Dialogues of the Dead (50 page)

And far away, still in that farthermost world, Hat Bowler was driving his car through the afternoon traffic like a mad thing while some way behind and falling further back, Peter Pascoe was heading in the same direction with rather more concern for hisj own life and limb as well as those of other road users.

The logs on the fire burnt swiftly, domed, then collapsed into', a tumbled bed of glowing ashes whose red heart pulsated with consuming heat. j 'A great fire for toast,' murmured Rye. 'When I was a kid, I': remember sitting before a fire like this, and we toasted thick slices^ of white bread till they were almost black and spread butter over them till it melted through the airholes in the dough. I thought of it last time I was here . ..' 'Toast,' echoed Dick. 'Yes, toast would be nice. Later, perhaps. When the game is done.' And he threw more logs on the fire and soon the seeds of heat in the ashes blossomed once more into flames which embraced these new limbs of wood so that they shifted and sighed and moaned as the fire within them grew hotter and hotter till the room turned unbearably warm. Dee reached down and pulled off the old tracksuit top he was wearing, revealing a short-sleeved vest which strained against an unexpectedly muscular and athletic body. Rye followed suit, pulling the chunky woollen sweater she was wearing against the anticipated rural chill over her head. It was only as the heavy fibres rubbed across her face that she recalled she didn't have a top on underneath, only the flimsy silk bra she'd worn with her funeral outfit. Or was she perhaps pretending that it was only now that she remembered this? Certainly there was no perceptible pause as she drew the sweater off completely and let it fall alongside the chair, then leaned forward to make the word joy. Dee neither averted his eyes nor ogled her bosom, but nodded as if in approval and said, 'And now, if we were playing the poets' convention whereby crossing a word with another which either follows or precedes it in a poem which must of course be accurately quoted, I could score well here by crossing joy with crimson.' 'Blake,' she said. 'So I could do the same by crossing your secret here with my love?' 'Still Blake. Excellent.' 'Actually I was thinking of Doris Day,' she said. He threw his head back and laughed, and she laughed too, but somehow, instead of easing the sexual tension between them as she had intended, this shared laughter sent another line of contact snaking out which drew them even closer, affirming their mutual fondness and pleasure in each other's company without one wit diminishing their newly discovered physical attraction. Why not? she thought. I'm a free agent, no commitments exist423

ing and as far as Dick goes, none intended. So why not gather a few rosebuds while I may? But at the same time, her future working alongside Dee came into her mind. Would things be changed? She felt she could rely on him to keep things the same, if that's what she wanted. Yes,, she was certain of his discretion, yet could even the greatest discretion resist the probing gaze of Charley Penn? The thought of those knowing eyes, that insinuating smarl, the ambiguous^ remarks implying a vicarious intimacy, was not pleasant to her. And also into her mind, despite her genuine confidence of being a free agent with no commitments, came an image of Hat Bowler,

Who was now free of traffic on the quiet country roads and' moving so fast that his passage hardly allowed time for the sheep grazing in the fields to raise their heads before he was out of sight, leaving only a wisp of exhaust smoke as evidence they hadn't been dreaming. Still some way behind him but, now that he was out of the city, keeping pace, came Pascoe with, a little way further back, the siren and lights of the patrol car which had picked up Andy Dalziel from the Black Bull. The Fat Man came on his mobile now. 'Where are you at, Pete?' Pascoe told him. 'And Bowler?' 'Not in sight yet.' 'Well, stop driving along like an old woman! Get up there with , him. Owt happens to the lad, I'll hod thee responsible.' : 'It's more what's likely to happen to Dee when Hat catches up ( with him that I'm worried about.' < 'Him? Turns out he's the Wordman, who's going to care?' said : Dalziel dismissively. 'No, it's young Bowler we've got to look out for. Another couple of years shaking that college education out of him, he could make a good cop. What the fuck are you doing ; with this thing? Pedalling it?' The last two sentences, Pascoe assumed, were addressed to the driver of the patrol car, but he felt their power too and pushed his foot even harder on to the accelerator so that the same sheep ; which a little earlier had been disturbed by the passage of the MG twitched their ears again, but, being, contrary to their image, quick learners, this time did not bother to raise their heads.

