‘Oh aye. Aren’t yours the same?’
‘No. I employ skilled labour! Electrical assembly’s a lot different from canning peas. Why don’t you come in, have a cuppa and a look round?’
‘Too busy, Bernard, thanks all the same. How’s Jack? Business OK?’
‘Fine, both fine. Will I see you at the Mansion House tomorrow?’
The High Fair holiday fortnight traditionally ended with a civic luncheon on the last Saturday, a custom some ratepayers thought might be more honoured in the breach.
Dalziel shook his head.
‘Pity. It’s usually a good do. By the way, I hope your lot are going to clamp down on those tinkers a bit more promptly this year.’
‘Tinkers?’
‘The gypsies. It’s always the same. Give some people an inch. Because they’ve been coming for centuries, we put up with them for a couple of weeks while the Fair’s on. But is that enough? Oh no. It was nigh on September when they got shifted last year, and then half of them were back before Christmas. There’s no shortage of wet wonders in this town, either, that’d like them to be let stay here permanent. What I say is, they call themselves travellers, well, let them travel. You got the message?’
‘Did I? What was that?’ asked Dalziel.
‘The other day. One of their ponies got loose by the Aero Club, nearly killed me as I was taking off. It’s not the first time either. I told one of your men to let you know. A funny-looking bugger. Wouldn’t have been out of place in a caravan himself!’
‘Aye. I think I did hear something,’ said Dalziel.
He glanced at his watch. He was going round to the encampment anyway, but Middlefield didn’t know that. There was no harm in making a virtue out of it. There’d come a time when he might want to trade off favours with Middlefield.
‘I’ve got a moment now,’ he said. ‘I’ll look into it myself.’
‘Will you? Good man. I knew I could rely on you, Andy. I often say, if men like you and me had the running of this country, we’d soon set it right!’
The Mercedes purred away.
Dalziel raised a hand and smiled after it. Running this country from a kraut car! It took a lot to make him feel liberal, but Middlefield could manage it.
‘Get fucked,’ said Dalziel.
‘Pardon?’ said the gateman at his shoulder.
‘Not you,’ grunted the fat man, climbing into his car.
‘Though on second thoughts,’ he added as he closed the door, ‘why not?’
The Aero Club seemed deserted but as Dalziel was peering through the club house window a voice behind him asked him civilly what he wanted.
Dalziel didn’t like to be crept up on and was ready to reply most uncivilly till he turned and saw the man was wearing a tracksuit and gymshoes which explained the quietness of his approach.
‘Police,’ he said, showing his warrant card.
‘About the break-in? I’m Greenall, CFI.’
‘Eh?’
‘Chief Flying Instructor. To tell the truth,’ added the man, smiling slightly, ‘the only Flying Instructor. I’ve got an assistant, Roger Minstrel. But he’s away on a course. So I do everything. Including tending bar when our girl doesn’t turn up or she’s rushed. Will you have something for the heat?’
He had opened the club house and led Dalziel into the bar as he spoke. The fat man’s estimate, lowered by the track suit for he despised joggers, rose sharply.
‘Nice place,’ he said, looking round after he’d reduced the level of his malt by an inch.
‘You haven’t been here before?’
‘There’s few places that serve drink round here that I’ve not been to,’ said Dalziel. ‘But it’s many a year since I was in here. It’s been tarted up since then.’
‘I dare say. It’s the social side that makes money in clubs,’ said Greenall. ‘Any club. You need to be packed at night to be viable.’
‘That doesn’t sound as if it makes you happy.’
‘I’m a flier,’ said Greenall. ‘I came out of the RAF and wanted to stay in the flying business. Running discos for teenagers isn’t my idea of the flying business.’
‘I thought all you lot ended up flying Jumbos, earning millions, and putting the smile on those air-hostesses you see in the ads.’
‘I failed my last air-crew medical, that’s why I came out,’ said Greenall, sipping the grapefruit juice he’d poured for himself. ‘They’re just as strict at the commercial end. Light planes and gliders is all I’m good for.’
