Death dap-20

by Reginald Hill

  Also, as she had confessed to Hat (causing the young man some perturbation of spirit), there was something sort of sexy about Dalziel, in a non-sexy sort of way. Observing the DC's bewilderment, she had added, 'I don't want to shag him, you understand, but I can see how it might be that he's not short of offers.'

  Hat, who had often joined in lewd canteen speculation about the geophysics of the Fat Man's relationship with his inamorata, the not insubstantial Cap Marvell, found himself looking at things from a new viewpoint. Rye often had this effect on him – this was one of the pleasures, and the perils, of getting close to her – but no previous change of angle had been so disorientating as having to regard Andy Dalziel as a sex object rather than a performing whale. Thank God she had put in the disclaimer about not fancying him herself. Even the imagined prospect of such a rival quite unmanned him.

  Knowing nothing of the food for thought he'd given the young couple, and careless of it had he known, Dalziel returned the smile and said, 'Nice to see you too, lass. What fettle? Tha's looking well. Helping young Bowler convalesce must be doing you good.'

  Did his eyes twinkle salaciously as he said it? Rye didn't mind if they did, being as indifferent to his speculations as he would have been to hers.

  'Yes, he's coming along very nicely. You'll have him back later this week, I gather.'

  'That's right. Can't wait, from the look of him. He even popped in for a chat yesterday afternoon, just to get the feel of things. That's what brings me here today, summat he said. Not that I need an excuse to want to see you, but.'

  He spoke flirtatiously. He'd decided that there was no way to the subject of her burglary save head on. But like in his rugby-playing days, no harm in a gently distracting shimmer of the hips before you ran straight through the bugger standing in your way.

  'He told you about the break-in then’ she said, undistracted.

  'You don't seem surprised. Didn't you tell him you didn't want to make a thing of it?'

  'I heard he'd been asking my neighbours questions. Didn't think it would stop there.'

  'You were right. It was his duty to report it in, and he's a good cop,' said Dalziel sternly. Then he added with a grin, 'And likely he also got to thinking if he said nowt, then you got murdered in your bed and he mentioned casually that your place had been turned over a few days back, I'd have sent him to join you.'

  'I'm sure you'd have meant it as a kindness. All right. Some idiot got into my flat, left it looking a bit untidy, but nothing damaged and nothing taken. I couldn't see the point of pouring oil on dying embers by letting you lot really mess the place up with fingerprint powder all over the place and God knows what else. I've had enough of questions, statements and creaking bureaucracy in recent times to last me a lifetime!'

  'Aye, it's a slow grinding mill, ours, and everyone ends up a bit ground down.'

  'Doesn't show on you, Superintendent’ she said.

  He laughed and said, 'Nay, I'm part of the machinery. And once I'm set in motion, I've got to clank on till I run down. Any chance of a coffee?'

  'Any chance of me saying no? No. Come on through then.'

  He went behind the reception desk and followed her into the office.

  It was the first time he'd been in here since he'd supervised the search which followed Dick Dee's death. They'd found nothing here or in the man's flat which added much to the case for the Head of Reference being the Wordman, but it hadn't mattered. In retrospect such a long trail of evidence, albeit mainly circumstantial, led to his door that CID had had to field a lot of hostile questioning about how many people had died because they couldn't see what lay under their noses.

  Things had changed considerably.

  The paintings and photographs of great lexicographers which had darkened the walls had been replaced by some vapid watercolours of Yorkshire beauty spots and the plaster had been given a coat of paint. The furniture too was new, or at least new in here, probably a straight swap with another municipal office organized by someone sensitive enough to guess that Rye might not be too happy to feel that she was sitting on a seat polished by the buttocks of the man who'd tried to kill her.

  'Nice’ he said, looking around. 'Lot brighter.'

  'Yes. He's still here though.'

  'You reckon? That bother you?'

  She shook her head.

