Dialogues of the Dead (44 page)

j6c/ a motive for killing Ripley was totally irrelevant and there'd be no come-back from sister Angie because in a very short while we'd be charging someone with the Wbrdman killings, including Jax's.' 'Will we?' 'You want to tell Clan we won't?' They were interrupted by a crescendoing round of applause shot through with cheers and whistles as the Chief Constable reached the climax of his address and a flushed and beaming George Headingley rose and went forward to receive the state-of-? i the-art fishing rod and associated tackle which had been his chosen ; gift. 'Oh, and one other thing,' said Dalziel as he clapped his hands together thunderously. 'Seems that Desperate Clan weren't the; first police officer Angle confided in. Seems she took her sus' picions first of all to young Hat Bowler and it were only when she thought he was dragging his feet that she decided to ring Clan afore she took off home.' 'Hat? But he hasn't said anything, has he?' 'No. Gave him plenty of chance to, but he kept mum.' : 'But why? When it would have cleared him of suspicion?' 'Mebbe he looked at George and thought, Here's a guy, long '. years of honourable service, sailing into retirement, do I want to be the one who torpedoes him? Mebbe he thought that sometime in the future he might be dependent on someone turning a blind eye to something he'd got up to too.' 'And which of these made you decide to keep quiet?' asked Pascoe. ;' The? I didn't have to decide,' said Dalziel. 'Let's go and con- :i gratulate George, shall we? Looks like he's getting a round in.' As they made their way back to the bar, Pascoe said, 'Have you told Hat yet?' 'Told him what?' ; 'That he's off the hook.' Dalziel roared with laughter. 'Don't be daft. Why should I do that?' | 'Because ... well, because he deserves it. He's got the makings of a good cop.' 'No argument there,' said Dalziel. 'He's bright and he's keen : and he's proved he's dead loyal. He could go far with the right incentive, and that's what I'm giving him.' 'How?' 'Well, every time he thinks he can relax on the job, I'll just need to give him that fish-eyed look which says I've still got doubts about him and he'll be doing double-overtime without pay just to prove me wrong, won't he? And one thing I'll never have to worry about is him letting his gob be ruled by his bollocks rather than his brain.' Oh, Andy, Andy, thought Pascoe, you think you're so clever and you may even be right. But you've forgotten, if you ever knew it, the absolute power of young love. I've seen the way Bowler looks at Rye Pomona and I'm not sure that even the fear of the Great God Dalziel is enough to keep him quiet if she asks something nicely. The Fat Man, unaware of these treacherous doubts about his infallibility, had gone through the crowd at the bar like Lomu through an English defence. 'George, lad,' he cried, 'congrats, you've made it at last, out into civvy street, safe and sound.' 'Andy, I was wondering where you'd got to. What are you drinking?' 'Only two minutes out of the job and the bugger's forgotten already!' declared Dalziel plaintively. 'I'll have a pint and a chaser. So, George, you take care of yourself, eh, it's a wilderness out there.' 'I'll be careful,' said Headingley. 'I'm sure you will, wandering round the countryside with that lovely new rod of thine. Just one bit of advice from one old angler to another.' Dalziel took Headingley's hand as he spoke and pressed it right. 'What's that, Andy?' The pressure increased rill the blood could hardly reach the DI's fingertips and at the same time the Fat Man stared unblinkingly into his watering eyes as he said softly, 'Don't go dipping it in any forbidden waters, George, or I may have to come looking for you.' They stood there looking at each other for several seconds. Then behind the bar a phone rang.

371 The barman picked it up, listened, then called, 'Is there a police man in the house?' Through the laughter he added, 'It's the station. Would like to speak to someone in CID. Mr Dalziel or Mr Pascoe preferred.' Pascoe said, 'I'll get it.' He took the phone, listened for a while, then said, 'On our way.' . : He put the receiver down. Dalziel was watching him. He jerked ' his head to the door. Out of the press around the bar, the Fat Man said, 'This had. .; better be good. I've got a pint and a gill back there surrounded ^ by bastards with the scruples of a starving gannet.' J 'Oh, it's good,' said Pascoe. 'It was Seymour.' ,, DC Seymour had drawn the short straw and been left to look<;' after the CID shop. , 'He's just had a call from the security guard at the Centre,' he;.' went on. , ' 'Oh fuck. Not another body.' 'No,' said Pascoe, pausing long enough for Dalziel to look ' relieved before going on. 'Another two bodies. Ambrose Bird and Percy Follows. Dead in the Roman Experience bathhouse.' 'Oh shit,' said Andy Dalziel. 'Shit and double shit. How dead? Drowndead?' ' 'No. Electrocuted-dead' said Peter Pascoe. Chapter Forty-two

THE SEVENTH DIALOGUE

Do you recall hww at the beginning I said my heart fainted at the distance I saw stretching between my setting out and my destination?

