Dialogues of the Dead

20J opposed to women priests, Loopy Linda, as even the Tory tabloids called her, was not the kind of relative a trendy left-wing academic would care to admit to. And she was certainly not the kind of crime victim's next of kin an investigator under pressure wanted knocking at his door. 'As if things weren't bad enough with Desperate Clan and all the tabloids on my back,' groaned Dalziel, 'now I'm going to have Loopy Linda sitting on my face.' Pascoe tried turning the words into a picture but its grotesqueries required a Cruikshank or a Scarfe. But at least the entrance of Loopy Linda on the scene had the good effect of ending the Fat Man's brief flirtation with the role of Wise Old Sensible Cop. 'Right, Pete, I'm converted,' he declared, pushing himself to his feet. 'Whatever that bastard Roote's guilty of, let's start pulling out his fingernails till he confesses!' But this pleasant prospect had to be postponed till the following day as, whatever Roote's real state of mind, he had convinced the medics that he was too distraught to be questioned.

There was no doubt about the genuineness of Ellie Pascoe's distraction when she heard the news ofjohnson's death. She went out into the garden where, despite the chill evening air, she stood unmoving under the skeletal ornamental cherry tree for almost half an hour. Her rangily athletic frame seemed somehow to have lost its old elasticity and Pascoe, watching through the trench window was shocked to find himself for the first time thinking of that lithe body he knew so well as frail. Rosie, his young daughter, came to his side and asked, 'What's Mum doing?' 'Nothing. She just wants to be alone for a bit,' said Pascoe lightly, concerned not to let adult distress spill over into the child's world, but Rosie seemed to take this desire for solitude as entirely natural and said, 'I expect she'll come in if it starts raining,' then went off in search of her beloved dog. 'Sorry,' said Ellie when she returned. 'I just had to get my head round it. Not that I have. Oh God, poor Sam. Coming here to make a new start, then this . ..' 'New start?' said Pascoe. 'Yes. It was pretty much a sideways move, you know. He'd had ... a loss back in Sheffield, it seems, and just wanted to get away, and this job came up unexpectedly, so he applied, got it, then took off abroad for the summer. That's how they landed him with this creative writing thing. That should really have been a separate post but he wasn't in a state to argue and naturally the bastards took advantage .. .' 'Hang on,' said Pascoe. 'This loss . .. you never said anything about this and I never heard Sam mention it.' The neither,' admitted Ellie. 'It was just gossip, you know what they're like at the Uni, bunch of old women ...' On another occasion this combination of ageism and sexism from such a doughty defender of human rights might have cued mock-outrage, but not now. 'In other words, your old SCR chums filled you in on Sam's background? Or at least the gossip,' said Pascoe. 'That's right. Gossip. Which was why I never said anything to you. I mean, it was Sam's business. It seems that in Sheffield there was some student Sam got very close to, and he had some kind of accident, and he died . ..' 'He?' 'Yes. So I understand.' 'Sam Johnson was gay?' 'I doubt it. Bisexual maybe. Worried about playing squash with him? Sorry, love, that was a stupid thing to say.' 'It was a stupid thing to do, certainly,' said Pascoe. 'This accident, what do the old women say about it, was it something Sam could have blamed himself for?' 'I've no idea,' said Ellie. 'I didn't encourage anybody to go into detail. Peter, you said you weren't sure yet exactly how Sam died, so what are you getting at?' 'Nothing. There's a lot of possibilities ... and with Roote being involved . ..' Ellie shook her head angrily. 'Look, I know it's your job, but I'm not ready yet to start thinking of Sam's death as a case. He's gone, he's gone, it doesn't matter how. But just one thing, Pete, every time Franny Roote comes up, you start twitching like a dog that's seen a rabbit.

207 Remember what happened last time. Maybe you ought to tread very carefully.' 'Good advice,' said Pascoe. But he was thinking, not a rabbit. A stoat.

Next morning Roote came in voluntarily, as insistent as ever that Johnson must have been murdered and demanding to know what they were doing about it. Pascoe took him into an interview room to calm him down, but while he was waiting for Dalziel to join them, Bowler appeared to tell him the super wanted a word. 'Sit with him,' said Pascoe. 'And be careful. If he wants to talk, fine. But you keep your mouth shut.' He could see he'd offended the young DC but he didn't care. Upstairs he found the Fat Man perusing copies of the post mortem report and the lab analysis. 'Case is altered,' he said. 'Take a look at these.' Pascoe read the reports quickly and felt both sick and triumphant.