Dialogues of the Dead

2JI their difference of rank but fortunately he had caught it before it slipped out. Wield's friendship was important to him and he knew how punctilious the sergeant was never to overstep police hier archical lines in public. His part of this unspoken accord must be never to insist upon them in private, else something would go forever. But his mood stayed sour and when Bowler returned, he said, 'Get your private business with Ripley's sister sorted, then?' Yes, sir. She was just ringing to tell me she had to get back to the States at the weekend and wanted to say goodbye.' 'You must have made a strong impression on her, considering you'd never met till the funeral,' said Pascoe. 'It was just me knowing Jax so ... quite well,' emended Hat, thinking, Jesus, this is just confirming all their suspicions that I was Deep-throat. Perhaps it was time to speak. The door opened and George Headingley came in. He was looking a lot more at ease than he'd done for some time. With just a few more days to do, he's beginning to think there's a light at the end of the tunnel, that he's got away with it after all, thought Hat. Well, he may get a shock yet! But observing those naturally jovial features starting to regain something of their old colour and form, he knew he couldn't be the one to pull the plug. 'I've been thinking about these Dialogues,' said Headingley. 'Kind of you to take the time, George,' said Pascoe on whose crowded desk had spilled most of the extra work caused by the DI's absence, whether bodily or mental. 'And?' 'They keep turning up at the library even now the story comp's finished. Could be not even the first one was really among the stories sent to the Gazette. Maybe they always got put into the bag after it arrived at the library, by someone who works there or uses the place a lot. I mean, what better place to find a Wordman?' A sound like the crack of canvas in a typhoon made them all turn to the door where Dalziel stood applauding. 'Bravo, George. Glad to see you're not sending your mind into retirement ahead of your body. Let that be a lesson to you, lad ...' (addressing Hat)'... good detective never takes time off, it's either in the blood or it's nowhere.' It wasn't altogether clear to Hat whether there was an element of satire in this or not, but as the others seemed to be taking it at face value, he nodded and tried to look grateful. 'So, George, all set for the big send-off? Next Tuesday, isn't it? With a bit of luck we'll see to it that you spend the first twenty-four hours of your retirement unconscious!' 'No change there then,' muttered Pascoe as Headingley, looking a little flushed at all this attention, left the room. 'Now then, Chief Inspector,' said Dalziel sternly. 'Who's been rattling thy cage? Lot of sense in what George said. Wordman, library, the two things go together.' 'Like needle and haystack,' said Pascoe. 'Your boy, Roote, must use libraries a lot,' said Dalziel. 'More the university than the Centre,' said Pascoe with reluctant honesty. 'Same difference,' said the Fat Man, 'Man likes to be whipped, you don't worry which knocking shop. Charley Penn's another, never away, so I hear. From libraries, I mean. Then there's the staff. Mebbe we should take a closer look at them. Could be a cushy job there for you, young Bowler. Fancy taking a closer look at the staff, do you?' The Fat Man smacked his lips salaciously and Hat felt himself flushing, out of both embarrassment and anger. 'All right, lad?' said Dalziel. 'You're looking a bit fevered. Not getting this flu-bug, I hope.' 'I'm fine, sir,' said Hat. 'You were saying about the library staff ,.. anyone in particular?' 'Aye, yon Follows. Man who spends so much time crimping his hair must have something wrong with him. Check the Offenders' List. Then there's yon guy Dee. His name rings a bell.' 'Perhaps you're thinking of that Dr Dee who got done for necromancy,' said Pascoe. 'Very like,' said Dalziel. 'Check him out too, Bowler, see if there's a connection. And if you can manage deep thought and mashing tea at the same time, I'd love a cup.' 'Sir ...' said Hat hesitantly. He looked at each of the trio of faces in turn. Curiously it was Wield's, normally the most unreadable, which by some slight

133 contraction of the left eyebrow confirmed that he was being sent up. Which felt much the same as being put down. If a riposte that was smart as well as being angry had risen to his lips, he would probably have uttered it. But to exit on, 'I'm not your bloody tea-boy, fatso. Make your own!' didn't seem wise, so he muttered, 'I'll get right on to it,' and went out. 'Hat.' He turned. Wield had followed him. 'Just because they're taking the piss doesn't mean they don't take you seriously.' 'No, Sarge.' 'And just because you're pissed doesn't mean you shouldn't take them seriously either.' 'No, Sarge,' he repeated, feeling for some reason slightly cheered up.