Dialogues of the Dead

When a master of precise detail starts being vague, it is best to look the other way, especially when the possible illegalities have a smell of Dalziel about them.

Pascoe looked the other way and said, “OK, but I can’t get excited, Wieldy. It’s not usable in court and even if we had a full sixteen-point match, with the bad press prints have had recently, we’d need a hell of a lot more.”

Wield said with just a hint of reproof, “Worked that out for myself. I thought, what else? And I remembered the bite.”

“The bite? Ah, yes. We had forgot the bite. And …?”

“I’ve been round to see Mr. Molar. Had to get him out of a lecture, he weren’t best pleased. But it was worth it. He compared Dee’s dental record with the bite and he says that it’s a definite maybe verging on a possible definitely that those teeth made that bite.”

“Dee’s dental records …?” Pascoe’s mind was spinning. “How the hell did you get hold of Dee’s dental records?”

“All above board,” said Wield briskly. “He gave us written permission to see his medical records when we were talking to him about the Hon.’s death, remember? Almost fell over himself to do it. Well, dental comes under medical, and as the permission was still on the file …”

There were more potential illegalities floating around here than in a Marbella swimming pool, thought Pascoe.

Sod them!

He shook them out of his head, opened his mouth to shout for Hat, then saw it wasn’t necessary.

The DC was standing in the doorway, his face aglow at the thought of getting Dick Dee into the middle of the frame.

Pascoe said, “Right. Let’s talk to Mr. Dee again, but softly, softly. No point in putting the boot in till we know what we’re kicking. All this could mean owt or it could mean nowt.”

The use of Dalzielesque phraseology emphasized the point he was making. There’d been too many instances recently of policemen going in hard with too little evidence and either warning off the guilty or provoking official complaints from the innocent.

“We’ll need someone to stay here and co-ordinate matters. And try to raise the super at the Black Bull.”

He looked at Hat, saw the disappointment and the pleading in his eyes, and said, “Better be you, Wieldy. There’s a trail here which could need some tidying up if it leads anywhere, and you’re best equipped to do it.”

No doubt about that. At the moment what little they had could be dispersed instantly by one indignant snort from a smart lawyer’s nostrils.

“Hat, you come with me to the library.”

“But it’s closed today. Mark of respect.”

“Hell, I’d forgotten. But that doesn’t mean the staff won’t be there. Dee and Rye Pomona drove straight off after the funeral. Clearly they weren’t going to the Lichen.”

“No, sir,” said Hat unhappily.

Pascoe thought a moment then said, “Tell you what, you try Dee’s flat, see if he’s there. I’ll do the library, which still seems the best bet. OK?”

“Fine,” said Hat.

They got into their respective cars simultaneously but the little sports car was burning rubber out of the car park before Pascoe had fastened his seat belt.

He still felt pretty sure of finding Dee at the library and when he reached the Centre and saw the main doors were open, his confidence seemed justified. A security man stopped him to tell him the Centre was closed to the public that day. Pascoe showed him his ID and discovered that, as he’d suspected, a lot of staff were taking the chance to catch up on jobs that under normal workaday pressures got pushed to the back burner.

He made his way to the reference library, rehearsing the sweet words which were going to lure Dee down to the station. But he found the place empty except for a young female library assistant he didn’t know who was painstakingly checking the shelves to make sure that all the reference books had been returned to their rightful positions and order.

He showed his ID again and asked if Dee had been in. She said she hadn’t seen him, but she’d just arrived herself. Pascoe went behind the enquiry desk and tried the office door on the remote chance that the man was working inside, too rapt to hear conversation without.

The door opened and suddenly Pascoe had a vision of discovering Dee sitting there with his throat cut.

The office was empty. Pascoe went in and sat behind the desk to collect his thoughts.

He must be getting hard. He felt relief that his absurd imagining had turned out to be just that, but it wasn’t relief that a human being wasn’t dead, but rather relief that a promising line of enquiry hadn’t been nipped in the bud-or nicked in the jugular!

Just how promising was this line anyway?