Death’s Jest-Book

‘Aye. Owt or nowt,’ said Dalziel thoughtfully. ‘I’ll have a word with Penn. You watch Bowler, OK? I think the bugger’s given me indigestion. I’d best have another pint.’

Wield took the hint and stood up. When he returned, the Fat Man was eating his pie.

‘Glad to see that lunch with the Chief hasn’t spoilt your appetite, sir,’ he said.

‘Watch it! Sarcasm I’ll take from buggers with letters after their name, they can’t help it. But sergeants ought to talk as plain as they look.’

This looked like a cue, so Wield told him about the Praesidium heist tip.

‘Bit vague. No names? Times? Details?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Source reliable?’

‘Can’t say, sir. This is a first.’

‘Aye, but in your judgment?’

Wield considered then said, ‘Don’t think they’d deliberately jerk me around, but that doesn’t mean they’re not just trying to impress.’

‘And how much did this excuse for a tip-off cost us?’ said Dalziel.

‘Nothing. Down to civic duty.’

‘Oh, aye? Don’t see much of that these days. Not getting yourself a fan club, are you, Wieldy?’ said Dalziel, shooting him that keen glance which was one of the few missiles Wield did not feel his inscrutable features a complete defence against.

‘Just came up in casual conversation,’ he said.

‘Bit too bloody casual for me. Not till Friday, but? That gives you time to see if you can get a bit of flesh on your new chum’s bones then. By God, this pie’s good. Jack must’ve changed his barber. You not eating, Wieldy?’

‘No, sir. Things to do. See you back at the station.’

He rose, intending to make a dash for the door, when it opened and Pascoe came in.

‘My God,’ said Dalziel. ‘What’s up wi’ thee? You look like a hen that got shagged by an ostrich and feels an egg coming on. And why aren’t you in court?’

‘Postponed till Wednesday. Belchamber says his client’s too ill to attend. Reckons he’s got this Kung Flu.’

‘Kung arseholes! And the beak bought it?’

‘Belchamber produced a doctor’s certificate. But give the beak his due, he said, “All right, same time Wednesday, but take notice, Mr Belchamber. If your client is still too ill to attend, we shall proceed in his absence.” Which got an unctuous reassurance and a little apologetic glance in my direction. There’s something about that bastard … I need a drink.’