Dialogues of the Dead

by Reginald Hill

  ^3 'The door opened, the assailant came in. It's only two or three paces across the floor, and with the councillor washing his face, the assailant could have been right up behind him before he looked up and saw him in the mirror. Then it would be too late.' 'Might have made no difference anyway,' said Pascoe. 'You see someone come into a public toilet, you don't think, That guy's going to attack me, not unless he's foaming at the mouth and carrying a bloodstained axe. Something the size of that burin, you wouldn't even notice he had it in his hand.' 'Yes, sir,' said Bowler. 'That was something I've been thinking about. A weapon like that directed against the head, from what I recall of anatomy, you'd have to be very expert or very lucky to kill somebody or even incapacitate them with a single blow.' He paused and Dalziel said impatiently, 'Come on, lad, don't arse about like Sir Peter Quimsby, make your point.' 'Well, it might make sense if we assume this was unpremedi tated, I mean, like someone wandered in here who just happened to have a burin in his hand and he saw Steel stooping down and thought, Hello, I think Vll have a stab at him. But our perp didn't just happen to have a burin, he had to steal it. That was risky in itself. I mean, who knows, by the time we interview everybody who was in the gallery, we might find somebody who saw something suspicious around Jude Illingworth's display, not suspicious enough to cry, Stop thief! but something they recall when we start asking questions.' 'Perhaps he didn't steal it as a weapon but for some other reason,' said Pascoe. 'And it just came in handy when he suddenly decided to attack Councillor Steel.' 'Yes, sir, possibly, though on a scale of improbabilities, I'd say ... not that I mean it's not possible, only...' 'Nay, we don't stand on ceremony in murder investigations,' interrupted Dalziel. 'If you think the DCI's talking crap, just spit it out.' 'I wouldn't quite say that...' 'Well, I would. I think you've got the right of it, lad. Chummy made up his mind to stiff old Stuffer, he wanted a weapon and the burin was the best he could come up with in a hurry.' 'Which would mean it was premeditated, but not all that much pre,' said Bowler. 'Something must have happened at the preview to make it necessary to kill the councillor.' 'You mean like someone saw him eating for the first time and got to worrying about kids starving in Ethiopia?' said Dalziel. 'Or maybe it was something he said,' interposed Pascoe, feeling sidelined by this unexpected rapprochement between the Fat Man and Bowler. 'The councillor was a great one for stirring things up, as we know to our cost.' 'Aye, happen it's a good job we're investigating this,' said Dalziel. 'I mean, with Jax the Ripper and Stuffer being shuffled off in quick succession, if you start looking for someone with a motive for shutting them up, I reckon we'd come high up the list.' Pascoe glanced at Bowler, recalling his recent lecture on making illogical connections and said, 'You're not really suggesting there could be a connection with the Wordman here?' 'Wash your mouth out, lad!' exploded Dalziel. 'Yon daft business is the kind of thing that gets CID a bad name. No, with a bit of luck, what we've got here is a good old straightforward killing, and once we've interviewed all the preview guests, we'll have it all tied up, neat and tidy, afore Match of the Day.'

  But for once Dalziel's prognostication was wrong. By mid-evening all the guests had been tracked down and interviewed. None of them had noticed anything suspicious in regard to the theft of the burin. Councillor Steel's conversation, though as full as ever of complaint and accusation, did not seem to have broken any new ground. The nearest thing to an altercation was Charley Penn's annoyance at Steel's efforts to shut down his literature group. But, as the novelist pointed out, if you took that as a motive, then everyone employed in the HAL Centre must be suspect as the councillor proposed to make half of them redundant and slash the salaries of the rest. Mary Agnew recalled descending the stairs from the gallery with him, during which short interlude she got a quick-fire summary of her newspaper's major failings. On reaching the mezzanine, he'd said, 'Got to spend a penny,' and turned away, presumably towards the men's toilet. She hadn't noticed anyone else going after him.

