Read Online Midnight Fugue by Reginald Hill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Reginald Hill
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Mystery Fiction, Police, Police Procedural, Police - England - Yorkshire, Dalziel; Andrew (Fictitious character), Pascoe; Peter (Fictitious character)
Ads: Link
All trails banged up against a dead end, or a smart lawyer with a writ. Conclusion, Mathias’s at least, someone was leaking. So he set Internal Investigations on it and they focused on Wolfe.’
‘What do you mean,
Mathias’s at least
?’
‘Get the impression there were a lot who reckoned that Macavity were a waste of time and money. They’d not been able to touch Gidman in his early days in the East End. Now he were out of the mucky back streets and into the City, he were so squeaky clean, the Tories were accepting donations from him.’
‘Proving what?’ grunted Dalziel. ‘So you’re saying this Macavity op were a grudge thing between Mathias and Gidman?’
‘I’m saying it feels like that’s what a lot of people thought.’
‘Did this mean Internal Investigations just went through the motions?’
‘Can’t say. Certainly nowt were ever proven against Wolfe. He happened to be on compassionate leave at the time, so they didn’t even need to suspend him. Then he resigned. Bit later he vanished. Estranged wife reported it, they looked at it, no evidence of foul play, he was a grown man, no charges had been brought so he wasn’t a fugitive. I got the impression they were glad to be shot of him without the fuss of a full-blown corruption enquiry.’
‘OK. What about Purdy?
‘Wolfe’s DI back when he was a sergeant. Paths parted when he went up to DCI and Wolfe to DI. Wolfe more into the paper-chase side of things, Purdy stayed hands on. Did well. Current job, Commander in some Major Crime Unit at the Yard.’
‘Right. Operation Macavity, things improve there after Wolfe vanished?’
‘Seems not. Shelved soon after. No evidence, no action.’
‘And nowt since?’
‘Not a word. Looks like the records have been hoovered clean. Like they’d feel embarrassed at it coming out how much time and money they’d wasted. Not surprising, considering how things have worked out for Gidman.’
‘Eh? Hang about, you’re not saying we’re talking about yon Dave the Turd MP? No, can’t be, he’s still in his twenties, isn’t he?’
‘Goldie Gidman’s his father.’
Shit, thought Dalziel. His brain really was creaking. Though in fact, he reassured himself, no reason why he should have made the leap as soon as he heard the name. In living memory he’d helped send down a Brown and a Cameron, the former for offing his boss’s wife, the latter for identity theft, and in neither case had he looked at a Westminster connection.
Come to think of it, maybe he should have done.
Now he recollected a TV documentary he’d watched during his recent convalescence. It had been called
Golden Boy — The Face of the Future
?
Two years ago, David Gidman the Third had overturned a Labour majority of ten thousand in the Lea Valley West bye-election. He was a Tory golden boy in every sense. His mixed parentage had given him the kind of skin glow that footballers’ wives pay match fees for. His grandfather, a Jamaican immigrant who worked on the railways, had been greatly respected as a community leader. His father was a self-made million-some said billion-aire whose predilection for investments involving gold had left him better placed than most to survive the plunging markets. Goldie Gidman was big in charity, giving generously of his wealth to educational, social and cultural projects in the East End of his upbringing. And also to the Conservative Party. No honours came his way. He did not want letters after his name, just after his son’s. And if his son’s nomination for Lea Valley West was his reward, then the Tories felt they’d made a good bargain, for, besides ticking all the right ethnic and cultural boxes, David Gidman was proving an attractive and energetic MP.
In right-wing journals, he was already crayoned in as a possible future leader, while in
Private Eye
his insistence on calling himself David Gidman the Third to remind everyone of his humble origins inevitably won him the witty sobriquet of
‘What do you mean,
Mathias’s at least
?’
‘Get the impression there were a lot who reckoned that Macavity were a waste of time and money. They’d not been able to touch Gidman in his early days in the East End. Now he were out of the mucky back streets and into the City, he were so squeaky clean, the Tories were accepting donations from him.’
‘Proving what?’ grunted Dalziel. ‘So you’re saying this Macavity op were a grudge thing between Mathias and Gidman?’
‘I’m saying it feels like that’s what a lot of people thought.’
‘Did this mean Internal Investigations just went through the motions?’
‘Can’t say. Certainly nowt were ever proven against Wolfe. He happened to be on compassionate leave at the time, so they didn’t even need to suspend him. Then he resigned. Bit later he vanished. Estranged wife reported it, they looked at it, no evidence of foul play, he was a grown man, no charges had been brought so he wasn’t a fugitive. I got the impression they were glad to be shot of him without the fuss of a full-blown corruption enquiry.’
‘OK. What about Purdy?
‘Wolfe’s DI back when he was a sergeant. Paths parted when he went up to DCI and Wolfe to DI. Wolfe more into the paper-chase side of things, Purdy stayed hands on. Did well. Current job, Commander in some Major Crime Unit at the Yard.’
‘Right. Operation Macavity, things improve there after Wolfe vanished?’
‘Seems not. Shelved soon after. No evidence, no action.’
‘And nowt since?’
‘Not a word. Looks like the records have been hoovered clean. Like they’d feel embarrassed at it coming out how much time and money they’d wasted. Not surprising, considering how things have worked out for Gidman.’
‘Eh? Hang about, you’re not saying we’re talking about yon Dave the Turd MP? No, can’t be, he’s still in his twenties, isn’t he?’
‘Goldie Gidman’s his father.’
Shit, thought Dalziel. His brain really was creaking. Though in fact, he reassured himself, no reason why he should have made the leap as soon as he heard the name. In living memory he’d helped send down a Brown and a Cameron, the former for offing his boss’s wife, the latter for identity theft, and in neither case had he looked at a Westminster connection.
Come to think of it, maybe he should have done.
Now he recollected a TV documentary he’d watched during his recent convalescence. It had been called
Golden Boy — The Face of the Future
?
Two years ago, David Gidman the Third had overturned a Labour majority of ten thousand in the Lea Valley West bye-election. He was a Tory golden boy in every sense. His mixed parentage had given him the kind of skin glow that footballers’ wives pay match fees for. His grandfather, a Jamaican immigrant who worked on the railways, had been greatly respected as a community leader. His father was a self-made million-some said billion-aire whose predilection for investments involving gold had left him better placed than most to survive the plunging markets. Goldie Gidman was big in charity, giving generously of his wealth to educational, social and cultural projects in the East End of his upbringing. And also to the Conservative Party. No honours came his way. He did not want letters after his name, just after his son’s. And if his son’s nomination for Lea Valley West was his reward, then the Tories felt they’d made a good bargain, for, besides ticking all the right ethnic and cultural boxes, David Gidman was proving an attractive and energetic MP.
In right-wing journals, he was already crayoned in as a possible future leader, while in
Private Eye
his insistence on calling himself David Gidman the Third to remind everyone of his humble origins inevitably won him the witty sobriquet of
Similar Books
