Briefly he explained. Ellie listened intently. He didn't often discuss the detail of his work with her but this wasn't a case, just a speculation, and Pascoe who would have welcomed her clarity of thought on many occasions was glad to invite it now.

To his surprise like Dalziel she dismissed as irrelevant the question of the broken teeth.

'It's not very likely, is it?' she said. 'It's this chap Haggard you want to be interested in. I've heard of him. Before his school folded, he was a thorn in everyone's side. No official standing, of course, and he had ideas that made the Black Papers shine at night. But he knew how to get to people, push them around.'

'He obviously hasn't lost his charming ways,' said Pascoe. 'The neighbours are almost solidly against him, but it's getting them nowhere.'

'So you have a complaint to investigate? Great! Can't you fit him up? Slip a brick in his pocket or something?'

Pascoe sighed. Ellie made police jokes like some people make Irish jokes, and at times they began to wear a bit thin.

'It's nothing to do with me. Sergeant Wield's looking after things there. I'm only here for the teeth.'

'So you say. Sounds odd to me. And this dentist of yours, he sounds a bit odd too.'

'Christ,' said Pascoe. 'You sound more like Dalziel every day.'

He bit into Ellie's dripping sandwich again and watched James Cagney bust someone right on the jaw. The recipient of the blow staggered back, shook his head admiringly, then launched a counter-attack.

This, thought Pascoe, is what fighting ought to look like. When the Gerry Toms of this world could produce stuff like this, then they might climb out of the skin-flick morass. This appealed to man's artistic sense, not his basic lusts.

Guns had appeared now. Cagney dived for cover and came up with a huge automatic in his hand.

'Great,' said Pascoe, his artistic sense thoroughly appealed to. 'Now kill the bastard!'