331 savage teeth, like the jaws of a mechanical digger about to seize and uproot a tree. Pascoe was long acquainted with the Fat Man and all his winning ways and his mind had whipped, computer quick, through a wide selection of possible scenarios and opted for the one which-made most sense. The Fat Man was telling Wingate he knew that he'd been banging Jax Ripley and was offering him the simple choice all detectives at some time offer most criminals - bubble or be bubbled. Wingate's mind clearly moved as fast, or even faster as he had also to work out the best response. Not that there was much real alternative. He caved in instantly but to do him justice he caved in with style, turning back to Pascoe and saying with a good shot at urbanity, 'Where were we? Oh yes, you were asking me about my schooldays. And Dee and Penn. Now let me see what I can recall...'
It wasn't a very edifying story, but then the behaviour of schoolboys rarely has much to do with edification. Penn and Dee had arrived at Unthank on the same day without previous acquaintance but soon found themselves thrown together by a common cause, survival. Unlike the majority of pupils whose parents paid the school's fees, they were scholarship kids, known to the fee-payers as 'skulks', who were admitted under a system by which, in return for a modicum of support from the public exchequer, the college undertook to educate three or four scions of the commonalty each ^ year. Schoolchildren love elected victims - the strong to have a legitimate target for their strength, the weak to help divert persecution from themselves. Most victims, said Wingate, were localized by year, first-year skulks suffering at the hands of first-year bullies and so on. But some became a general target, usually because of some particularly distinguishing feature, like colour or a speech impediment. 'Penn got singled out when we found out he was German,' said Wingate. 'His first name is Karl, not Charles, which was pretty suspicious. Then someone saw his mother when she visited the school, a large lady, very blonde who spoke with a heavy Germanic accent. His father's real name, we soon found out, had been Penck, Ludwig Penck, which he'd changed to Penn when he got naturalized. I heard later that they'd got out of East Berlin when the Wall went up and kept going to the UK because Penck had an uncle here who'd been a p.o.w. in Yorkshire and stayed on after the war. Penck would have been sent back to West Germany, but his uncle was working on the estate of Lord Partridge, looking after his horses. Partridge was a Tory MP then, in the Cabinet, and he quickly took up the Pencks' cause. With old Macmillan in charge, liberal credentials could still do a Tory a bit of good back then, not like the present bunch where you need to kick two foreigners before breakfast to establish you're the right stuff. So he got permission to stay plus a job. Good heart-warming stuff, but of course at school no one was much interested in the political background, except maybe to think that if anyone had been persecuted once that was very good reason to persecute them again!' ''Kraut,' said Hat suddenly, his first contribution to the conversation.
They all looked at him. 'I heard Dee call Mr Penn Kraut,' he explained. 'That's right, that's what he used to be called at school. Karl the Kraut,' said Wingate. 'And he called Mr Dee something back ... it sounded like whoresonY 'It would have been. Karl the Kraut and Orson the Whoreson,' said Wingate. 'Dee's mother came to the school too. Everyone was always very interested in everyone else's parents. Anything you could use to embarrass anyone with was avidly seized upon. Mrs Dee was dead glamorous in a rather flashy way. Miniskirts were in then and she wore one right up to her bum. To add to the poor kid's other troubles, he had this birthmark, a sort of light brown patch of skin running down his belly into his groin. Some bastard suggested it was a symptom of some nasty disease he'd caught from his mother, and christened him Orson the Whoreson.' 'You can always tell a well brought-up boy by his manners,' said Dalziel. 'Why Orson?'
