'You dropped this,' said Trotter tossing Pascoe's wallet onto the floor.

'Oh yes. Thanks,' said Pascoe, trying to conceal his dismay.

'Photo in there. You in a robe and funny hat.'

'Graduation ceremony. When I got my degree. That means -'

'I know what it fucking means! I could've gone to college!'

Pascoe nodded, aiming at something between Sorry you missed out and It's not all it's cracked up to be, and trying to hide And I'm to be Queen of the May\

'Old girl with you, that your mam?'

'Grandmother.'

'Where's your mam then?'

Over Trotter's shoulder, Dalziel mouthed, 'Dead.'

'Dead,' said Pascoe.

Trotter nodded and said, 'This great-grandfather of yours in the Wyfies, squaddie was he? Or an officer?'

Dalziel's huge lips formed the word, 'Captain.'

Thinking, this could be a mistake, Pascoe said, 'I'm not sure but I think he was a captain.'

'So you've got a degree, and your great-granddad was an officer, and you've still got to jump when this bag of dogshit says Jump!'

'Life does funny things to you,' said Pascoe.

'Don't I know it. What do you reckon to his boots?'

Pascoe glanced at Dalziel's boots.

'They're OK?' he said.

'OK?' echoed Trotter incredulously.

'Well, a bit dull, maybe.' Something in Trotter's expression showed him he was on the right track and warming to the role he went on, 'In fact I think they're pretty filthy.'

'Pretty filthy,' said Trotter savouring the words. 'Why don't you tell him?'

'Yes. Certainly. Look, you, er, Dalziel' – it came out Dyeel – 'why are your boots so, er, filthy?'

'Don't have any polish,' said the Fat Man. 'Aagh!'

The groan was pumped out of him by a sudden jab of the sawn-off shotgun into his belly causing the landslide of his newly promoted chest.

'What do you do when you're addressed by an officer?' screamed Trotter. 'What do you say?'