Dialogues of the Dead

Rye looked at him coldly and said, “I think I can speak for myself, Mr. Penn. In fact I’m doing it on a purely voluntary basis, so there’s no charge to the public purse. But of course, if you care to leave a tip …”

“Nay, lass,” laughed Steel. “Only tip I’ll give you is, I like my spuds roasted almost black. But I don’t suppose I’ll be getting any here, so I’ll just have another handful of these to put me on till me lunch.”

He reached towards a plateful of cocktail sausages but Rye pushed the whole tray towards him so that he had to grasp hold of it to keep it off his chest.

“Tell you what, Councillor,” she said. “Why don’t you take the lot, then you can pick through them at your leisure. And I can take a look at the art.”

She let go of the tray, nodded at Steel, ignored Penn’s congratulatory smile and turned to meet Hat Bowler.

“So you made it, then?” she said. “Come on, there’s something I want you to see.”

There are some revelations which are certain without being clear.

For a fraction of a second-though I knew without doubt that this was the one-I didn’t understand why, and I could not foresee how.

But even before I could commit the blasphemy of asking why and how, my averted head let my eyes see the single answer, and all that remained was when.

Though whether when? is appropriate for an event which takes place outside of time is a question to scotch a Scotist.

Perhaps, the fancy came to me, time suspended would permit me to perform my duty, and when time resumed, all these people, policemen and journalists included, would find to their uncomprehending horror that one of their number lay dead among them, and no one had noticed a thing!

But it was not to be. My aura still burned bright but the flow of time was not yet slowing. I was still here and now.

But soon …

Oh yes, I knew it must be soon …

14

As PAsCOE watched Bowler move away, making a bee-line for the girl from the library, he found he was smiling.

Who was it said that middle age began when you started looking fondly on the young, and old age when you started really resenting the bastards?

Probably Dalziel.

Time to check out the art.

He’d been checking for several minutes without much enthusiasm when someone touched his shoulder and said, “Peter, how’re the muscles? Recovered enough for another go?”

He turned to see Sam Johnson grinning at him.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he said. “Nice to see you, though. I wanted a word. I spotted Franny Roote earlier. He with you?”

It was hardly a subtle approach but Johnson was too sharp for obliquities, as Pascoe had discovered when he’d checked out Roote’s story with him. Now the lecturer emptied his wine glass, seized another off a passing tray, and said, “Yes, I got Franny an invite. Is that a problem?”

“No problem. Just an occupational reflex,” said Pascoe lightly. “You see him as a bright student, I see him as an old customer.”

“I also see him as a friend,” said Johnson. “Not a close friend maybe, but getting that way. I like him very much.”

“Well, that’s all right then,” said Pascoe. “Can’t be much wrong with a bright student whose supervisor likes him very much.”