Dialogues of the Dead (35 page)

291 Chapter Thirty-two

They climbed through the hedge into the little copse that the deer had emerged from and sat drinking their coffee with the gnarled bole of a beech tree between them and the wind. Hat said nothing, but suddenly she started to talk as if in response to a question. 'Yes, I did want to be an actress. Like you said, what else would I want to be, you know, born in a trunk, all that crap? Serge my twin Sergius - he reacted the other way. He wanted to be a lawyer. All the drama, he used to say, and twenty rimes the money. I suppose I looked at the great stars while he just looked at Mum and Dad.' 'They weren't all that successful, then?' said Hat. 'They seemed to work pretty steadily while we were young. And they always talked about the past as if they'd been really big once and, with a bit of luck, would make it to the top again. But by the time I got into my teens, even the steadiness was going. There were long periods of resting, which they seemed to do best with a glass in their hands. Every couple needs a common interest to keep them together. Theirs was drinking.' 'Seriously?' 'They were drunks,' she said flatly. 'It was good in one way. Being neglected by your parents simply because they're so self-centred you don't rate is hard for a kid to take. But being neglected because they've got a drink problem makes some kind of sense. Anyway, I was stage-struck and planning to go to drama college after I left school, and I did a lot of amateur stuff and I even got a toe-hold on the pro theatre, crowd scenes and walk-on juvenile parts. What I thought of as my really big break came when I got the part of Beth in a stage version of Little Women being done as a summer show in Torquay which was where my parents were resting at the time.' 'A big break?' said Hat. 'How big?' 'I was only fifteen, for God's sake,' she snapped. Then, realizing belatedly his query rose from genuine interest and had nothing of sneer in it, she smiled apologetically and said, 'I mean, it seemed huge to me. And it was a nice part, long way off a lead, but I got to be interestingly ill.' 'I can vouch you're pretty hot stuff at that,' said Hat, recalling her opening the door to him when he paid his sick-visit. 'Thank you kindly,' she said. 'Anyway, my big opening night came and my father was supposed to be driving me to the theatre but he suddenly announced that he couldn't make it and my mother would have to take me instead. Serge got into a shouting match with him, asking him what the hell could be more important than going to my first night and Dad gave him some hammy speech about how nothing but the most urgent business affecting the prosperity of the whole family could make him miss such an occasion and if there was any chance of his getting away to catch even the briefest glimpse of his little girl on the stage, he would do it. Then he was gone.' 'That must have made you happy.' 'To tell the truth, Serge was a lot more fired up about it than I was. I wasn't going on the stage to impress my dad, it was all those other people, those strangers, that I wanted to bowl over with my talent. But I did need a lift, and when the time came and I found Mum stoned out of her mind, then I really blew my top. Serge calmed me down and rang a mini-cab. The time came, and it didn't. We rang again. There'd been some kind of traffic hold-up, it would be with us soon. It wasn't. Now I was getting hysterical. And Serge appeared with my mother's car keys and said, no problem, he'd drive me.' Hat began to see where the story was going. He said softly, 'He was how old? Fifteen?' 'That's right. My twin and by coincidence the same age. You ought to be a detective.' 'Sorry. I meant, he couldn't have a licence. Could he drive?' 'Like all fifteen-year-old boys, he thought he could,' said Rye. 'We set out. I was late, not so late it was a real problem, but in my state of mind I played up like I was some prima donna late for a Royal Command Performance. I yelled at him to drive faster.

