from discovering whether this was their first embrace or just a comforting hug by Sergeant Wield’s dry cough and drier voice, saying, “When you’ve quite finished with that witness, Detective Constable Bowler…”
Now he said, “Of course you’re all still suspects. Which is why I intend to keep you under close personal surveillance. Listen, I’ll be in touch. Let’s forget the Stangdale trip, maybe we can do a movie or something…”
“Like The Birds, you mean? Sorry. Yes, that would be nice too, but I’m a woman of my word. I said I’d twitch with you and twitch I will. Next week OK?”
“Yes, if you’re sure. I mean, that’s great. And we’ll go back to making it a whole day, OK? I’ll provide a picnic.”
“Don’t get carried away. Fine, that’s fixed. Ring me. Now you get on with keeping society safe for decent folk and I’ll get back to scratching my nose. Bye.”
He switched off his phone, scratched his nose, and smiled. He’d always found the idea of telephone sex a turn-off, but the way he felt now, maybe there was something in it. His relationship with Rye had certainly taken a step forward; though he could see it being knocked a couple of long steps back when she realized he’d kept stumm about the Fourth Dialogue. The temptation to tell her had been strong but, over the phone at least, not as strong as Sergeant Wield’s prohibition on spreading the news.
“Keep this to yourself,” Wield had said. “As far as the world’s concerned, Councillor Steel’s death is an isolated incident until the super decides different. And you want the super to feel you’re reliable, don’t you? Especially around young women.”
Hat had thought of arguing that as Rye Pomona had been instrumental in bringing them into contact with the Wordman, she had a right to know, but it wasn’t an argument he felt he could sustain in face of those louring features.
So instead he said, “Any reason why the super shouldn’t think I’m reliable, Sarge?”
“I think,” said Wield carefully, “he felt you might have got a bit close to Jax Ripley.”
He watched the youngster’s face closely, saw puzzlement bubble to understanding then boil into indignation.
“You mean all that stuff she did about us falling down on the job, Mr. Dalziel thought she was getting inside info from me? Jesus, Sarge, nearly every time I saw her, we got in a row about those programmes. OK, so we stayed friends, sort of, but we both knew we were just using each other. I might have done the odd trade-off with her-I’ll show you mine if you show me yours-but if she had a real Deep-throat in the Force, it certainly wasn’t me!”
Wield noted but did not comment on the sexual imagery used in the denial. Though unsusceptible to such things himself, he was perfectly aware when a woman was turning up the heat in his direction, and he’d got a good warm blast on the couple of occasions he’d met the TV reporter. If, and he tended to believe him, Bowler hadn’t succumbed beyond the point of professional discretion, then it said much for the young man’s self-control.
“Do you think I should say something to the super?” Bowler had asked in some agitation.
“I shouldn’t,” said Wield. “Denial afore you’re asked is as good as an admission in our game. He seemed quite pleased with the way you handled yourself yesterday. So forget it. The future’s what matters, not the past. But be warned. You see a reporter, you run a mile.”
That would mean taking up the marathon, thought Hat. The media interest in Ripley’s murder had been vast and though there was as yet no official acknowledgement of a link with Steel’s death, they were close enough in time and location for the bloodhounds to be sniffing the air once more and sending up their howls of speculation. Privately Hat thought Dalziel’s notion of keeping quiet about the Fourth Dialogue was stupid, but not as stupid as giving any hint of what he thought.
“Yes, Sarge. So what’s the state of play at the moment? Any other developments?”
“Well, there’s a meeting in the super’s office at ten. It’s the DCI’s idea. The Great Consult, he calls it.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Something about all the devils getting together to decide how to get out of hell. Mr. Pascoe sometimes lets himself go a bit poetic when things get tough,” said Wield indulgently. “Any road, he’s persuaded the super that it’s time to call on some outside expertise, like Dr. Pottle, the shrink, and some language expert from the university.”
“Jesus, things must be bad!” exclaimed Hat, who knew how the Fat Man felt about what he usually referred to as arty-farty crap-merchants.
“You’re right. We’re really scraping the barrel. You’re invited.”
“Me?”
Exhilaration fought with apprehension at the news.
“Aye. So get yourself right up to speed. But first you’d best go and ring that lass from the library and tell her you’ll definitely not be coming out to play today.”
As he began to dial Rye’s number, Hat had wondered how the hell Wield knew he had a date with Rye. But by the time he’d pressed the final digit, he’d worked out that the sergeant must have overheard all of the conversation before the hug which might have turned into an embrace.
That sod misses nothing, he thought, half admiringly, half resentfully. But I’m a lot prettier!
Half seemed a good measure and he decided he’d take only half of Wield’s advice. He wouldn’t say anything to the Fat Man about his unjust suspicions but he wouldn’t forget them either. He knew he was innocent, which meant some other bugger wasn’t and he didn’t see why he should go through his career with this question mark against his name in Dalziel’s book of remembrance.
Meanwhile, he was determined to build on the good impression he seemed to have made on the super yesterday. Being invited to join the Holy Trinity at this Great Consult was a large step. He recalled the pangs of envy he’d felt on earlier occasions when he’d seen DC Shirley Novello, who wasn’t that much senior, being admitted more and more to the inner triangle. Novello was still on sick leave after taking a bullet in the course of duty a couple of months before. Any hopes Bowler had had of filling the gap had soon been squashed, leaving him disappointed and puzzled till Wield had made things clear. Now he had his chance to shine and he wasn’t going to miss out.
He spent the hour’s grace he had going through witness statements. As every guest at the preview had been interviewed, there wasn’t time to read them all. Fortunately, with typical efficiency Sergeant Wield had already collated these under several headings with cross-references. The largest group was those who left the preview and the Centre more than ten minutes before the councillor’s departure and also gave negative responses to the key questions-Did you talk to Councillor Steel or overhear him talking to anyone else? Did you observe anyone behaving oddly in the vicinity of Jude Illingworth’s engraving demonstration?
A note had been added in Pascoe’s boyish scrawl. I don’t think the killer would risk lying about the time of his departure though it is of course possible that he left earlier then waited for the councillor’s departure. As for answering the two questions, I think it unlikely the killer would give a negative response to both, partly because I reckon that he probably did talk to Steel, but mainly because I doubt that someone as wordy as the Wordman could bear to say nothing.
Clever sod, thought Hat. Though it was well to remember that the Wordman was a clever sod too. But it helped him choose what to look at and what to shove aside for later examination.
He turned his attention to those who had something to report about the councillor and/or thought they’d noticed something at the demonstration.
He rapidly came to the conclusion that most of the reports of odd behaviour were motivated either by an over-eagerness to help or by a simple longing for importance. None of the professional observers there, i.e. himself, Wield, Pascoe, and the super, contributed anything, which might or might not be significant. Five witnesses recalled that when they were watching the engraver at work, a nearby table had been jostled and a couple of glasses had fallen to the floor, which could have been a deliberate diversion. Unfortunately, none of them had a distinct memory of who was in the vicinity at the time; indeed only one of them could recall the presence of any of the others.
Stuffer Steel had made rather more impression, though much of the recollection centred on the amount of food he managed to put away. Reports of his actual conversation suggested a preoccupation with two themes. The first was that most of the art on display was a load of crap and spending public money on displaying it was a scandal and he’d be proposing a motion of censure on the Finance Committee at the next council meeting. The second was that Jax Ripley’s death had fallen very fortuitously for the Mid-Yorkshire police whose extravagances and inefficiencies she was, with his assistance, in the midst of exposing.
Mary Agnew in particular had got an earful, as had Sammy Ruddlesdin, and John Wingate from BBC MY.