333 'That was one of his names,' said Wingate. 'His mother hadn't done him any favours, had she? I presume she was a movie fan.' 'Sir,' said Hat excitedly, 'you remember when I found . ..' Pascoe shut him up with a glance. The Pascoe glance might lack the Big Bertha impact of Dalziel's facial artillery, yet it had a Medusa-like quality which served just as well. 'So,' said the DCI to Wingate, 'we've got a couple of kids being bullied rotten by their social superiors, what happened next?' 'Let's not make this a class thing,' said Wingate equably. 'OK, they were skulks, but it wasn't just that. You'll find just as much bullying in your local comp. Even at Unthank you didn't have to be a skulk to get picked on. There was another kid Penn and Dee were pretty thick with. Little Johnny Oakeshott. He was no skulk, in fact his family could probably have bought and sold most of the rest of us . . .' 'Any connection with the Oakeshotts out of Beverley?' inter rupted Dalziel. 'Them as own halfHumberside?' 'That's the family,' said Wingate. 'Didn't stop Johnny from getting bullied. He was small, a bit girlish, lovely curly blond hair and the poor kid had a bit of a lisp. And his real name was Sinjon, which didn't help.' 'Sinjon spelt Stjohn?' said Pascoe. 'That's right. He became Johnny when Dee and Penn took him under their wing. Not that that was much protection to start with as the hunt was very much up for them. They were both pretty' small too, not as small as Johnny but small enough to be easy meat. Plus they were both pretty odd in their different ways. And that's what really sets off the bullies.' 'So what happened? Were they bullied all the way through school?' 'Far from it,' said Wingate. 'By the time I was in the fourth ; year and they were in the third, things had changed.' 'They'd started to fit in, you mean?' 'Hardly. But not fitting in isn't the point at school. It's the way you don't fit in. Penn's route to acceptability was the more conventional. He'd shot up and bulked out. He was never a heavy weight, you understand, but when he fought, he fought to kill. When he beat up the boss bully in his class, we all took notice.', When he sorted out the tough guy in my year too, it was universally agreed that Perm was not a suitable target any more.' 'And Dee?' 'Well, first of all he benefited from Penn making it clear that any attack on his mate, Dee, was an attack on himself. But at the same time his oddity developed along lines which entertained rather than alienated his classmates. He was obsessed with words, the more weird and wonderful the better, and he started using these during lessons. It was a marvellous form of piss-taking because the teachers couldn't really complain about it. They either had to admit their ignorance or try to bluff it out. Some of them tried to ignore him when he put his hand up to answer a question but the other kids caught on and made sure that often Dee's was the only hand that went up.' 'In other words, he had to perform to be accepted?' said Pascoe. Wingate shrugged. 'We all find our own ways to survive, at all ages,' he said, glancing at Dalziel. The Fat Man yawned widely. Indeed hippopotamicly, thought Pascoe. If such a word existed. He said, 'How about making up words?' Wingate smiled coldly and said, 'How like the police to know more than they let on. Yes, he did that too, which added a new element to this game he played with the staff who now also ran the risk of pretending to understand a word which didn't even exist. But it wasn't just a case of epater la pedagogic, he used to put these collections of words together into his own personal dictionaries, each one devoted to a special area. I recall there was a European dictionary, and an Ecclesiastic, and an Educational that was quite fun. But the one that really confirmed his status in the adolescent intellectual world was his Erotic dictionary. He had, I seem to recall, over a hundred words related to female genitalia. I don't know whether it was a real word or one of his own, but if you ever hear a man of my age refer to his woman's twilfy-flew, you know he's an old Unthinkable.' 'Ee,' said Wield. 'Eh?' said Wingate. 'All the examples you gave began with an E. European, Educational, Erotic.' 'Oh yes. That was part of the joke. It was our Head of English
335 who started it, I think. He was one member of staff who wasn't at all fazed by Dee's little games. In fact he joined in, often managing to cap him. And it was him that drew attention to the significance of Dee's initials. O.E.D. And after that Dee started finding E-words for all his collections so they could be OED's too. Like Orson's Erotic Dictionary.' 'But where's the Richard?' enquired Pascoe. 'What? Ah, Dick, y
ou mean? No, that was the English master's joke. He started calling him Dictionary Dee, and it stuck. Dick is short for Dictionary. Gerrit?' 'I see,' said Pascoe. He could also see Dalziel yawning again. He said, 'So it was exit Karl and Orson, enter Charley and Dick, right?' 'And enter Johnny too. No more taking the piss out of Sinjon.' 'So now they belonged?' 'They were accepted rather than belonged,' said Wingate judiciously. 'They never let the rest of us forget how we'd once treated them. They started a magazine called The Skulker, only two copies of each edition, one for themselves, one they rented out. It was real samizdat stuff, so outrageously subversive that everyone wanted to read it, even though it was us as much as the staff who were being subverted.' Pascoe recalled his visit to Penn's flat and said, ' "Lonesome's loblance", that mean anything to you?' Wingate looked at him curiously and said, 'You have been doing your research. Lonesome was Mr Pine, Head of Dacre House. Everyone hated him.' : 'Dacre House ... known as Dog House?' guessed Pascoe. 'And , loblance'? Let me guess. One of Dee's names for the male organ?' 'Don't recall it precisely, but it sounds likely.' 'Simpson? Bland?' 'Head Prefect of Dacre and his second-in-command. Dee and Penn's greatest enemies. They had a running battle with them.' 'Who won?' 'It was no contest by the time they got to the Fifths. Dee and Penn were in pretty well total control. From time to time they; would even call each other Kraut and Whoreson very publicly, ;i though no one else dared, of course. It was like they were saying,,; Just because we condescend to coexist with you lot doesn't mean we've ' really got anything in common. We 're still different, and different means better. Anyone care to argue?' 