By Reginald Hill
Andy Dalziel is aware how you can deal with crime. supply him a pleasant easy homicide, a few bloke with a gun and a criticism, and he?s a contented guy. yet this new one, that the clicking is looking the ?Yorkshire Choker??well, Andy might recommend a few diversified names, none of them healthy for a relatives paper. It?s not only that he retains phoning the police officers to boast concerning the ladies he?s strangled. No, this one it sounds as if thinks he?s Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. And in addition, the sergeant has referred to as in a ?clairvoyant,? as if Andy wishes a few nutjob with a crystal ball to assist him crack the case.
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Extra resources for A Killing Kindness
Lots of things made Dalziel angry. Not having his jokes appreciated was one of them. The fat man hooked a chair towards him with a size ten foot and sat down heavily. 'All right,' he said. ' For answer, Pascoe shoved Wield's report towards him. He read it quickly. ' 'Oh, stop standing there as if you'd crapped yourself,' said Dalziel wearily. 'Think I may have, sir,' said Wield. This tickled Dalziel's fancy and he grinned and belched. There had obviously been a buffet bar on the train. 'How'd it happen you had a recorder in your car, lad?
Pressed, he became irritable and talked about special circumstances such as the high temperature of the canal water and the opening up of the chest and lungs by the propeller. Pascoe, long used to the imprecisions of science, had looked for other evidence of timing. M. on the Thursday. M. because that was when Brenda and Tommy had met. Their rendezvous had been at the Bay Tree Inn, a half-timbered former coaching inn not far from the city centre which had fallen into the hands of a large brewery group renowned for the acuteness of their commercial instincts and the awfulness of their keg beer.
The smell was of damp canvas and trodden grass and the only furniture was a plain trestle table and two folding chairs. ' 'I'm sure,' said Pascoe. ' She laughed, very attractively. 'No,' she said. ' She held out her hand. He took it. The name sounded familiar. 'And I'm Detective-Inspector Pascoe,' he said. 'I thought you must be. It's about yesterday, Inspector Pascoe. ' He unfolded the chairs and they sat opposite each other at the table, as though for an interrogation. Or a fortune-telling. It depended on your point of view.
A Killing Kindness by Reginald Hill