Midnight Fugue

Detective Sergeant Edgar Wield had the kind of face that didn’t do surprise, but there was a slight pause for adjustment before he said, ‘Morning, sir. Be right with you.’

Dalziel noted the pause and thought, Gotcha! as he flung open the door of his office.

The evidence of his uncertain return to work was visible in the room’s relative tidiness. Pascoe had been using it latterly and the bugger had got everything ship-shape and Bristol fashion. The Fat Man had found himself thinking it was a shame not to benefit from this orderliness and for ten days he’d been replacing files in the cabinet, closing drawers, removing clutter from his desk, and even striving to keep the decibel level of his farts under control.

That he could take care of instantly. As he sank into his chair he let rip a rattler.

‘Didn’t quite catch that, sir,’ said Wield from the doorway.

‘Would probably have broken your wrist if you had,’ said Dalziel. ‘Seven years back there were a DI in the Met, Alex Wolfe, under investigation for corruption or summat; resigned, I think, then disappeared. I’d like all you can find about him. Same with Mick Purdy; DCI back then, now he’s Commander. But softly softly, eh? Don’t want to set any alarm bells ringing.’

‘What sort of alarm is that likely to be, sir?’ said Wield.

‘No idea. Probably none. But you know me, discretion’s my middle name.’

No it’s not, it’s Hamish, thought Wield. But that was a piece of knowledge he didn’t care to flaunt.

‘This something likely to come up at tomorrow’s case review, sir?’ he asked.

The Fat Man glanced at him sharply. The bugger can’t have picked up on me mistaking the day, can he? No way! But that blank, unyielding face could make a nun check if her lacy knickers were showing.

‘Nowt official yet. That’s why I’m here on my day off,’ he said. ‘Pete around?’

‘No, sir. His day off, too. He’s going to a christening.’

‘Eh? Ellie’s not dropped another? I weren’t out of the loop that long, surely.’

‘No. They’re guests. Like you, seeing as you’re not official.’

‘Don’t get cheeky. Was a time when I’d be met with smiles and coffee.’

‘Was there, sir? Can’t bring it to mind. Shall I organize a coffee?’

‘I’d rather have it than one of thy smiles, Wieldy. No, you get right on to Wolfe. I’ll wake one of them idle buggers out there.’

He followed the sergeant to the door and looked around.

His gaze lit on DC Shirley Novello, engrossed in her computer screen.

‘Ivor!’ he bellowed. ‘Coffee!’

The young woman looked up and replied, ‘No thanks, sir. I’ve just had one.’

Something that on another face might have been called a grin touched Wield’s lips, then he moved away swiftly.

‘Now!’ bellowed Dalziel. ‘Why else do you think we let women into the Force?’

He went back into his office and sat at his desk. The encounter with the blonde at the cathedral had kick-started his day but he still felt a bit out of sorts. He’d got the problem of the lost day sorted, so what was left to bug him? If he did any more internal digging, he’d be looking at his belly button from the inside, so he changed his point of view and looked around the room. After a few moments, he got it.

Problem solved, or just about to be!

Six or seven minutes later Wield dead heated with a coffee-bearing Novello at the Fat Man’s door. No plastic beaker from the machine this; she’d have had to go down to the canteen to get half a pint of the Super’s favourite blend in his own mug. It smelled good, but from the look on Novello’s face, Wield thought it might be wise if Dalziel got her to taste it before touching it himself.

He opened the door for her and followed her into the room.

It had changed. Most of the drawers on the desk and filing cabinet were pulled out, a dented metal waste bin lay on its side against a dented wall, and in the furthermost corner as if hurled there with great force lay a file that the sergeant recognized as the one containing Pascoe’s briefing notes for the case-review meeting. The window was wide open and the breeze so admitted was having a great time rustling through various loose sheets scattered across the floor.

Dalziel noted him noticing and said, ‘Been doing a bit of tidying up. Ivor, you can’t have much to do if you’ve time to fetch coffee. Run me this number will you?’

He scribbled Gina Wolfe’s car number on the back of an unopened envelope that bore the Chief Constable’s insignia and the words Urgent and Confidential.

Novello took it, turned, rolled her eyes when she had her back to the Fat Man and went out.

‘Right, sunshine, what’ve you got?’

Wield said, ‘Seven years back, DI Alex Wolfe was targeted by the Met’s Internal Investigations. He was a key man in a team investigating a financier, David known as Goldie Gidman.’

‘So Wolfe was a paper-chaser,’ said Dalziel with the muted scorn of the front-line cop for the Fraud Squad. In the Fat Man’s eyes, boardroom crime was to real crime what soft-porn movies were to child prostitution.

‘Foot in both camps; he’d done his share of hard-end stuff,’ said Wield. ‘Commendation for bravery during the Millennium siege. Also I get the impression this weren’t straight Fraud Squad stuff. The officer initiating it was a deputy assistant commissioner. Owen Mathias. You know him?’

‘Heard of him,’ said Dalziel. ‘Took early retirement and died. Dicky heart.’

‘That’s right. Seems to have had Gidman in his sights for a long long time, but never laid a finger on him. That’s likely why he called this op Macavity. Turned out a bit too accurate. All trails banged up against a dead end, or a smart lawyer with a writ. Conclusion, Mathias’s at least, someone was leaking. So he set Internal Investigations on it and they focused on Wolfe.’

‘What do you mean, Mathias’s at least?’

‘Get the impression there were a lot who reckoned that Macavity were a waste of time and money. They’d not been able to touch Gidman in his early days in the East End. Now he were out of the mucky back streets and into the City, he were so squeaky clean, the Tories were accepting donations from him.’

‘Proving what?’ grunted Dalziel. ‘So you’re saying this Macavity op were a grudge thing between Mathias and Gidman?’

‘I’m saying it feels like that’s what a lot of people thought.’

‘Did this mean Internal Investigations just went through the motions?’

‘Can’t say. Certainly nowt were ever proven against Wolfe. He happened to be on compassionate leave at the time, so they didn’t even need to suspend him. Then he resigned. Bit later he vanished. Estranged wife reported it, they looked at it, no evidence of foul play, he was a grown man, no charges had been brought so he wasn’t a fugitive. I got the impression they were glad to be shot of him without the fuss of a full-blown corruption enquiry.’

‘OK. What about Purdy?

‘Wolfe’s DI back when he was a sergeant. Paths parted when he went up to DCI and Wolfe to DI. Wolfe more into the paper-chase side of things, Purdy stayed hands on. Did well. Current job, Commander in some Major Crime Unit at the Yard.’

‘Right. Operation Macavity, things improve there after Wolfe vanished?’

‘Seems not. Shelved soon after. No evidence, no action.’

‘And nowt since?’

‘Not a word. Looks like the records have been hoovered clean. Like they’d feel embarrassed at it coming out how much time and money they’d wasted. Not surprising, considering how things have worked out for Gidman.’