'And did anyone?' 'Occasionally. But by the time Dee had sorted them out verbally and Penn physically, they realized the error of their ways.' 'And little Johnny Oakeshott, did he stay part of the team?' asked Pascoe. 'Johnny? Sorry, didn't I say? He died.' 'Died? Just like that? Christ, I know they're all stiff upper lip, these places, but I'd have thought they took notice of dead kids!' said Dalziel. 'How did he die?' asked Pascoe. 'Drowned. Don't ask me how. There were all kinds of stories but all that ever came out officially was that he'd been found early one morning in the school swimming pool. Midnight bathing was a favourite rule-breaking sport. It was assumed he'd gone in by himself, or joined some group and got left behind. We don't know. Penn and Dee went ballistic. They brought out a special edition of The Skulker. Front page was all black with J'ACCUSE scrawled across it in white.' 'Who did they accuse?' Wingate shrugged. 'Everyone. The system. Life. They claimed to have got in touch with Johnny through a ouija board and promised that all would be revealed in the next edition.' 'And was it?' 'No. Someone told the Head and he came down hard. Told them what they'd written already was enough to get them expelled. Anything more and they'd be finishing their education in a pair of crummy comprehensives, miles apart. That was a clincher. Together they could survive, even prosper. Apart... who knows?' 'So they caved in and conformed?' 'Caved in? Perhaps. Conformed? No way. From that time on, the pair of them refused to have anything at all to do with the formal structures of the school. They never became prefects, refused to accept prizes, had nothing to do with organized sports or any other extra-mural activities. And as far as I know they've never attended any Old Boys' get-together or responded to any Appeal. They went through the sixth form, got university places,
337 did their exams, walked out after the last one, and were never seen at Unthank again.' 'Did they go to the same university?' 'No. They went their separate ways, which surprised a lot of people. Dee went up to John's, Oxford, to read English and Penn went off to Warwick to do modem languages. I meet them both occasionally through my job. We get on fine. But if I ever refer to our schooldays, they look at me blankly. It's as if they've wiped that part of the slate clean. You won't even find any mention of it in Penn's publicity material.' Now Wingate fell silent as if his memories had stirred up stuff he'd sooner have forgotten. After a while Pascoe asked, 'Anything else you can tell us, John?' B 'No, that's it.' 'You sure?' said Dalziel. 'Not holding owt back, are you?' 'No, I'm not,' retorted Wingate angrily. 'If you say so,' said Dalziel. 'But I can't think why you made such a fuss about talking in the first place if that's all you had to say.' 'Oh, there were several reasons, Superintendent,' said Wingate. 'Let me list them if it will make you feel happier and hasten my departure ... First because what I had to say doesn't show me or my fellows in a particularly good light; secondly, because I see no reason why I should retail personal details of people's lives to the police unless I feel they are truly relevant to some matter of importance; and thirdly, as a journalist, I am in the business of collecting rather than dispensing information, unless I feel there is some positive professional quid pro quo.' 'Seems to me secondly and thirdly must sometimes trip over each other,' said Dalziel. 'Any road, you can run along now - so long as you remember that, while it weren't much of a quo, you've had your quid for it. Any mention of owt about this in any of your little programmes and I'll be asking for a refund. Bye now.' 'Goodbye, Superintendent,' said Wingate. Pascoe, trying for a conciliatory tone, said a touch over effusively, 'Thanks a lot, John. That was really most helpful.' The producer looked at him for a long moment then said, 'And goodbye to you too, Detective Chief Inspector.' Bang goes another nearly friend, thought Pascoe. '
338 par When the door had closed behind the departing man, he said to Dalziel, 'So, how did you know about Wingate and Ripley?' 'Lucky guess,' said the Fat Man. 'Not mine. Young Bowler here said summat.' 'Is that so?' said Pascoe, giving the DC a not altogether friendly glance. 'Well, I don't think we'll be getting much cooperation from our local TV station from now on.' 'Nay, I think we'll be getting all the co-operation we ever want,' said Dalziel, grinning sharkishly. 'Shouldn't waste your sympathy there, Pete. Married man who can't control his own loblance has to be a right twilly-flew. Question is, was it worthwhile squeezing his goolies? Did we get owt useful? Young Bowler, you looked like you were wetting your knickers to say summat back there.' 'Yes, sir,' said Hat eagerly. 'Two things really. First, this boy Johnny who drowned, in this game Perm and Dee play, even though it's just for two players, they set up a third tile rack and when I saw them playing - when they called each other Kraut and Whoreson - the letters on this rack were J, 0, H, N, N, and Y. Also, they've both got this photo of the three of them at school, at least I presume the third one's the dead boy.' 'They've got a picture of themselves with a dead boy?' said Dalziel, interested. . 'No, sir. I mean, he wasn't dead when the picture was taken.' 'Pity. Go on.' 'And his real name's St John, and that drawing that came with the First Dialogue, didn't Dee say it was from the Gospel according to Stjohn ...?' He felt himself running out of steam. Dalziel said, 'That your first thing finished then? Let's hope you're working upwards. Next?' 'It just struck me, with Dee's real name being Orson, it made me think of what Councillor Steel said before he died which sounded like rosebud - didn't someone say that was the last word that someone said in that film Citizen whatsit which Orson Welles directed and starred in ... isn't that right... ? I never saw it myself. ..' He looked around hopefully, not for applause but at least a shred of interest.
