By Reginald Hill
Superintendent Dalziel falls for the lately bereaved Mrs Fielding's plentiful charms, and should be rescued from a clutter of clean corpses by means of Inspector Pascoe. After seeing Inspector Pascoe off on his honeymoon with a number of ill-chosen phrases, Superintendent Andy Dalziel quickly runs into difficulty and water on his personal solitary vacation. Rescued via a number of a little bit pleased mourners, he accompanies them again to their rundown mansion to dry off. the landlord of Lake condo, Bonnie Fielding, turns out much less via her husband's tragic demise than by means of the matter of saving the kinfolk fortunes. triggered not just through a certified interest but additionally through a extra own curiosity in Mrs Fielding's considerable charms, Dalziel remains on. by the point Pascoe reappears, there were a number of extra deaths and it seems like the ordinarily hard-headed Dalziel may need compromised himself past redemption!
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Additional info for An April shroud
He liked to know where he was with people and basic information about background was a good place to start. It gave him something to occupy his mind, to keep out the greyness which threatened to seep in whenever he relaxed. 'Not many ducks in Liverpool,' he said. 'My name's Dalziel. ' Dalziel laughed, a short sharp offensive bark which acknowledged that there hadn't been much chance of his interlocutor being called Jim Smith or Bill Jones. 'Pleased to meet you,' he said. ' 'Full of images, man,' said Uniff.
His car was pointing west so that was the direction he chose. A few miles farther on he hit the north-south trunk road and was faced with another choice. North would take him to Lincoln which he ought to visit. But it was also the direction in which home and work lay and he had the feeling that once he started north he wouldn't stop till the anguished faces of Inspector George Headingley and his colleagues told him he was home. He turned south, spent ten minutes crawling in the blinding wake of a convoy of huge lorries and angrily turned off the main road and began to work his way back east along a network of narrow country lanes.
Peace and quiet away from the mainstream of traffic, and in a fortnight he could return to work revitalized. Perhaps. Meanwhile, as he had done for many nights now, he set about postponing the moment of switching off his bedroom light until he was on the very brink of sleep. He poured himself a carefully measured dose of scotch and put it on the bedside table. Next, clad in pyjamas suitable in pattern and size for the fitting of three or four deck-chairs, he climbed into bed, placed his reading spectacles gingerly on his still throbbing nose and picked up his book.
An April shroud by Reginald Hill