Dialogues of the Dead (22 page)

181 another writer was writing about back in the historical world these novels of his are set in. I mean, I know he comes over as very direct and down to earth, a bit cynical even, the typical blunt Yorkshire tyke . ..' He realized Dalziel was regarding him leerily and hastened on. '.. . but even that's an act, isn't it? He's not a tyke, he went to public school, he's not even English. And when you look at where he spends his inner life, he's a long way detached from reality, it seems to me. That's what our job's about, isn't it, sir? Some of the time, anyway. Working out what's actually going on inside people who are trying to hide it. We all do that, I reckon, all try to hide it a lot of the time, and it's hard to know what anyone's really feeling or thinking. But a writer, an artist, has to give his inner life away much more than most people, 'cos that's what he's trying to sell us.' He halted, breathless, feeling he'd let his tongue run away with him and probably undone what little progress he'd made in his rehabilitation with the Fat Man, whose bloodshot eyes were regarding him like he'd just materialized out of a space capsule. 'You been spending a lot of time with Mr Pascoe, have you, lad?' he said finally. The, I can't get to grips with my Inner Life on an empty stomach, and from the way you're rambling, I reckon you've not been eating properly either. All right, don't look like I've just sat on your hamster. There's definitely something weird about Charley Penn, I'll give you that. But then I think there's definitely something weird about Charley Windsor too, and I'm not going after him. Now let's get serious. I recall that once upon a time they did a decent Scotch pie and mushy peas in this place. But I'll tell you something . . .' 'What, sir?' said Bowler. 'If yon barman gives me a Cornish pasty and says I won't notice , the difference, I'll shake the bugger till he spews his Inner Life i all over the bar!' Chapter Twenty

Jax Ripley had been born and brought up in a large village with aspirations to be a small town on the southern fringe of the North Yorkshire moors, and it was here that her widowed mother brought her back to be buried. If Charley Penn was right and Jax Ripley's killer was at her funeral, then the police were spoilt for choice, thought Hat Bowler, looking at the teeming graveyard from the vantage point of the church porch. Family, friends and professional colleagues would probably have formed a large congregation, but add to these those who imagined they knew her because of her TV show and those who were merely and vulgarly curious, and you were into celebrity proportions. John Wingate was there, of course, plus his cameraman filming from a discreet distance. A similar duality was visible in the Gazette presence, with Mary Agnew in mourning black, very much the grieving friend and colleague, while Sammy Ruddlesdin made sure that local decorum didn't prevent the Gazette photographer from sharing the photo-opportunities so ruthlessly seized by the unconscienced nationals whose hyenas were there in packs. Percy Follows and Dick Dee were there from the library. Hat had rung Rye to check if she was going but been told fairly brusquely that (a) she hardly knew the woman and (b) someone had to stay and do the work. Unmissable was Ambrose Bird, the Last of the ActorManagers. Hat wondered what his relationship with the dead woman had been. Perhaps he simply did not feel able to deprive such a theatrical scene of his strikingly melancholy presence, though there were some who felt that a calf-length purple cloak was more ham than Hamlet. He had overtaken Follows up the aisle and managed to get the last seat in the second row of pews, turning to smile triumphantly at his rival.

