He moved from the window to the desk.
“Aye,” said Dalziel thoughtfully. “That’s the most worrying thing, him not wanting to kick up a fuss. Well, lad, it’s up to you. But me, I know what I’d do.”
“And what’s that, sir?” enquired Pascoe.
“Break both his legs and run him out of town.”
“I think perhaps the other way round might be better,” said Pascoe judiciously.
“You reckon? Either way, you can stick this useless thing up his arse first.”
He glowered at the VCR which, as if in response to that fearsome gaze, clicked into life and a picture blossomed on the TV screen.
“There,” said the Fat Man triumphantly. “Told you no lump of tin and wires could get the better of me.”
Pascoe glanced at Wield who was quietly replacing the remote control unit on the desk, and grinned.
An announcer was saying, “And now Out and About, your regional magazine programme from BBC Mid-Yorkshire, presented by Jax Ripley.”
Titles over an aerial panorama of town and countryside accompanied by the first few bars of “On Ilkla Moor Baht ’at” played by a brass band, all fading to the slight, almost childish figure of a young blonde with bright blue eyes and a wide mouth stretched in a smile through which white teeth gleamed like a scimitar blade.
“Hi,” she said. “Lots of goodies tonight, but first, are we getting the policing we deserve, the policing we pay for? Here’s how it looks from the dirty end of the stick.”