293 It was a wet murky evening. Faster, I screamed, faster. He just grinned and said, 'Fasten your seat-belt, Sis. It's going to be a bumpy night.' Those were the last words I heard him say. We went round a bend too fast, got into a skid ... it all came back just now when you had to brake . ..' Hat put his arms around her and held her. She leaned into him for a while then straightened up determinedly and pushed him away. 'We went straight into a car coming the other way,' she said in a flat voice, speaking very quickly as if this was something she had to say but wanted to get over. 'There were two people in it. They were both killed. Serge died too. As for me, I remember the skid, and I remember lying there on a pavement - outside a churchyard, would you believe? - looking up at the night sky .. . then I don't recall another thing till I woke up in hospital over a week later.' Hat whistled. 'A week? That must have been heavy damage you took.' 'Yeah. Broken this and that. But it was my head that caused the most concern. Fractured skull, pressure on the brain. They had to operate twice. By the time they got that sorted, the rest of me was just about knitted together.' As she spoke her hand had gone involuntarily to the silver blaze in her hair. Hat reached out and touched it. 'Is that when you got this?' he asked. 'Yes. I was shaved completely bald, of course, but they assured me it would all grow back. Well, it did. Except that for some reason which they explained without explaining their explanation, if you know what I mean, the hair over the scar came out like this. They suggested I should dye it, but I said no.' Why?' asked Hat. 'Because of Serge,' she said flatly. 'Because I hate visiting grave yards, all that morbid crap, but as long as I've got eyes to see myself in the mirror. I'll never forget him.' Hat looked at her with troubled eyes and she said, 'I'm sorry, I'm mucking up our day. I shouldn't have told you any of this, not now anyway. I've never talked about it to anyone else, except Dick.' Even in the midst of her unhappiness and his empathy, some selfish gene felt that as a blow. He said, 'You told Dick?' 'Yes. He's like you, not pushy. Questions are easy to duck, but the weight of non-questions from people you like becomes unbearable. He just listened, and nodded, and said, "That's hard. I know about losing someone young, you're never happy again without recalling they're not there to share your happiness." He's very wise, Dick.' Me too, thought Hat. Wise enough not to let my jealousy show! But he must have looked pretty unhappy because suddenly she smiled broadly and said, 'Hey, it's OK. That little skid back there shook me up a bit, but really, I'm fine now. My own fault for showing off to myself that fast cars don't bother me. Which they don't. And to prove it, let's get going before all those birds head south for the winter.' She stood up, reached down her hand and hauled him to his feet too. He didn't let go of her hand but held it tight and said, 'You're sure? We can easily head back to town, spend the day watching telly or something.' 'I won't ask you to interpret or something,'1 she said. 'No, I promised to twitch and twitch I will, as soon as I get my hand back.' They got back into the car. As they pulled away, Hat said, 'So what did happen to the acting career?' 'Career's putting it a bit strong,' she said. 'Thing was, when I finally got back to normal after about six months, I found it had all gone, all that ambition, all those dreams. I'd lost Serge and now I could see beyond all doubt what a sad pair my parents were. Incidentally, it came out later that the urgent business my father had to attend to that night was banging away with some stage-struck groupie who believed all his name-dropping big-time luwie stories. It wasn't a life I wanted to have anything to do with any more.' He said, 'So this is why you sounded so cynical when you were telling me about your name?' 'About finding out they'd lied about the parts they were playing?

295 Yeah, that just seemed to confirm it. Even their real life was an act and the only way they could deal with their children was by making them bit players.' 'So you chose another role entirely.' 'Sorry?' 'Librarian. Traditional image is about as anti-luwie as you can get, isn't it? Quiet, demure, rather prim, glaring at noisy readers over horned-rim specs, staidly dressed, a bit repressed . ..' 'This is how you see me, is it?' He laughed and said, 'No. All I mean is, if that was what you were aiming at, someone ought to tell you you've missed by a Scots mile.' She said, 'Hmm. I'll take that as a compliment, shall I? So now we've got me sorted, let's turn the spotlight on your interesting bits.' 'I'll look forward to that,' he said. 'But tell you what, we're nearly there. So rather than risk frightening the birds, let's leave my interesting bits till after lunch, shall we? Then I'll be happy to let you pick over them to your heart's content.' 'OK, but just tell me one thing first,' she said as the car turned down a track marked by an ancient finger post which read Stang Tarn. 'Do you cops learn innuendo during your probationary year or is it a prerequisite of joining?' Chapter Thirty-three