‘You look fit enough to me,’ said Dalziel, glancing from the fruit juice to the track suit.
‘I live in hopes. A bit of jogging, bit of squash. With a bit of luck, I might get back to the real stuff one of these days.’
‘You don’t like gliders, then?’
‘Oh, the gliders are all right. That’s something quite different. But the small planes are like getting into a rubber dinghy after you’ve been captaining a battleship.’
‘Still, at least they must go slow enough so that you can see things as you pass.’
‘They do that,’ agreed Greenall. ‘Useful for some kinds of police work, I dare say. Though choppers are better. Still, if you ever fancy a trip, just say the word.’
Dalziel smiled at the unlikelihood of this and finished his drink.
‘Let’s have a look at the damage?’ he said.
Entry to the store-room had been through a forced window, not much more than eighteen inches square.
‘Kids, your constable reckoned. They only took a few bottles, about as much as a couple of youngsters could carry. He went along to the gypsy encampment and had a look round, but naturally he didn’t get anywhere.’
‘Naturally?’
‘Well, they’re fairly expert in hiding things, I should imagine.’
‘You’ve had some other bother with them, I gather. Or with their livestock.’
Greenall grinned and ran his fingers through his blond hair, looking younger than his forty years.
‘You heard about Mr Middlefield? He was very upset. Not that he wasn’t right. It could have been very dangerous. It’s happened a couple of times, horse straying I mean. But this was the first time there’d nearly been an accident.’
They went outside together and looked towards the distant encampment.
‘I’ll have a word with them myself,’ said Dalziel. ‘Can I get through that fence without rupturing myself?’
‘There isn’t a gate, if that’s what you mean. But kids and ponies don’t seem to have any difficulty.’
Dalziel looked down at his ample girth.
‘It’s not the eye of a needle, is it?’ he said.
‘No. And it’s not much like the kingdom of heaven over there either,’ said Greenall.
But the scene as the two men strolled together across the grass had something idyllic about it. There were a couple of traditional wooden caravans, brightly coloured. But even the modern trailers were not unattractive as their polished surfaces gave back the morning sun. There was scarcely any movement. A fillet of smoke hung almost straight in the still air. Half a dozen dogs lay in the shade under the wheels. Ponies grazed. A trio of children wrestled in the grass. Distantly the sound of other children at play drifted from somewhere out of sight.
Only when they reached the picket fence did the scrap and the litter which surrounded the caravans become truly apparent.
‘Here we are,’ said Greenall, pulling back the fence where it had been detached from one of the main stakeposts.
‘Thanks,’ said Dalziel. ‘You not coming along?’
‘I don’t think so. I mean, if you find anything, then of course I’ll co-operate. But I don’t want to be always appearing on the side of the complainers. They’re a nuisance, I know, but they’ve got a right to exist, haven’t they? And at least they try to stay free, you’ve got to admire them for that.’
‘Free?’ said Dalziel. ‘I’ve seen better-looking gaols!’
He strode away, pleas
ed to feel his political equilibrium, upset by Middlefield’s extremism, had been restored by Greenall’s liberalism.
As he approached the caravans, the dogs and children watched him warily, but he could see no sign of adult life. He made no particular effort at stealth, but he could move extremely lightly for a man of his bulk, and as he slipped between two caravans, it amused him to think of a fat, urban policeman being able to steal up on these sons of nature unobserved.
Then he was seized from behind, his arms pinioned at his side, and he was thrust so forcefully against the side of a caravan that the vehicle shook.
‘Fucking snoop around, would you? What’s your game, fatty?’ said a rough voice close to his left ear.
Too close.
Dalziel jerked his great cannon-ball of a head to the left. There was a sickening clash of bone and flesh. The grip on his arms slackened. He shrugged it off and turned to the thickset, dark-skinned man at his side.
‘I’m a police officer,’ he warned. ‘Who are you?’
The man rushed at him.
Well, he’d been warned, thought Dalziel, and hit him in the stomach. Once was really enough, but it was as well to be sure, so he hit him again in the same spot.
