Dialogues of the Dead (38 page)

W political contacts might get a lot of scrambled egg on your shoul ders, but it was far removed from that other world of practical investigation which got a lot of honest dirt under your fingernails. Like St Augustine and sex, he knew he'd have to give it up one day, but preferably not yet. 'Mr Trimble wants an update, does he?' he asked. 'Update?' said Dalziel. 'Nay, the bugger wants a result and he wants it yesterday. Someone up there's giving him a hard time.' He spoke with the grim satisfaction of one who knows what a hard time is. Pascoe observed him with a sympathy he was careful not to show. Dalziel drove his troops mercilessly when the occasion demanded, but he took his own bumps and rarely passed them on to his underlings. Going up or coming down, the buck stopped with Andy Dalziel, and Pascoe could only guess at the strain the Wordman case was putting the Fat Man under. Hat came back into the room. His reaction to the discovery of the body had won grudging praise from Dalziel, though he had advised for future consideration that on the whole it was best not to let your bit of fluff play netball with the victim's severed head. In particular, Hat's immediate return to Stangcreek Cottage where he'd promptly secured the axe and taken a preliminary statement from Dick Dee had been approved, not because of anything it produced but because it kept the librarian in situ as a witness. That he must also be classed as a suspect, Bowler had known from the minute he saw the body, and if Dee hadn't been in the cottage when he and Rye got back to it, the DC would have put out a call to pick him up. Similarly if he'd tried to leave before the troops arrived, he would have arrested him which would have started the custodial clock ticking. Not that it was just professional satisfaction at not wasting any precious senior officer interrogation time that he felt. The way that Rye had accepted Dee's comforting on their return to the cottage had made him very aware that if she got a sniff he was treating her boss as a serious suspect, the smooth course of their relationship might have hit a rock. She'd probably got the message by now, but at a sufficient remove for the blame to be heaped on Pascoe or the Fat Man rather than his lowly self. The good news (if the removal of a possible perp from the frame could be called good news) was that they'd found nothing positive to link Dee with the Hon.'s death. It was true that his prints were all over the axe which Forensic had confirmed was the instrument used to sever the Hon.'s head, but as he'd been using it to split logs in Hat's presence, this was hardly surprising. He did have a small cut on one of his fingers, but when his claim that his blood type was 0 was confirmed by a check of his medical records (written permission to see which 'for elimination purposes' he readily gave), hope of tying him in to the AB blood spots on the fish hook faded. Dalziel, who felt that anyone found using a bloodstained axe near a headless body was at the very least guilty of wasting police time, seemed inclined to blame the messenger, but Pascoe's slim shoulders had grown professionally broad over the years and he was able to ignore the accusatory grunts and snorts and carry on with his meticulous summation of the lack of evidence against Dee. 'The path. report suggests the Hon. had been dead between two and four days. Dee's alibi'd at work for most of the relevant daylight hours. After work with the evenings drawing in, seems less of a possibility. The time it would have taken to get out there means it would have been dusk when they arrived .. .' 'They?' interrupted Wield. 'The killer must have driven the Hon.'s Land Rover back from the tarn, ergo he must have gone out there in it,' said Pascoe. 'However, we do know that the Hon. often spent time out there fishing at night. In fact, interestingly, it was Dee himself who told us that. He has been most helpful and co-operative throughout.' 'That's a mark agin him,' said Dalziel hopefully. 'Member of the public trying to help the police has got summat on his conscience, that's my experience.' 'Perhaps you should widen your social circles, sir,' murmured Pascoe. 'But it makes little difference as Dee is alibi'd for the nights too.' 'Oh aye? Shagging someone, is he?' said the Fat Man. 'He didn't volunteer any details of his emotional life,' said Pascoe. 'But he spent one of the evenings in question at a county librarians' meeting in Sheffield to which he drove with Percy Follows, getting back here after midnight. The other he spent at

