The smile faded as she saw Wendy Walker standing in the corridor.
âWendy,â she said. âWhat do you want?â
âIâm not selling bloody brushes thatâs for sure,â snapped the other.
âIâm sorry,â said Cap. âI didnât mean to be rude, only Iâm expecting someone for lunch â¦â
âAnd Iâll be in the way? Well that shouldnât bother you, Cap. You lot get trained to roll over folk who get in your way, donât you?â
Cap gritted her teeth. Why was it that every time Wendy treated her like she was still the Hon. Mrs Rupert she found herself wanting to act like she was still the Hon. Mrs Rupert?
She said, âWendy, please, unless itâs a matter of life or death, I wonder ifââ
âLife or death!â Wendy interrupted her. âWhyâd that bother you? âLess it was some sodding animalâs life or death, and even then I daresay youâve slaughtered more birds and beasts than youâve ever bloody well saved!â
âWhat is it you want to talk about, Wendy?â said Cap, dangerously calm.
âLast night, what the fuck do you think? The price of tea? Youâre our group leader, arenât you? Right, I want to talk to my leader about what happened on the raid last night.â
âLook, I can see how it must have upset you, finding that body â¦â
âThatâs not whatâs upsetting me, no, itâs not a few old bones thatâs upsetting me ⦠look, you gonna let me in or not?â
Cap leaned forward and sniffed.
âYouâve been drinking,â she said.
âWell pardon me for breathing,â said Wendy. âPardon me for eating and drinking and sleeping and waking and pissing and crapping and doing all the other things that real human beings do. Yes, Iâve been drinking, not much, just enough for me to get the crazy idea it might be worthwhile coming round here to sort things out â¦â
âVery impressive,â said Cap. âBut it will have to keep till youâre a little more sober and Iâm a little less busy. Iâll see you later, Wendy.â
âLater? Yeah sure, only it might be a bit too fucking late for you, Cap, a bit too fucking late!â
Cap Marvell stepped back and closed the door. Wendy Walker turned away and headed for the lift but before she could reach it, Andy Dalziel whoâd been standing in it, listening, for the last few minutes, withdrew the foot which was holding the doors open, and pressed the button for the next floor up.
âShit,â said Wendy, and headed for the stairs.
Five minutes later the flat bell rang again.
Cap checked through the peephole this time to be sure, then opened the door, smiling widely.
âHello there,â she said. âNo need to apologize for being late. Itâs permissible on a first date.â
âOh aye?â said Dalziel. âTold me down the station you wanted to make a statement. Didnât say owt about dates.â
âI believe I did mention lunch. But whether youâve come with that in mind or your timing is merely a happy coincidence matters little. Youâre here. There is food. Please take a seat.â
âWhat if Iâm not hungry?â
âYou donât look to me, Mr Dalziel, like a man in whom appetite has much to do with hunger. Do sit down.â
Dalziel considered this. The woman were right. So he did sit and eat.
She watched in silence, admiring the simple almost poetic efficiency of his technique.
There was no impression of gluttony, no overfilling of or overspilling from the mouth (which would indeed have been difficult given the cetacean dimensions of that maw), just a simple procession of food through the marble portals of his teeth, a short rhythmic manducation, and a quick swallow which hardly registered on the massy column of his oesophagus.
The pie vanished save for the small wedge she had taken.
He said, âYou going to eat or just watch?â
She began to nibble at the pastry crust, still observing with awe as he split one of the baguettes in half, expertly lined it with cheese, crisps, salad, and pickled onions, replaced the lid, raised it to his lips.
âRemember that scene in the film of Tom Jones where they turn each other on just by eating?â she said. âI never really understood how it worked before.â
âEh?â said Dalziel.
She said, âYouâll never get it in.â
Dalziel didnât reply. His mother had brought him up not to speak with his mouth full.
When the baguette had vanished like a waking dream, he poured himself the third can of bitter and said, âRight, Mrs Marvell, whatâs all this about?â
âCall me Cap,â she said.
âWhy?â
âIt was a nickname my ingenious fellow pupils at my boarding school gave me. Captain Marvell. I tried to live up to it during my adolescence. In fact it was trying to live up to it that lost me it. It seemed a Captain Marvellish thing to do to get married to an Hon. at seventeen, but I soon discovered you cannot be called Cap if youâre Mrs Rupert Pitt-Evenlode. In fact with that chain of words to trail around behind you, itâs difficult to be anything at all except the Hon. Mrs et cetera. But back in â82 I got myself rechristened. I was a born-again pagan ⦠But I see Iâm boring you. Why should that be? I know. None of this is news to you, is it? Youâve been checking up on me!â
âAye,â said Dalziel completing his yawn. âSince they cut back on my taster, Iâm careful who I eat with. Why didnât mean I wanted the story of your life. It meant, why should I call you anything but Mrs or Miss or Ms Marvell?â
âIt would be friendly.â
âAh well, I try not to get too friendly wiâ folk I might have to bang up.â
âI take it your idiom is penal rather than penile, superintendent? Does this mean ALBA are going to prosecute? Excellent.â
âFancy your day in court, do you? Slap on the wrist? Tuppenny fine? Headlines in the Guardian and flash your kneecaps on breakfast TV?â
âThat would suit me nicely. But, despite your intimidatory threats, I doubt if it would suit ALBA. Such people are usually more concerned with damping publicity than provoking it.â
âCould be youâre right about ALBA, missus. But itâs not them you should be worried about.â
âIâm sorry ⦠oh, you mean you. But what charges could the police bring against me if ALBA wonât press for trespass?â
Dalziel smiled like a crocodile being asked if heâd got teeth.
âGoing equipped for burglary. Criminal damage. Assault. Obstructing the police.â