339 Pascoe gave him an encouraging smile, Wield remained as unreadable as ever, and Dalziel said, 'What's your point, lad; 'It's just the association, sir ... I thought it might be significant.. .' 'Oh aye? I suppose if Stuffer Steel were a film buff, which he weren't, and if he were an old Unthinkable, which he weren't, and if he knew Dee's real first name, which I doubt, then it might come in sniffing distance of significant. Don't cry, lad. At least you're trying. What about you two big strong silent types? Wieldy?' 'This thing about the dead boy sounds a bit odd, but I don't see that it adds up to much,' said the sergeant. 'More than just a bit odd, wouldn't you say?' said Pascoe. 'Mebbe. But it's not something Dee and Penn try to keep hidden, is it? Photo's on display, name on the tile rack which anyone can see. It's what folk want to hide that usually means most. And it seems to me we're getting bogged down in words here, not real stuff.' 'The Wordman is all about words, Wieldy,' said Pascoe gently. 'Aye,
but about words playing around inside him. Seems to me Dee and Penn in their different ways let their words out, don't trap them inside where they might fester.' Dalziel, in face of this unexpected psycho-linguistic analysis, let out an et to Brute sigh and turned to Pascoe. 'Pete, you think we might be on to something here, do you? Makes a change not to hear you badmouthing Franny Roote, who I hear is like to turn out the next Enid Biyton. But it 'ud be nice to know what's really going on in that mazy mind of thine.' 'I don't know .. . it's just that I can't believe that in Dee's case all these coincidences of place and time and opportunity and interest don't add up to something significant.' 'So let's talk to him again. Not you, but. If he is the Wordman, he's a clever bugger with it and he'll have got you sussed by now. You talk to Charley Penn, see if you can shake him on this lads'-night-in alibi. Me, I'll see how Mr Dee reacts to a bit of basic English. Bowler, you come with me.' The, sir?' said Hat unenthusiastically. 'Aye. Any objection? From what I've heard you spend more time round at that library than you do here, so why so shy all of a sudden?' Then the Fat Man let out a derisive laugh. 'Got it. Your bit of stuff, Miss Ribena, thinks a lot of her boss and you're scared it might queer your pitch if she catches you holding him down while I stamp on his goolies! Test of character, lad. She's going to have to choose between you and him some time, might as well force the issue afore you buy the ring. Now let's get some forward progress on this case, right? We've been running across the pitch far too long, lots of fancy footwork but no territorial gain. If this bugger wants to play games with us, let's at least start playing in his half of the field!' Such a rallying cry, probably even more forcibly expressed, might have had some effect on a bunch of muddied oafs playing rugger, thought Pascoe. But none of those present in the CID room seemed fired by it. He said, 'Chief complaining about lack of progress, was he, sir?' 'He knows better,' said Dalziel. 'Though it's evident Loopy Linda's still banging heads in the Home Office. But Desperate Dan's got things closer to home to worry about.' 'Like what?' Dalziel glanced towards the doorway where Hat and Wield stood in deep confabulation. 'Like who's going to make the presentation at George's farewell tonight, me or him.' 'I should have thought, in the circs, it's got to be top man there,' said Pascoe, surprised. 'Much as George loves you, I think he'll be expecting Mr Trimble's honeyed words and firm handshake to accompany the clock or whatever it is we're giving him.' 'Fishing tackle, they tell me,' said Dalziel. 'Well, we'll see.' Wield and Bowler had stopped talking and were looking to Dalziel expectantly. Pascoe had a sense of something unsaid, but if he were right, it was going to stop unsaid, for the time being anyway. 'Can't hang around here all day,' declared the Fat Man. 'Not when there's goolies to stamp on. Come on, lad. We're off to the
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