  'No’ she said. 'They asked me that, not directly of course, but they wanted to move me. And I said no, this was where I wanted to be. You see, I always liked Dick. He was kind to me. Except… yeah, well. Except. Maybe if I'd never gone out to the tarn that day… Maybes, eh? But here in the library, I always remember him as a good friend.'

  She busied herself making coffee, but he could see her dark eyes brimming with tears.

  Dalziel said, 'He had to be stopped. What happened to you stopped him. Nowt to feel guilty about, luv. But I know how you feel. Couple of times I've had to send someone down that I'd rather not have done. Only a couple of times, you understand. Mainly I'm happy to kick 'em down the dungeon steps and slam the door behind them. But with these two, I sometimes think that if mebbe I'd. done summat a bit different, mebbe looked the other way, I wouldn't have had to… Aye, mebbe's not a spot you want to spend a winter's night in. I'll take mine black’

  Rye finished making the coffee and by the time she set a mug in front of him, she was back in control.

  'So apart from the fact that I'm a recovered victim and one of your work-slaves' bit of fluff, how come I'm getting the special treatment over a minor crime? From what I've heard, you're stretched enough trying to deal with major ones!'

  'We're never so stretched that we can't find time to spread a little comfort and light’ said Dalziel. 'Listen, I reckon I can talk to you straight. Being a victim and surviving doesn't just get you tea, sympathy and congratulation. It can also get you a lot of unwelcome attention from all sorts of weirdos. There's lunatics out there who work out that having been attacked once means you've probably got a taste for it. Or that it's up to them to finish a job half done. Or they just get a kick out of thinking that, because you've been scared shitless once, you're really going to freak out when it happens a second time’

  Rye had frozen with her mug poised a couple of inches from her mouth.

  'This is comfort and light?' she said. 'What do you do when you bring bad news? Shove a severed leg through the letter box and yell, "There's been a bit of an accident, luv!"'

  'You prefer round the houses, I'll send DCI Pascoe’ said Dalziel. 'I'm not done yet. They're the freaks and I'm glad to say there's not a lot of them around. But there's another bunch. Them as reckon you're not the victim at all but some other bugger is, someone who's either been jailed or in your case killed. They reckon that what's happened to this other bugger is your fault. Stands to reason, don't it? You're alive and he's dead. Sick proboscis’

  Rye interpreted this as sic probg but was wise enough not to test whether the variation was ironic or ignorant.

  She said, 'Is this other bunch a large bunch or do you have someone specific in mind?'

  'More than my job's worth to put names in your mouth’ said Dalziel virtuously. 'But you mention a name and it 'ud be my duty to look into it’

  He liked the way she didn't hesitate.

  'Charley Penn’ she said. That's who we're sniffing around here, isn't it? Two of my neighbours saw him, or someone who fits his description, but you know that. Well, I'll talk about him, but let's get one thing clear. I am not putting in a complaint about him. And I'll deny all knowledge of this conversation if you try to make this official.'

  'What about this tape recorder I've got strapped to my groin?' said Dalziel.

  'Here's me thinking you were just glad to see me’ she said boldly.

  He laughed and said, 'You've been keeping bad company, lass. So, unofficially, tell me about Charley.'

  'What's to tell? He can't get his head round finding out that his old schoolmate and best buddy was a serial killer. End of story.'

&nbs
p; 'End of opening para,' said Dalziel. 'What's he said to you?'

  'Not much directly. Just sits out there and glowers. I feel his eyes on me all the time.'

  ‘That all? Didn't he used to send you. poems or summat?'

  'Sort of, in the old days… I mean, before all this happened. Thing was, he used to fancy me. At least I think he did, or maybe it was just some silly game he got off on. Anyway, you know these German poems he's been working on for the past thousand years or so?'

  'Heinkel,' said Dalziel.

  'Heine. He'd leave the odd love poem lying around where he knew I'd find it. He'd pretend it was accidental, but in that leering way he has which made it clear it wasn't.'

  'Can't blame the bugger for trying,' said Dalziel.