183 Franny Roote was there too. Why he had come might be inter esting to find out, but in his inevitable black garb, standing to one side, quietly observing the others, he looked like death's footman waiting for a signal to come forward and be of service. He made a strong contrast with Charley Penn, who had been moved by the occasion to change his usual cracked leather jerkin and balding corduroys for a wide-lapelled jacket and slightly flared trousers in a pale almost luminous grey with a faint pink pin-stripe, so that he looked better suited for a seventies wedding than a contem porary funeral. Dalziel, on the other hand, was wearing a jacket so black it made the undertaker's look like day-glo. Pascoe, by his side, was elegantly slim in a suit of Italian cut which Hat guessed had been chosen by his wife, not because he doubted Pascoe's taste but because he suspected, left to his own device, the DCI would have opted for something more conservative. To look smart and have the social graces was a definite plus in the upper reaches of today's police force, but to look expensively flash still raised eyebrows. In reverse of civvy practice, the wise cop with the gold Rolex always claimed it was a Hong Kong clone. The day was still and die mourners were so quiet despite their number that the words and sounds coming from the graveside carried quite clearly even to those like Hat at some distance from the dull centre of these exequies. . .. earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. .. ... the throb of a woman sobbing ... ... and that most final of sounds, the slat of earth on the coffin lid ... Then it was over, and the crowd, unified for a space in the presence of the great mystery of death, returned with an almost audible sigh of relief to the even greater mystery of life and decoalesced rapidly into the small groups and diurnal concerns by which we avoid contemplating either. Hat watched the dispersal from the porch. Some moved swiftly to dieir cars, guessing that a traffic jam awaited them half a mile down the narrow country road where it joined the arterial. Others strolled in the opposite direction towards the village centre. There were two pubs, The Baker's Arms and The Bellman. Mrs Ripley's cottage was too small for large numbers and the family had booked a room at The Bellman for the funeral meats, which were by invitation only, a wise precaution, thought Hat, who had observed in the past the ravenous appetites of media men. As far as he knew, none of the police present had been invited either, though he doubted if this would inhibit Dalziel. He saw the family party moving past now in company with the vicar, led by Mrs Ripley, pale as moonlight, between a young man and woman who, Hat guessed, must be her son, a schoolteacher in Newcastle, and her other daughter who was a nurse in Washington DC. From time to time he had opted for an interchange of information and anecdotes about families as a way of resisting Jax's efforts to get him to be indiscreet about his work. He'd never slept with her despite her assurance on one occasion that she wanted him as a groin, not a grass, but it had been a close-run thing. Now he felt a huge pang of regret. He'd really liked her and he would never see her again. Also, of course, with Andy Dalziel convinced he'd been spilling the inner secrets of CID in pillow talk, his self-denial hadn't done anyone much good. As the family group passed, the young woman glanced towards Hat, said something to her mother, slipped her arm free and came towards him. She had just enough resemblance to her sister for Hat to be glad it was bright sunshine with lots of people around. 'Excuse me, you're Detective Bowler, aren't you?' She probably still sounded very English in the States but her six years over there had laced her speech with a definite American edge. 'That's right.' 'I'm Angie, Jax's sister.' 'Yes, I guessed. I'm so very very sorry . ..' He felt his voice break, to his surprise and his irritation too, fearful that it might sound deliberately contrived. But her face only showed understanding and she laid a hand on his arm and said, 'Yeah, me too. Jax said you were nice.' 'She told you about me?' he said, flattered. 'Yes, we'd always been really close, and we stayed that way even when I started working over there, e-mails, letters, we told each other everything. I was talking to two other cops just now when they came to pay their respects to Mum, and I got them to point you out.'

185 Hi Two other cops. Could only be Dalziel and Pascoe. His heart sank at the construction Dalziel was likely to have put on Angle's knowledge of his name. 'I'll miss her,' he said. 'We were friends ... at least, I felt like her friend, I don't know if ... I mean, what. ..' She helped him out. 'That's what she said. You started off as a possible contact and you became a friend. And you didn't try to take advantage as a possible contact. And she wouldn't have minded if you had as a friend. Hey, don't blush. We tell ... told each other everything. Have done since kids. Which is why I wanted to talk to you. Jax was very ambitious, well, you must have spotted that, and she liked to get the inside track on anything that might help her in her job, and she reckoned that glass ceilings didn't need bother a career girl so long as they were mirrors she was looking at some useful man's bottom in. You're blushing again. I told you we were frank.' 'Sorry. I'm more used to people trying to hide things when they talk to me.' 'Some job, eh? Listen, I was away on holiday, touring round Mexico when the news came about Jax, so I didn't get to know about it till I got back a couple of days ago. It was eerie. I checked my computer and found a lot of mail from Jax and right alongside them this message from my brother asking me to contact him straightaway, and I didn't want to because somehow I knew he was going to tell me Jax was dead.' 'I'm sorry,' said Hat helplessly. 'It's truly terrible. I found her ... I can't tell you how it felt ... look, we'll get the bastard ... I know that's what cops always say, but this time I mean it. We'll get the bastard.' 'That's why I wanted to talk to you,' said Angie. 'Listen, walk with me. You're coming to the pub?' ffi 'Well, no, I mean, I haven't been invited . ..' 'I'm inviting you. Come on. We stand much longer in this porch, people will think I'm propositioning you.' She took his arm and gently urged him after the other mourners. He glanced back and saw Dalziel and Pascoe watching him. The Fat Man's face was blank but Bowler needed no special art to read the construction he was putting on this new alliance. 'So what is it you want to tell me?' he said. She said, 'Look, I don't want to sound like some crazy person with ambitions to be a gumshoe, but there was something in that last e-mail from Jax which I felt you guys ought to know, though it could be you know about it already.' Hat didn't try to puzzle this out but just waited. 'She sent it the same night she got killed. She told me she'd just broken this big news story about a possible serial killer, and she hoped like hell it would help her get this job she was after in London. Then she went on to say that, whatever happened, she'd better get out of Yorkshire soon as there was this guy who was going to be so pissed off that she'd broken the story, he'd probably feel like killing her. I think she meant it as a joke. I mean, cops in England don't go around killing people, do they? But I knew I had to talk to someone . ..' 'Hang on,' said Hat. 'You said cops ... you're talking about a policeman?' 'Of course I am,' she said impatiently. 'Aren't you listening? I'm talking about her inside man, the one who fed her all the stuff on what you guys were up to, including this serial killer stuff. You didn't think you were the only one she set her sights on? Difference was, this guy was really happy to play. And I got to thinking as I flew over, he must have been really pissed off that she'd gone public.' 'Not much of a motive for murdering someone,' said Hat. 'Being pissed off, I mean.' 'It's enough for some people. But suppose he got to thinking that now she'd let him down, it was only a matter of time before, either by accident or design, she named her inside source, and where would that leave his career? And if he was going to shut her up, this must have seemed a great time to do it, straight after she'd been on telly, sounding off about this madman. Where else were you guys going to look, especially as he'd be in a good position to help push things in that direction?' 'You're saying you know who this man is?' demanded Hat. 'No,' said Angie. 'At least I didn't. She never gave his actual name, only said he was pretty high up.' 'Listen, Angie,' said Hat, 'it's not me you should be talking to. I'm going to have to take this to my bosses, Mr Dalziel and