'Andy, you look like you've just come back from a trip to the underworld in every sense. Hard night on stake-out, was it?' 'You could put it like that,' said Andy Dalziel. It was a hard thing to admit, but the days were past when he could drink and dance till dawn, take a taxi home, live up to his vainglorious sexual promises, snatch an hour or so's sleep and be in The Dog and Duck at opening time without some evidence of his energy-sapping activities being inscribed upon his face. 'But it's nowt that another pint won't put right. How about you, Charley?' 'Nay, but I've just come in. Give us a chance to wash my teeth with this one,' said Charley Penn. Dalziel went up to the bar, noting with approval that the barman, observing his approach, stopped serving another customer to pull the anticipated pint. Marvellous what a few kind words would do to set a man on the straight and narrow, thought Dalziel complacently. He returned to the table and sank a gill. 'That's better already,' he said. 'So what's going off?' enquired Penn. 'Eh?' 'Come on, this isn't your usual watering hole,' sneered the writer. 'You're here for some special reason.' 'I hope there's not a pub in this town where I'm not known and welcome,' said Dalziel in an injured tone. 'You've got that half-right,' said Penn. 'Last time I saw you in here, it was definitely business. Me and that lad, Roote, and Sam Johnson .. .' His face clouded as he spoke of Johnson and he said, 'Last Sunday. Christ, it's hard to credit it were only last Sunday. And

2^7 now the poor sod's in the ground. That felt like indecent haste. What happened, Andy? Loopy Linda jerk your wires?' 'She's a strong woman, Charley, hard to gainsay,' said Dalziel. 'Or so I gather. Never met her myself.' 'I noticed you weren't at the funeral,' said Penn. 'Well, bury one you've buried them all,' said Dalziel. 'Went OK, did it? I gather young Roote did a turn.' 'He spoke from the heart, nowt wrong with that,' said Penn. 'Oh aye, most things he does come from the heart, I don't doubt it,' said Dalziel. 'You sound impressed, Charley.' 'He seems a good lad. He's put the past behind him. Something a lot more of us should try to do, maybe. And he's got talent. You heard he won the short story competition?' 'Aye.' There'd been a message, or rather a series of messages on Dalziel's answering machine, in which Pascoe had brought him up to speed on the events of the night. 'Good story, was it?' 'About the only one,' grunted Penn, who was notorious for stinting praise. 'When I saw some of the crud on the short list, I was glad I hadn't had to read the stuff that didn't make it. But Roote's story would have shone in any company. It was a good night for the lad, pity your lackeys had to try and spoil it for him.' 'Lackeys? Don't recall noticing I had any lackeys last time I looked. Must have drunk some genetically modified ale.' 'Yon DCI, Ellie Pascoe's man. She's a grand lass. You'd've hoped, being wed to her, he'd know better. And that one with the face. God, take him round the maternity ward, you'd not have to waste time and drugs inducing labour.' 'You should be careful what you say, Charley. Likely there's an Ombudsman and a tribunal I could report you to for nasty remarks like that.' 'I'd not be surprised. Anyway, Andy, shall we get down to it, then you can go home and crawl back into bed which is what you shouldn't have got out of?' ' Dalziel finished his pint and looked with surprise into the empty glass. With a sigh, Penn finished his drink and went to the bar for replacements. 'That's kind,' said Dalziel. 'Self-interest. You'd not arrest a man who'd just bought you a drink. Would you?' 'Well, I'd be mad to arrest the bugger afore he bought it, wouldn't I?' said Dalziel. 'Charley, I want you to think hard before you answer this. Last Sunday you said you had to go off because on Sundays you always went to visit your old ma. When you were asked later in the week where you'd been that's what you said, visiting your ma. And that's more or less what your ma said too.' 'You've been talking to my mother?' exclaimed Penn. 'Nay, Charley, did you think we wouldn't check up? We check out everything anyone tells us, especially if they make their money inventing things.' 'And my mother, what does she say?' 'She says her Karl is a good boy, a perfect son.' 'There you go then,' said Penn. 'So what are you saying, Andy?' 'I'm saying I can see where you got your talent for fiction from,' said Dalziel. 'Where were you last Sunday afternoon, Charley?' Penn took a long slow draw on his beer. Wondering whether I'm bluffing, thought Dalziel. Wondering whether he should call it. 'Is this about Sam Johnson?' said Penn, postponing the moment. 'What else?' 'You think mebbe I'm this Wordman?' 'Well, it sounds like a trade description of your job, Charley.' 'You think I may have murdered - how many is it? - five people, and you can still sit there having a drink with me?' 'Love the "how many is it?", Charley. Innocent, guilty, you know exactly how many it is. Writer like you's probably got a little notebook where you jot down owt of interest that comes up. Unless you're not interested in murder.' 'Only as a fine art,' said Penn. 'That a confession? 'Cos I get the impression that's how this lunatic keeps himself going, got his head bent round some daft idea or other in which killing isn't wrong, or at least is necessary for the sake of something more important.' 'No, it's not a confession. But yes, you're right, I've been keeping a close eye on these killings. That's what writers do. Bit like

