Reginald Hill - Dialogues of the Dead

“But what the fuck does it mean?”

“Hey, man, I’m just the language man, you’re the fucking detectives. But when he says ‘a date I have,’ I take that to mean with his next victim, so 1576 has got to be some kind of pointer.”

“I’m sorry, my history’s pretty lousy,” said Peter Pascoe. “Did anything significant happen in 1576?”

“I expect shit happened, it usually does,” said Urquhart indifferently. “Look, that’s it for me. Unless you’ve got any questions I can answer, I’ve got a lecture to give.”

“I too have promises to keep,” said Pottle. “So unless there is anything else …”

“Else!” echoed Dalziel under his breath but not that far.

Pascoe looked around the room then said, “No that looks like it for now. Again, many many thanks, both. I’ll be in touch. And of course, if anything occurs to you, don’t hesitate to contact me at any time.”

The two academics left. After an uncomfortable moment, the Chief Constable said, “Well, that solves at least one problem, Andy. Now we can get down to all those details of advanced investigative techniques and likely suspects you didn’t want to share with civilians.”

“Right,” said the Fat Man. “Peter?”

Well, thanks a bunch, thought Pascoe.

He said, “Sir, we’re throwing everything at this. Forensic, computer records, plus all the manpower we can muster interviewing everyone who got within half a mile of the library yesterday evening. All the library security tapes and all the tapes from everywhere else in the shopping precinct are being gone over inch by inch. And as you’ve seen with Dr. Pottle and Dr. Urquhart, we’re drawing on every kind of outside help we can think of.”

“Suspects?” said Trimble.

“Yes, sir. Immediately upon establishing that a crime had been committed last night, we sent officers to ascertain the whereabouts and movements of the three men we have in the frame.”

“Who are …?”

Pascoe drew a deep breath and said, “Charley Penn, Franny Roote, Dick Dee.”

The Chief Constable had to know there were no others, yet he still managed to look disappointed.

“I see,” he said. “So after eight deaths your thinking doesn’t take you past this trio whom I understand you have already looked very closely at. Charley Penn, the nearest thing we have in the area to a media celebrity. And Franny Roote, in whom I gather you have a strong personal interest, Mr. Pascoe. And Dick Dee, the man who was instrumental in getting us to take this matter seriously in the first place.”

He raised his eyebrows at Pascoe who felt like saying, “Well, thank you kindly, sir, for pointing out the sodding obvious to us poor dumb detectives. Now why don’t you piss off back to your big office and leave us to get on with our underpaid jobs?”

Instead he said mildly, “The Wordman too is a media celebrity. And I have a strong professional interest in Mr. Roote. As for Dee, fire investigators advise taking a close look at the guy who reports the fire, also the main man on the spot when you arrive.”

Trimble considered this, seemed to spot the subtext, smiled faintly and said, “I do hope we’re not anticipating arson attacks too. Any joy when you checked them out?”

“Nothing positive. But none of them had a firm alibi for the early part of the evening.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose. Though, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve got a firm alibi either.”

Trimble stood up suddenly and the others rose too.

“I won’t keep you back from your work any longer. I don’t need to impress on any of you how urgent it is we bring this business to a rapid and satisfactory conclusion, just as I didn’t need our local Member of Parliament impressing it on me this morning. Andy, be sure to keep me up to speed on progress, won’t you?”

“Anything happens, you’ll be the first to know,” assured the Fat Man.

As the door closed behind the Chief, they all slumped back into their chairs and studied the floor and/or ceiling as if in hope that someone else was going to burst forth with an inspired insight.

Finally Dalziel said, “Nowt for it, we’re going to have to arrest Dan. You heard him say he hadn’t got an alibi. Unless young Bowler can help us out.”

“Sir?”

“Well, you’re sitting there pursing your lips like a cat’s arsehole. It’s either wind or words that are trying to get out. So do we listen or duck?”

“Sorry, sir. I was just looking at that date he wrote on the board-1576. Seems it ought to mean something to me.”

“Oh aye? You got O-level history?”

“I took it,” said Hat evasively.

“Good enough. You bugger off down to the library and check out everything that happened in that year. If you do nowt else, you’ll be letting Dee and likely Charley Penn too know we’ve got the message.”

Doing his best to conceal his delight at being given an excuse to see Rye, Hat made for the door.

But his joy was pricked a little when Dalziel called after him, “And make sure that’s the only date that’s on your mind in yon library. Young women can seriously damage a young detective’s career.”

The Fat Man winked at Pascoe then said, “How about you, Ivor? Owt strike you?”

“Sorry, sir, were you talking to me?” said Novello with a histrionic little start.

It had taken her some time to find out why Dalziel called her Ivor and when she did, she affected an isn’t-it-sad indifference to yet another example of male infantilism. But secretly, particularly after the correct Pascoe’s injunction to all others against using this sobriquet left the Fat Man as its sole source, she had to admit a certain pleasure in being so singled out. After all, when Samuel heard God calling him in the Temple, he didn’t retort sourly, “It’s Mr . Samuel to you.”

“That bullet sent you deaf as well? Christ, you look terrible. Time you went home.”

It occurred to her to suggest that if looking terrible were reason for sending people home, Dalziel and Wield would never leave the house, but of course she didn’t. Truth was she didn’t feel too clever but admitting it in this company wasn’t an option.

“There was something,” she said. “The coin in Bird’s mouth. But there wasn’t one in Follows. Maybe the Wordman didn’t mind Bird getting over the Styx to heaven, but disliked Follows so much, he wanted to keep on hurting him beyond the grave.”

Pascoe nodded approvingly. The smart bastard’s been there already, thought Novello, but doesn’t reckon there’s much in it.

The smart bastard said, “It’s a thought, though of course we should be careful not to confuse the classical underworld with a Christian heaven. And it still leaves us with the problem of the dollar sign.”

“The almighty dollar, maybe?” suggested Novello. “Could be the Wordman thinks that hell is something like America.”

Pascoe grinned, showing real amusement. Made a nice change from the patronizing encouragement of his smile, thought Novello. Though, paradoxically, she felt encouraged enough to add, “I’ve got this feeling that while the coin might somehow represent the middle step he refers to, the dollar sign has got a significance to do with the choice of victim. I read through all the Dialogues and there was that other instance of scratching something on the head, Councillor Steel, wasn’t it? Only one step there, so far as we can make out, so what did the scratching mean?”

“RIP in Cyrillic script, wasn’t it?” said Pascoe. “A joke, it looked like, given he was called Cyril. The Wordman likes a joke, particularly if it’s to do with words.”

“Yes, sir. That’s something we shouldn’t forget, isn’t it? We should never lose sight of the words, any words, when we’re dealing with the Wordman. I mean, words aren’t just useful labels. Like in religion, when you speak certain words, things happen or are supposed to happen. Magic too. Or in some cultures, you don’t tell people your special name because names are more than labels, they are actually you in a special way. I’m sorry, I’m not putting this very well. What I’m saying is that words, maybe a special arrangement of words, seem to have a special significance to the Wordman, each word marks a step forward, and sometimes he can link separate words to individuals and then they get killed, but maybe sometimes he links more than one word to an individual and then we get only one corpse but a trinity of steps, like he says in the Dialogue where he describes killing Lord Pyke-Strengler.”