Yes, that's exactly hois I felt. Oh me of little faith, wherefore did I doubt? How far have I come and how quickly, a quarter of my way now in the blink of an eye, striding out with braggart step, measuring my path not in miles, but in leagues! No plan is needed when you are part of a plan, and when 1 beheld him who was equally a part of the plan, though his time seemed some way still removed, descending like one who hurries to a longed-for assignation, without thought 1 followed - happy word! In the darkness I lost him for a labile, then suddenly the torches flickered to life, the sounds swelled, the odours drifted across my flaring nostrils, and 1 found myself deep in the past of the Roman market. Two figures moved towards each other between the stalls, one clad in a courtier's purple and gold tunic with jewelled clasps, clutching in his hand a leather bag from which he took coins as if to make a purchase, the other in the plain dignified toga which denotes a senator. 'Ho, Diomed, well met! Do you sup with Glaucus tonight?' cried the first. 'I know not,' said the senator. 'What a fearful night is this! There's two or three of us have seen strange sights.' 'And shall see stranger still. Will you walk with me into the bathhouse where we may hear ourselves talk above this fearful babble?' 'Gladly, for the stink of this place rubs my nostrils raw!' Side by side they moved into the calidarium. Through the viewing port I watched them, still not knowing what I

313 was called to do or indeed, with the middle step still not clear, not certain I was called to do anything. Then as the tunic was unclasped and the toga slid to the ground, I felt time, already by artifice here displaced, begin to slow like cooling lava running down Vesuvius's side which in its last embrace grips fragile flesh and makes it live forever. They step into the water, the courtier first, his long gold hair catching the light from the images of naked bathers projected on the wall, his trembling limbs slender and white; the senator behind, his black ponytail jutting out jauntily, the muscles of his sturdier browner body taut with desire. There is no pause for foreplay. The strong brown arms go round the slim white body as, like a full-acomed hoar, a German one, the senator cries W and mounts the courtier. '. Unnoticed, because lava itself bursting through the walls would in this condition go unnoticed, I open the door and step inside. Like a surgeon who need not look for his instrument because he knows it will always be there to hand, or in this case to foot, I feel no surprise as my toe catches on a cable and sends an electric soldering iron snaking across the floor to plop into the pool like a questing vole. Nor does thought'; play a part in sending my hand along the cable to its source where my j fingers find and press a switch, 'i They twist and tauten in one last orgasmic spasm and then go still. >From the courtiers discarded tunic I take the dagger and make the ' necessary mark on his white flesh, while from his bag I take the necessary coin and place it in the senator's open mouth. ; Now it is done. 1 step back into Roman time and without haste mount . the stairway to my own. I feel a deep peace. I know now that I can proclaim myself from the j mountaintops, yet none will hear and understand and lay traps to prevent me. Never has the way ahead seemed so clear.

A path In View, I neVer stray to Left or right. A weDDIng was, or so It seems, but wasn't white. A Date I haVe, the first In fun, though not by night. Chapter Forty-three

'They were still - how shall I put it? - coupled when we got there,' said Peter Pascoe. 'Fused together,' growled Dalziel. 'Don't be mealy-mouthed.' 'Coupled,' repeated Pascoe. 'The maintenance man claims that he disconnected the soldering iron from the extension lead and disconnected the extension lead from the socket on the floor above, which was where he'd had to plug it in because of course all the electrics in the basement had cut out when the fault down there developed. He admits, because he can hardly deny it, that after going upstairs to check the repaired circuits at the main power box, he omitted to return to collect the iron. He says he left it in situ because he intended doing another check on the basement circuitry first thing this morning to make sure all was well for the official opening. A conscientious worker.' 'A lying bastard,' said Dalziel. 'He switched the iron off at the switch on the extension plug, went upstairs, checked the power box, then one of his mates yelled, "Coming for a pint, Joe?" and he forgot all about it.' Pascoe gave him a tightly weary smile and wondered why, as they'd both had the same sleep-curtailed night, the Fat Man looked so alert and vigorous while he felt ready to keel over? But keeling over wasn't an option when he was giving a briefing to his CID team, plus the Chief Constable who'd decided that in view of the seriousness of the situation, he himself would monitor the next conference, plus the Doctors Pottle and Urquhart, whose presence had also been Trimble's idea as soon as he heard that the Seventh Dialogue had been found next morning in one of the Centre mailboxes - not the library box which the police were monitoring, but the unmonitored Heritage box on the far side of the building.

