Dialogues of the Dead (17 page)

141 'Well,' said Bowler uncomfortably, 'to tell the truth, I'd just seen Mr Dalziel going in there . ..' Pascoe laughed out loud. He could recall a time shortly after his arrival in Mid-Yorkshire when he'd found himself standing alongside the terrifying figure of the Fat Man in a urinal, quite unable - despite a very fall bladder and the usually mimetically encouraging sound of a vigorous flow hitting the next basin - of producing a drop. It wasn't displeasing to see that today's laid-back youngsters weren't entirely free of such hang-ups. 'So you went down the corridor,' said Pascoe. 'Anyone else in sight, either end?' 'Definitely not, sir,' said Bowler, pleased to be on firm ground at last. 'And you went inside and saw Councillor Steel,' said Pascoe. 'Well, that's twice you've told me. You should be word perfect for Mr Dalziel. Anything else you'd like to add?' 'Don't think so. Except, well, you don't think this could have anything to do with these Wordman killings, do you, sir?' 'At the moment there's nothing to suggest it has,' said Pascoe. 'Why do you ask?' 'No reason really. Just, well, when you've had three deaths and there comes a fourth . . .' 'That's the kind of mistake it's easy to make,' said Pascoe. 'The Wordman murders are one case, this is another. Try to put them together without evidence and all you do is risk buggering up both investigations. OK?' 'Yes, sir. Sorry.' 'Good lad. One more thing just in case the super asks. You said you'd noticed him going into the other loo. When you found the body, didn't you think of getting hold of him? He must have still been in the vicinity.' 'It did cross my mind, sir,' said Bowler. 'But by the time I'd tried resuscitation and called up assistance and alerted the Centre security staff, he was probably long gone, whereas I knew you and the sarge were still up here and I just thought it would be best to be sure.' Meaning that, uncertain he'd done everything by the book and aware that he was a little shook up, he didn't fancy running breath less down the street to put himself at the judgment of Fat Andy. 'I think perhaps it might be simpler to say nothing about seeing the super going into the other Gents,' said Pascoe. 'So far as you knew, he was long gone. Ah, that sounds like him now.' The Gents' door opened and a short ochrous-complexioned man who looked as if he'd rather be playing golf, for which he was indeed dressed, emerged, followed by Dalziel. 'And that's it, Doc, he's dead? Well, I'm sorry I interrupted your game. How'd it go, by the way?' 'As a matter of fact I was dormy three against my revolting brother-in-law whom I haven't beaten for five years and he was in a bunker and I was on the green when my pager went.' 'Moral victory then.' 'In dealings with my brother-in-law, there is no moral dimension. The game is void. As to the unfortunate councillor, I'm sorry, I cannot tell you what I do not know. He was killed, certainly within the past hour and probably as a result of a blow at the base of his skull from a narrow sharp weapon. The wounds to the top of his head are slight and appear more likely to have been inflicted after rather than before the fatal wound, though for what purpose I cannot even speculate. You must await the post mortem for a more considered view. Now, I bid you good day.' 'Well, thank you, Dr Caligari,' said Dalziel to his retreating back. 'DC Bowler, nice of you to drop by. Step in here and show me what things looked like afore you and every other bugger who came near him started chucking poor Staffer around.' Bowler went through the toilet door. He avoided looking down at the figure on the floor, uncomfortably aware that Dalziel was watching him closely in the mirror which ran along the facing wall. 'He was slumped down in front of the washbasins, slightly over to his right side. I got the impression he must have been washing himself when he was attacked.' 'Oh aye? That a wild guess or do you hear voices?' 'No, sir. I noticed his hands were wet and his face too, I noticed that when I tried to give him the kiss of life.' 'Aye, I heard about that. So, he'd had a pee, washed his hands and was splashing a bit of water on his face. What do you reckon happened next?'

