"Oh aye," said Dalziel, "Doctor who?" He glared at the stranger, who had no business being inside a sealed off crime scene. Especially as Dalziel couldn’t work out how the man, a gangly, floppy haired bugger, wearing tweed and a bow tie, had got into the room. He wasn’t that skinny.
Instead of answering, the stranger flashed ID at him. A Funny Bugger, thought Dalziel, grimly. A very Funny Bugger. That was all the day needed.
“Come on, Pond!” cried the Funny Bugger, and a tall, pale, red haired girl appeared beside him in the door. Pretty, Dalziel noticed distractedly, but boney. Though still not skinny enough to have got through the door, either.
“Anyway, Superintendent,” the Funny Bugger continued cheerfully, “I’m glad you’ve got here. Lots to do!”
If in doubt, make sure they underestimate you, thought Dalziel. “Oh aye?” he observed again, and scratched his balls. The red-head wrinkled her nose. “Maybe you could start by explaining what you two are doing in a sealed off room.”
“But there are so many more interesting questions here!”
“Not to me,” said Dalziel, “And who’s the young lady? Your typist?”
“I’m Amy Pond,” said the girl. “And you’ve got a problem.”
Truer words never spoken, thought Dalziel, and because he believed in sharing problems, bellowed “Peter! Get your arse in here! We’ve got trouble. Visitors”
The Funny Bugger said, urgently, “Make sure it is him. Check for a pulse.”
“Russians manufacturing killer robots?” said Dalziel.
“Funny you should say that,” said the Funny Bugger. “Though it’s not actually the Russians you should worry about…”
But what they did have to worry about was lost in a scream from the other room.
“Superintendent?” said the Funny Bugger, “I promise you, I can help.”
“Happen”, said Dalziel, “Or you’ll bloody regret it.”