187 Pascoe, that's them you were talking to before, so you might as well see them now. They're coming along behind us, I think ...' He glanced over his shoulder to confirm this and felt her gentle grip on his arm become a savage elbow-lock. 'Don't be stupid!' she hissed. 'That was what I was going to do earlier when I met them and realized they were top cops.' 'Oh,' said Hat, feeling inappropriately miffed to realize he hadn't been her first choice of confidant. 'So what did they say?' 'Nothing. I said nothing. Jax never gave me his name. Whatever they say about e-mail security, if you're a journalist, you don't trust it that much. But over the past few months, she'd given me a description, a pretty detailed intimate description, I mean. Like I say, we let it all hang out. So I think I could be dead sure if I saw him in the skin, but even with his clothes on, the description fitted well enough to make me think it might not be such a good idea to talk to this guy, which is why I came looking for you.' 'Hold on,' said Hat. 'You're saying you think that one of them...' He glanced back again to where Dalziel and Pascoe were tracking their path. 'Which one, for God's sake?' 'She described him as middle-aged, what hair he had going grey, always nicely turned out in an old-fashioned kind of way, and so well padded that being on top of him was like bouncing on sponge rubber but having him on top of you was like wrestling with a large gorilla. Not just his weight, he was also very hairy, and there was other stuff about his sports tackle that means I could pick him out pretty definitely in a sauna, but even with his clothes on, that guy Dalziel came close enough for me not to take . any risks.' 'Dalziel? For God's sake, he's my boss, he's head ofCID!' 'And that means he doesn't enjoy sex with a woman half his age? If that's a condition of promotion, I'd get out as soon as you can. No, listen, I can't be definite, but everything fits. And I think he suspects something. When I asked if you were here, because Jax had mentioned you to me, I thought his eyes were going to start smoking. You want to watch out for him.' i 'No, I think that's something else ... I think you're wrong . ..' But part of him, not a big part but large enough to make itself ; felt, was speculating with something close to glee on the possibility that the Fat Man himself had been Jax's mole, which meant his aggressive attitude to Hat might be based on ... jealousy? 'You mean you're going to let some silly sense of loyalty stop you from following this up?' she said fiercely. 'Maybe I should do whatjax did and go public.' 'No, please. I'll check it out, I promise. Was there anything else she said? We found a diary, more of an appointments book, and she jotted down the letters GP from time to time, but there didn't seem to be anything medically wrong . ..' 'No,' said Angie excitedly. 'No, that was him. Georgie Porgie. You know, pudd'n and pie, kissed the girls and made them cry. That was what she called him because he was so fat. Hey, your Dalziel's not called George, is he?' And suddenly Hat saw the truth, almost as unbelievable as discovering Dalziel was Deep-throat, and infinitely sadder. 'No,' he said unhappily. 'No, he's not.' But he knew somebody who was.