321 Charley Perm's flat where, having drunk very freely of Penn's Scotch, he spent the night on the sofa. Penn confirms.' The phone rang. Dalziel picked it up, listened, then said, 'If I were on my way, I'd not be answering the sodding phone, would I? Soon!' He banged it down again. 'Mr Trimble?' said Pascoe. 'His secretary. If it had been Clan, I'd not have been so polite. Pete, I'm letting you rabbit on like this in the hope you're keeping the good news till the last. Should I hold my breath?' 'No, sir. Sorry.' 'Then sod it, I might as well go and help Clan find where he's hid his Scotch,' said the Fat Man, rising and making for the door. 'Sir,' said Hat. 'What sir's that, lad?' said Dalziel in the doorway. 'Sorry, sir?' 'Is it "Mr Dalziel, sir, please don't leave 'cos I've got summat very perceptive to say"? Or is it "Mr Pascoe, sir, now the old fart's gone, I've got summat very perceptive to say"?' Hat knew that there were some questions better unanswered. He said, 'I was just thinking, what if there were two of them?' 'Two bodies you mean? Wieldy, you were at the PM. Didn't the loose bits match?' Wield said, 'Think he means two killers.' 'Jesus. Why suck at two? If we're into invention, let's make it a mob.' 'Two would mean that neither of them actually needed to have travelled out to the Tarn with Lord Pyke-Strengler,' said Hat. 'And there'd have been a spare driver to bring his Land Rover back.' 'To what end?' enquired Pascoe. 'The Land Rover would get noticed from a distance out there,', said Hat. 'The body where it was could have lain there a lot longer if we hadn't happened to stumble on it. The longer it lies, the less there is for us to find. Or maybe the idea was to shift it. Maybe that was what Dee was up to, but he saw us wandering around on the far side of the tarn and when we started out towards the cottage, he got back there fast to intercept us. He didn't seem very keen for us to go on.' 'In your statement all you say is he remarked it got a bit boggy further along the shore,' said Pascoe. 'Well, there's different ways of saying things,' said Hat, blushing slightly. 'Especially if they don't fit a thesis, eh?' said Pascoe. 'Where's this leading, Hat? Are we still talking about Dee? Like I just told you, he's alibi'd.' 'Not if Charley Perm's the other half of the pair, he isn't,' said Hat. Dalziel said, 'Still fancy Charley, do you, lad? I'll say this for you, once you get someone in your sights, you keep the bugger there.' There wasn't the usual force in his mockery, however, and Hat felt encouraged enough to go on. 'And if they were both in it, then it doesn't matter that Perm's got an alibi for the Johnson killing.' 'Which you established by interviewing his mother,' said Dalziel. 'I were going to talk to you about your interview techniques, lad.' His tone was now distinctly unfriendly. 'Something come up, sir?' said Pascoe. 'Nothing important. Just that Sherlock here got it all wrong and it seems Charley weren't anywhere near his ma's place that Sunday.' Hat felt both crestfallen and elated at the same time. Pascoe said, 'He admits this?' 'He does now,' said Dalziel. 'But don't start oiling your handcuffs. He says he's got another alibi. Claims he spent the afternoon on the nest with a ladyfriend.' 'And what's the ladyfriend say?' 'Nowt. Turns out she's on holiday in the Seychelles for three weeks. With her husband. So we need to tread careful.' 'Why's that?' 'Seems the lady in question is Maggot Blossom. That's right. Helpmeet and comfort to Joe Blossom, the Lord of the Flies, our beloved mayor. So we'll need to wait till they get back afore we make enquiries.' 'Not like you to be so diplomatic, sir,' said Pascoe provocatively. 'Not diplomatic. Careful. Yon Maggot's got a leg-lock could

W break a man's spine.' Then in face of Pascoe's sceptical moue, he added, 'Also, she's got a tattoo somewhere Charley couldn't know about unless . . . Any road, unless young Bowler here can come up with summat more than a fanny feeling, looks like Penn's right on the edge of the frame.' Hat looked around desperately as if he hoped a messenger might arrive with a freshly penned confession. Pascoe said encouragingly, 'Nothing wrong with informed speculation, Hat. You must have something going through your mind to suggest the possibility that Dee and Penn might enter into a conspiracy?' Hat said, 'Well, they went to the same school.' 'So did Hitler and Wittgenstein,' laughed Pascoe. Then recalled where he'd got this bit of information. From Sam Johnson's account of his first meeting with Charley Penn. He stopped laughing. 'And they play this weird game together,' Hat went on. 'I saw them at it.' 'At it? You talking game as in rumpty-tumpty?' said Dalziel, interested. 'No, sir. It's a board game, like Scrabble, only a lot harder. They use all kinds of different languages and there's a lot of other rules. We saw a board when we were round at Penn's flat, sir.' 'So we did,' said Pascoe. 'Some odd name, what was it? 'Pa-ro-no-mania,' said Hat carefully. 'Not paronomasia?' suggested Pascoe. 'No. Definitely mania. The other means word-play or punning, doesn't it?' said Hat, happy to show Pascoe that he wasn't the only clever bugger around. 'So it does,' said Pascoe. 'And what does your word - which I must say I've never come across - mean?' 'It's a real word, sir,' averred Hat, detecting a hint of dubiety. 'It was Miss Pomona who told me about it after I saw them playing. Hang on, I've got a copy of the rules .. .' He began to search through the wallet into which he'd put the ; papers Rye had given him before he'd taken to his sickbed. 'Here we go,' he said triumphantly, handing the tightly creased sheets to Pascoe who unfolded them carefully and read them with interest. 'OED, Second Edition. I stand corrected.' 'And I'm standing like a spare prick at a wedding,' said Dalziel. 'This is worse than listening to yon pair of epidemics.' 'Sorry,' said Pascoe. 'Hey, now, how about this. The OED always gives the earliest known usage of the word and in this case it's, wait for it, Lord Lyttelton, 1760, Dialogues of the Dead. How's that for coincidence?' 