Dialogues of the Dead (16 page)

131 meaning it cynically. Well, Pascoe had come close to losing both his child and his missus in jthe past few years, and now he knew beyond any doubt what ransom he was willing to pay to keep them safe, which was everything he had or could expect to have. So nothing was going to happen without the imprimatur of their happiness. Young Rosie's move to secondary school a few years ahead was going to be the testing time, Wield guessed. The old days of bully-boy tactics from above - Take the job or you're off to Traffic! - were, if not passed, at least passing. Others would be aware of this window too and poised to haul the lad up through it as soon as it was fully open. Of course they'd need to get King Dalziel's approval. 'Wieldy, you've been standing here so long, I'm amazed someone hasn't bought you.' 'You know me, Pete. Always find people more interesting than pictures.' Behind them, they heard an upraising of voices which seemed to emanate from the alcove in which the engraver had been displaying her craft. Then it was drowned by the more distant but to their sensitized ears more disturbing sound of sirens. 'The meat wagon?' said Pascoe. 'Yes. And our boys too,' said Wield. 'You switched on?' 'No. I'm off-call,' said the sergeant firmly. The too.' 'Sounds close, but.' 'Probably some poor old girl in the precinct's shopped till she dropped,' said Pascoe, knowing that Ellie, alert to the dangers signalled by police alarums, was watching him keenly for sign of any inclination to get involved. 'Excuse me,' said a broad Yorkshire voice behind him. 'Somebody said you were a copper, is that right?' He turned to see a lanky woman in a red smock and black tights, with a razored haircut that gave her a look of Sigourney Weaver in Alien 3. He recognized her as Jude Illingworth, the engraver. 'Yes,' he admitted reluctantly. 'Is there something wrong?' 'Aye, is there. You expect it out of doors at a craft fair, mebbe, somewhere open to everybody. If it's not nailed down, it'll go. But at a posh do like this .. .'

/ am in no hurry, for where there is no time, haste has no meaning. I follow with my eyes only and wait. The door opens, a man comes out. I watch him out of sight and then go in. And there he is as I know he must be, alone, stooped over a washbasin, laving his face. As 1 approach from behind he looks up and sees me in the mirror. Oh, this is fine. This is my reward for faithfulness. I have no choice in these matters, but if I had a choice, this I might have chosen, for this allows me to be both player and audience. I can see his face in the mirror and mine too, my lips curved in a smile, his eyes rounded in surprise but not in fear. I am not night's dark agent but a bringer of light, and fear is no part of my message. This man with his lust to glut his own body as he starves the souls of others of their natural nourishment is driven not by evil but by a warped good which is worse. It is his own pain as much as that he causes others that I am sent to release him from. So I speak to him reassuringly, uttering a few soft words sweetly. Then I drive the weapon into the base of his skull and up through I know not what layers of matter, certain that another hand than mine is guiding the point to its appointed destination. He spasms, but I hold him there with ease. If a million angels can dance on the head of a pin, then a single man twisting and turning on my much broader point is a piece of cake. And now he goes slack. I withdraw my weapon and let him slide to the floor, face down, his bald head gleaming like metal under the striplight.

Before Pascoe could askjude Illingworth what the hell she was talking about, there was another interruption. Hat Bowler, who'd left some time earlier, came back into the gallery, pushing between Ellie and Bird with scant ceremony, and making straight for Pascoe. 'Sir,' he said breathlessly, 'can I have a word?'