W being a detective, taking note of what makes people tick, especially the oddities, which means most of us.' 'So, have you drawn any conclusions, Charley?' 'Only that there's a lot more mileage in it.' 'Why do you say that?' ' 'Cos he's obviously a clever sod, and if the sharpest brain in , our CID has got to waste time suspecting me, then you can't be within a moonshot of catching him.' 'Charley,' said Dalziel softly, 'there's one way you can stop me wasting rime. Make up your mind if you're going to come clean „ or try to tough it out. Last Sunday afternoon .. . ?' 'And if I tell you I went to see my mother, what then?' 'Then I invite you down the nick where the refreshments aren't i' half as good as this and the service is twice as lousy,' said Dalziel. ', 'Oh well, if you'd put it like that to start with ... I was with a | friend. A female friend.' | 'They're the best kind,' said Dalziel. 'But, let me guess, she's ,i married and being a true gent, you can't possibly give me her i, name.' ti 'Andy, I don't know why we bother to have conversations when | you know everything in advance.' ; 'Because it's words that make the world go round,' said Dalziel. 'I thought it was love.' ' 'Same thing. Nowt that doesn't come down to words.' I 'You're getting too deep for me, Andy. So what do we do now?' 'You? You do nowt. Me, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm .' not going to press you to reveal a name, Charley, because I respect j your loyalty and delicate feelings in this matter. But you're right'f about us being alike. I keep a little notebook too where I jot down;; oddities. And I reckon when I go through my notes, I'm going! to come across - it might be a couple, it might be half a dozen, | it might even be more - names of women who could be thefemme | I'm cherchezing. I'll put 'em in alphabetic order then I'll call round | to see each of them in turn, preferably at night just when they're; serving up supper to hubby and the family, and I'll ask 'em, "Were! you rucking Charley Penn last Sunday afternoon? I need to know; else he's in big trouble." And I'm sure that the lady in question! will stand up and be counted rather than let you stay in that; trouble. In fact, if she's tired of her old man and fancies getting!? together with you on a more permanent basis, she might jump at the chance to get this out in the open. Could even be that more than one will see this as too good a chance to miss and I may be stuck with a superfluity of admissions, which could be awkward. But that's a risk I'll just have to take. Unless you care to save me from it.' He nodded as if to affirm his readiness to undertake such a perilous mission and drank his beer. 'Fuck you, Dalziel,' said Penn. 'I take it that's a "yes",' said Dalziel.