  'Can't you? All right, it wasn't major harassment, but it became irritating and I might have said something if he hadn't been… if. ..'

  'If he hadn't been such a mate of Dee's,' completed Dalziel. 'But he's not been sending you these billy-doos since Dee snuffed it?'

  'No, at least I'm spared that. Though maybe it was better having him leering at me lecherously than glaring at me as if he'd like to

  … I don't know what.'

  'So you feel threatened, then your flat gets broken into, and there's a message on your computer which is a straight link to Heinz

  'Heine. You work that out for yourself, or did your pet bloodhound sniff it out?'

  Dalziel said gravely, 'Listen, luv, sometimes what a cop needs to do 'cos he's a trained sniffer dog and what he needs to do 'cos he's a love-sick puppy turns out to be one and the same thing. What you grinning at?'

  ‘Trying to see you as a love-sick puppy, Superintendent.'

  'I like my tummy scratched as well as the next man’ said Dalziel. 'Just takes a stronger woman, that's all. Point I'm making is, in this case it weren't a matter of professional versus personal. Brains and bollocks, they all told young Bowler he had to have a word. Now that's sorted, let's get back to onions. Charley Penn's scaring you, the break-in suggests a link with Charley, why aren't you screaming for police protection?'

  She ran her fingers through her thick brown hair so that the silver blaze rippled like a fish in a peaty stream.

  'I don't know’ she said unhappily. 'I suppose I wanted it to be all over, you know, draw a line and say, that's it, new start. They wanted me to have counselling, all that crap, but I said no. Watching Hat get better, and helping him, that was like a kind of surrogate healing for me. And this weekend we've just had, well, it was great. I felt really happy. Then we got back and I saw the flat and I didn't want to let it register, I suppose. I just wanted to tidy up and carry on like nothing had happened.'

  'I can understand that. How do you feel now? Ready to make it official?'

  She laughed and said, 'You don't give up, do you? All right. I'll make it official my flat was broken into. But I'm not pointing a finger. You want to talk to Penn, that's up to you. He was in his usual spot earlier, but I expect he's gone down to Hal's for a coffee.'

  'Aye, he has. That's where I saw him on my way in.'

  She stared at him assessingly then said, 'You've spoken to him already, haven't you? All this stuff about needing me to give the go-ahead was bollocks!'

  'Nay, lass,' said Dalziel soothingly. 'I had an unofficial word, that's true. All you've done is make it official. It's just a question of labels. Talking of which, you didn't come into work on Friday carrying a suitcase with a lot of labels on, did you?'

  'Sorry?'

  'You went off for the weekend Friday evening with young Bowler, right?'

  'That's right. But I went home first to pick up my bag then drove round to Hat's.'

  'Anyone shouting "Enjoy your weekend away! Give him one for me!" as you left?'

  'I don't remember, might have done.'

  'And was Penn in the library on Friday?'

  'Ah.' She had got his drift. She frowned and said, 'Yes, he was. But I can't swear that anything was said then that indicated I was going to be out of my flat till Monday. Will you want to look around now it's official?'

  'Your flat? Not worth it if you've cleaned it up. You might think about improving your security, but. talking of which, I'm glad to see they're spending a bit of money on a decent system to protect their staff round here. Better late than never, eh?'

  The absence of a decent security system in the Centre had been one of the obstacles to an early solution of the Wordman case. By an irony not unremarked by his civic colleagues, Stuffer Steel had been the man mainly responsible for the penny-pinching approach which had led to the installation of the Centre's original bog-standard basic CCTV system.

  'I don't think it's their staff they're worried about,' said Rye. 'Heritage is displaying the Elsecar Hoard next month, and it was a condition of getting it that our security was right up to date.'

  'Poor old Stuffer must be spinning in his grave,' said Dalziel.

  Councillor Steel, when news of the controversy about the Hoard first hit the headlines, had opined that the remaining Elsecars should be sent down the mines (if a mine could be found for them to be sent down) and their Hoard sold and the money distributed among the poor and oppressed of Yorkshire.

