Dialogues of the Dead

‘And the bugger’s not in yet?’

‘In and out,’ said Wield reprovingly.

‘Aye, like Speedy Gonzales,’ said Dalziel with a lip curl like a shed tyre. ‘What do you want with him, George?’

‘Well, nothing … just a query about a report he’s done for me,’ said Headingley, turning away.

‘About those deaths, was it?’ said Wield. ‘The library thing.’

Headingley shot him a glance which came as close to malevolence as a man of his amiable temperament could manage. He still had hopes of squashing this bit of awkwardness or, in the unlikely event of there being anything in it, at least shelving it till such time as he was long gone. To that end, the less Dalziel knew, the better.

‘Library thing?’ said Dalziel. ‘Not a body-in-the-library thing, I hope, George. I’m getting too old for bodies in libraries.’

Headingley explained, playing it down. Dalziel listened then held out his hand for the file.

He scanned through it quickly, his nostrils flaring as he came to the end of Bowler’s report.

‘So that’s what the bugger were doing at the Taverna,’ he muttered to himself.

‘Sorry?’

‘Nowt. So what do you reckon, George? Load of crap or a big one for you to go out on?’

‘Don’t know yet,’ said Headingley as judiciously as he could manage. ‘That’s why I want to see Bowler. Check through a couple of points with him. What do you think, sir?’

Hopeful of dismissal.

‘Me? Could be owt or nowt. I know I can rely on you to do the right thing. But while you’re thinking about it, George, mum’s the word, eh? Go off half-cocked on summat like this and we’ll look right wankers. Don’t want them blowflies from the media sniffing around till we know there’s dead meat, and it’s not us.’

A mobile rang in Headingley’s pocket. He took it out and said, ‘Yes?’

He listened then turned away from the other two men.

They heard him say, ‘No, not possible … of course … well, maybe … all right … twenty minutes.’

He switched off, turned back and said, ‘Need to go out. Possible information.’

‘Oh aye. Anything I should know about?’ said Dalziel.

‘Don’t know, sir,’ said Headingley. ‘Probably nowt, but he makes it sound urgent.’

‘They always do. Who’ll you take? We’re a bit short-handed with Novello still off sick and Seymour on leave.’

‘I can go,’ said Wield.

‘No, it’s OK. This one’s not a registered snout,’ said Headingley firmly. Registered informants required two officers to work them for protection against disinformation and attempted set-ups. ‘I’m still working on him. He’s a bit timid, and I reckon that seeing me turn up mob-handed might put him off for ever.’

He turned and began to move away.

Dalziel said, ‘Hey, George, aren’t you forgetting something?’

‘Eh?’

‘This,’ said the Fat Man, proffering the Dialogues file. ‘You don’t get shut of it that easy.’

The bugger’s a mind reader, thought Headingley, not for the first time. He took the file, tucked it under his arm and headed out of the office.

Dalziel watched him go and said, ‘Know what I think, Wieldy?’

‘Wouldn’t presume, sir.’

‘I think it was his missus reminding him to pick up her dry-cleaning. One thing you’ve got to say about George, he’s been real conscientious helping us break in his replacement.’

‘Thought we weren’t getting a replacement, sir.’

‘That’s what I mean,’ said Andy Dalziel.

He returned to his office, sat looking at the phone for a minute, then picked it up and dialled.

‘Hello,’ said a woman’s voice which even on the phone was filled with a husky warmth which communicated itself straight to his thighs.

‘Hi, luv. It’s me.’

‘Andy,’ said Cap Marvell. ‘How nice.’

She made it sound like she meant it too.

‘Just rang to say how’re you doing. And sorry you didn’t enjoy that place last night.’

She laughed and said, ‘As you well know, it wasn’t the place I didn’t enjoy, it was you going on about that handsome young officer and the very pretty TV girl. I thought we had an agreement. No shop till after sex when you can unburden yourself to your heart’s content and I can go to sleep.’

‘Chance would have been a fine thing,’ he grumbled.

‘Chance went out of the window with my pleasant night out. I’m game to experiment with most kinds of foreplay, but police politics I find a real turn-off. But I accept your apology for an apology.’

‘Grand. Then let’s fix summat else up. Your choice. Anything you say and I promise you’ll think I’m a civilian.’

‘You say so. OK, couple of invitations I’ve got this morning. One is to my son’s regimental ball. It’s being held a fortnight on Saturday out at Haysgarth, that’s Budgie Partridge’s country seat. He’s the regiment’s Colonel-in-Chief …’

Cap’s son by her dissolved marriage was Lieutenant-Colonel Piers Pitt-Evenlode MC of the Yorkshire Fusiliers, known to Dalziel as The Hero.

‘Budgie? That’s Lord Partridge to us commoners, is it?’

‘Sorry. I knew him in another life.’

This other life had been the period of marriage into the landed gentry which had lead to the Hero, self-knowledge, disillusionment, rebellion, divorce, and ultimately Dalziel.

‘Met him once myself in this life,’ said the Fat Man, ‘but I doubt he’d remember me. What’s the other invite?’