I33 His face was pale. Pascoe said, 'What's happened?' Jude Illingworth said, 'Hang about, I was first.' Pascoe said, 'Sorry. Wieldy, could you deal?' 'Sure. Now, Miss . ..' 'You a cop, too?' she said regarding his cragged and potholed face doubtfully. 'Aye. Sergeant. So . .. ?' 'So some sod's pinched one of my burins.' 'Oh aye? Happens a lot when you're wearing tights, does it?' said Wield. Pascoe heard the exchange as he moved aside with Bowler and stifled a smile. Live with Andy Dalziel long enough, something was bound to rub off. 'So tell me,' he invited the DC. 'I found him, sir,' said Hat. 'I went into the Gents and he was on the floor. He wasn't quite dead, he was trying to say something and I leaned down close to try and hear what it was but it didn't make sense and then it just turned into a death rattle. I checked his pulse and there was none, and I went through all the resuss procedures, just in case, but nothing, so I called HQ for assistance and told them to send an ambulance too, though he looked beyond help to me, then I got a Centre security man to stand by the door and keep everyone else out, and I thought I'd better get up here and let you know, sir . . .' He ran out of breath. Pascoe said, 'That's good, Hat. You've called up assistance and you've secured the scene. Now perhaps we could just slow down and get a bit of necessary detail. Like, how about telling me who it is you've found?' 'Councillor Steel, sir. You know, the one they call Sniffer.' . 'Good God,' said Pascoe. 'And he's definitely dead, you say? What was it, you reckon? Stroke?' 'No, sir. I'm sorry. It's daft but it shook me up a bit. He's been murdered. I should have said, he's got a hole in the base of his skull. And I found what could be the weapon on the floor. I marked the spot and bagged it. Didn't want anyone else to see it, it's a bit unusual and I thought that it was best to keep it to ourselves for a bit. I've got it here.' He pulled a transparent plastic bag out of the inside pocket of his jerkin and held it up. It contained what looked like some sort of small chisel. 'Did I do right, sir?' said the young DC anxiously. But before Pascoe could reply, Jude Illingworth edged him aside. 'Now that's what I call service,' she said. 'I don't care what your customers say about you, I think our police are bloody wonderful. Where did you find it?' 'Sorry?' said Pascoe. 'My burin,' said the woman, her eyes fixed on Bowler's evidence bag. 'Where did you find my burin?'

I stoop and make my necessary mark. So there he lies, brought by a burin to his buriness, that breath that sank a thousand friendships stilled forever, that appetite which seemed ambitious to devour the earth soon to be engorged by it. I look down upon him and I share his peace. But then like the lllyrian merchant who sees the Adriatic^ silken skin wrinkle at the first touch of the bora, I suddenly feel uneasy. In here all is peace, but outside in the corridor 1 sense movement, as if the bora were indeed beginning to blow .. . Surely the Power that guides my fate cannot permit anything to go wrong?

Yes, I know I could have asked, but just then there seemed only one way to find out. I move swiftly to the door and pull it open. And I laugh out loud as I realize all I have felt is the return of time, exploding along the corridor, as the dam breaks. I compose my face and step out into its rushing current, happy to let it bear me where it will, certain that it will set me ashore safe on whatever spit or island is appointed for our next thrilling Dialogue. Talk again soon!

W 'He was trying to speak, you said,' said Pascoe as he hurried down the stairs with Bowler. 'Could you make out anything at all? Think hard while it's still fresh in your mind.' 'Yes, sir. I've been trying. And ... well, it's a bit daft ... but what he was trying to say sounded like . ..' 'Yes?' prompted Pascoe. i Rosebud. It sounded like rosebud'.' Chapter Sixteen

'Rosebud?' said Andy Dalziel. 'Go to the pictures a lot, young Boiler, does he?' 'No, sir,' said Pascoe, relieved not to have to make the decision whether to explain to Dalziel that rosebud, was the mysterious last utterance of the dying millionaire in Citizen Kane. The Fat Man could be brutally sarcastic if he felt his underlings were patronizing him. 'Bowler's never seen the movie so it meant nothing to him. More important, of course, is whether it meant anything to the councillor.' 'Mebbe. But I can't see Stutter going to the flicks unless there was free popcorn. You say young Bowler gave him the kiss of life?' 'So I understand,' said Pascoe. 'Braver man than me,' declared Dalziel. 'I've had me doubts about the lad, but I reckon anyone who can give Sniffer Steel the kiss of life ought to be put up for the Queen's Medal!' Pascoe glanced nervously around in case there was anyone in earshot ready to be offended, but the mezzanine floor which included Hal's cafe-bar and a book and souvenir shop was deserted except for a couple of uniforms. He'd been reluctant to close the Centre completely, but Dalziel had had no such qualms on his return. The Fat Man was staring up at a security camera as if contemplating ripping it off the wall. It wouldn't have made any difference if he had. One of the first things Pascoe had done was send Wield up to the security office on the top floor in the hope that there'd be something on video. His own expert eye had told him that the system was far from the state-of-the-art set-up you might have expected in such a new complex. Old-fashioned fixed cameras,

