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was being deliberately provocative. Steel, once a Labour councillor but now an Independent after the Party ejected him in face of his increasingly violent attacks on the leadership, hurling charges which ranged from cronyism to corruption, was the selfappointed leader of a crusade against the misuse of public money. His targets included everything from the building of the Heritage, Arts and Library Centre to the provision of digestive biscuits at council committee meetings, so it was hardly surprising that he should have rushed forward to lend his weight to Jax Ripley's investigation into the way police resources were managed in MidYorkshire. 'Not his criticism that bothers me,' growled Dalziel. 'Have you ever got near him? Teeth you could grow moss on and breath like a vegan's fart. I can smell it through the telly. Only time Stuffer's not talking is when he's eating, and not always then. No one listens any more. No, it's Jax the bloody Ripper who bothers me. She's got last month's statistics, she knows about the decision not to replace George Headingley and, looking at the state of some of them burgled houses, she must have been round there with her little camera afore we were!' 'So you still reckon someone's talking?' said Pascoe. 'It's obvious. How many times in the last few months has she been one jump ahead of us? Past six months, to be precise. I checked back.' 'Six months? And you think that might be significant? Apart
    25 from the fact, of course, that Miss Ripley started doing the pro gramme only seven months ago?' 'Aye, it could be significant,' said Dalziel grimly. 'Maybe she's just good at her job,' said Pascoe. 'And surely it's no bad thing for the world to know we're not getting a replace ment DI for George? Perhaps we should use her instead of getting our knickers in a twist.' 'You don't use a rat,' said Dalziel. 'You block up the hole it's feeding through. And I've got a bloody good idea where to find this hole.' Pascoe and Wield exchanged glances. They knew where the Fat Man's suspicions lay, knew the significance he put on the period of six months. This was just about the length of time Mid-Yorkshire CID's newest recruit, Detective Constable Bowler, had been on the team. Bowler - known to his friends as Hat and to his arch-foe as Boiler, Boghead, Bowels or any other pejorative variation which occurred to him - had started with the heavy handicap of being a fast-track graduate, on transfer from the Midlands without Dalziel's opinion being sought or his approval solicited. The Fat Man was Argos-eyed in Mid-Yorkshire and a report that the new DC had been spotted having a drink with Jacqueline Ripley not long after his arrival had been filed away till the first of the items which had seen her re-christened Jax the Ripper had appeared. Since then Bowler had been given the status of man-most-likely, but nothing had yet been proved, which, to Pascoe at least, knowing how close a surveillance was being kept, suggested he was innocent. But he knew better than to oppose a Dalzielesque obsession. Also, the Fat Man had a habit of being right. He said brightly, 'Well, I suppose we'd better go and solve some crimes in case there's a hidden camera watching us. Thank you both for your input on my little problem.' 'What? Oh, that,' said Dalziel dismissively. 'Seems to me the only problem you've got is knowing whether you've really got a problem.' 'Oh yes, I'm certain of that. I think I've got the same problem Hector was faced with last year.' 'Eh?' said Dalziel, puzzled by this reference to Mid-Yorkshire's most famously incompetent constable. 'Remind me.' 'Don't you remember? He went into that warehouse to investiate a possible intruder. There was a guard dog, big Ridgeback I think, lying down just inside the doorway.' 'Oh yes, I recall. Hector had to pass it. And he didn't know if it was dead, drugged, sleeping or just playing doggo, waiting to pounce, that was his problem, right?' 'No,' said Pascoe. 'He gave it a kick to