Dialogues of the Dead

H5 book on Heine when it's done. There's a whole chapter on his doppelganger poems. I thought it would add a bit of mystery to use the theme in my novels.' 'I know more about doppel-whiskies myself,' said Dalziel, 'but I thought if you met one of them things, you died.' 'We all die,' said Penn. The, I think we meet our doppelganger all the time. It's recognizing them that's the trick. To get back to Jax, I really liked her, Andy, and I was choked when I heard what happened. I hope you've got better leads than the one that led you to me, 'cos if you haven't, you're knackered, and I want to see you get the bastard who killed her. Here, lad. Do me a favour, trot up to the bar and get another round in.' He pushed a fifty-pound note toward Bowler who looked questioningly at Dalziel. 'Mr Bowler here is my detective constable, not your potboy,' said the Fat Man sternly. Then he plucked the note from Penn's hand and added, 'But we're here to serve the public, so off you go, lad. Same again, and mebbe I'll let Mr Penn's publishers treat me to a chaser. HP.' 'Sauce?' said Bowler, puzzled. 'Highland Park,' said Dalziel long-sufferingly. 'New, is he?' said Penn as the DC once more made his way to the bar. 'Newish. Still on probation. So, Charley, flashing the monkeys around and a new telly series starting next week. You're doing well.' 'Aye, Bloody marvellous,' grunted Penn. 'If you'll excuse me saying, monkeys or no monkeys, you don't sound like a man who's all that happy in his work.' 'Don't I? Tell me, Andy, you set out to be a cop?' Dalziel considered then nodded. 'Aye,' he said. 'Didn't want to be a baker like me dad and end up with flour in my hair. So I opted for the Law. Mind you, I had to toss a coin to work out which side!' Penn said, 'Lucky us. Well, I didn't set out to be part of the production line for a big tits and funny hats telly series.' 'Hold on, you hit Ripley with a cake for more or less saying that's what you were.' 'It's one thing for me to say it, another for a nineteen-year-old dolly bird,' said Penn. 'Fair enough. But it makes no odds, does it? I mean, you know one day you're going to amaze the world by producing this great tome about yon Kraut fellow you mentioned. Heinz, was it? Any relation to the fifty-seven varieties?' 'Keep it up, Andy. You've got the face for it. Heine.' 'Aye, him. Ripley mentioned him in that article that pissed you off. I've got it here, as it happens.' He pulled the fax out of his pocket. 'Writes well .. . sorry, wrote well, the lass,' he said with the air of one who'd spent several hours in stylistic analysis rather than thirty seconds in a cursory glance in the car as Bowler had driven him to the pub. 'Yes, here it is. You're right. Heine not Heinz. She seemed to reckon you had as much chance of finishing your Great Work as England did of winning the next World Cup. Was it that maybe that got her the cream shampoo, not the cracks about your novels? Made you wonder if she might be right. And she was writing how long ago? Five years? Close to writing The End, are you, Charley?' 'Close enough,' said Penn. 'Five years ago, yeah, maybe I had doubts. But not now, Andy. Not now.' He caught and held the Fat Man's questioning gaze and it was Dalziel who broke off contact first. Bowler had returned unnoticed at some point and the two men now looked down at their fresh drinks as if they were a manifestation of divine grace and raised the pint-pots with balletic synchrony. 'Let's forget Ripley,' said Dalziel. 'How'd you feel about Councillor Steel, Charley?' 'Stutter? Anyone who stopped his breath was doing the environment a favour,' said Penn. 'That's a bit strong. Jesus, what's this?' Dalziel had turned his attention to his Scotch. 'They didn't have any Highland Park, sir,' explained Bowler. 'It's Glen something .. .' 'Glenfiddich. I know it's Glenfiddich, that's how I know it's not Highland Park.' 'Yes, sir. The barman said you'd probably not notice the difference,' said Bowler, eager to divert the Fat Man's anger. 'Did he now?' said Dalziel, scowling barwards. 'Standards, eh,