'Perhaps I should warn you that Sir Arthur taped your conversation.'
'Grand! Then if you listen to it, you'll hear it was him that recognized me from way back and set off talking about Mickledore. I had a hell of a job getting him back on course. Then you turned up, Geoff, and steam had to give way to sail.' If Hiller had grown a Hitler moustache, he would have swallowed it by now. Trimble said almost indifferently, 'I suppose you had cleared yourself with South before going to Sheffield?' 'Oh yes. Des Monkhouse'll have it on record.' 'I don't doubt it,' snarled Hiller. 'Called in one of the famous Dalziel favours, did you? And what about your lad here visiting Mavis Marsh? I suppose that was about private security firms as well? I warned you what would happen if you got in my way, Dalziel – ' 'Mr Hiller.' Trimble spoke quietly but his voice was like a gunshot across a saloon brawl. He let the ensuing silence confirm itself, then went on, 'I think I'd like a private word with Mr Dalziel now. I'm sure you have a great deal of work on your plate, and I assure you it will proceed without any impediment. Mr Pascoe, thank you for… coming,' he concluded. As they descended the stairs together, Hiller said without looking at him, 'I'm disappointed in you, Mr Pascoe. I'd heard good things, but I see now that bad habits are not easily avoided if you keep bad company.' 'I'm sorry, sir. But if loyalty's a bad habit, then you're right. That's all that's motivating Mr Dalziel, loyalty to his old boss. OK, so he acts… erratically sometimes, but the only thing personal in it is that sense of loyalty. That can't be altogether bad, can it?' He spoke with a passion born more of uncertainty than conviction and now Hiller looked at him. 'I believe in loyalty too, Mr Pascoe,' he said, with something not unlike sympathy in his thin voice. 'Loyalty to a common cause.
Anything else is just personality cult. But there are other habits you might care to pick up from Andy Dalziel. For instance, he prides himself on not letting himself be used. Now there's a quality worthy of emulation by all of us, wouldn't you say?' They parted. Pascoe went back to his office and tried to settle to some work but his head was overcrowded with Hiller's words and speculation about what was being said up in the Chief Constable's office. At last he heard the approaching beat of Dalziel's step accompanied by a bravura humming of Colonel Bogey. Sometimes he came at you like Queen Mab and sometimes like the band of the Coldstream Guards. 'There you are, then,' cried the Fat Man as he came through the door. 'Come on. I'll need you around when I clear up so you can see where things are.' 'Clear up..
.?' 'Aye, lad. It's your chance to shine. You'll be looking after the shop while I'm away. On your feet, jildi!’ Pascoe hurried along behind the retreating figure, catching up with him only when he halted at his own desk. 'Right. Where to start? Let's see. Good Scotch in this drawer, best at the back of yon cabinet. I've marked the levels and tested the specific gravity. That apart, I don't think there's owt else to say. You'll find everything in order.' 'What's happened? Have you been suspended?' demanded Pascoe. 'Don't be daft! Two things Desperate Dan doesn't like. One is twats like Adolf shouting the odds at him, t'other is spooky sods in the Smoke trying to pull his strings. When you're my size, you can afford to be flexible, bend with the wind. But a little chap like Dan needs to show he's the boss.' 'So you've not been suspended?' 'There's them as would like to see it.
Some twat – he didn't mention names, but it'll be yon bugger Sempernel likely – rang up and went on about this fellow turning up at Kohler's hideout. Big fat sod with an uncouth northern accent, he'd said, so Dan could see it were no use trying to pin it on me. Anyway, the long and short of it is, he asked me if I had some leave coming, suggested I might like to take it. You don't look happy, lad? Not feel up to the job, is that it?' Pascoe was recalling the last time Dalziel's embarrassing presence had been removed by 'leave'. All his absence had meant was that he popped up at even more unexpected times and places than normal. He said, without much hope, 'Will you actually be going away? I mean, far away?' 'Eh?' Dalziel laughed. 'Oh, I see what's bothering you. No. I've learned my lesson. You won't find me hanging around here, getting under your feet. I'm going to put myself as far as I can get from all this crap.' 'Oh yes? And where's that?' said Pascoe, hesitating to experience relief. 'Hang on,' said Dalziel who had picked up his phone and dialled. 'Hello! Mr Foley, please…
Come on, luv, bank managers aren't busy with clients at this time of day, they're busy putting on their British warms afore they head off to treat other bank managers to expensive grub at my expense. Tell him it's Andy Dalziel… Jim, lad! What fettle? Look, two things, first off I want to buy some shares. Glencora Distillery… I don't give a toss if you've never heard of it, you didn't know they'd privatized water till it started running green… How many? All I can afford and a few more besides. And don't hang about. Second, I want some travellers' cheques. US dollars. That's right, American. You've heard of America? Well, I'm going there the day after tomorrow… Very droll… I'll be in later on, then… Cheers.' He put the phone down and contemplated Pascoe's dropped jaw with undisguised glee.
'America?' said Pascoe. 'You're not going after… oh shit! Look, sir, do you think it's wise? Do you think it's possible? It's a long way, and bloody expensive, and I doubt if you'd even get a flight at such short notice.' 'All fixed,' said Dalziel, producing an airline ticket. 'Heathrow to New York. Sorted it out on my way back from Inkerstamm.' 'But you didn't know then that the Chief would suggest…’ Pascoe let his words fade to nothingness. He thought of mind and matter, will and law, and then of Hiller's warning against letting himself be used. But why listen to warnings from a man incapable of following his own precept? 'What was all that about shares?' he asked. 'Stamper gave me a tip.' 'Why'd he do that, for God's sake?' 'Didn't mean to, but you know these self-made buggers, can't resist showing off. Hello!' The phone had rung and Dalziel had scooped up the receiver at first ping with the speed of an Australian slip fielder. 'Percy, how are they hanging? No, you're dead right, not funny. Sorry… Right, I see. Look I'm going to be away for a few days, so why don't you give Mr Pascoe a ring when she gets back? Aye, he'll talk to her. Full authority. That's grand. Take care of yourself.' The phone went down. 'That was Percy Pollock,' said Dalziel. 'Mrs Friedman, her who worked at Beddington Jail, she's away on holiday just now, but expected back shortly. I said you'd deal with it, OK?' 'I suppose so,' said Pascoe unenthusiastically. 'What am I supposed to do with her?' 'You'll think of something, lad,' said Dalziel. 'Now I'd best go out and buy myself a phrase book, unless there's owt else you want to say?' Pascoe shook his head. 'Nothing,' he said. 'Except bon voyage. And God Save America.'