Asking for the Moon: A Collection of Dalziel and Pascoe Stories. Reginald Hill

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      ‘Really?’ said Martineau, surprise mingling with triumph. ‘And why not?’

      ‘Well, I don’t expect he had time to put one on, sir.’

      When order was restored the judge fixed a stern gaze on Dalziel and said, ‘I don’t know whether your hearing or your taste is defective, Chief Inspector, but what Mr Martineau wishes to ascertain is whether you immediately formed the opinion that sex was taking place against Miss X’s will, or was it her subsequent behaviour and allegations which brought up this possibility?’

      ‘Oh aye. I’m with you. It were immediate, m’lud.’

      ‘I see. Perhaps you can explain why.’

      ‘Well, first off, he had his right hand round her throat like he was keeping her quiet by strangling her, and his left hand were holding both her wrists above her head so she couldn’t hit him …’

      Martineau’s body and voice shot up together.

      ‘My lord! These assumptions …’

      ‘Yes, yes. Mr Dalziel, just describe what you saw without giving us the benefit of your inferences, please.’

      ‘Yes, sir. Sorry. Main thing was, soon as I saw the defendant’s face, I said to myself, hello—’

      Martineau was now soprano with indignation.

      ‘My lord, witness cannot be allowed to imply—’

      ‘Thank you, Mr Martineau,’ interrupted the judge. ‘I’m grateful as always for your assistance in points of law, but I’m sure that an officer of Mr Dalziel’s standing was not about to say anything contrary to the rules of evidence.’

      ‘Nay, sir!’ said Dalziel all injured innocence. ‘Tha knows I’d never mention a man’s record in court, no matter how rotten it were. All I was going to say was, I said to myself, spotty little scrote like that, I bet he’d have to use force to get his own mother to kiss him goodnight!’

      Under cover of the renewed laughter, Wield drew Pascoe out of the court.

      ‘I don’t believe it!’ exclaimed the younger man as they went back downstairs. ‘He’s turning the whole thing into music hall. Is he for real.’

      ‘Weren’t impressed then?’ said Wield.

      ‘Impressed? I was horrified! It’s bad enough that poor woman having to go through the trauma of a trial without some insensitive clown playing it for laughs.’

      ‘I did tell you the raid were in a knocking-shop and she’s got convictions—’

      ‘And that means she’s fair game, does it?’ interrupted Pascoe indignantly. ‘I thought everyone was entitled to equal protection under the law. Excuse me. I’d better get off to my case.’

      Wield watched him stride away. Nice mover, head held high, good shoulders, slim body, long legs. Lead us not into temptation. Not that there was much chance of that, not in the force. They might be marching for gay rights in San Francisco, but here in Mid Yorkshire, gay was still what poets felt when they saw a bunch of head-tossing daffs. There was even a holiday company in the High Street called Gay Days Ltd. Caused a lot of misunderstanding with tourists from the louche south!

      Any road, he couldn’t see Constable Pascoe being around long enough to break any hearts. Zombie (which was what Dalziel had christened Detective Superintendent Quinn after catching him enjoying a post-prandial snooze in his office) might propose but everyone knew that in the end Fat Andy disposed.

      ‘Penny for ’em,’ said Dalziel who despite his bulk could come up on you like Umslopagaas.

      ‘You’d want change, sir,’ said Wield. ‘Mr Martineau didn’t keep you long.’

      ‘Mebbe it was something I said. I saw you ear-wigging. Brought a friend, did you?’

      Even under forensic assault the Fat Man didn’t miss much.

      ‘DC Pascoe. Transfer from South Midlands. Highly recommended, top promotion grades, good on the ground, graduate entry …’

      ‘Wash your mouth out, Wieldy! Christ, moment I turn me back, Zombie’s trawling the boneyards for the living dead. Where’s he at now?’

      ‘Committal proceedings. His first day, stopped two guys on suss by the auction mart. Found they had some weaners in their pick-up and no proof of ownership.’

      ‘Keen bugger. Sounds straightforward. Let’s see what kind of a fist Wonderboy makes of it.’

      They found ‘Wonderboy’ under heavy attack from a sharp little solicitor called ‘Bomber’ Harris.

      ‘So tell us, Detective Constable, what was your reason for being at the back of the market pens?’

      ‘Just passing, sir.’

      ‘Just passing? Along a cul-de-sac whose only function is that of service road to the remoter storage pens of the auction mart?’

      ‘Well, I’m new to the area and I was finding my way about—’

      ‘So, you were lost. And while in this state of uncertainty, you came upon my clients whose driving aroused your suspicions. How so?’

      ‘They were reversing—’

      ‘Out of a narrow cul-de-sac? Sounds reasonable so far. Go on.’

      ‘They looked as if they wanted to get away very quickly.’

      ‘Ah yes. The famous quick getaway. In reverse. And this made you block their path and examine their truck.’

      ‘Yes, sir. That’s when I found the piglets.’

      ‘Weaners I believe is the cant term. How many were there?’

      ‘Eight, sir.’

      ‘You counted them?’

      ‘Well, not exactly. They were quite lively and moving around …’

      ‘So how can you be sure there were eight?’

      ‘Because,’ said Pascoe with an infant teacher’s clarity, ‘that was how many Mr Partridge said had been stolen.’

      Dalziel groaned and ground his teeth.

      Bomber Harris smiled.

      ‘Yes, we have heard Mr Partridge’s evidence that on the day in question he had eight weaners stolen from the auction mart. Also that he has since recovered seven. My clients, who should know, state that they had only six in their pick-up. Why incidentally did you fail to make an accurate count, constable.’

      ‘Well, they got away, sir. The defendants let down the tailboard—’

      ‘At your request? To facilitate your inspection.’

      ‘Yes, sir. And the piglets, the weaners, got СКАЧАТЬ