'I don't know. How is it?' said Dalziel. 'And what's it mean, this word?' 'Well, seems it's a factitious word, formed from a union of paronomasia and mania . ..' Dalziel ground his teeth and Pascoe hurried on. '.. . and it means basically "an obsessive interest in word games". Since 1978, it's also been the proprietary name of this board game Penn and Dee are so fond of.' 'Never heard of it,' said Dalziel. 'But I lost interest in board games after I found you got more rewards for climbing boring ladders than sliding down lovely slippery snakes.' Pascoe avoided Wield's eye and said, 'Looking at the rules, I'm surprised anyone has ever heard of it: "language of shuffler's choice ... double points for intersecting rhymes ... quadruple points for oxymorons . .." Jesus! Who'd want to play this?' 'Dee and Penn play it all the time evidently,' said Hat. 'Miss Pomona told you that too, I presume?' said Pascoe. 'And how long have you been nursing this interesting information to your bosom?' He spoke with studied politeness but Hat caught his drift instantly and said, 'Not long. I mean, I only found out about it last week, and then I went sick, and really it didn't seem to mean much, not till I heard Dr Urquhart and Dr Pottle going on today, then Mr Pascoe said about Penn giving Dee his alibi for one night last week, and I thought.. .' 'Nay lad, wait till you're in the dock afore you start summing up for the defence,' said Dalziel, not unkindly. 'Likely it's a load of nowt anyway. I mean, you can't go to jail for playing games, not even two fellows having a romp together, so long as it's between consenting adults in private, eh, Wieldy?' 'Yes, sir,' said the sergeant. 'Except if you call it rugby football, when you can sell folk tickets to watch, so they tell me.'

^2J Emotion always found it hard to get a fingerhold on the sergeant's face but this was said with a lack of expression that made Charles Bronson look animated. 'Rugby,' said Dalziel. 'Aye, that's a point. The Old Unthinkables. Nice one, Wieldy.' To be complimented on his attempted gibe at Dalziel's favourite sport did bring a look almost recognizable as surprise to the sergeant's features. 'Sir?' he said. 'The Old Unthinkables,' repeated Dalziel. 'That's what they call Unthank College's Old Boys' team. Not bad for a bunch of pubic school poofters, saving your presence. Not afraid to put the boot in, that's one thing they've learned for their daddies' money.' He spoke approvingly. Wield said, 'Missing your point, I'm afraid, sir.' 'Penn and Dee went to Unthank, and so did John Wingate, yon telly belly, Ripley's boss. I know 'cos he used to play for the Unthinkables. Scrum half. Nice reverse pass.' The phone rang again. 'And?' said Pascoe. 'He must be about the same age as Penn and Dee. Might be worth a chat, Pete. Find out what they got up to as kids. Christ, I must be desperate, can't believe I'm saying this. I've spent too much time listening to your mate Pozzo.' The phone was still ringing. Pascoe said, 'Shall I answer that? Could be the Chief's office again.' 'Then he'll think I'm on my way,' said Dalziel indifferently. He glanced at his watch. 'Tell you what, Wingate'll be at your press conference with all the other vultures. Reel him in when it's over. Knowing your style, Pete, that should be about half twelve. These telly bellys like shooting the questions, let's see if he can take his own medicine.' 'You'll be finished with the Chief by then?' 'Unless he opens a new bottle of Scotch,' said Dalziel. 'Bowler, you be there too. After all, this is your idea.' 'Thank you, sir,' said Hat, delighted. 'Don't get carried away. Likely it'll turn out a waste of time, and I just want you close so I don't waste my energy kicking summat inanimate.' He left. Hat turned to the others, smiling, inviting them to share Dalziel's joke. They didn't smile back. Pascoe said thoughtfully, 'Not like the super to chase rainbows.' 'Not unless he's got an itch in his piles . ..' They contemplated the Fat Man's famous haruspical piles for a moment, then Pascoe said, 'Wieldy, the OED's online now. Ellie's a subscriber, if I give you her details, can you whistle it up on the computer?' 'You authorize it, I can whistle up the PM's holiday snaps,' said Wield. They followed him to his computer and watched as he ran his fingers over the keyboard. 'Right,' he said. 'Here we are.' 'Great. Now find paronomania,' said Pascoe. But Wield was ahead of him. ^Paronomasia we've got. And paromphalocele we've got too, which from the sound of it we could do without. But no sign whatsoever of paronomania. So unless the great Oxford English Dictionary's missed a bit, there's no such word.' 'And yet,' said Pascoe, 'we have all seen it, and its definition. Interesting. While you're at it, Wieldy, try contortuplicated.' 'That's what the super said,' said Hat. 'I thought he just made it up.' 'No,' said Wield. 'It's here. "Twisted and entangled." But it's obsolete. Just one example and that's 1648.' 'Not attributed to A. Dalziel. is it?,' said Pascoe. 'Let that be a lesson to you, Hat. Never underestimate the super.' 'No, sir. Sir, how did Mr Dalziel know about Mrs Blossom's tattoo?' 'Can't imagine,' said Pascoe. 'W^y don't you ask him yourself?'