman for one of his dodgy clients, though I can't for the life of me understand why he should. In fact it seems so unlikely that I reckon we take a long cold look at things afore we go steaming in on the basis of some scribbles that a rent boy has given to Quentin Crisp here.'

One thing about the Fat Man, he didn't wrap things up in fancy paper.

Or perhaps (mind-boggling thought!) he believed he did.

Pascoe said, 'Let's wire Lubanski up, get something we can produce in evidence. In any case it'll be better if we can assess what's being said for ourselves.'

'No,' said Wield very firmly.’I’ll not have that.'

'Oh?' said Pascoe, taken aback. 'Do you intend arguing that or merely asserting it?'

Dalziel looked from his sergeant to his chief inspector and for a moment thought about settling back to enjoy a rare public confrontation between them.

Then both personal regard and professional responsibility kicked in and he said dismissively, 'Doesn't need arguing. Lad's got to strip off to change into his school uniform. I bet the Belch watches, so while he's running around in the buff, where's he going to keep a wire hidden? Could try for a phone tap, but doubt we'd get it. Things go wrong, no one's going to fancy having Belchamber shitting on us from a great height. No, we'll have to stick with the lad. What's his motive giving you this stuff anyway, Wieldy?'

It was with great reluctance that Wield had let Lee get into the Fat Man's rattle-bag. Though even Dalziel probably found the notion of sex slavery abhorrent, he drew the line at human rights for snouts. Belchamber's involvement plus his sense that this latest bit of info related to something really big had made it impossible to preserve the boy's anonymity. But no way was he going to discuss the true nature of Lee's motivation. He tried to imagine the landslip of emotion running down that Beachy Head of a face if he replied now, 'He wants me for his dad.' Almost worth it just to see. Almost. He said, 'He hates Belchamber's guts.'

It wasn't true. In fact Lee seemed almost as indifferent to Belchamber as a human being as the lawyer was to him. But it would do for the Fat Man.

'Does he now?' Dalziel shuddered. 'Jesus! If you ever get a notion that I'm letting some bugger who hates my guts get his teeth anywhere near my dick, be sure to let me know! So let's see what we've got. Mate. You think this guy in Sheffield could be Mate Polchard. Rings a bell, we were talking about him just the other day, weren't we?'

'Was in the Syke with Roote. They played chess together,' said Pascoe, who suspected the Fat Man remembered full well and was merely testing his reaction.

'That's it. Don't think young Franny could be masterminding this job, whatever it is, do you, Pete?' said Dalziel with heavy jocularity. 'Fits your Mr Big profile to a T.'.

‘I’ll wait till we're certain that it is Polchard who's involved before making up my mind, sir,' said Pascoe, po- faced.

'Good thinking. Wieldy, you've checked Polchard out?'

'Christmas at his cottage in Wales. Left on Boxing Day. Spotted in Sheffield the week before Christmas.'

'Spotted where? Doing what?'

'The shops,' said Wield. 'Christmas stuff. Nothing furtive. Looked like he was shopping till he dropped, then off back to the countryside for Christmas.'

'So he'd have been around same time as this DI Rose was getting a sniff of a big job overspilling on to our patch. Pete?'

‘I’ve spoken to Rose. Low key. Didn't want to get him too excited.'

Which had been difficult. His sense of exultation had come bubbling down the line and Pascoe had had to