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skilfully. Kid’s stuff.
    Sorbie groaned.
    ‘Does he have a hangover?’ I asked.
    ‘Doctor told him not to drink with his medication. But DS Sorbie likes to try everything once.’
    ‘Laudable.’ I didn’t ask what DS Sorbie needed medication for. Lots of things by the look of it. ‘Okay, no big secret, Griffin’s, the insurers, want to know if he’s faking his disability which they are forking out for.’
    ‘Same here. I believe Lane’s always been a part-time fraudster. He’s got two convictions for fraud, one insurance, one benefit, though neither are very recent. Which doesn’t mean he’s not been at it in the meantime.’
    ‘So why are you interested at all, surely you must have better things to do than to keep small fry under surveillance?’
    ‘I certainly do. Only the landlady who got sued for damages by the little toerag is the Assistant Chief Constable’s ex-wife. She’s only a recent ex and he wants to impress.’
    ‘I took the job because my roof got blown away. I believe I have the purer motive: money.’
    ‘You’ll do as you’re told. Don’t underestimate my career plans, Honeysett.’
    ‘What about you, DS Sorbie? Do you have career plans?’ I asked pleasantly.
    He gave a pained and joyless grin and nodded. ‘When I’m not too busy trying not to puke in your Guinness, yeah.’
    ‘Well, it’s a job and I have to make a living, guys, just like everyone else . . .’
    ‘Too right, you’ll never survive on your art, mate, I’ve seen the crap you paint.’
    Everyone’s a critic. ‘Okay, howsabout we’ll take it in turns to watch Lane?’ I suggested. ‘Saves on the man-hours and we’ll let each other know if he suddenly starts jogging round the park.’
    ‘I’ll think about it,’ Deeks said and took a long slurp of his pint, then set it down precisely on its beer mat. ‘I’ve thought about it. You have to be shitting me . I’m telling you to piss off out of it. But I’ll make you an offer, and you’d better take it ’cause you won’t get a better one: if we catch him line dancing we’ll give you a shout. And another piece of advice: you really should take the goggles off inside.’
    Next morning I was watching Lane’s house as usual, only even more carefully. Two things had made me suspicious: the chummy offer to let me know if they found anything on Lane and the frankly unlikely fact that Deeks had paid for the drinks. Not at all normal behaviour for the fuzz, as I liked to think of them. Sounds cuddly, doesn’t it? They were to get less cuddly before the day was out. In the meantime I was getting soaked under the inefficient shelter of a near-bald tree in the now familiar car park, waiting for Lane to make an appearance. It had started to rain again when I’d set off for Larkhall and not stopped since. It was that annoying kind of dancing rain, so fine it wafted about on the breeze and there seemed an endless supply of it upstairs where the sky was a featureless slab of wet cement.
    It wasn’t until after ten that Lane left the house. Again I made sure he got on the bus, then started up the Norton and followed the by now familiar bus route into town, just to make sure he didn’t get off before then. He had his blue bag with him and went to the library once more. He returned some books and walked on into the history section where he browsed, picking up books, reading the blurb or the index, then returning them to the shelf. Another batch of school kids was there and Britain at War was still on the shelf so I opened it again. If his surveillance went on like this I might get to finish the book in tiny increments. This time I made sure I didn’t miss him leaving. He exited the Podium at the back, where a couple of wooden picnic tables stood deserted, crossed the road and disappeared into the Victoria Gallery. The large sign over the entrance read A Half-Century of Sculpture. An exhibition of American and European sculpture from 1905 to 1955 , sponsored by this,