Stuart Pawson - Some By Fire

He smiled with pride and agreed that he had been quite keen.

"I've never seen one before," I admitted, adding: "Neil Armstrong left one on the moon, you know."

"Too heavy to bring back, Inspector," Kingston replied. "The cost was negligible compared with the rocks that replaced it. A cool million dollars an ounce, they said, to transport anything there and back."

We parted like old mates and I strolled off down the drive. I had a moment of panic when I remembered the gates, but they'd opened them for me.

He was a liar, I was sure of that. He'd recognised the three names I'd mentioned. Salesmen are supposed to be suckers for a so-called bargain, and it looked as if something similar applied to psychologists. I'd been right not to forewarn him of my visit. That would have given him time to rehearse his answers and his body language. Taken off guard, he scored none out of ten.

I'd enjoyed the Carlos Castaneda books. The main character is a Mexican sorcerer who does wonderful things while blasted out of his mind on peyote. They're full of wisdom and insights, but otherwise total claptrap. Mind you, I really do look for that special spot, what he called a place of power, before I sit down to eat my sandwiches.

I went back to Kendal nick to give an informal report to my opposite number, in case I needed any favours from him, and drove back to Heckley. The meeting was over when I arrived, but Sparky was still hanging around. I was writing my thoughts down when he came in with two mugs of tea.

"He sounds a right charmer," he concluded after I'd told him all about it.

"He is. What happened here? Anything I need to know?"

"Just one small item. There's nothing new on the burglaries, so you can forget about them. Except, of course, that it's a month since the last one, so they're due again. Jeff's alerted everyone. Graham rang, from London. He said that the FBI have located Melissa, and we can have her any time we want. Apparently she's over there on a non-immigrant visa, and has overstayed her welcome by several years."

"That's useful to know. Have they talked to her?"

"No, and they won't unless we ask them. She's living in a trailer park just outside a town called Oak Ridge, in Tennessee. Graham thinks he should go over to have a word with her."

"That might be a good idea," I said. "Do you fancy going with him?"

He shook his head. "Nah, let him have all the glory."

We pushed our chairs back. I put my feet on the desk and Dave balanced his on the edge of the waste-paper bin. "First drink I've had since the one this morning," I said.

He looked at me and told me: "You'll be giving yourself an ulcer."

"Through not drinking tea?"

"Through not eating regularly; not looking after yourself. What are you doing this weekend?"

"Haven't thought about it," I replied. "Do some catching up. Sleep, cleaning, gardening and the car, for starters."

"Do you fancy going off somewhere?"

"No. I've too much to do."

After a long silence he said: "You still miss her, don't you?"

I put my mug down and replied: "Who, Annabelle?" in my best see-if-I-care voice. She dumped me three months ago, after five years, and yes, I did miss her. Like a bird would miss its wings.

"Mmm."

"I suppose so. Does it show?"

"Yep. You've become a miserable sod."

"I'm sorry. I thought I'd covered it up fairly well."

"I've known you a long time."

"That's true."

He finished his tea and said: "How about having a day's fishing some time. It's years since we've been."

"You mean, like, there's plenty of fish in the sea? Is that it?"

"I didn't say that," he protested, grinning.

"But that was the train of thought. I'd have socked you if you had."

"Bridlington, next weekend. We could take Nigel. We could all go."

I nodded my approval. "It might be fun," I replied. "We could bring a cod back for Gilbert, show him a proper fish."

We talked about the case for half an hour and went home. We had lots of hearsay evidence but nothing substantial. Nothing forensic that would link Kingston with the fires or even with Melissa. If he denied ever knowing her there was little we could do to show otherwise.

Witnesses might identify him as Rodger Wakefield, but in isolation that was worthless. In the absence of a rock-solid link we would have to build up a formidable amount of circumstantial evidence to show he was the man who did Fox's dirty work. We might not be able to pin anything on Fox himself, but we'd disgrace him. We'd have to settle for that, but it was going to be a long haul. I decided that a talk with Mr. Big himself might be a good idea.

Three o'clock in the morning; the thunder and lightning woke me. I dozed until eight and had a leisurely breakfast while watching the rain flatten the peonies in the garden. At nine I strode into the police station to see what the mailman had brought.

"It'll wash the cricket out," the desk sergeant grumbled after I'd said my good morning.

"Well, paint a door and watch it dry," I suggested.

I read the night 'tec's report and the mail, but there was nothing worthwhile. I tried the SFO, to have a word with Graham about going to America, but they don't work weekends. I didn't bother with his home number. At ten I rang Janet Holmes in York.

"It's Charlie Priest, Mrs. Holmes," I began. "Inspector Priest. I came to see you on Wednesday."

"Hello, Mr. Priest," she answered, sounding quite pleased. "This is a surprise. Was there something else you wanted to know?"

How about dinner one evening, for a start, I thought, but I decided not to rush it. "Not exactly," I told her, 'but on Thursday I was speaking to a friend of yours. Mo Dlamini. He asked me to give you his number."

"Mo? That's wonderful. I'll write it down."

I dictated the number then told her that we'd have to hold on to the photographs she'd loaned us, but I could send her copies if she was worried about losing them.

"Oh, keep them, Inspector," she said. "I've had to let go of a lot more than a few old snapshots lately. I, er, would like to know what happens, though. I don't suppose you're allowed to discuss it with a civilian, are you?"

"Not on the telephone," I replied, smiling to myself. "And not until after it's been to court, which could take years."

"Oh, what a pity," she replied.

"On the other hand," I said, "I've been on lots of other cases which have been to court and I'm perfectly free to discuss."

"What are you trying to say, Inspector?" she asked, with a laugh in her voice.

"I'm trying to say, Mrs. Holmes," I began, 'that we are both grown up and on our own, and I would like to take you out to dinner one evening, if you'd be so kind as to accompany me."

"I'd be delighted. You're very kind. Does your sergeant go everywhere with you?"

"Er, no, not everywhere. In fact, I wasn't thinking of bringing him along. Do you mind?"

"Not at all, Inspector. I'm afraid there is one small snag, though."

There always is. Usually it weighs seventeen stone and plays rugby union. I invited her to tell me all about him "On Monday I'm going to Greece for two weeks. Nothing exciting, I'm afraid. I'm accompanying my mother and a friend of hers, just to make sure they stay out of trouble. I don't want my inheritance going to someone called Popodopolopodis." She laughed again.

"That's all right," I said. "I'm a patient man. Have a good time and I'll give you a ring in a fortnight or so."

"I'll look forward to that. Thank you."

Dumdy-dumdy-dumdy-dum. I put the phone down and sat back.

Dumdy-dumdy-dum. She was a very pleasant lady, I thought.

Dumdy-dumdy-dumdy-dum. And intelligent, too. Dumdy-dumdy-doo. I put the stuff on my desk in neat piles and went home.

The Reynard Organisation headquarters are in London's Docklands, in spite of what the people of Leeds are led to believe. The new office block would be one of Fox's satellites, and the thousand new jobs he promised would be young girls with telephone receivers glued to their ears, working round the clock.