Then he stood back and waited for the man to show signs of being ready for communication.
‘I’ll ask you once more,’ he said finally. ‘Who are you?’
‘You’ve bust my gut,’ gasped the man.
‘Name!’ snarled Dalziel.
‘Lee. Dave Lee.’
‘I might have guessed. It’s a hobby of yours, assaulting policemen.’
‘I didn’t know you was police. I thought you was another of them council snoopers.’
‘And it’s OK to thump council officers, is it?’ queried Dalziel. ‘Well, you may be right. This your caravan? Let’s have a look.’
He went up the steps, thrust open the door and entered. A woman in an inadequate shift was standing in the narrow living area. Dalziel ignored her and looked around. The place smelt of sweat, tobacco and sex, but it looked clean and tidy enough. There was a richly coloured carpet on the floor and a sense of extra space was given by two large, ornate, cut-glass mirrors. One wall was almost covered by a mahogany display cabinet which held a strange variety of traditionally patterned china, crystal bowls and vases and some goblets and smaller objects in what looked like silver.
‘Who the hell’s this?’ demanded the woman.
‘Mrs Lee?’ said Dalziel, turning his attention to her as if he hadn’t noticed her till now. He let his eyes move slowly up from the rather flaccid breasts clearly visible through her shift to her face, the left side of which was stained with a fading bruise.
‘That’s nice,’ he said. ‘You’ll make a matching pair.’
Behind him Lee spoke sharply in what he took to be Anglo-Romany and the woman retreated to the sleeping area and began to pull some clothes on.
Dalziel moved around the trailer opening drawers and cupboards, looking under cushions and behind curtains.
‘What’s your game, mister?’ demanded Lee.
‘Thought you were never going to ask, Dave,’ said Dalziel cheerfully. ‘I’m looking for stolen property. I haven’t got a warrant, so why don’t you shoot off and call your lawyer?’
‘What stolen property?’ demanded Lee.
‘Break-in at the Aero Club last night. Bottles of booze,’ answered Dalziel.
Lee laughed harshly. And with relief? wondered Dalziel.
‘No stolen booze here, mister. Look all you like.’
Dalziel returned to the living area and stood in front of the display cabinet.
‘I believe you, Dave,’ he said. ‘Your gut’s too big for the window. You ought to watch that. I nearly lost my fist in there just now. This is nice stuff. The gypsy bank, they call it, don’t they? Worth a pretty penny, I’ll be bound. Good investment, no bother with the tax man.’
He opened the cabinet and took down a plate. ‘What rank did you say you was, mister?’ demanded Lee with sudden suspicion in his voice.
‘Detective Superintendent,’ answered Dalziel.
‘And you says you’re looking for a couple of bottles of booze?’ said Lee incredulously. ‘Here, watch that stuff!’
A cup had nearly slipped from Dalziel’s hand.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘That’s sharp of you, Dave, spotting that. You’ve got to be sharp in your line of work, no doubt. Whatever it is. Me too. Spot what’s not quite right. Now, I’d say this is not quite right, but I’m no expert.’
He had taken down from the extreme end of the topmost shelf a plain stone jar.
‘Here, copper, you’ve got no right!’ protested Lee. ‘You said you’d no warrant. Right, you can just fuck off and get one before you touches another thing here!’
Dalziel opened the jar.
‘Flour,’ he said. ‘Looks the real stuff. Not this modern muck with all the goodness bleached out of it.’
He took out a handful and sniffed at it.
‘Oh yes,’ he said to the woman who was dressed now and standing watching him with a look of complete indifference.
He held it out to her. She looked away. He opened his hand, spread his fingers, let the flour filter through on to the rich red carpet.
‘The real stuff,’ he repeated taking another handful. ‘But it can’t be all that valuable, can it, Dave? I mean, it’s in with the family antiques here, though.’
The second handful followed the first.
He dipped in again.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I think it’s getting lumpy.’
He withdrew his hand. In it was a gent’s gold-plated digital watch with an expanding bracelet. Carefully he blew the flour off it.
