He got moved around like pass the parcel. He were one of those fellows, you couldn't fault his work, but you couldn't thole his company.' Pascoe said, 'I never knew Tallantire. What was he like? Cut a few corners, would he?' 'That's the way the wind blows, is it? Well, it figures. Scapegoats are like lawyers. The best 'uns is dead 'uns.

As for cutting corners, well, Wally would certainly go the shortest way, once he got a target in his sights. And the Mickledore Hall case was his golden hour by all accounts, the one he reckoned he'd be remembered for. But there's a difference between cutting corners and carving people up.' 'So you reckon he was straight?' 'On the whole, I'd say so. I'll tell you one thing, but. Fat Andy won't take kindly to anyone casting aspersions. Wally was his big hero, he took Andy under his wing, and it needed a pretty broad wing, believe me!' Pascoe grinned and said, 'A bit wild, was he?' 'Wild? He's a dormouse to what he were! He'd still be pounding a beat if it weren't for Wally. But Wally was flying high after the Mickledore case, and Andy flew with him.' Pascoe mused on these things as he headed back to Headquarters.

He tried to imagine Dalziel as a wild young thing in need of protection but all he could get was Genghis Khan in short pants. The image made him smile. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, he felt good. He turned a corner. Ahead, rearing out of a rough sea of rooftops, he glimpsed the huge grey front of the cathedral tower. His mouth felt dry. He tried to make spittle and swallow but couldn't. The palms of his hands were sweating so that the wheel felt slimy against them.