^3 'The door opened, the assailant came in. It's only two or three paces across the floor, and with the councillor washing his face, the assailant could have been right up behind him before he looked up and saw him in the mirror. Then it would be too late.' 'Might have made no difference anyway,' said Pascoe. 'You see someone come into a public toilet, you don't think, That guy's going to attack me, not unless he's foaming at the mouth and carrying a bloodstained axe. Something the size of that burin, you wouldn't even notice he had it in his hand.' 'Yes, sir,' said Bowler. 'That was something I've been thinking about. A weapon like that directed against the head, from what I recall of anatomy, you'd have to be very expert or very lucky to kill somebody or even incapacitate them with a single blow.' He paused and Dalziel said impatiently, 'Come on, lad, don't arse about like Sir Peter Quimsby, make your point.' 'Well, it might make sense if we assume this was unpremedi tated, I mean, like someone wandered in here who just happened to have a burin in his hand and he saw Steel stooping down and thought, Hello, I think Vll have a stab at him. But our perp didn't just happen to have a burin, he had to steal it. That was risky in itself. I mean, who knows, by the time we interview everybody who was in the gallery, we might find somebody who saw something suspicious around Jude Illingworth's display, not suspicious enough to cry, Stop thief! but something they recall when we start asking questions.' 'Perhaps he didn't steal it as a weapon but for some other reason,' said Pascoe. 'And it just came in handy when he suddenly decided to attack Councillor Steel.' 'Yes, sir, possibly, though on a scale of improbabilities, I'd say ... not that I mean it's not possible, only...' 'Nay, we don't stand on ceremony in murder investigations,' interrupted Dalziel. 'If you think the DCI's talking crap, just spit it out.' 'I wouldn't quite say that...' 'Well, I would. I think you've got the right of it, lad. Chummy made up his mind to stiff old Stuffer, he wanted a weapon and the burin was the best he could come up with in a hurry.' 'Which would mean it was premeditated, but not all that much pre,' said Bowler. 'Something must have happened at the preview to make it necessary to kill the councillor.' 'You mean like someone saw him eating for the first time and got to worrying about kids starving in Ethiopia?' said Dalziel. 'Or maybe it was something he said,' interposed Pascoe, feeling sidelined by this unexpected rapprochement between the Fat Man and Bowler. 'The councillor was a great one for stirring things up, as we know to our cost.' 'Aye, happen it's a good job we're investigating this,' said Dalziel. 'I mean, with Jax the Ripper and Stuffer being shuffled off in quick succession, if you start looking for someone with a motive for shutting them up, I reckon we'd come high up the list.' Pascoe glanced at Bowler, recalling his recent lecture on making illogical connections and said, 'You're not really suggesting there could be a connection with the Wordman here?' 'Wash your mouth out, lad!' exploded Dalziel. 'Yon daft business is the kind of thing that gets CID a bad name. No, with a bit of luck, what we've got here is a good old straightforward killing, and once we've interviewed all the preview guests, we'll have it all tied up, neat and tidy, afore Match of the Day.'

But for once Dalziel's prognostication was wrong. By mid-evening all the guests had been tracked down and interviewed. None of them had noticed anything suspicious in regard to the theft of the burin. Councillor Steel's conversation, though as full as ever of complaint and accusation, did not seem to have broken any new ground. The nearest thing to an altercation was Charley Penn's annoyance at Steel's efforts to shut down his literature group. But, as the novelist pointed out, if you took that as a motive, then everyone employed in the HAL Centre must be suspect as the councillor proposed to make half of them redundant and slash the salaries of the rest. Mary Agnew recalled descending the stairs from the gallery with him, during which short interlude she got a quick-fire summary of her newspaper's major failings. On reaching the mezzanine, he'd said, 'Got to spend a penny,' and turned away, presumably towards the men's toilet. She hadn't noticed anyone else going after him.