So, thought Rye, will I, won't I? She was aware that while her mind vacillated, her body was independently sending out much more positive signals. She had stretched herself out in the chair, waiting for Dee, in every sense, to make his move. Her left bra-strap had slipped down over her shoulder and her breast had almost escaped from its silken cup, but she made no effort to recapture it. Indeed sensing, and perhaps slightly piqued by, a degree of hesitation in Dee himself, she relaxed her shoulders so that the nipple of the errant orb came fully into view. Now she had his attention. But it wasn't on her swelling nipple that his eyes were fixed. He was looking at her head. She said, 'What?' He reached across the board and touched the silver blaze in her hair. 'I've always wanted to do that,' he said. 'To check it doesn't come off on your fingers?' she mocked. ' 'Tis in grain, sir. 'Twill endure wind and weather.' 'I never doubted it,' he said. And now he let his gaze slip down to her bosom. He said, 'Rye .. .' She said, 'Yes?' He said, 'Rye?' She said, 'Yes.' It was that easy. He stood up so suddenly, one of his feet jolted the Paronomania board, shuffling the letters from the places so that now they made no sense. He said, 'I'll just get ... I've got .. . excuse me .. .' He turned and went out of the room. Smiling, she now rose and undid her bra, letting it fall to the floor as she slipped out of her jeans and pants. She went to the window. It took an effort of focus to get her gaze beyond the patina of rain stains and lichen which darkened

41)

the glass, but finally the grey mysterious surface of the tarn trembled into view. Nothing moved. No wind crimpled the water. Not a bird in sight. Birds made her think of Hat again. Dear sweet Hat, so know ingly innocent so innocently knowing. He need never know about Dick. Except, of course, that some men had an instinct for such things as sensitive as some women's. And in any case, she suspected Charley Penn, if he found out, would make sure Hat did so too. Was it still too late to say no to Dick? Depended on your point of view. A woman has the right to say no at any time, at any stagej that was right, that was how it should be. But to be standing here,, naked, when Dick came back into the room was to shout a YES! at him which she guessed for many men might drown out a simple spoken no. For God's sake, if you're going to say no, put your clothes back on, woman, she urged herself. Too late. She heard the door open behind her. So be it, she thought, with hardly a pang of regret. Enjoy! As if in affirmation other decision she now saw a faint effulgence lighten the murky air which obscured the furthermost bank of the tarn. The setting sun breaking through to bless this union, she told herself only half-mockingly. Except, of course, it was still mid-afternoon and she was looking east not west. Also the sun sank, it didn't come rushing towards you! So much for free will and independent decision. Just when you made up your mind to one course, fate coughed in your ear and set you on another. For now it was clear the effulgence was in fact caused by the headlights of a car bowling merrily along the track which ran round the tarn towards the cottage. And there was sound too, a horn blaring as if the newcomer were desperate to announce his coming. And finally even at this distance she recognized the vehicle as Hat's sports car and smiled at the aptness of thinking of it as bowling along. Except now it was no longer bowling, it was bouncing and bumping over the potholed and rock-strewn track without diminution of speed. What desperate errand did , Hat imagine he was on so to abuse his beloved MG? Whatever it was it meant the end or at least the postponement of promised joy. Preparing a rueful grimace, she turned to retrieve her clothes and get dressed. But what she saw froze her in place. Dee was standing there. He'd come forward so that his feet were on the game board. He too was stark naked, his arms held wide, with something in his left hand, she didn't work out what, for in his right hand he held a long thin knife. And she felt her gaze drawn down across his belly towards his crotch where his cock steepled out of a tangle of blond hair. The car horn was blaring more loudly now, the headlights must be visible through the dirty glass behind her, Hat was almost here, but he was going to be too late. As she stared fixedly at the rampant figure before her, she knew beyond all doubt that he was going to be too late.

The MG got within fifty yards of the cottage before it hit a pothole too deep for even its sturdy suspension to bounce out of. The engine gave one last gasp and died. But it didn't give way to silence. Hat heard the screams as he vaulted out of his seat. Shouting something, he had no idea what, he sprinted towards the cottage whose windows glowed with a dull nickering red like Hellmouth in a Miracle play. Behind him, approaching the tarn, there were other lights and the screech owl wail of a siren. Help was on its way, but to Hat it was help as meaningless as prayers for the dead and the comforts of religion. Keep screaming! he thought. Keep on screaming. The screams were the most dreadful sounds he'd ever heard, but as long as he could hear them he knew that Rye was alive. Through the grubby window he glimpsed two figures grappling, a hand held high, in it a long thin knife, glistening red ... He ran down the side of the cottage, smashed through the door as if it were plywood, and plunged into Hellmouth. Lurid in the shifting light of a high-leaping fire, the two naked figures wrestled in the middle of the room, close locked above the Paronomania board as if this defined the area of their struggle

42!

