Dialogues of the Dead

“Oh, there were several reasons, Superintendent,” said Wingate. “Let me list them if it will make you feel happier and hasten my departure …First because what I had to say doesn’t show me or my fellows in a particularly good light; secondly, because I see no reason why I should retail personal details of people’s lives to the police unless I feel they are truly relevant to some matter of importance; and thirdly, as a journalist, I am in the business of collecting rather than dispensing information, unless I feel there is some positive professional quid pro quo.”

“Seems to me secondly and thirdly must sometimes trip over each other,” said Dalziel. “Any road, you can run along now-so long as you remember that, while it weren’t much of a quo, you’ve had your quid for it. Any mention of owt about this in any of your little programmes and I’ll be asking for a refund. Bye now.”

“Goodbye, Superintendent,” said Wingate.

Pascoe, trying for a conciliatory tone, said a touch over effusively, “Thanks a lot, John. That was really most helpful.”

The producer looked at him for a long moment then said, “And goodbye to you too, Detective Chief Inspector.”

Bang goes another nearly friend, thought Pascoe.

When the door had closed behind the departing man, he said to Dalziel, “So, how did you know about Wingate and Ripley?”

“Lucky guess,” said the Fat Man. “Not mine. Young Bowler here said summat.”

“Is that so?” said Pascoe, giving the DC a not altogether friendly glance. “Well, I don’t think we’ll be getting much co-operation from our local TV station from now on.”

“Nay, I think we’ll be getting all the co-operation we ever want,” said Dalziel, grinning sharkishly. “Shouldn’t waste your sympathy there, Pete. Married man who can’t control his own loblance has to be a right twilly-flew. Question is, was it worthwhile squeezing his goolies? Did we get owt useful? Young Bowler, you looked like you were wetting your knickers to say summat back there.”

“Yes, sir,” said Hat eagerly. “Two things really. First, this boy Johnny who drowned, in this game Penn and Dee play, even though it’s just for two players, they set up a third tile rack and when I saw them playing-when they called each other Kraut and Whoreson-the letters on this rack were J, O, H, N, N, and Y. Also, they’ve both got this photo of the three of them at school, at least I presume the third one’s the dead boy.”

“They’ve got a picture of themselves with a dead boy?” said Dalziel, interested.

“No, sir. I mean, he wasn’t dead when the picture was taken.”

“Pity. Go on.”

“And his real name’s St. John, and that drawing that came with the First Dialogue, didn’t Dee say it was from the Gospel according to St. John …?”

He felt himself running out of steam.

Dalziel said, “That your first thing finished then? Let’s hope you’re working upwards. Next?”

“It just struck me, with Dee’s real name being Orson, it made me think of what Councillor Steel said before he died which sounded like rosebud-didn’t someone say that was the last word that someone said in that film Citizen whatsit which Orson Welles directed and starred in …isn’t that right …? I never saw it myself …”

He looked around hopefully, not for applause but at least a shred of interest.

Pascoe gave him an encouraging smile, Wield remained as unreadable as ever, and Dalziel said, “What’s your point, lad?”

“It’s just the association, sir …I thought it might be significant …”

“Oh aye? I suppose if Stuffer Steel were a film buff, which he weren’t, and if he were an old Unthinkable, which he weren’t, and if he knew Dee’s real first name, which I doubt, then it might come in sniffing distance of significant. Don’t cry, lad. At least you’re trying. What about you two big strong silent types? Wieldy?”

“This thing about the dead boy sounds a bit odd, but I don’t see that it adds up to much,” said the sergeant.

“More than just a bit odd, wouldn’t you say?” said Pascoe.

“Mebbe. But it’s not something Dee and Penn try to keep hidden, is it? Photo’s on display, name on the tile rack which anyone can see. It’s what folk want to hide that usually means most. And it seems to me we’re getting bogged down in words here, not real stuff.”

“The Wordman is all about words, Wieldy,” said Pascoe gently.

“Aye, but about words playing around inside him. Seems to me Dee and Penn in their different ways let their words out, don’t trap them inside where they might fester.”

Dalziel, in face of this unexpected psycho-linguistic analysis, let out an et tu Brute sigh and turned to Pascoe.

“Pete, you think we might be on to something here, do you? Makes a change not to hear you badmouthing Franny Roote, who I hear is like to turn out the next Enid Blyton. But it ’ud be nice to know what’s really going on in that mazy mind of thine.”

“I don’t know …it’s just that I can’t believe that in Dee’s case all these coincidences of place and time and opportunity and interest don’t add up to something significant.”