375 Dalziel had objected, making the point that details of advanced investigative procedures and likely suspects ought not to be made available to civilians, to which Trimble had replied somewhat acidly that if he did not trust his co-opted experts then perhaps he shouldn't have recruited them in the first place, and if they were to be of any use to the team, then they must be as fully briefed as everyone else. The Fat Man had got a bit of his own back when the Chief had commented on the presence of DC Novello. 'CID rule, sir. If you're fit enough to drink, you're fit enough to work,' he'd said. He'd answered Pascoe's own reser vation's on the DC's presence rather more humanely by saying,] 'I gave her a ring, asked if she felt up to sitting in for an hour. Break her in gently's best after what she's been through. Also, could be useful getting a female slant on things. Can't be any?, dafter than the crap we're likely to get from Oor Wullie and Smokeyjoe.' 'Maybe they won't have much to say,' Pascoe tried to reassure . him. ; i 'They never do. Doesn't stop the buggers from prattling on, but. Just try not to encourage them, eh?' But it was Trimble who gave the first cue. In response to Dalziel's interjection, he asked, 'Does it really; matter at this juncture if the maintenance man is trying to cover': his back or not?' 'Not really,' said Pascoe. 'Except,' said Dr Pottle, 'insofar as what he says throws doubt on to the Wordman's version in the Dialogue.' He paused, weighed Dalziel's menacing glower against the ' Chief Constable's encouraging nod, decided that in this case rank ; counted, and went on, 'The Wordman's version as always stresses | his sense of being the instrument of some superior power, a very;; active instrument of course, but nonetheless one whose certainty | of invulnerability is based on the provision by his guiding power ', of that conventional trinity of crime investigation: motive, means 1 and opportunity.' | 'What motive?' demanded Dalziel. 'There ain't none, that's the ; point when you're dealing with madmen!' .' 'You're wrong, Superintendent, though I won't irritate you with psychological analysis at this juncture. But motive in the sense that these killings are clearly sequential not even you will deny.' 'Meaning he only kills people who fit some crazy pattern he's working to? Well, thanks for that insight, Doctor. It 'ud be a lot more useful if you could work out the pattern for us, but I dare say that's not on offer yet?' 'I regret the basis of the sequence still escapes me, but I'm working on it,' said Pottle, lighting his fifth cigarette since arrival. 'What is clear is that the Wordman looks to his guiding power to point out his next victim or victims, then to bring them into the killing situation, and finally to provide the means.' 'Took his own knife along to sort out Jax Ripley,' said Wield. 'True, but he still makes it clear that the weapon was somehow provided for him in some manner he could fit into his grand plan. And similarly with the drug used to poison Sam Johnson.' 'So what are you saying, Doctor?' enquired Trimble. 'Only that, if the maintenance man's version is true, it means that the Wordman is rearranging the facts of the incident to fit in with his fantasy, or even to persuade us of its reality. Which would be very interesting.' 'Interesting!' groaned Dalziel. 'Like it's interesting if you're waiting for a bus and a giraffe walks down the street, only it doesn't get you anywhere!' Pascoe hid a smile and went on, 'Whatever the truth of that, the two men were certainly electrocuted in the Roman Experience ...' 'Sounded more like a Greek experience, from what I heard,' grunted Urquhart who looked even more wrecked than Pascoe felt and had been struggling to find a dormitory position on an upright plastic chair. 'As always, I bow to expertise,' said Pascoe. 'Anyway, they were in the Centre basement area . ..' 'Sir,' interrupted Hat Bowler, 'had they arranged to meet there to, you know, do it? Like a date, I mean. Or had it just happened? Or was it a sexual assault?' 'I think, in view of the dressing-up element, and unless we discount the Dialogue completely, it was all planned and voluntary,' said Pascoe. 'The duty security man says that Bird had warned him that he would be testing the basement effects early that evening for about an hour to make sure that all was well. The security videos were as useless as ever. A fire door wedged