Dialogues of the Dead

“Yes,” said the writer. “Really bugs him, that place now. Didn’t even fancy going out there by himself. Also the stuff he’s got there would overflow that jalopy of his. So he dropped a hint or two I might like to give him a hand. But I had to say no. Bad back, my car’s on the blink, and I hate the fucking countryside anyway. Still, it all worked out for the best. He came back from Percy’s funeral full of the joys of spring.”

“Why was that?” asked Hat unnecessarily. There was a singing in his ears, the air seemed dark with foreboding, and through the murk he could see Franny Roote regarding him with an expression of grave concern.

“Seems he asked young Rye if she’d hold his hand and she jumped at the chance. Yes, old Dick dragged off the funeral blacks, got into his tracksuit and trainers, and headed off to rendezvous with young Ms. Pomona. Who knows? Perhaps in such pleasant company he’ll get back his feel for nature. Hadn’t you better answer that? It might be Andy Dalziel wanting to know if it’s time to throw the stun grenades.”

And Hat realized that part at least of the singing in his ears was the sound of his mobile ringing.

From his place in the library office, through the open door, out across the enquiry desk, Pascoe could see them, twenty dark blue volumes, standing as straight and smart as guardsmen on parade. And he knew beyond doubt the meaning of that mysterious shape in the bowl of the P of the In Principio at the head of the First Dialogue.

Not a Bible or a missal as Urquhart had suggested, but a volume of the great Oxford English Dictionary.

No lettering on the drawing, of course-that would have made things too easy-but the narrow band across the top of the dust jacket spine was there while the white disc at the bottom represented the university coat of arms. From this distance he couldn’t make out the letters of the motto it contained, but he’d seen it often enough on his own OUP books to know what they spelled.

Dominus illuminatio mea.

The contents of the volumes were indicated by the first and last words each contained.

These he could read from here, but nevertheless he rose and went out to the shelf.

The first volume was easy.

A-Bazouki

The AA man, Andrew Ainstable. The boy who played the bazouki.

Next:

BBC–Chalypsography

Jax Ripley. And the other?

He took the volume down to check.

Steel engraving.

Oh, dreadful pun! Councillor Steel killed with a burin. And the Cyrillic letters engraved upon his head just to underline the joke.

The third volume.

Cham-Creeky

Cham. Illustrative quotation from 1759:

“… that great Cham of literature, Samuel Johnson.”

Then creeky …?

Stang Creek? Skip to the next volume.

Creel-Duzepere

Creel. Body in the creek, head in the creel. And duzepere?

A singular variant of douzepers meaning illustrious nobles, knights, or grandees.

Poor Pyke-Strengler. Perhaps if your father had not died …

The fifth volume.

Dvandva-Follis

Dvandva. A compound word in which the elements are related to each other as if joined by a copula. Actor-manager.

Follis. A small Roman coin, like that found in Ambrose Bird’s mouth.

And the first word in the next volume.

Follow

The $ hadn’t been a dollar sign, but merely the removal of the letter S.

Bird and Follows. Who died, to make the whole thing even more complete, joined in a copula.

He went back into the office for privacy, closed the door, and pulled out his mobile.

The case was altered. Before, he hadn’t really been able to get his head round the idea of the gentle quiet librarian being in the frame for all these killings. Now all he could think was that he’d sent a solitary young constable out looking for a man who had leapt to the terrifying eminence of being prime suspect.

“Answer, sod you, answer!” he yelled at the phone.

“Hello?”

“Bowler, where are you?”

“At Dee’s flat, but …”

“OK, don’t go in …”

“I’m in.”

“Shit. OK. Smile sweetly and say you’ve got to fetch something from the car. Then get out. No buts. Do it!”

He waited. Then to his relief he heard the youngster’s voice saying, “Sir, what’s going in?”

Quickly he ran through what he’d seen, what he was guessing, adding, “It may be quite wrong or nothing to do with Dee but I want you to wait till …”

But Hat was screaming at him.

“Sir, what’s the next word? Tell me the next fucking word!”

Pascoe frowned, decided this was no time for a lecture on chain of command, went out of the office into the library and read, “Follows-Haswed,” pronouncing it as spelt, voicing the w. “Has wed … that’s it! A wedding was in the last Dialogue. Though in fact it might be pronounced Hasued …”

“I don’t give a fuck how it’s pronounced, what’s it mean?”