‘Maybe,’ said the woman, turning into the car park and finding a spot a few cars along from the Nissan. Here they sat and watched as the fat man made his way towards the cathedral followed closely by the blonde.

‘Who the fuck is that?’ said Vince. ‘Can’t possibly be our guy, can it?’

The woman said, ‘Don’t swear, Vince. You know I don’t like it any time and particularly not on a Sunday.’

‘Sorry,’ he said sulkily. ‘Just wondering who Tubby is, that’s all.’

‘And it’s a good question,’ she said in a conciliatory tone. ‘But we know where he lives, so finding out won’t be a problem. Now get after them.’

‘Me?’ said Vince doubtfully. Following was subtle stuff. Usually he didn’t get to do the subtle stuff.

‘Yes. You can manage that, can’t you?’

‘Sure.’

He got out of the car, then stooped to the window.

‘What if they go inside?’

‘Follow them,’ she said in exasperation. ‘Grab a hymn book. Try to look religious. Now go!’

He set off at a rapid pace. Ahead he saw Blondie going into the cathedral.

He followed. Inside he stood still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the light. Blondie was easy to spot and through her he located Tubby.

When the woman sat down, he took a seat several rows behind her, picked up a hymn book, opened it at random.

His lips moved as he read the words.

The world is very evil,

The times are waxing late,

Be sober and keep vigil,

The Judge is at the gate.

Fucking judges, thought Vince.

08.12-08.25

For the first couple of miles, Andy Dalziel’s reaction to the surprisingly light traffic had been relief. He should get to the meeting in plenty of time and without use of what clever clogs Pascoe called son et lumière.

But by the time he approached the town centre, he was beginning to find the absence of other vehicles suspicious rather than surprising. This after all was Monday morning, when traffic was usually at its worst.