like a wrestling mat. The lion chair had been knocked over int the grate and already its back was beginning to char. But Hat hac no eyes for this. All he saw was the knife raised high ... the knife| already dripping with blood ... ,|| He hurled himself forward and seized Dick Dee from behind,| one arm round his neck, the other grappling the knife arm, ami tried to drag him away from Rye. He came with such ease if Hat was taken by surprise and fell backwards. But he didn't rele' his grip and without the use of his arms to break his fall, crashed heavily to the ground, his head whiplashing against t crystal tile dish. The flames of the fire seemed to dance into mind, filling it with smoke and shifting shadow. He felt a gus of liquid over his already misting eyes, blood, tears, he didn'l know what except that it stung and blinded. The weight of Dee, was pressing down upon him. He threw it off and as he tried ta sit up, he felt something run like a soldering iron along his lefi ribcage. Rye was screaming again. Not for herself this time,l because he could still feel Dee's body close by his side. It must'a be for him, and the thought gave him strength. He tried to risfe '.fl again. Something smashed against the side of his head. He flailed||| out blindly, his fingers touched metal - grasped - straightened all" a blade cut into flesh - adjusted. And now they tightened around a bone handle. He had the knife. But his assailant had something almost as lethal in its plac which came crashing once more against the side of the detective^ head. Minimum force. For some reason this phrase came into Hat'S mind from his not so distant training days. Force may be use" to effect an arrest, but it must always be the minimum fore commensurate with the lawful restraint of a suspect. When you were on your back, and blind, and wounded, ana losing consciousness, and grappling with a homicidal maniac,,! minimum was hard to define. lj He swung his arm up high then drove the knife down hard,| That felt like minimum. And again. Still felt like minimum. Antfij again ... yes, still well within the limits ... and again ... if this^ were minimum, what in this case would be maximum? ... c^ The question danced in and out of the flickering flames and shifting shadows in his mind, pursuing an elusive answer among broken definitions and the shards of words. Then the rising ululation of what he knew was a siren but still sounded to him like that ill-omened bird of night rose to a climax. Then stopped. And darkness fell.

429

Chapter Forty-seven |

The darkness lasted a long time. y Or perhaps a short time. He couldn't know. It was punctuated! by flashes of cognition in which his senses worked but in a^ mixed-up way. He smelt movement, felt colours, saw sound<| None of these impressions made any sense or seemed related ta^ any other. Whether they belonged to real time or to that dream- time which can pack infinity into a grain of sand, he didn't know. So when he finally awoke, he was ready to find himself stilt8 helpless on the floor of Stangcreek Cottage. ; His eyes weren't functioning properly but at least they were registering images albeit dimly on his retina and he could make, out someone standing over him. Oh shit. He was right. It was still the cottage ... He tried to move. Couldn't. This got worse. He was bound down. He tried to speak. His mouth was dry as ... : There were half a dozen laddish similes in common canteen use but he couldn't recall any of them. The looming figure stepped closer. ; The features came into focus. They were frightful, contorted,! menacing. i| The dreadful lips moved. | 'She's all right, lad.' ] And the ogreish features dissolved and resolved themselves intd, the comfortable because familiar dissonances of Edgar Wield'S; face while at the same time the bonds which held him down8 turned into the starched and tightly tucked sheets of a hospital' bed. 'She's all right,' repeated Wield. If Wieldy said it, then it must be true. And he knew he'd be eternally grateful to the sergeant for knowing the one question his disfunctional tongue had wanted to ask. He closed his eyes again. Next time he opened them, Pascoe was there. The DCI called a nurse who helped him raise his head, which he only now realized was heavily bandaged, and gave him water. 'Thanks,' he gasped. 'My throat was dry as a screech owl's crotch.' Vulture's, he meant. But it was coming back. The nurse said to Pascoe, 'Don't overtire him. Don't let him move too much. I'll let the doctor know he's awake.' Hey, I'm not only awake, I'm here! thought Hat. But he was too weak in body and will to protest. 'Where . .. ? How long... ?' he croaked. Pascoe said, 'You're in the Central Hospital. You've been here for eleven days.' 'Eleven .. . ? I've been out of it for eleven days?' Eleven days was worrying. Eleven days was a huge step on the way to brain death. Pascoe smiled. 'It's all right. Mr Dalziel allows a fortnight before he tells them to switch everything off. In any case, you were never comatose. But you do have a depressed skull fracture and there was pressure on the brain. It's OK. They've got you sorted. You'll be able to do The Times crossword again.' 'Never could before,' said Hat. Then thought, Christ! don't relapse into plucky little trooper mode, you're fucking terrified! He said, 'You're not bullshitting me, sir? I mean, eleven days.. .' Pascoe said, 'Relax. The reason you've been out of it so long is mainly because of the sedation. Trouble was, whenever you did wake up, you were so confused that they were worried you'd do even more damage to yourself.' 'Confused?' 'Delirious, if you like. Thrashing around like you were in a mud-bath with Sharon Stone.' Sharon Stone? thought Hat. No thanks, I'll pick my own fantasies.