  W Pressure applied by Dalziel to the Chief Constable had been passed on and a preliminary post mortem report was available by early evening. It stated that Steel had died as a result of a single blow from the burin, (now confirmed as the murder weapon by Forensic), which had cut right through to the medulla and pons of the brainstem, and had been, as Bowler had said, either very lucky or very expert. The burin had been wiped clean of prints. Andy Dalziel read the report, said, 'Sod it,' and went home. He checked his phone for messages. There was just one, from Cap Marvell. She regretted again the ruining of their planned afternoon by Steel's untimely death and would have been happy to sit around like Marianna of the moated grange had she not received an invite from- some old radical chums to go out on the bevvy and maybe check out the latest Full Monty act at Jock the Cock's Nite Spot. Dalziel sighed. He could not fault the wisdom of her choice, but he missed her. On the other hand, left to his own devices, there were certain refined pleasures a man could enjoy without fear of comment or complaint. He went into the kitchen, emerging a few moments later equipped with what he thought of as The Four Last Things, viz a fork, a jar of pickled herring, a half-pint mug and a bottle of Highland Park. He poured the fourth into the third, plunged the first into the second and settled back to enjoy Match of the Day which was a poor substitute for a real game like rugby football, but Manchester United were playing Leeds, so the violence factor ought to come close. Two yellow cards later the phone rang. 'Yes!' he bellowed. 'It's me,' said Pascoe. 'Oh shit.' 'That's a pretty fair description,' said Pascoe. 'Security man at the Centre doing a sweep heard the main letter box rattle and when he checked he found an envelope marked 'Reference Lib rary'. Normally he'd have left it, but because of the murder, they're very much on the qui vive, and he reported to his Control and they got on to the factory.' 'And you were still there?' said Dalziel. 'What's up? Ellie locked you out?' 'No, sir. I was at home. Seymour rang me. I think he didn't want to disturb you . ..' 'Glad there's someone who's got some consideration. All right, lad, the music's stopped, the parcel's in my lap. Tell me I'm guessing wrong.' 'Doubt it,' said Pascoe. 'You know you were hoping the Steel case would turn out a nice straightforward murder? Forget it. The envelope contained a Fourth Dialogue. Looks like the Wordman has uttered again.' There was silence, then a great anguished cry. 'Sir? You there? You OK, sir?' 'No, I'm bloody well not,' said Dalziel. 'First you tell me my unfavourite loony's still at it, then, to cap it all, Man. United have just scored!'

  W Chapter Seventeen

  Murder investigation is the conventional peak of detective work, but Hat Bowler was beginning to discover how much it could snarl up your social life. Any vague hope he had of being able to keep his Sunday date vanished with the discovery of the Fourth Dialogue. He'd seen Rye briefly the previous afternoon after she'd made her statement and had tried to sound optimistic, but she'd looked at him sceptically and given him her home number in case there were problems and on Sunday morning, for the second week in succession he rang her to cancel. She listened to his apologies for a while then cut in, 'Hey, no big deal. Another time maybe.' 'You don't sound very disappointed,' he said accusingly. 'Disappointed? If you listen hard, you can probably hear the rain lashing against my bedroom window, and you want me to be disappointed I'm not getting up to spend most of the day dripping wet looking for so-called dumb creatures who have probably got sense enough to stay cosily tucked up in their burrows?' 'Nests. Are you saying you're still in bed?' 'Certainly. It's my day off even if it's not yours. Hello? You still there? You're not fantasizing about me, I hope?' 'Of course not. I'm a cop. We have our imaginations surgically removed. But we get issued with surveillance equipment instead, so no need for fantasies.' 'You mean you've got me under observation? OK, what am I doing now?' He thought for a while. This was fan, but he didn't want to ruin things by going too far too fast, even verbally. 'Scratching your nose?' he said cautiously. She giggled and said huskily, 'Nearly right. So how's the case going? Are we all still suspects?' It had been Rye who had pointed out the obvious to him on Saturday a
fternoon when he'd apologized for the time she'd spent being questioned as a possible witness. 'And suspect,' she'd added. 'Don't sell us short. Everyone who was at the preview and left before or at the same time as Councillor Steel is a potential suspect. My money's on Percy Follows.' 'Why's that?' 'Because I understand he's used to assaulting men with a very small weapon.' He'd regarded her gravely and said, 'You should have joined the police too.' 'Because of my insights?' 'No. Because you know how to avoid letting the nastiness of things get to you by making bad jokes.' Even as he spoke he thought, You pompous twit! She's going to love you for coming over all righteous on her. But her reaction was worse than indignation. Her eyes filled with tears and she said, 'I'm sorry ... I was only trying not to...' Which was when he'd put his arms around her and pulled her close and was prevented, or perhaps saved, from discovering whether this was their first embrace or just a comforting hug by Sergeant Wield's dry cough and drier voice, saying, 'When you've quite finished with that witness, Detective Constable Bowler...' Now he said, 'Of course you're all still suspects. Which is why I intend to keep you under close personal surveillance. Listen, I'll be in touch. Let's forget the Stangdale trip, maybe we can do a movie or something...' 'Like The Birds, you mean? Sorry. Yes, that would be nice too, but I'm a woman of my word. I said I'd twitch with you and twitch I will. Next week OK? 'Yes, if you're sure. I mean, that's great. And we'll go back to making it a whole day, OK? I'll provide a picnic.' 'Don't get carried away. Fine, that's fixed. Ring me. Now you get on with keeping society safe for decent folk and I'll get back to scratching my, nose. Bye.' He switched off his phone, scratched his nose, and smiled. He'd always found the idea of telephone sex a turn-off, but the way

