Stuart Pawson - Some By Fire

"Right, Charlie," he mumbled with his mouth full.

"So how did you know to look there?" Jeff asked.

"In the rhubarb sheds?"

"Mmm."

"I'll tell you. Remember what O'Keefe said about elephant?"

"Mmm."

"So what did we call rhubarb when we were kids?"

Tusky," someone chipped in.

"There you go, then."

Jeff shook his head in disbelief.

Later, as we left for home, Dave said: "You didn't really make the link between tusky and elephant, did you?"

We were in the car park. I looked over my shoulder, then under my car and behind his. When I was absolutely sure we were alone I leaned closer and said: "I might have done."

I called in the supermarket for some ready meals and filled up with petrol. It's over three pounds a gallon now. That's something else not many people know. My favourite checkout girl was there but I went to someone else just in case she's beginning to wonder about me. Three times in a month is stalker territory.

The council had written to me to ask my address and if I still lived alone. I put es No Yes No Yes No. An insurance company reminded me that I was at a dangerous age and somebody else thought that I'd benefit from listening to the best bits of every piece of classical music ever recorded. Nearly two years of it, for only 149.99. No postcards. I had chicken korma, a currant square and tea, followed by a short snooze in an armchair.

Action is the best antidote for lethargy so I washed the car. The next-door neighbour couldn't believe his eyes and sent for his wife to come and see. "There's no hose pipe ban, then?" he whined.

"It's odd numbers this week," I explained.

"Oh," he said, and nodded knowingly.

I was flicking round the channels, trying to decide whether to watch TV or stand on one leg for a couple of hours, when the phone rang.

"Charlie Priest," I intoned into it, almost absent-mindedly.

"Charlie, it's Arthur." Arthur's the duty sergeant.

"Hello, Arthur," I said. "What's gone wrong now?"

"Bloke been after you. Said I'd give you his number. He's called Nick Kingston; do you know him?"

"Kingston? Yes, I know him. Fire away."

I didn't ring him immediately. I went over all the possibilities in my head and rehearsed the answers. Les Isles was planning to see him and I concluded that Kingston wanted to grill me about that. Les and I had agreed that he'd say we were involved in two separate inquiries; him into Fox's death, me into the fire of 1975.

He must have been waiting by the phone, and answered with a cheery:

"Nick Kingston."

"DI Priest," I said. "You've been after me."

"Charlie!" he gushed. "Thanks for ringing. Have you seen the forecast?"

"The forecast? What forecast?" I asked.

"The weather for tonight," he explained. "Bright and clear, but best of all, it's a full moon, and it rises at just after one. It'll be another world up there, Charlie. Francesca and I are going up Helvellyn. Fancy coming with us, eh?"

"Helvellyn?" I mumbled. This hadn't been in my expectations.

"That's right. High enough, but nice and straightforward. We'll see the stars in all their glory, and then the biggest moon you've ever seen in your life will come over the horizon. It's a perfect night, I guarantee you'll never forget it. Power will be in the air. Shall we wait for you?"

"Oh, er," I stumbled. "Er, it'll take me a couple of hours to get there."

"Good man, Charlie. You're in for a treat. Shall we say the car park at Patterdale, at midnight?"

I looked at my watch. "I've my boots to find," I said. "I might be a few minutes late."

"We'll wait for you. See you soon."

I knew exactly where my boots were. Right where I took them off last time. The kettle had just boiled so I made a flask of coffee and pushed it into my rucksack with a packet of biscuits and a sweater. I donned a thicker shirt and my Gore-Tex jacket and turned the lights out.

First stop was Heckley nick. I punched the code into the lock on the back door and let myself in. We were in the lull before the pubs shut.

The front desk was deserted and the station was as quiet as I've ever heard it. No cheerful banter from the cells, no drunken snoring from the locker room. Behind the desk, the door to the sergeants' office was firmly shut, which was unusual. I tiptoed over to it, paused, then threw the door open.

A fat man was standing there, bent over. His trousers were round his ankles, copious shorts enveloped his knees and his arse was as big and white as the harvest moon I was expecting to see later. Arthur was standing in front of the man and a PC was kneeling behind him, applying black ink to that backside with one of the little rollers that the fingerprint boys use. Arthur's jaw dropped as the door crashed open and the PC's eyes bulged like gob stoppers The man's resigned expression didn't change he was already as low as he could go. We stared at each other for an eternity until I said: "My office," to Arthur and turned on my heel.

I pulled my big diary from the drawer and opened it at today. I wrote:

See Nick Kingston in Patterdale car park at midnight. Climbing Helvellyn. It was just in case. As I put it back I saw my handcuffs there. I picked them up, weighed them in my hands, and slipped one end down the back of my trousers. Like I said, just in case.

Arthur came in, looking contrite. "What the fuck are you playing at, Arthur?" I demanded.

He shuffled about from one foot to the other. We have a good, casual relationship, but he knew that I was the boss and could only allow so much. "He, er, he was caught, earlier this evening," he said. "Act of gross indecency."

"Like what?"

"Buggery. Shit-stabbing. He was stuck up a youth in the Park Avenue toilets. Probably underage."

"Where's the youth?"

"He ran away."

"But Fatso didn't make it."

"No."

"So what were you doing?"

He heaved a big sigh and said: "We just added a line to the PACE conditions. We told him that in cases of indecency between males we have to take an anal print as well as fingerprints. That's what you caught us doing."

"Jeeesus Chris tV I hissed. "You know, don't you, that if he complains they'll hang you from the town hall clock by your bollocks? And not just you; all of us."

"His sort are not in the habit of complaining, Mr. Priest."

"He might. And cut out the Mr. Priest. Let him go, Arthur. Clean him up and let him go."

"Right, Chas. Thanks. What shall we do with the print?"

"Destroy it. No, leave it on my desk. No, destroy it." I opened the door and turned the light out.

"Shall we destroy the others?"

"The othersV I exploded. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since PACE came out," he replied. "We've quite a collection."

I shook my head in disbelief, but couldn't help laughing. "Better hang on to them," I spluttered. "You never know, this might be pioneering research."

At the bottom of the stairs I said: "I want something from Gareth Adey's office." The CS gas canister was still in his drawer. They're quite tiny for an aerosol, about the size of a tube of mints. It wasn't noticeable in the pocket of my anorak.

Then it was just a matter of a two-hour blast towards the setting sun and the Lake District, the heater blowing cold because I was overdressed, and the cuffs reassuringly sticking into the base of my spine.

Helvellyn, at just over three thousand feet, is the third highest mountain in England. Imagine you are in bed, with your knees drawn up and the duvet draped over them. That's what it looks like. The top is flat and unimpressive compared with its cousins like Scafell and Skiddaw, and the far side slopes gently down to Thirlmere. At this side it drops a clear thousand feet to Red Tarn, but there's no dramatic cliff top that you can peer over. It's just a gradual steepening of gradient until you are beyond the point of no return. In winter, when fresh snow lies on frozen, that point can come horrifyingly early. In summer, it's a pussycat. From Patterdale there are two approaches to the summit: Swirral Edge, up your right knee, which is a steep and narrow path; or Striding Edge, up your left, which is a jagged spine of rock like an iguana's backbone.