W Pressure applied by Dalziel to the Chief Constable had been passed on and a preliminary post mortem report was available by early evening. It stated that Steel had died as a result of a single blow from the burin, (now confirmed as the murder weapon by Forensic), which had cut right through to the medulla and pons of the brainstem, and had been, as Bowler had said, either very lucky or very expert. The burin had been wiped clean of prints. Andy Dalziel read the report, said, 'Sod it,' and went home. He checked his phone for messages. There was just one, from Cap Marvell. She regretted again the ruining of their planned afternoon by Steel's untimely death and would have been happy to sit around like Marianna of the moated grange had she not received an invite from- some old radical chums to go out on the bevvy and maybe check out the latest Full Monty act at Jock the Cock's Nite Spot. Dalziel sighed. He could not fault the wisdom of her choice, but he missed her. On the other hand, left to his own devices, there were certain refined pleasures a man could enjoy without fear of comment or complaint. He went into the kitchen, emerging a few moments later equipped with what he thought of as The Four Last Things, viz a fork, a jar of pickled herring, a half-pint mug and a bottle of Highland Park. He poured the fourth into the third, plunged the first into the second and settled back to enjoy Match of the Day which was a poor substitute for a real game like rugby football, but Manchester United were playing Leeds, so the violence factor ought to come close. Two yellow cards later the phone rang. 'Yes!' he bellowed. 'It's me,' said Pascoe. 'Oh shit.' 'That's a pretty fair description,' said Pascoe. 'Security man at the Centre doing a sweep heard the main letter box rattle and when he checked he found an envelope marked 'Reference Lib rary'. Normally he'd have left it, but because of the murder, they're very much on the qui vive, and he reported to his Control and they got on to the factory.' 'And you were still there?' said Dalziel. 'What's up? Ellie locked you out?' 'No, sir. I was at home. Seymour rang me. I think he didn't want to disturb you . ..' 'Glad there's someone who's got some consideration. All right, lad, the music's stopped, the parcel's in my lap. Tell me I'm guessing wrong.' 'Doubt it,' said Pascoe. 'You know you were hoping the Steel case would turn out a nice straightforward murder? Forget it. The envelope contained a Fourth Dialogue. Looks like the Wordman has uttered again.' There was silence, then a great anguished cry. 'Sir? You there? You OK, sir?' 'No, I'm bloody well not,' said Dalziel. 'First you tell me my unfavourite loony's still at it, then, to cap it all, Man. United have just scored!'

W Chapter Seventeen

Murder investigation is the conventional peak of detective work, but Hat Bowler was beginning to discover how much it could snarl up your social life. Any vague hope he had of being able to keep his Sunday date vanished with the discovery of the Fourth Dialogue. He'd seen Rye briefly the previous afternoon after she'd made her statement and had tried to sound optimistic, but she'd looked at him sceptically and given him her home number in case there were problems and on Sunday morning, for the second week in succession he rang her to cancel. She listened to his apologies for a while then cut in, 'Hey, no big deal. Another time maybe.' 'You don't sound very disappointed,' he said accusingly. 'Disappointed? If you listen hard, you can probably hear the rain lashing against my bedroom window, and you want me to be disappointed I'm not getting up to spend most of the day dripping wet looking for so-called dumb creatures who have probably got sense enough to stay cosily tucked up in their burrows?' 'Nests. Are you saying you're still in bed?' 'Certainly. It's my day off even if it's not yours. Hello? You still there? You're not fantasizing about me, I hope?' 'Of course not. I'm a cop. We have our imaginations surgically removed. But we get issued with surveillance equipment instead, so no need for fantasies.' 'You mean you've got me under observation? OK, what am I doing now?' He thought for a while. This was fan, but he didn't want to ruin things by going too far too fast, even verbally. 'Scratching your nose?' he said cautiously. She giggled and said huskily, 'Nearly right. So how's the case going? Are we all still suspects?' It had been Rye who had pointed out the obvious to him on Saturday afternoon when he'd apologized for the time she'd spent being questioned as a possible witness. 'And suspect,' she'd added. 'Don't sell us short. Everyone who was at the preview and left before or at the same time as Councillor Steel is a potential suspect. My money's on Percy Follows.' 'Why's that?' 'Because I understand he's used to assaulting men with a very small weapon.' He'd regarded her gravely and said, 'You should have joined the police too.' 'Because of my insights?' 'No. Because you know how to avoid letting the nastiness of things get to you by making bad jokes.' Even as he spoke he thought, You pompous twit! She's going to love you for coming over all righteous on her. But her reaction was worse than indignation. Her eyes filled with tears and she said, 'I'm sorry ... I was only trying not to...' Which was when he'd put his arms around her and pulled her close and was prevented, or perhaps saved, from discovering whether this was their first embrace or just a comforting hug by Sergeant Wield's dry cough and drier voice, saying, 'When you've quite finished with that witness, Detective Constable Bowler...' Now he said, 'Of course you're all still suspects. Which is why I intend to keep you under close personal surveillance. Listen, I'll be in touch. Let's forget the Stangdale trip, maybe we can do a movie or something...' 'Like The Birds, you mean? Sorry. Yes, that would be nice too, but I'm a woman of my word. I said I'd twitch with you and twitch I will. Next week OK? 'Yes, if you're sure. I mean, that's great. And we'll go back to making it a whole day, OK? I'll provide a picnic.' 'Don't get carried away. Fine, that's fixed. Ring me. Now you get on with keeping society safe for decent folk and I'll get back to scratching my, nose. Bye.' He switched off his phone, scratched his nose, and smiled. He'd always found the idea of telephone sex a turn-off, but the way