  149 he felt now, maybe there was something in it. His relationship with Rye had certainly taken a step forward; though he could see it being knocked a couple of long steps back when she realized he'd kept stumm about the Fourth Dialogue. The temptation to tell her had been strong but, over the phone at least, not as strong as Sergeant Wield's prohibition on spreading the news. 'Keep this to yourself,' Wield had said. 'As far as the world's concerned, Councillor Steel's death is an isolated incident until the super decides different. And you want the super to feel you're reliable, don't you? Especially around young women.' Hat had thought of arguing that as Rye Pomona had been instrumental in bringing them into contact with the Wordman, she had a right to know, but it wasn't an argument he felt he could sustain in face of those louring features. So instead he said, 'Any reason why the super shouldn't think I'm reliable, Sarge?' 'I think,' said Wield carefully, 'he felt you might have got a bit close to Jax Ripley.' He watched the youngster's face closely, saw puzzlement bubble to understanding then boil into indignation. 'You mean all that stuff she did about us falling down on the job, Mr Dalziel thought she was getting inside info from me? . Jesus, Sarge, nearly every time I saw her, we got in a row about those programmes. OK, so we stayed friends, sort of, but we both knew we were just using each other. I might have done the odd trade-off with her - I'll show you mine if you show me yours but if she had a real deep-throat in the Force, it certainly wasn't me!' Wield noted but did not comment on the sexual imagery used in the denial. Though unsusceptible to such things himself, he was perfectly aware when a woman was turning up the heat in his direction, and he'd got a good warm blast on the couple of occasions he'd met the TV reporter. If, and he tended to believe him, Bowler hadn't succumbed beyond the point of professional discretion, then it said much for the young man's self-control. 'Do you think I should say something to the super?' Bowler had asked in some agitation. 'I shouldn't,' said Wield. 'Denial afore you're asked is as good as an admission in our game. He seemed quite pleased with the way you handled yourself yesterday. So forget it. The future's what matters, not the past. But be warned. You see a reporter, you run a mile.' That would mean taking up the marathon, thought Hat. The media interest in Ripley's murder had been vast and though there was as yet no official acknowledgement of a link with Steele's death, they were close enough in time and location for the bloodhounds to be sniffing the air once more and sending up their howls of speculation. Privately Hat thought Dalziel's notion of keeping quiet about the Fourth Dialogue was stupid, but not as stupid as giving any hint of what he thought. 'Yes, Sarge. So what's the state of play at the moment? Any other developments?' 'Well, there's a meeting in the super's office at ten. It's the DCI's idea. The Great Consult, he calls it.' 'What's that mean?' 'Something about all the devils getting together to decide how to get out of hell. Mr Pascoe sometimes lets himself go a bit poetic when things get tough,' said Wield indulgently. 'Any road, he's persuaded the super that it's time to call on some outside expertise, like Dr Pottle, the shrink, and some language expert from the university.' 'Jesus, things must be bad!' exclaimed Hat, who knew how the Fat Man felt about what he usually referred to as arty-forty crop-merchants. 'You're right. We're really scraping the barrel. You're invited.' The?' Exhilaration fought with apprehension at the news. 'Aye. So get yourself right up to speed. But first you'd best go and ring that lass from the library and tell her you'll definitely not be coming out to play today.' As he began to dial Rye's number, Hat had wondered how the hell Wield knew he had a date with Rye. But by the time he'd pressed the final digit, he'd worked out that the sergeant must have overheard all of the conversation before the hug which might have turned into an embrace. That sod misses nothing, he thought, half admiringly, half resentfully. But I'm a lot prettier!

