Dialogues of the Dead

177 Charley? Man like that 'ud not get employed over the border. So you didn't care for the councillor?' 'He was a man for causes, was Cyril, mainly saving public money.' 'Don't tell me,' said Dalziel. 'He thought owt spent on the police was a waste of cash. Cars, for instance. "Get the buggers back on the beat. Shoe leather comes cheaper than petrol and at least the public have got someone who can tell them the rime."' 'That sounds like Cyril. The Arts too. Library spending. The theatre subsidy. And the few bob they give my literature group, you'd have thought that was enough to cancel the Third World debt.' 'So you had a motive, then?' 'Well spotted, Sherlock. Aye, you and me both, Andy. A motive to kick him up the arse, but not to kill the silly old bugger.' 'Well, let's not speak ill of the dead, eh?' said Dalziel, a little late in Hat's eye. 'One thing you had to say about him, he practised what he preached. He never wasted any of his own cash on daft things like buying a round of drinks or paying for his own grub. But his heart was in the right place.' 'It is now,' said Penn. 'I liked the subtle way you moved from Ripley to Stutter. You reckon there's a connection between their deaths?' Dalziel downed the offending whisky with no sign of distaste and said, 'Only connection I'm looking at at the moment seems to be you, Charley.' Penn grinned and said, 'The old techniques are still best, eh? When you've not got the faintest idea which way to go, prod every bugger with your stick, then follow the one who runs off quickest.' 'We could have made a cop of you, Charley, if we'd got a hold of you afore you started ripping bodices. Seriously, but, and just for the record, we've got a nice statement from you about the preview yesterday, but I don't think anyone ever asked you where you were and what you were doing the night Ripley got killed.' 'No reason why anyone should have asked, was there?' 'Not then.' 'And now?' Dalziel waved the fax of Ripley's article. 'Scraping the barrel, Charley. But you know what Mr Trimble's like. Comes from the southwest, and they live off barrel scrapings down there. So ... ?' 'Tell you what, Andy,' said Perm. 'I'll go off now and have a long think, and if I can remember anything about that night, I'll scribble it down on a bit of paper and let you have it.' 'Nay, don't rush off for me,' said Dalziel. 'Stay still, young Bowler here 'ull buy you another. In fact, I'm thinking of having a spot of lunch here. They do a lovely sticky toffee pudding. My treat.' 'Yuck. Don't know what the opposite of a sweet tooth is, but that's what I've got. Too much force-feeding with sugary goo when I were a kid. Which reminds me, Andy. I'd love to stay, but Sunday's family visiting day, at least for us who've got families to visit, it is.' That sounded like a dig, thought Hat. 'Oh aye. Your mam well, is she?' said Dalziel. 'Still taking care of the three It's out in the sticks?' And that, though incomprehensible, sounded like a riposte. Penn for a moment looked like he'd have enjoyed tipping the rest of his ale over the Fat Man's huge head, but he reduced his reaction to a snarling smile and said, 'Yes, Andy, my old mam's still alive and kicking, and it's me she'll be kicking if I don't turn up to see her on a Sunday. So I'll have to postpone that drink you've so kindly if vicariously offered me, Constable. Cheers. See you both tomorrow, I expect.' 'Tomorrow?' said Dalziel. 'You've not forgotten? What is it? Alzheimer's or just so many bodies in your business, you lose track? Let me remind you. Now the inquest's over, and the ghouls have done chopping her up, they're going to let poor Jax be buried. Don't the books tell us murderers always like to attend their victims funerals? See you.' He downed his drink, swept up his change which Bowler had put on the table, stood up and strode towards the door. 'Sir?' said Hat, looking after him. 'Do we just let him go?' 'What do you want to do?' said Dalziel. 'Rugby tackle him then slap the cuffs on?' 'I suppose not. Sir, what was that about the three It's?' 'Kinder, Kiiche, Kirche. Children, kitchen and church. What