Dialogues of the Dead

“Debates in the Nether Regions between the shades of real historical characters and imagined characters, sometimes with supernatural beings from mythology holding the ring. I checked a few out. There’s one with Mercury and an English Duellist and a North-American Savage, another with Sir Thomas More and the Vicar of Bray. Purpose usually, though not always, satirical. Written out like drama, name of character then what he or she says, but no stage directions or settings described. Meant to be read, not performed.”

“But we don’t get names given here,” said Pascoe, looking down at his copy of the Dialogues.

“You wouldn’t expect them, would you? That would give the game away from the start. May be a blind alley, but seems to me the Wordman’s dialogue is with someone dead and he’s certainly bent on increasing the population of the underworld. Seemed worth a mention. Anyway, in your business, leave no stone unturned if you want to see the wriggly wee insects run, eh?”

“We’re much obliged, Doctor,” murmured Pascoe, who’d been making notes.

“Oh God,” groaned Dalziel. “Not past the first word yet, and already me brain’s hurting.”

“Perhaps if we could move on,” said Pascoe, glancing at his watch. “I know your time is precious, gentlemen.”

“Very well,” said Pottle, lighting another cigarette from the butt-end in his hand. “After the title, the illustration-or should I say illumination? I gather that you have already received expert advice about the stylistic source …”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Pascoe carefully. “DC Bowler, perhaps you would like to fill us in?”

Taken by surprise, Hat swallowed nervously before replying, “Well, Mr. Dee at the library said he thought it was based on some medieval Celtic script. He showed me something that was a bit like it in, I think it was some eighth-century Irish gospel …”

He was aware that the Fat Man’s eyes had closed and his mouth opened in a hippopotamic yawn, and he cursed Pascoe for making his first contribution to the Great Consult something which was almost bound to get up those huge nostrils. But now the DCI, perhaps feeling guilty, took up the running and went on, “… and it would seem that the design represents the In P of the opening line of St. John’s Gospel: In principio erat verbum …”

“In the beginning was the word and the word was with God and the word was God,” intoned Dalziel, opening his eyes. “Yeah yeah, we all did Bible Studies, except maybe young Bowler here who probably had to learn the Kama Sutra or something. Doctor Pottle, can we mebbe just cut to a few conclusions and save all the fancy stuff for an article?”

“The first thing that struck me about the drawing was the way all the continuation letters were piled up together. I was reminded of a virus which once got into the hospital computer system and sent all the letters you typed tumbling to the foot of the screen. I wondered if perhaps this meant our Wordman felt of himself that he had some kind of virus affecting his brain.”

“You mean he knows he’s off his chump?” said Dalziel. “Great!”

“It fits in with other indications that he is not yet completely at ease with the idea of killing people,” continued Pottle serenely. “The drawing is only one of many attempts to fit his behaviour into a quasi-religious context which has two main functions. The first is, of course, justification. It is God, or his agent in the Other World, who points the finger in some sequential way still to be fathomed. The Wordman is to some extent an instrument of divine purpose, or of divine requirement if the Wordman is to achieve some purpose of his own, which is not altogether clear. Yet despite this pretence to supernatural necessity, the Wordman’s unease shows in the need he feels to suggest that the victims are better off dead, either for their own sakes or for the sake of society at large, or sometimes both. You have probably noticed that the drowned man in the water under the bridge also resembles a figure crucified, like St. Andrew, on an X-shaped cross.”

“Know how he felt,” muttered Andy Dalziel.

Pascoe gave him a glower and urged, “You said the religious context had two functions, Doctor. Justification and …?”

“Yes. And invulnerability. This suspension of time thing. It seems to be literal, not a metaphor. God or his agent is masterminding events and, being all-powerful, he is not about to let his instrument get caught. Herein perhaps lies your best hope of catching the writer. The risks taken in respect of Councillor Steel’s murder were enormous and could only be countenanced by someone who felt completely invulnerable. The longer this goes on, the greater the risks taken are likely to be.”

“You’re saying that with a bit of luck, and if he goes on long enough, we’ll catch him in the act?” said the Fat Man incredulously. “If that’s the best you can do, don’t it make all this palaver a bit pointless, Doctor?”