“And my dabs are on your phone. Terrific.” Peters grinned anyway. “Anything in particular you want for lunch? Don't say bacon unless you don't mind it being cold by the time I get back.”
“You had to say it, didn't you?” White swallowed several times to rid himself of the flood of saliva. “No. Notihng too gassy, thought, so no egg or cabbage.”
“Oh, sir. I had a cabbage baguette in mind until you said that. I was going to ask for extra cabbage on the side, too.”
“You can have cabbage if you want to, sergeant.”
“No, I meant for you.”
“Cheese.” White fixed him with a scowl. “Cheese and mayo, no salad. It always goes limp, does the salad in a cheese butty. And a packet of crisps. And a drink. Tea, if you can rustle up a flask, water otherwise. Plenty of water. And perhaps a blanket or two. It's killing my backside, this is.”
“Right you are then, sir. Off I go. Do you want to sychronise watches?”
“Just... bugger off, will you. And bring a bar of chocolate, too.”
“Will do, sir, unless I run into your missus, and then it'll be cucumber and celery and an apple for afters.”
“Don't you dare.” White watched him go until he was lost to view among the trees, then turned to stare suspiciously at the dolman. It he squinted at it, the capstone looked like a forehead, the glimpses of space beneath it eyes and the entrance to the cairn a gaping mouth. It was almost as if it was watching him.
He shook his head. He'd read too many stories as a child. Thirty years a copper and he was still spooked by children's stories. He'd never be a chief-inspector if people knew that. He pulled out his phone. Best he tell Beryl he'd be late home tonight.