Dialogues of the Dead

“Good. And were there others coming down the stairs at the same time?”

“Oh yes. Quite a lot, in front and behind.”

“Did you notice anyone in particular? I know I asked you before, but as we’re actually on the stairs now …”

Bowler shook his head.

“Not really. Like I said earlier, we were pretty deep in conversation, me and Rye-Miss Pomona, I mean …”

“For heaven’s sake, call her one or the other. I’m not interested in your romantic life,” said Pascoe.

“Sorry,” said Bowler. “Well, when we got here, people started going off different ways.”

They were approaching the mezzanine level which had the huge disadvantage from an investigative point of view of being the hub of the Centre. From here you could get to anywhere else within, or head for either the underground car park or main shopping precinct without. Even the fatal loo itself was situated in a corridor running between the mezzanine and a landing from which stairs ran up and down to the rest of the Centre. Dalziel had put his finger on the problem straight off. “Place is a fucking maze,” he’d said. “You’d need to be a trained rat to find your way to the cheese round here.”

Talking of Dalziel, there was no sign of him. Probably got impatient and went in to hurry the sodding quack along.

“Did you see Councillor Steel at all?” said Pascoe.

“I think I might have noticed him, his bald head, I mean, going down the stairs a bit in front of us, but I couldn’t swear to it,” said Bowler. “I was, you know …”

“Yes, deep in conversation with Miss Pomona,” said Pascoe. “How long was it before your own call of nature grew strong enough to drag you away from her?”

“Couple of minutes, no, probably a bit more. Sorry,” said Bowler, clearly irritated at his own vagueness. “Rye went off to pick up her coat and things that she’d left in the reference library …”

“Ah. Did she go down the corridor with the toilet in it, by any chance?”

“No, she went that way,” said Bowler, pointing to a door inscribed STAFF ONLY. “It would be quicker, I suppose.”

“And you …?”

“Like I say, I pootered around the book shop for a couple of minutes …”

“Or maybe a bit more?”

“Or maybe a bit more. Then I thought I’d take the chance to have a leak and I went to the toilet. …”

“Why that one?” said Pascoe. “If you were down there by the book shop, there’s another Gents, very clearly signed, just outside.”

“Well,” said Bowler uncomfortably, “to tell the truth, I’d just seen Mr. Dalziel going in there. …”

Pascoe laughed out loud. He could recall a time shortly after his arrival in Mid-Yorkshire when he’d found himself standing alongside the terrifying figure of the Fat Man in a urinal, quite unable-despite a very full bladder and the usually mimetically encouraging sound of a vigorous flow hitting the next basin-of producing a drop. It wasn’t displeasing to see that today’s laid-back youngsters weren’t entirely free of such hang-ups.

“So you went down the corridor,” said Pascoe. “Anyone else in sight, either end?”

“Definitely not, sir,” said Bowler, pleased to be on firm ground at last.

“And you went inside and saw Councillor Steel,” said Pascoe. “Well, that’s twice you’ve told me. You should be word perfect for Mr. Dalziel. Anything else you’d like to add?”

“Don’t think so. Except, well, you don’t think this could have anything to do with these Wordman killings, do you, sir?”

“At the moment there’s nothing to suggest it has,” said Pascoe. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason really. Just, well, when you’ve had three deaths and there comes a fourth …”

“That’s the kind of mistake it’s easy to make,” said Pascoe. “The Wordman murders are one case, this is another. Try to put them together without evidence and all you do is risk buggering up both investigations. OK?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry.”

“Good lad. One more thing just in case the super asks. You said you’d noticed him going into the other loo. When you found the body, didn’t you think of getting hold of him? He must have still been in the vicinity.”

“It did cross my mind, sir,” said Bowler. “But by the time I’d tried resuscitation and called up assistance and alerted the Centre security staff, he was probably long gone, whereas I knew you and the sarge were still up here and I just thought it would be best to be sure.”

Meaning that, uncertain he’d done everything by the book and aware that he was a little shook up, he didn’t fancy running breathless down the street to put himself at the judgment of Fat Andy.

“I think perhaps it might be simpler to say nothing about seeing the super going into the other Gents,” said Pascoe. “So far as you knew, he was long gone. Ah, that sounds like him now.”

The Gents’ door opened and a short ochrous-complexioned man who looked as if he’d rather be playing golf, for which he was indeed dressed, emerged, followed by Dalziel.

“And that’s it, Doc, he’s dead? Well, I’m sorry I interrupted your game. How’d it go, by the way?”