Stuart Pawson - The Mushroom Man

"Next instructions, please," I asked.

"I had to park here, leaving the car unlocked, then walk through the trees to the services. They're about a quarter of a mile away. After an hour I was to come back. Georgina should have been in the car."

"I see. OK, you and DS Sparkington retrace your steps to the services.

I'll guard the money. See how long it takes you, Dave."

"Right, boss."

My bladder was complaining of neglect. As soon as they were out of sight I watered the grass beneath an oak tree. Then I telephoned Heckley CID.

"Heckley CID. DS Newley speaking. Can I help you?"

I had to admit it: Nigel would make a brilliant telephonist. "Hi, Nigel. It's Charlie."

"Hello, boss. Where are you?"

"Somewhere in deepest South Yorkshire. Listen, I want you to do a little job for me."

"Fire away. I'm all ears."

"In the car park is a Nissan Patrol. It belongs to Miles Dewhurst."

"Yes, I've seen it."

"Good. The keys are at the front desk. Raise a friendly SOCO and have him go over it with his sticky tape. Just take a few samples for the file."

"Will do. Anything in particular?"

"Not really. A few fibres from a pink toilet roll might be interesting. Check his driving gloves, if he has any. Take some prints from them. You've got about… oh, two hours, no more."

Villains assume they are safe if they wear gloves, not realising that we have a secret weapon. These days we can take glove prints We had another cup pa at the services and returned to Heckley at a leisurely pace. Sparky and I could have eaten a mangy gnu between us, but Dewhurst said he wasn't hungry and it seemed unsympathetic to tuck into anything in his presence.

Gilbert gave Dewhurst a bollocking, or as close to one as I've ever heard him deliver. Gilbert's reprimands are normally of such well-honed subtlety that you come away thinking you've been praised until you reflect on it afterwards. I almost felt sorry for Dewhurst as he loaded the money into the Nissan and drove back to The Firs, Edgely Lane, via his bank. No, I didn't.

"So?" Gilbert said, after we'd settled down in his office with a coffee each.

"Got any biscuits?" I asked.

"Sorry, no. How'd it go?"

"Complete waste of tine. It was a good scheme, could have worked.

Don't believe a word of it, though."

"It was a bit risky, leaving the money, don't you think?"

"A bit, but not much. The place was full of toilet paper. You didn't feel like doing much nosing around in there. I think it was a ploy to keep people away."

"We could always send Scenes of Crime to give it a good going-over,"

Gilbert suggested with a wicked smile. "Why didn't he just steal the money and make it look as if it had been picked up?" he added.

"Then he'd have his own money, but illegally. And we'd be more suspicious."

"Mmm."

"Let's keep playing him along, Gilbert. Things are building up we'll get a breakthrough soon."

Gilbert looked grave. "I'm afraid you might not have the chance," he said.

"Why not?"

"Acting Chief Constable Partridge has been on to me. He wants us to spin Dewhurst's premises. I let him know your feelings, so he said you can have a fortnight."

I stared at Gilbert in disbelief. "A fortnight?" I repeated. "Why a fortnight? What difference does it make if it takes a month? Or a year?"

"That's what he said."

"He's mad. We'll blow it. Everything we've got is circumstantial.

You've seen Dewhurst perform; he'll twist a jury round his Filofax.

We'll be the baddies; or I will be."

I'd stood up to leave, but I sat down again. Dewhurst's story about how he was missing his little girl had been heavily featured in the tabloids. He was receiving letters of sympathy from all over the country, and prayers were regularly said for him in the local churches.

If we went off half-cocked I'd be as popular as a turd in a Jacuzzi.

"You're naive, Charlie," Gilbert stated.

"So it appears. Go on."

He sat back in his big chair and tapped the polished top of his desk with a pencil. He said: "Acting Chief Constable Partridge's immediate, overriding ambition is not to apprehend little Georgina's abductor. No, it's to lose the Acting tag. It's the chief constables' conference in three weeks and he'll be there. Sometime after that there'll be the interviews for the vacancy. This is a high-profile case and he wants an arrest under his belt. The result, when it eventually comes to court, is secondary. If it goes wrong he'll be able to say that it was initiated before his appointment. In the interim he'll take all the credit."

I shook my head slowly from side to side. "You're right, Gilbert," I said. "Naive is hardly the word. I thought all we had to do was catch villains."

"He's an ambitious man, Charlie."

"Well, I refuse to feature in his plans. I want taking off the case."

"I thought you might say that, so I've already given it some consideration. Your request is turned down. You've got two weeks, from the weekend. Come back after that and I'll think again."

"Go on!" urged Lee Todd. "Let's do it. We've plenty of time."

"No," pleaded his girlfriend, Vicky Smith. "It's not right."

"Not right? You've never said that before."

"I mean now, before we see the vicar. You'll have to wait." A shudder of delight ran through her. They were seated in his Mini, with its huge stereo speakers that blocked the view through the rear window blaring out rave music. Lee's hand was up her miniskirt and his fingers were exploring the crotch of her knickers.

"Stop it!" she demanded, half-heartedly. By sliding forward on the seat she could pull her pants so tight they dug into her puffy thighs and he couldn't get his blunt fingers under the elastic.

"Please!" he begged.

"No!" She snatched his hand away and sat up straight. "Later, when we've seen the vicar about the banns. Then we'll do it, you know, how you like it."

"Promise?"

"Yes, promise."

"Oh, all right then." He extricated himself from her and moved back to his side of the car. They sat smoking a roll-your-own cigarette, and Lee opened a can of Coke. "Are you sure he won't ask if I've been christened?" he said.

"Course he won't. If he does, just say you 'ave."

"But won't he check?"

"Nah. Anyway, things get lost. What difference does it make? Stop being such a wally."

They sat without speaking for a while, bodies jerking to the incessant beat of the electronic music, until Lee announced that he'd never been in a church before.

"It's not a church, it's a vicarage," Vicky told him.

"Same thing," pronounced Lee.

"You don't 'arf talk some rubbish!" declared Vicky. "The vicarage is the 'ouse where the vicar lives. That's the bloody church, through the trees, with the clock on top."

"Well, I'll have to go to church when we get married, won't I? Then it'll be the first time."

"Come on," she said, straightening her skirt and running her fingers through her variegated hair. "It's time to go."

"Wait a minute." Lee fumbled with the pocket of his shirt and took a twist of silver paper from it. He unwrapped two small white pills and tossed one into his mouth, swallowing it with a swig of Coke.

"Hey! Where's mine?" protested Vicky.

"You've already had one."

"So have you." She snatched the last pill from him and gulped it down with a drink from the can. "Come on!"

Bottle was something Lee prided himself in having in abundance, but walking up the drive to the vicarage door drew on all his reserves.

Vicky pressed the bell push.

A dog barked, followed by a light coming on inside and a shadow falling on the frosted glass. The vicar's wife opened the door.

"We've come to see the vicar, about our banns," announced Vicky. Lee stood a respectful yard behind her.