Bones & Silence Read Online Free Page A

here he was on his feet, thinking that on your back might not be such a bad place after all.
    'Constable Hector,' he said in a low voice. 'I work here. DI Pascoe, remember?'
    In Hector's memory a minute was a long time, three months an eternity.
    He's going to ask for identification, thought Pascoe. But happily at that moment, Sergeant Broomfield, chief custodian of the desk, appeared.
    'Mr Pascoe, good to see you back,' he said, offering his hand.
    'Thanks, George,' said Pascoe with almost tearful gratitude. 'I thought I might have been forgotten.'
    'No chance. Hey, have you heard about Mr Dalziel, though? Got himself a killer, single-handed, last night. He says that round here they're so certain of getting caught, they've taken to inviting CID to be present! He doesn't get any better!'
    Chuckling, the sergeant retired to the nether regions while Pascoe, conscious still of Hector's baffled gaze, made his way upstairs. He had brought his stick, deciding after some debate that it was foolish to abandon it before he felt ready. But as he climbed the stairs he realized he was exaggerating its use. The reason was not far to seek. I'm reminding people I'm a wounded hero! he told himself in amazement. Because there wasn't a reception committee, and because Fat Andy has somehow contrived to upstage me, I'm flaunting my scars.
    Disgusted, he shouldered the stick and tried to run lightly up the last couple of stairs, slipped and almost fell. A strong hand grasped his arm and supported him.
    'I expect you'd like another three months away from here,' said Detective-Sergeant Wield. 'But there's got to be easier ways. Welcome home.'
    Wield had the kind of face which must have thronged the eastern gate of Paradise after the eviction, but in those harsh features Pascoe read real concern and welcome.
    'Thanks, Wieldy. I was just trying to prove how fit I am.'
    'Well, if you fancy a miracle cure, come and touch God's robe. You heard about his little coup last night?'
    'I got a hint from Broomfield.'
    'You'll get more than a hint up here.'
    Dalziel was on the phone but he waved them in expansively.
    'Couldn't take the risk of hanging about, sir,' he was saying. 'He might have been away or we could've ended up with one of them hostage situations, tying up men and traffic with reporters and the SAS crawling all over the place!'
    He made them both sound like rodents.
    'Thank you, sir. Ten o'clock? That'll suit me fine. And I'll make sure them buggers carry on working regardless!'
    He replaced the receiver.
    'Good morning, sir,' said Pascoe. 'I gather congratulations are in order.'
    'I believe they are,' said Dalziel complacently. 'Though Desperate Dan's got mixed feelings. Doesn't know whether to pat my back or stab it. Either way he'll need a box to stand on!'
    He was referring to Dan Trimble, Chief Constable, who, though small by police standards, was not a dwarf.
    'Mixed feelings? Why?'
    'Being out of practice at detective work, lad, you likely didn't notice it's like a bomb site down there.' Dalziel had risen and was looking out of his window. 'That's Dan's personal project. Part of his grand modernization plan. Rumour is he set the coroner up with a rent boy to get him to part with his garden. And he probably had to flog his own ring to get those tight bastards at County Hall to allocate the money. Trouble is, if the work's not finished in March, the money is! That's why Dan was all set to give me a kiss and a police medal till he heard who it was I'd nicked.'
    'And who was it, sir?' asked Pascoe.
    'Swain. Philip Swain. Chap whose building firm's doing the work down there. Or not as the case may be.'
    He opened the window, leaned out and shouted, 'Hey! What are you buggers on? A slow motion replay? If King Cheops had had you lot, we'd be looking at the first bungalow pyramid.'
    He closed the window and said, 'Got to keep 'em at it. At least till I've got my hands on Dan's congratulation Glenmorangie. He wants to see you too, Peter.