Dialogues of the Dead

45 / with a ruler, that coroner,' said Headingley finally. 'But don't waste too much time on it. I want a full report on my desk first thing tomorrow. That's the real test of a theory, son, how much of it you're willing to put in writing.' 'Yes, guv. Thank you, guv,' said Bowler, just staying this side of open mockery. Headingley might be a boring old fart, ambling towards retirement with little interest in anything other than pro tecting his ample back, but he still had rank, plus he had survived for many years under the unforgiving eye of Andy Dalziel, so there had to be something there. He went to his desk, checked out the names and addresses he wanted, then set out on his quest. He had a double reason for being meticulous now - first, to impress Rye Pomona; second, to satisfy George Headingley. Not that he needed either part of the reason to motivate him. One thing he'd quickly learned as a young graduate cop was to be nit-pickingly thorough if you didn't want some antique plod who'd come up the hard way shaking his head and saying, 'Nay, lad, just because tha's on the fast track don't mean tha's allowed to cut corners.' He started with Constable Dave Insole who'd been driving the first police car to arrive at the scene. Once Bowler's easy manner had dissolved his natural suspicion that CID was second guessing him, Insole was co-operative enough. In his view, the most likely explanation was that Ainstable had stopped for a pee, clambered down the bank, slipped and fell as he reached the bottom. 'You mentioned some scuffs on the parapet in your report,' said Bowler. 'That was my partner, Maggie Laine,' said Insole, grinning. 'Got ambitions to join your lot, has Maggie. Always looking for clues. No, he got caught short, and was in such a hurry to get out of sight of the road, he slipped. If he'd wanted to sit on the parapet or piss over it or whatever, he'd have parked on the bridge itself, wouldn't he?' 'His tool box was by the parapet, wasn't it?' 'Yeah, but by the time we arrived there were half a dozen yokels gawking, any one of them could have moved it out of the way.' 'But hardly have taken it out of his van,' said Hat. 'Which was parked where? Not actually on the bridge, I gather?' 'No. He stopped just before it, right where he could scramble down the side to the bank of the stream,' said Insole triumphantly. 'Just about where he'd have stopped if there'd already been a car parked on the bridge then?' said Bowler. 'Yeah, I suppose, but what are you driving at?' 'Better ask Maggie,' laughed Bowler, heading for the door.

The Ainstable house was a thirties semi on the northern fringe of town. The stout woman who answered the door turned out to be Mrs Ainstable's sister from Bradford who'd come to stay. The first thing Bowler noticed as he was ushered into the living room was a tank of tropical fish standing on top of a sideboard. The second thing was a small pale-faced woman curled up on a large settee. Grief usually ages, but in Agnes Ainstable's case it had shrunk the mature woman into an ailing child who looked more like her sister's daughter than her sibling. But when she spoke, Bowler began to understand why the coroner had opted to adjourn the inquest for further enquiries. Her attitude was simple. If something as slight as a slip of the foot had deprived her of her husband, she wanted the circumstances to be laid out before her in unambiguous detail. There was nothing rational in her demands, but they were made with an intensity that would have daunted the most insensitive of men. The upside of this was that she answered all Bowler's questions without showing the slightest curiosity about his reasons for asking them. It was enough that they related to the further enquiries the coroner had promised her. Yes, Andrew had once talked about his tropical fish on a local radio chat show; yes, they'd been to Corfu for their holiday this year; yes, they'd had a meal at the Tavema. At the front door as he left, the sister said, half apologetically, 'It's her way of hanging on to him. Once she admits she knows everything there is to know, he's gone completely, and that terrifies her. All these questions you're asking, they mean anything or are you just going through the motions?' 'Wish I knew,' said Bowler. He wasn't being disingenuous. There were many ways in which the writer of the First Dialogue could have got the details it contained. He could simply have known Ainstable, be a workmate