  I5I Half seemed a good measure and he decided he'd take only half of Wield's advice. He wouldn't say anything to the Fat Man about his unjust suspicions but he wouldn't forget them either. He knew he was innocent, which meant some other bugger wasn't and he didn't see why he should go through his career with this question mark against his name in Dalziel's book of remembrance. Meanwhile, he was determined to build on the good impression he seemed to have made on the super yesterday. Being invited to join the Holy Trinity at this Great Consult was a large step. He recalled the pangs of envy he'd felt on earlier occasions when he'd seen DC Shirley Novello, who wasn't that much senior, being admitted more and more to the inner triangle. Novello was still on sick leave after taking a bullet in the course of duty a couple of months before. Any hopes Bowler had had of filling the gap had soon been squashed, leaving him disappointed and puzzled till Wield had made things clear. Now he had his chance to shine and he wasn't going to miss out. He spent the hour's grace he had going through witness state ments. As every guest at the preview had been interviewed, there wasn't time to read them all. Fortunately, with typical efficiency Sergeant Wield had already collated these under several head ings with cross-references. The largest group was those who left the preview and the Centre more than ten minutes before the councillor's departure and also gave negative responses to the key questions - Did you talk to Councillor Steel or overhear him talking to anyone else? Did you observe anyone behaving oddly in the vicinity ofjude Illingworth '$ engraving demonstration? A note had been added in Pascoe's boyish scrawl. / don't think the killer would risk lying about the time of his departure though it is of course possible that he left earlier then waited for the councillor's departure. As for answering the two questions, I think it unlikely the killer would give a negative response to both, partly because I reckon that he probably did talk to Steel, but mainly because I doubt that someone as wordy as the Wordman could bear to say nothing. Clever sod, thought Hat. Though it was well to remember that the Wordman was a clever sod too. But it helped him choose what to look at and what to shove aside for later examination. He turned his attention to those who had something to report about the councillor and/or thought they'd noticed something at the demonstration. He rapidly came to the conclusion that most of the reports of odd behaviour were motivated either by an over-eagerness to help or by a simple longing for importance. None of the professional observers there, i.e. himself, Wield, Pascoe, and the super, contributed anything, which might or might not be significant. Five witnesses recalled that when
they were watching the engraver at work, a nearby table had been jostled and a couple of glasses had fallen to the floor, which could have been a deliberate diversion. Unfortunately, none of them had a distinct memory of who was in the vicinity at the time; indeed only one of them could recall the presence of any of the others. Stutter Steel had made rather more impression, though much of the recollection centred on the amount of food he managed to put away. Reports of his actual conversation suggested a preoccupation with two themes. The first was that most of the art on display was a load of crap and spending public money on displaying it was a scandal and he'd be proposing a motion of censure on the Finance Committee at the next council meeting. The second was thatjax Ripley's death had fallen very fortuitously for the Mid-Yorkshire police whose extravagances and inefficiencies she was, with his assistance, in the midst of exposing. Mary Agnew in particular had got an earful, as had Sammy Ruddlesdin, and John Wingate from BBC MY. Several witnesses reported that Wingate had interrupted Steel after a while and there had been a heated exchange, ending with the TV man walking away. Wingate himself gave a full account of this, saying that he'd got pissed off with listening to the councillor rattle on as if the only important thing about Jax Ripley's death had been its effect on Steel's campaigning. This was an understandable reaction from a colleague of the dead woman, but Bowler recalled his own speculation when getting a statement from Wingate after the murder that there might have been a more than professional relationship between the two of them. He made a note and read on, concentrating on those who'd left round about the same time as the councillor. Wield had already done the groundwork here also, producing a neat graph showing who was where at what time. A copy of Hat's own