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enclave, checked for messages and joined them. Someone brought me a mug of tea. I went through the weekend’s reports of crimes and allocated them to the sergeants and told them we had taken over the murder investigation they’d all read about. They updated me on on-going cases and I told them to go to it. The gift of delegation eases many burdens.
    Mad Maggie Madison and Dave ‘Sparky’ Sparkington followed me to my office and sat down. They’re the core of my murder investigation team. I showed them the photographs and told them all about Magdalena.
    Dave said: ‘And you expect us to believe that?’
    ‘Wait!’ I protested, holding my hands up. ‘Wait! I’ve had this conversation once already this morning, with Mr Wood. You’d better believe what I say, because I’m not explaining again.’
    Dave studied one of the photos for a while before saying: ‘That’s all very well, Charlie, but this tattoo is quite small and you’d be, what, about five yards back while you were drawing her? I don’t think you’d be able to read it at that range. What do you think, Maggie?’
    Maggie agreed with him. ‘You’d have to be in much more intimate contact to make out what it said.’
    ‘You’re right,’ I conceded. ‘As usual, David, with your incisive policeman’s brain you have stumbled upon an angle to my story that demands further enquiry. We were about five yards back, but when Magdalena was the model I usually managed to bag a seat on the front row. I still couldn’t make out what the tattoo said. There were about twelve of us in the group and we were all intrigued. Tattoos weren’t as common as cones on the motorway in those days. Eventually we persuaded one of the girls in the group to ask her what it said. It was a mistake. Magdalena told her to mind her own business and was obviously distressed with the question. Eventually we asked one of the tutors who we thought was having an affair with her. He used to fix her pose before we started drawing and came into much closer contact with her than we did. He told us that the tattoo said Property of the Pope , but he hadn’t a clue what it meant.’
    ‘OK. So we’ll believe you, eh, Margaret?’
    ‘Just about, David.’
    ‘So where do we start?’
    ‘We start by you two collecting the files from Halifax, go have a look at where the body was found, and set up the incident room. I’ll nip to Leeds College of Art to find out what I can about Magdalena. She may be on the files or somebody might remember her.’
    Maggie said: ‘We need a better picture of her. Did you keep all your drawings?’
    ‘I don’t know, but you’re right.’
    I took three KitKats from the stash in my drawer and handed them out. Dave said: ‘What did you get up to over the weekend, then?’
    ‘Painting a couple of pictures for the police gala,’ I replied. It’s held every August and is mainly a public relations exercise, showing off the dogs, horses and other accoutrements of law enforcement. There’s a section for cops’ art and I always enter a couple of my paintings. All the other submissions are delicate watercolour landscapes or highly defined oils of hunting scenes and still lifes, but mine are always wild splashes of abstract colour, with barely recognisable form. They always arouse a great deal of comment from my peers, but they are the ones that the press like, and I occasionally sell them.
    ‘No doubt they’ll be the laughing stock of the show,’ he remarked.
    ‘Thank you, Dave. It’s the lot of the genius to be misunderstood in his lifetime.’
    ‘You wouldn’t want it any other way,’
    ‘That’s true.’
    ‘Did you see that programme on eagle owls on TV last night?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Nor me,’ Maggie added.
    ‘It was fascinating,’ Dave told us. ‘Apparently one’s been seen on the Whitby moors.’
    ‘A wild one?’ I asked. ‘I thought they lived on the Russian steppes or somewhere.’
    ‘They do. This one may be an escapee, but nobody knows.