^7 and not a lot of them. But he hadn't been prepared for the news that Wield returned with. 'You won't credit this,' he said to Pascoe. 'System's not on during the day.' 'What?' 'No. Theory is that the sight of the cameras is deterrent enough. Wouldn't have been on at night either if Stuffer had had his way.' 'Stutter?' 'Aye, ironic, isn't it? Every penny they spent on building this place, they got a battle from Stutter over it. They had to let him win a few small victories else they'd never have got it finished. Security was one of them. He got the budget for installation, use and maintenance cut by eighty per cent. It was either that or lose a couple of staff.' 'Shit,' said Pascoe. 'But it does mean that whoever did this probably knew he wasn't on Candid Camera. That's something.' 'Not much consolation to Stuffer, wherever he is, knowing if he'd not been so penny-pinching, he might still be here,' Wield had mused. 'How long's yon sodding quack going to take?' demanded the Fat Man, turning his attention from the useless camera to the side corridor where the Gents was situated. 'What's he doing in there, for God's sake? Going through Stutter's pockets for change?' Yon sodding quack was the police medical examiner who was presently examining the councillor's body. When Bowler's judgment that Steel was definitely dead was confirmed by the paramedics, Pascoe had made them leave the body where it was, both to prevent further contamination of the scene and to please the imminent superintendent who had been heard to aver that looking at a murder site without a corpse was like eating an egg without a waxed moustache. 'I'm sure he'll be out shortly,' said Pascoe. 'Talking of bogs, where's our Boghead at now?' 'Up in the gallery with Wieldy, taking statements.' There'd been some muttering when he'd told the remaining preview guests that they could not leave till they'd been interviewed, but he'd been adamant. The near certainty that the murder weapon was Jude Illingworth's lost burin made everyone

138 in the gallery a potential witness. Pursuing the departed guests was going to soak up a lot of man hours, so it made good sense to hang on to those still in the gallery. 'Not that bright when he's a key witness himself, Pete. It's his statement I want to hear. Get him down here, will you?' Pascoe had learned not to defend himself against Dalziel's reproofs. No way you could win even when you were entirely in the right. Also there was a trade-off, which was that if anyone else dared reprove you, the Fat Man was usually ready to interpose his own body, even if you were entirely in the wrong. In this case, Pascoe, seeing how shook up the young detective had been by his discovery of the body, had thought it best to keep him fully occupied. Now he went personally to fetch him. It was an act both kind and professional. Bowler must know he wasn't the Fat Man's favourite son at the moment and could easily be intimidated into stupidity. So a bit of tender loving reassurance would be timely, both to cheer him up and to make him a better witness. In the gallery he found the previewers had adopted a defensive huddle round the priapic totem pole, like a herd of antelope scenting a marauding lion. An exception to this was Edwin Digweed who was patrolling round the group with a look of repressed rage on his face, more leonine than cervine. Bowler and DC Dennis Seymour had set up tables by the doorway, presumably to prevent flight, and were busy taking down details. Bowler's witness was a man so nervously prolix that Pascoe stood around for several minutes before finally intervening by placing one hand under the man's elbow, easing him out of the chair, and guiding him through the exit, the whiles murmuring the platitudes of gratitude. 'Thanks,' said Hat with a smile that faded when Pascoe told him the superintendent would like a word. 'Just tell him what you told me,' said Pascoe. 'You know Mr Dalziel, he likes to hear things from the horse's mouth. I've already told him that in my opinion you acted with good sense and dispatch and did everything by the book.' The youngster looked a little reassured and Pascoe asked, 'Where's Sergeant Wield, by the way?' 'He's through there,' said Bowler, indicating one of the small

