Ollershaw. They've got nothing definite yet, but you can tell they're sniffing the air.'
'Ollershaw? Him? Nay, he's a right banker, and like most on 'em can probably play a fair tune on the fiddle, but I can't see him getting mixed up with owt violent.'
'Know him, do you, sir?'
'I've seen him down the Gents. And heard him too, sounding off to his mates. Big I Am, but a long way off Mr Big, I'd say.'
The Gents, as Novello had learned after an embarrassing misunderstanding, wasn't a lavatorial reference but a popular shortening of the Borough Club for Professional Gentlemen, the Athenaeum of the North, an exclusive social and dining club, men only, of course, which made Novello think that perhaps her misunderstanding wasn't. When she'd wondered to Wield why someone as anarchically unclubbable as Dalziel should have joined such an organization, the sergeant had replied, "Cos they didn't want him, of course.'
'All the same, I think they've still got him in the frame,' said Pascoe. 'But there's another possibility. One way of looking at it, the prime target for intimidation is Kelly herself. Until the Fraud Squad get a line on the Nortrust Bank money, it's floating around somewhere in cyberspace, and she may be the only one who can get at it. So maybe someone wants her out so they can use methods that even Fraud draw the line at to get her to tell where it is.'
It seemed to Novello that the DCI was putting forward his Cornelius hypotheses with more stubbornness than conviction.
Dalziel clearly thought so too. He said, 'Doesn't make sense. Anyone serious could easily get to her in the remand centre, bend her over a table and threaten to shove a broken bottle up her jacksie, happens all the time.'
'That's fine if what you want to find out is where the swag's buried, but it's not like that here,' insisted Pascoe. 'OK, it's easy enough to get some prison hardcase to do the job for a couple of rocks, but what's Kelly going to tell her? Nothing that makes any sense, I'd bet. No, it could be the only way to get at this loot is to sit Kelly down in front of a state-of-the-art computer and make her an offer she can't refuse. To do that, you want her out of custody. All they'd need from me is to make our opposition to her reapplication for bail tomorrow a bit feeble.'
Dalziel snorted doubt and provoked Wield into a display of loyalty.
'Makes sense to me,' he said. 'Twisting Pete's arm to perjure himself is one thing. Bloody hard to do, and harder to get away with 'cos everyone in the job would sit up and take notice if suddenly his evidence changed. But subtly getting up some magistrate's nose so as he grants bail just to show who's in charge of the courts here, that would be dead easy. And not such a strain on the conscience either.'
'Oh aye? You'd do it, would you, if that antique bookie of thine were threatened?' said Dalziel.
Antiquarian book dealer, corrected Novello mentally, watching with the keenness of an ambitious student to see how Wield would react to this reference to his partner.
'Straight choice between Edwin and a crook, no problem,' said Wield without hesitation, looking the Fat Man right in the eye.
'Well, bugger me,' said Dalziel. 'Thank God there's thee and me left with some moral fibre, Ivor, and I'm not so sure about thee. You're keeping very quiet for a lass. Didn't your trip to the wishing well get you any ideas?'
'Wishing well?' echoed Novello uncertainly.
'Aye, I take it that's where tha tossed my change,' said Dalziel, poking at the wet coins with his forefinger. 'Only, when I were young, you had to leave it there to get any results.'
'I can take it back and get some more drink if you like, sir,' said Novello sweetly.
'Nay, it's some other bugger's shout,' said Dalziel, closing his fingers round the money, shaking it dry, and thrusting it into his pocket. 'And while we're waiting for Mr and Mrs Alzheimer here to remember the way to their wallets, why don't you give us the benefit of female intuition,
'Ollershaw? Him? Nay, he's a right banker, and like most on 'em can probably play a fair tune on the fiddle, but I can't see him getting mixed up with owt violent.'
'Know him, do you, sir?'
'I've seen him down the Gents. And heard him too, sounding off to his mates. Big I Am, but a long way off Mr Big, I'd say.'
The Gents, as Novello had learned after an embarrassing misunderstanding, wasn't a lavatorial reference but a popular shortening of the Borough Club for Professional Gentlemen, the Athenaeum of the North, an exclusive social and dining club, men only, of course, which made Novello think that perhaps her misunderstanding wasn't. When she'd wondered to Wield why someone as anarchically unclubbable as Dalziel should have joined such an organization, the sergeant had replied, "Cos they didn't want him, of course.'
'All the same, I think they've still got him in the frame,' said Pascoe. 'But there's another possibility. One way of looking at it, the prime target for intimidation is Kelly herself. Until the Fraud Squad get a line on the Nortrust Bank money, it's floating around somewhere in cyberspace, and she may be the only one who can get at it. So maybe someone wants her out so they can use methods that even Fraud draw the line at to get her to tell where it is.'
It seemed to Novello that the DCI was putting forward his Cornelius hypotheses with more stubbornness than conviction.
Dalziel clearly thought so too. He said, 'Doesn't make sense. Anyone serious could easily get to her in the remand centre, bend her over a table and threaten to shove a broken bottle up her jacksie, happens all the time.'
'That's fine if what you want to find out is where the swag's buried, but it's not like that here,' insisted Pascoe. 'OK, it's easy enough to get some prison hardcase to do the job for a couple of rocks, but what's Kelly going to tell her? Nothing that makes any sense, I'd bet. No, it could be the only way to get at this loot is to sit Kelly down in front of a state-of-the-art computer and make her an offer she can't refuse. To do that, you want her out of custody. All they'd need from me is to make our opposition to her reapplication for bail tomorrow a bit feeble.'
Dalziel snorted doubt and provoked Wield into a display of loyalty.
'Makes sense to me,' he said. 'Twisting Pete's arm to perjure himself is one thing. Bloody hard to do, and harder to get away with 'cos everyone in the job would sit up and take notice if suddenly his evidence changed. But subtly getting up some magistrate's nose so as he grants bail just to show who's in charge of the courts here, that would be dead easy. And not such a strain on the conscience either.'
'Oh aye? You'd do it, would you, if that antique bookie of thine were threatened?' said Dalziel.
Antiquarian book dealer, corrected Novello mentally, watching with the keenness of an ambitious student to see how Wield would react to this reference to his partner.
'Straight choice between Edwin and a crook, no problem,' said Wield without hesitation, looking the Fat Man right in the eye.
'Well, bugger me,' said Dalziel. 'Thank God there's thee and me left with some moral fibre, Ivor, and I'm not so sure about thee. You're keeping very quiet for a lass. Didn't your trip to the wishing well get you any ideas?'
'Wishing well?' echoed Novello uncertainly.
'Aye, I take it that's where tha tossed my change,' said Dalziel, poking at the wet coins with his forefinger. 'Only, when I were young, you had to leave it there to get any results.'
'I can take it back and get some more drink if you like, sir,' said Novello sweetly.
'Nay, it's some other bugger's shout,' said Dalziel, closing his fingers round the money, shaking it dry, and thrusting it into his pocket. 'And while we're waiting for Mr and Mrs Alzheimer here to remember the way to their wallets, why don't you give us the benefit of female intuition,
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