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said.
    Paniatowski nodded, rose to her feet and left the room. When she’d closed the door behind her, Woodend said, ‘Let’s cut through the crap, shall we? Tell me what’s goin’ on here.’
    Turner shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I’d love to have my lads working through our own backlog,’ he confessed, ‘but, unfortunately, I didn’t have any choice but to assign them to you.’
    â€˜Come again?’ Woodend said.
    â€˜Orders from HQ. I’ve been told to give you a room and put at least four men at your disposal.’
    â€˜That order would come directly from DCS Ainsworth, would it?’ Woodend asked.
    â€˜It’s got his dabs all over it,’ Turner acknowledged.
    Woodend’s eyes narrowed. ‘Tell me the rest.’
    Turner coughed. ‘As far as I remember the wording of the order, it said I was to submit periodic reports on how well you were using the resources that I’d allocated to you,’ he said.
    â€˜In other words, if I’m solvin’ this murder on my own, as far as Ainsworth’s concerned I’ll be buggerin’ things up,’ Woodend said. ‘Whereas, if I’m runnin’ the men under me around like blue-arsed flies – but gettin’ nowhere – I’ll be judged to be doin’ a good job.’
    â€˜Reading between the lines, I’d say that’s a pretty fair assessment,’ Turner admitted.
    â€˜An’ how do you stand on all this?’ Woodend demanded.
    â€˜I’m not sure I’m quite following you, si— Charlie.’
    â€˜Are you for me? Or are you against me?’
    â€˜I learned a lot from working with you over in Clitheroe,’ Turner said. ‘Your methods might not come out of the standard police manuals, exactly, but there’s no doubt that they work. I admire you as a policeman. We could do with more like you, in my opinion.’
    Very nice – but not unqualified. ‘On the other hand –’ Woodend said, giving Turner an opening.
    â€˜On the other hand, I’ve got my sights set on being an assistant chief constable before I retire,’ Turner admitted. ‘And you don’t achieve that ambition by crossing a man who’s two steps further up the ladder than you are.’
    â€˜So would you care to spell it out for me?’
    â€˜I’m prepared to give you more rope than Mr Ainsworth would probably be happy with,’ Turner said. ‘On the other hand, I’m not willing to put my own neck in the noose just to spare yours.’
    â€˜Thanks for bein’ so honest with me,’ Woodend said. ‘Well, that about covers everythin’, doesn’t it?’
    â€˜I believe so,’ Turner agreed, standing up. ‘So if you’d like me to introduce you to your team –’
    â€˜That can wait for later,’ Woodend told him.
    â€˜Later?’
    â€˜Aye. Before you introduce me to these four poor buggers who’ve been foisted on me, I think I’d like to wear out a bit of shoe-leather cloggin’ it up an’ down the Golden Mile.’
    The woman making her way along the promenade was wearing a flowing black skirt and a garishly embroidered jacket. On her head was a red kerchief, and hanging from her ears were a pair of heavy gold earrings. There was other evidence of gold about her person, too – bracelets, rings and chains. It was not that she particularly liked gold jewellery – as a matter of fact she considered it rather vulgar – but it was what the punters expected her to wear, and she supposed it was as good an investment as putting the money in the bank.
    She had reached her kiosk – her place of business. It stood on a corner, next to a newly opened bingo hall. She stopped for a moment and listened to the caller shouting out the numbers.
    â€˜Eighty-eight – two fat ladies. Twenty-two, two little ducks, quack, quack. Twenty-one, key to