Wheatsheaf across the road. But it got to midday and he just took off.'
Wield got out of the car and walked round to the driver's side.
'You hear anything, you tell us now, Ron. You remember anything, you tell us. All right?'
'Sure, yeah. I will.'
He couldn't keep the look of relief off his young fresh open face. It seemed a pity to do anything to spoil that beauty but Wield knew his job was not to bear comfort but a sword.
'Be sure you do, Ron,' he said, his face close to the boy's. 'We helped you once. We reckon you still owe us. And we like to keep the books balanced. One way or another.'
Worry put five years on Ludlam's face at a stroke. At least, thought Wield as he walked away, features like his own could take the hobnailed march of time and trouble with scarcely a trace.
He felt troubled now, without knowing why. Pascoe would have approved the obliquity of his interrogation, Dalziel the threat, but he did not feel satisfied. He glanced at his watch and wondered if he'd get away early enough that evening to drive up to Newcastle. It was his friend's birthday and he'd promised. But he knew that in the police the strongest oaths were often straw to the fires of duty. He glanced at his notebook. One more call to make, on Mrs Sorby, and then he should be done. He crossed his fingers.
As it turned out, everyone got away early that evening. Nothing was happening, the investigation was in the doldrums, and Dalziel, who had no qualms about dragging his men on holiday out of their hotel beds at midnight if a case required it, said, 'That's it. Everyone sod off, get a bit of rest while you can.'
Wield headed up the A1 at seventy mph, Dalziel opened a bottle of Glen Grant and grimly settled down to read all those reports and statements which he had hitherto ignored, while Pascoe went home to a quiet non-constabulary evening and found his wife much concerned with murder.
'She was practically telling me she thought he'd done it!' she said excitedly. 'Honestly, Peter, she came as close as damn it to saying, "You want the Choker? He's outside in the car with the kids!"'
'Wildgoose,' mused Pascoe. 'I knew I'd seen the name. Sergeant Brady did the interviews with the allotment holders. Just a formality to check if they'd noticed anyone hanging around in the past few days.'
'He's a teacher. English and Drama!' said Ellie triumphantly.
'So?'
'So, Hamlet!'
'Well, yes. But it is the most famous play in the language. Even Andy Dalziel had heard of it.'
'And he's gone odd.'
'Who? Dalziel?'
'No, you twit. Mark Wildgoose. Lorraine says she thinks he hates her. She's frightened of him.'
'She sounds a bit odd to me,' grunted Pascoe, looking at the Radio Times. 'Hey, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance is on tonight. Didn't we go to see that in our distant student days?'
'Did we?' said Ellie. 'I sometimes forget we were once young together.'
'What are we now?'
'You are showing many of the symptoms of senility. Such as deafness. Mark Wildgoose I'm telling you about. He's going to Saudi Arabia in a mini-bus. He wears a T-shirt saying I'm the Greatest, and God knows when he last had a bath.
‘For Christ's sake, love,' said Pascoe. 'What's that you've got in your belly? Tory twins?'
'What's that mean?'
'Well, suddenly you're sounding like a large Conservative majority.'
'Ha ha. Well, how about this? Do you know which school Brenda Sorby went to?'
'The pterodactyl girl? Sorry! No, I don't.'
'The Bishop Crump Comprehensive!' said Ellie triumphantly. 'Which is where Wildgoose teaches.'
'And did he teach her?' enquired Pascoe.
'I don't know. I don't see why not.'
'There are upwards of two thousand kids at that school,' said Pascoe. 'These places are so big that some kids never even find out who the headmaster is.'
'Teacher,' said Ellie.
'What?'
'Head-teacher. Not headmaster.'
'All right. Head-teacher. I'm sorry. I'll go
Wield got out of the car and walked round to the driver's side.
'You hear anything, you tell us now, Ron. You remember anything, you tell us. All right?'
'Sure, yeah. I will.'
He couldn't keep the look of relief off his young fresh open face. It seemed a pity to do anything to spoil that beauty but Wield knew his job was not to bear comfort but a sword.
'Be sure you do, Ron,' he said, his face close to the boy's. 'We helped you once. We reckon you still owe us. And we like to keep the books balanced. One way or another.'
Worry put five years on Ludlam's face at a stroke. At least, thought Wield as he walked away, features like his own could take the hobnailed march of time and trouble with scarcely a trace.
He felt troubled now, without knowing why. Pascoe would have approved the obliquity of his interrogation, Dalziel the threat, but he did not feel satisfied. He glanced at his watch and wondered if he'd get away early enough that evening to drive up to Newcastle. It was his friend's birthday and he'd promised. But he knew that in the police the strongest oaths were often straw to the fires of duty. He glanced at his notebook. One more call to make, on Mrs Sorby, and then he should be done. He crossed his fingers.
As it turned out, everyone got away early that evening. Nothing was happening, the investigation was in the doldrums, and Dalziel, who had no qualms about dragging his men on holiday out of their hotel beds at midnight if a case required it, said, 'That's it. Everyone sod off, get a bit of rest while you can.'
Wield headed up the A1 at seventy mph, Dalziel opened a bottle of Glen Grant and grimly settled down to read all those reports and statements which he had hitherto ignored, while Pascoe went home to a quiet non-constabulary evening and found his wife much concerned with murder.
'She was practically telling me she thought he'd done it!' she said excitedly. 'Honestly, Peter, she came as close as damn it to saying, "You want the Choker? He's outside in the car with the kids!"'
'Wildgoose,' mused Pascoe. 'I knew I'd seen the name. Sergeant Brady did the interviews with the allotment holders. Just a formality to check if they'd noticed anyone hanging around in the past few days.'
'He's a teacher. English and Drama!' said Ellie triumphantly.
'So?'
'So, Hamlet!'
'Well, yes. But it is the most famous play in the language. Even Andy Dalziel had heard of it.'
'And he's gone odd.'
'Who? Dalziel?'
'No, you twit. Mark Wildgoose. Lorraine says she thinks he hates her. She's frightened of him.'
'She sounds a bit odd to me,' grunted Pascoe, looking at the Radio Times. 'Hey, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance is on tonight. Didn't we go to see that in our distant student days?'
'Did we?' said Ellie. 'I sometimes forget we were once young together.'
'What are we now?'
'You are showing many of the symptoms of senility. Such as deafness. Mark Wildgoose I'm telling you about. He's going to Saudi Arabia in a mini-bus. He wears a T-shirt saying I'm the Greatest, and God knows when he last had a bath.
‘For Christ's sake, love,' said Pascoe. 'What's that you've got in your belly? Tory twins?'
'What's that mean?'
'Well, suddenly you're sounding like a large Conservative majority.'
'Ha ha. Well, how about this? Do you know which school Brenda Sorby went to?'
'The pterodactyl girl? Sorry! No, I don't.'
'The Bishop Crump Comprehensive!' said Ellie triumphantly. 'Which is where Wildgoose teaches.'
'And did he teach her?' enquired Pascoe.
'I don't know. I don't see why not.'
'There are upwards of two thousand kids at that school,' said Pascoe. 'These places are so big that some kids never even find out who the headmaster is.'
'Teacher,' said Ellie.
'What?'
'Head-teacher. Not headmaster.'
'All right. Head-teacher. I'm sorry. I'll go
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