Disclaimer: Some characters in this story belong to Philip Pullman. DI Verity Blanchard and DS Martin Horrigan belong to me and I guard them jealously. They appear here by kind permission of Wessex CID. This story is neither fantasy nor metaphysical romance (except inasmuch as it overlaps with Mr Pullman's story) but crime fiction, and as such it will inevitably contain strong language and unpleasant situations. Readers likely to be offended by these should proceed no further.

Shadows at Morning

And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you:
I will show you fear in a handful of dust
[T S Eliot, The Waste Land]

Induction

The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept
[William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure]

'It's a two-week secondment to Thames Valley at Kidlington', said Detective Inspector Blanchard, replenishing her wine glass from the bottle at her elbow. 'But you know how two weeks turns into months. I told her upstairs I'd do it, but only if I could have you attached to me for the duration. I've cleared it with Openshaw'.

'Well, thanks a bunch Verity!', said Detective Sergeant Horrigan. 'What's it all about? Haven't we got enough on our plates with the Avalon killer?'

'She said she thought we'd all got a bit bogged down in Avalon Vale and a change of scene might help unblock it. There's a case up Oxford way that's been bugging her for some time and she wants us to go and take a look.

'Oh gawd, Oxford, yes. It's not something to do with that Pullman chap she keeps banging on about, is it?'

'I'm afraid it is, Martin, yes. Apparently while we were otherwise engaged a while back she did some stuff based on his books. She calls herself 'Enitharmon' when she does those'.

'Any what? Sounds Greek to me!'

'It is Greek, you prune! Enitharmon is a kind of Eve figure in Blake's mythology so it's all very appropriate, or so she says. I must read Mr Pullman's books sometime, then I might understand why she's so obsessed. He writes whodunnits too, there's one called Tiger in the Smoke.

'Tiger in the Smoke was Margery Allingham. I've read that, it's good but it's old-fashioned.'

'Whatever. Pullman wrote something similar so I suppose he likes old-fashioned detectives. He'd like us then! Her upstairs hasn't read the whodunnits, she says she'll get around to it one day. We mustn't be mean about her, she keeps us in business and we both owe her our livelihoods'

'We owe her our existence, though where it's getting us, God only knows'.

'Well, we may hit the big time yet, she says, if she ever finishes the Big One. We'll be doing signings in Waterstones one day. Maybe even make it to the telly. Who do you fancy for you? If only Judi Dench were twenty years younger...'

'I like that Colin Buchanan!'

'Well you would, wouldn't you Martin. He's spoken for. What about that nice Steven Mackintosh? Yes, I can see him as you. But I'm afraid I wouldn't let you get a look in after shooting!'

'Oooh! You going to make a fight of it? How did we get onto that subject? What's this case all about? I keep asking and you dance round it'

'Well, her upstairs wrote her first Enitharmon piece a few months ago, not long after she got bitten by the Pullman bug. She had Inspector Morse pick up a loose end in the plot that was left dangling. It was only meant as a gentle parody, but lots of people wanted her to follow it through. She said she didn't really feel like carrying on with Dexter's rather mannered prose, and besides Morse is dead'.

'And Thaw too. More's the pity, I liked him. Morse the pity! Ha!'

'Hmm. Martin, you'll make it at the Comedy Store one day but you've a way to go yet. High-powered chap, big cheese in the security services, went missing a couple of years ago, right on top of a little bit of unpleasantness that the sweethearts in Special Branch had their fingerprints all over. He never turned up, but no body was ever found, he had no family so far as anybody could find, and the chap he lived with - guy called Allan, said he was the chauffeur but her upstairs and I reckon there's more to it than that and that's your department - never pressed matters. Now something's happened that's made Kidlington reopen the case, she thought that you and I would find it a challenge, and she could go on writing in her own turgid style with the characters she knows best. Look on the bright side, you can ride up there every day on the back of the Ducati if you like. And if we play our cards right, there may be a jolly in it!'

'A jolly? You mean a trip abroad?'

'Switzerland. Geneva to be precise, although she said it might have to be Lausanne 'cos she's been to Lausanne but not to Geneva and the research funds are a bit tight at the moment. Whichever, I'm hoping to persuade her to fix the timing so I can catch at least part of the Montreux Jazz Festival '

'What's Lausanne like?'

'Like Geneva, but without the scintillating night life. I think I persuaded her that it really ought to be Geneva in the circumstances, which I'm sure will become apparent at the briefing.'.

'What's the scintillating night life in Geneva like?'

'This is the city of Calvin we're talking about here darling! But cheer up, apparently you guys are well-catered for and the Swiss are a pretty tolerant lot even if nearly everything is technically illegal. Lots of singles about, particle physicists and the sort of people who work for aid agencies. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. You know how her upstairs likes to finish something before she lets anybody see it?'

'Don't I just. She leaves us hanging around for weeks on end kicking our heels when she goes off the boil'.

'Well, she said this could turn out to be quite a complicated case and she wants to try publishing this story in serial form. A chapter now and then, often enough to keep the punters interested, but not so often that we get taken right off the Avalon case. So we should tell them to keep a lookout for the next instalments. Martin, be honest, am I pissed?'

'I've seen you a lot worse, Verity! Since lots of the readers will be American, perhaps we should also tell them that 'pissed' doesn't mean what they think it does, it means what you get when you've hit the vino too hard.'

'Yes, well, I also get a thick head in the morning and if you're game for it we'll need to be in Kidlington first thing. I'll pick you up on the Duchess at eight. Straight up the A34, we should be there in time for breakfast before the nine o'clock briefing. Be a love, Martin, take this tenner and get me a large gin and lime, and whatever you want for yourself.'

'Right, we're on. I think this might just turn out to be very interesting...'