‘Still going,’ he said. ‘It’s like a telly ad, isn’t it?’
In went the hand again. And out.
This time his find was a tight roll of five-pound notes.
He put them down beside the watch.
In again.
‘I think that’s it,’ he said. ‘No, hang about. Nearly missed that.’
That was a gent’s gold signet ring. He tried it on his stubby little finger and looked at it admiringly.
‘There it is,’ he said. ‘I was CPO once, Dave. Crime Prevention Officer. Persuading people not to leave their valuables in silly places was one of the jobs. Oh, these are your valuables, aren’t they?’
The man and woman exchanged glances.
‘Never seen ’em in my life,’ she said.
‘And you, Dave?’
Lee swore foully and said nothing more but looked around with a kind of wild contemplation.
‘Aye, lad,’ said Dalziel cheerfully. ‘I’m on my own, so you could try thumping me, but I thought we’d settled all that already. Or you could run, in which case either I catch you and break a leg so you can’t run no more, or else I send for some of my lads who’ll break both your legs when they catch you. Best thing is to have a quiet stroll with me back to the Aero Club and on the way you can tell me all about the ponies of yours that keep on straying.’
‘I’ve done nothing,’ said the gypsy.
‘No one’s done nothing,’ said Dalziel mildly, wrapping up his treasure trove in the small khaki blanket which he used for a handkerchief. ‘Off we go. You too, love.’
Outside, the children paused in their play to observe the passing trio.
Dalziel grinned at them, pulled a handful of coppers from his pocket and tossed them into the air. They fell upon them, and each other, yelling wildly. A large lad, a stone or so heavier than his playmates, got the bulk of it.
‘That’s always the way of it,’ said Dalziel philosophically.
Greenall looked with some surprise at Dalziel’s companions when they reached the Aero Club.
‘These two broke into the bar?’ he asked.
‘Mebbe,’ said Dalziel.
‘Are you sure? He couldn’t possibly have got through that window, and it’d be a tight squeeze for her.’
‘They’ll have done something,’ said Dalziel indifferently. ‘All gyppos are guilty of something. Can I use your phone?’
He told the Lees to sit down in the bar and left them there while he went into the office.
When he emerged he found the secretary looking distinctly unhappy.
‘What’s up?’ he said.
‘Are you going to be long?’ asked Greenall.
‘Not long. Why?’
‘It’s just that it’s nearly twelve and there will be members arriving shortly.’
‘So? Oh, I see. The gyppos. I thought you didn’t mind them, Mr Greenall. Something about free spirits, wasn’t it?’
‘Hardly free when they’re in custody, Superintendent,’ said Greenall acidly.
‘That’s a point,’ said Dalziel. ‘But don’t worry. They’ll be picked up just now.’
‘Picked up? You’re not taking them yourself?’
‘No way,’ said Dalziel. ‘I’ve got better things to do than chauffeur a pair of tinkers around. No, they’ll be safely locked away and I’ll get round to them by and by.’
‘But you can’t do that, can you?’ protested Greenall.
‘Can and will,’ said Dalziel. ‘They’re not going to go squawking off to a lawyer, that’s for sure. And a couple of hours locked in a cell’s often worth a day’s questioning with a gypsy.’
Greenall regarded him with distaste and went away.
Dalziel joined the Lees in the bar.
‘You’re not very jolly,’ he said to them.
‘He says you’ve hurt his belly,’ said the woman.
‘More likely it’s eating all them hedgehogs,’ said Dalziel. But he went behind the bar and poured a large brandy which he handed to Dave Lee.
The police cars arrived at the same time as Bernard Middlefield whose indignation when he discovered the two gypsies in the bar was assuaged only slightly when he realized they were under arrest.
‘Not before time,’ he said. ‘The police cells are the one part of this town that lot are welcome to.’
Mrs Lee said something rapidly to her husband.
‘What was that?’ enquired Dalziel.
Lee answered, ‘She says this loudmouth hangs about the river bank where the kids swim and tries to give them money to feel him.’
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