1^9 side-galleries running off the main exhibition area. 'There were a few people who'd left the preview but we managed to catch them before they got out of the Centre and he thought it best to keep them separate from this lot as they might be able to tell us something about the Councillor's movements downstairs.' H' Plus, having left the gallery, as well as possible witnesses they were potential suspects, thought Pascoe. He strolled across the gallery and peered into the side-room. Among those gathered there he spotted Samjohnson and Franny Roote, engaged in close conversation; also Dick Dee and Rye Pomona, similarly occupied. He thought of wandering in and suggesting to Wield that he took a specially close look at Roote, then cancelled the idea, partly because it felt neurotic, but mainly because he was sure Wield wouldn't need any prompting. 'You OK on your own here for a while, Dennis?' he said to Seymour. 'No problem,' said the redheaded DC cheerfully. 'Oh, by the way, I processed Mrs Pascoe first and she said to tell you she'd see you at home later.' 'Very thoughtful of you,' said Pascoe sincerely, knowing that in Seymour's case the thought would not have included the possibility of ingratiating himself by doing the DCI's wife a favour. 'I would suggest you take Mr Digweed's statement soon otherwise I think he'll explode.' 'Right,' he said as he left the gallery with Bowler, 'you might as well take me through the sequence en route.' 'Fine. Well, we came out and down the stairs like we're doing now...' 'We being ... ?' The and Rye, that's Miss Pomona who works in the reference library.' 'Good. And were there others coming down the stairs at the same time?' 'Oh yes. Quite a lot, in front and behind.' 'Did you notice anyone in particular? I know I asked you before, but as we're actually on the stairs now. ..' Bowler shook his head. 'Not really. Like I said earlier, we were pretty deep in conversation, me and Rye - Miss Pomona, I mean ...' 'For heaven's sake, call her one or the other. I'm not interested in your romantic life,' said Pascoe. 'Sorry,' said Bowler. 'Well, when we got here, people started going off different ways.' They were approaching the mezzanine level which had the huge disadvantage from an investigative point of view of being the hub of the Centre. From here you could get to anywhere else within, or head for either the underground car park or main shopping precinct without. Even the fatal loo itself was situated in a corridor running between the mezzanine and a landing from which stairs ran up and down to the rest of the Centre. Dalziel had put his finger on the problem straight off. 'Place is a fucking maze,' he'd said. 'You'd need to be a trained rat to find your way to the cheese round here.' Talking of Dalziel, there was no sign of him. Probably got impatient and went in to hurry the sodding quack along. 'Did you see Councillor Steel at all?' said Pascoe. 'I think I might have noticed him, his bald head, I mean, going down the stairs a bit in front of us, but I couldn't swear to it,' said Bowler. T was, you know . ..' 'Yes, deep in conversation with Miss Pomona,' said Pascoe. 'How long was it before your own call of nature grew strong enough to drag you away from her?' 'Couple of minutes, no, probably a bit more. Sorry,' said Bowler, clearly irritated at his own vagueness. 'Rye went off to pick up her coat and things that she'd left in the reference library...' 'Ah. Did she go down the corridor with the toilet in it, by any chance?' 'No, she went that way,' said Bowler, pointing to a door inscribed staff only. 'It would be quicker, I suppose.' 'And you ... ?' 'Like I say, I pootered around the book shop for a couple of minutes.. .' 'Or maybe a bit more?' 'Or maybe a bit more. Then I thought I'd take the chance to have a leak and I went to the toilet...' 'Why that one?' said Pascoe. 'If you were down there by the book shop, there's another Gents, very clearly signed, just outside.'