  Andy Dalziel, no great lover of the councillor, for once agreed with him.

  'Yes, I suppose he must,' said Rye.

  There were tears in her eyes again and Dalziel cursed himself for his insensitivity.

  He said, 'Better be off now. Take care, lass. And don't be too hard on young Bowler. But I'd not be too soft either! Cheers.'

  On his way out of the library, he met Penn coming back in.

  Dalziel took the book out of his pocket and flourished it.

  'Nice one, Charley’ he said. 'Can't wait to read it.'

  Penn watched him go, then made his way to his usual place and sat down.

  Rye was back behind the counter.

  Their gazes met, and locked.

  It was Rye who broke off first. She grimaced as if in pain, put her hand to her head, then retreated into the office, kicking the door shut behind her.

  Charley Penn smiled a wintry smile.

  'Gotcha’ he mouthed. Then he turned to his books.

  On Wednesday morning, despite the early hour, the passengers on the overnight flight from New York to Manchester strode into the public arrivals area with the sprightly step of the born-again who'd not only survived six hours trapped in a tin can but had passed through the Green Channel without some fish-eyed customs official attempting to investigate their private parts.

  One, an attractive athletic-looking young woman with a papoose harness tied tightly against her breast so that it didn't impede her from pushing her luggage trolley, scanned the crowd waiting along the barrier eagerly as if in search of a familiar face.

  She didn't find it, but what she did see was a man in a sober grey suit holding up a piece of white card bearing the name carnwath.

  She went to him and said, 'Hi. I'm Meg Carnwath.'

  'Hello,' he said. 'I'm Detective Sergeant Young, Greater Manchester CID.'

  'Oh God. What's happened? Has Oz had an accident…?'

  'No, no, he's fine, really. It's this case he's a witness in… he's told you about it?'

  'Yes, he has. He rang up yesterday to say that it had been put back till this afternoon, but he'd still have plenty of time to meet me and drive me back home.'

  'How'd he sound?'

  'A bit nervous. He said he'd be glad when this first stage was over. After that he thought he'd be OK, like a first night.'

  'Well, he's right to be nervous. We got a whisper there might be an attempt to bring pressure on him via you. Probably nothing in it, but for everyone's sake, it made sense for us to pick you up and keep you nice and safe till Mr Carnwath has given his evidence.'

  'Oh God,' exclaimed the woman, wide-eyed. 'Oz said this guy who killed the girl was pretty heavily connected, but this is like something out of the movies.'

  'We'll try to keep the car chase
s within the legal limit,' said Young, smiling. 'Anyway, even if there was anything to worry about, there isn't now. Here, let me take that.'

  Pushing the trolley he led her out to the waiting car which was a big Mercedes.

  'Well, this is nice,' she said. 'Didn't realize the police were so upmarket.'

  'We didn't want to draw attention,' he said. 'Escort you to a police car and everyone would have you down as a drug smuggler! Besides, you deserve a bit of comfort after being squashed in a plane seat so long. There's a baby harness in the back if you want it.'

  'Later maybe. He yelled all the way across then went out like a light when we landed, so I'll let sleeping dogs lie as long as he stays that way.'

  She climbed in and made soothing clucking noises into the papoose hood while Young put the cases in the boot.

  'Husband not with you this trip?' he said over his shoulder as he drove slowly and carefully through the morning traffic building up around Manchester.

  'Partner. He's coming on later. I wanted to get here early and have some time with my brother, show him his nephew, they've not met yet.'

  ‘That'll be nice’ he said.

  There was a little more desultory conversation, but when the car left the suburbs behind and began to climb eastwards over the Pennines, Young saw in his mirror that the woman's eyes had closed, so he stopped talking and concentrated on driving through a mist which grew thicker as they got higher. After about twenty minutes he turned the car gently down a side road without disturbing his passenger, and some minutes later turned again along a narrow rutted track which the Merc's suspension negotiated without causing more than a restless shifting.