Dialogues of the Dead

^2J Emotion always found it hard to get a fingerhold on the sergeant's face but this was said with a lack of expression that made Charles Bronson look animated. 'Rugby,' said Dalziel. 'Aye, that's a point. The Old Unthinkables. Nice one, Wieldy.' To be complimented on his attempted gibe at Dalziel's favourite sport did bring a look almost recognizable as surprise to the sergeant's features. 'Sir?' he said. 'The Old Unthinkables,' repeated Dalziel. 'That's what they call Unthank College's Old Boys' team. Not bad for a bunch of pubic school poofters, saving your presence. Not afraid to put the boot in, that's one thing they've learned for their daddies' money.' He spoke approvingly. Wield said, 'Missing your point, I'm afraid, sir.' 'Penn and Dee went to Unthank, and so did John Wingate, yon telly belly, Ripley's boss. I know 'cos he used to play for the Unthinkables. Scrum half. Nice reverse pass.' The phone rang again. 'And?' said Pascoe. 'He must be about the same age as Penn and Dee. Might be worth a chat, Pete. Find out what they got up to as kids. Christ, I must be desperate, can't believe I'm saying this. I've spent too much time listening to your mate Pozzo.' The phone was still ringing. Pascoe said, 'Shall I answer that? Could be the Chief's office again.' 'Then he'll think I'm on my way,' said Dalziel indifferently. He glanced at his watch. 'Tell you what, Wingate'll be at your press conference with all the other vultures. Reel him in when it's over. Knowing your style, Pete, that should be about half twelve. These telly bellys like shooting the questions, let's see if he can take his own medicine.' 'You'll be finished with the Chief by then?' 'Unless he opens a new bottle of Scotch,' said Dalziel. 'Bowler, you be there too. After all, this is your idea.' 'Thank you, sir,' said Hat, delighted. 'Don't get carried away. Likely it'll turn out a waste of time, and I just want you close so I don't waste my energy kicking summat inanimate.' He left. Hat turned to the others, smiling, inviting them to share Dalziel's joke. They didn't smile back. Pascoe said thoughtfully, 'Not like the super to chase rainbows.' 'Not unless he's got an itch in his piles . ..' They contemplated the Fat Man's famous haruspical piles for a moment, then Pascoe said, 'Wieldy, the OED's online now. Ellie's a subscriber, if I give you her details, can you whistle it up on the computer?' 'You authorize it, I can whistle up the PM's holiday snaps,' said Wield. They followed him to his computer and watched as he ran his fingers over the keyboard. 'Right,' he said. 'Here we are.' 'Great. Now find paronomania,' said Pascoe. But Wield was ahead of him. ^Paronomasia we've got. And paromphalocele we've got too, which from the sound of it we could do without. But no sign whatsoever of paronomania. So unless the great Oxford English Dictionary's missed a bit, there's no such word.' 'And yet,' said Pascoe, 'we have all seen it, and its definition. Interesting. While you're at it, Wieldy, try contortuplicated.' 'That's what the super said,' said Hat. 'I thought he just made it up.' 'No,' said Wield. 'It's here. "Twisted and entangled." But it's obsolete. Just one example and that's 1648.' 'Not attributed to A. Dalziel. is it?,' said Pascoe. 'Let that be a lesson to you, Hat. Never underestimate the super.' 'No, sir. Sir, how did Mr Dalziel know about Mrs Blossom's tattoo?' 'Can't imagine,' said Pascoe. 'W^y don't you ask him yourself?'

327 Chapter Thirty-eight