Dialogues of the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

get work here. You say you checked with the probation service?' 'Yes,' said Pascoe. 'All done by the book. They wanted to know if there was a problem.' 'What did you tell the buggers?' said Dalziel, who classed probation officers with Scottish midges, vegetarians and modern technology as Jobian tests of a virtuous man's patience. 'I said no, just routine.' 'Wise move,' approved Wield. 'See how it looks. Man serves his time, puts his life back together, gets harassed without cause by insensitive police officer, flips, tries to harm himself, recovers, gets back on track, finds work again, minds his own business, then this same officer starts accusing him of being some sort of stalker. It's you who comes out looking like either a neurotic headcase or a vengeful bastard. While Roote . .. just a guy who's paid his debt and wants nothing except to live a quiet life. I mean, he didn't even want the hassle of bringing a harassment case against you, or a wrongful dismissal case against the Sheffield hospital.' He moved from the window to the desk. 'Aye,' said Dalziel thoughtfully. 'That's the most worrying thing, him not wanting to kick up a fuss. Well, lad, it's up to you. But me, I know what I'd do.'
    ^ 'And what's that, sir?' enquired Pascoe. 'Break both his legs and run him out of town.' 'I think perhaps the other way round might be better,' said Pascoe judiciously. 'You reckon? Either way, you can stick this useless thing up his arse first.' He glowered at the VCR which, as if in response to that fear some gaze, clicked into life and a picture blossomed on the TV screen. 'There,' said the Fat Man triumphantly. 'Told you no lump of tin and wires could get the better of me.' Pascoe glanced at Wield who was quietly replacing the remote control unit on the desk, and grinned. An announcer was saying, 'And now Out and About, your regional magazine programme from BBC Mid-Yorkshire, pre sented byjax Ripley.' Titles over an aerial panorama of town and countryside accom panied by the first few bars of 'On Ilkia Moor Baht 'at' played by a brass band, all fading to the slight, almost childish figure of a young blonde with bright blue eyes and a wide mouth stretched in a smile through which white teeth gleamed like a scimitar blade. 'Hi,' she said. 'Lots of goodies tonight, but first, are we getting the policing we deserve, the policing we pay for? Here's how it looks from the dirty end of the stick.' A rapid montage of burgled houses and householders all expressing, some angrily, some tearfully, their sense of being abandoned by the police. Back to the blonde, who recited a list of statistics which she then precis'd: 'So four out of ten cases don't get looked at by CID in the first twenty-four hours, six out of ten cases get only one visit and the rest is silence, and eight out of ten cases remain permanently unsolved. In fact, as of last month there were more than two hundred unsolved current cases on Mid-Yorkshire CID's books. Inefficiency? Underfunding? Understaffing? Certainly we are told that the decision not to replace a senior CID officer who comes up to retirement shortly is causing much soul searching, or, to put it another way, a bloody great row. But when we invited MidYorkshire Constabulary to send someone along to discuss these matters, a spokesman said they were unable to comment at this time. Maybe that means they are all too busy dealing with the crime wave. I would like to think so. But we do have Councillor Cyril Steel, who has long been interested in police matters. Councillor Steel, I gather you feel we are not getting the service we pay for?' A bald-headed man with mad eyes opened his mouth to show brown and battlemented teeth, but before he could let fly his arrows of criticism, the screen went dark as Dalziel ripped the plug out of the wall socket. 'Too early in the day to put up with Stuffer,' he said with a shudder. 'We must be able to take honest criticism, sir,' said Pascoe solemnly. 'Even from Councillor Steel.' He