think.”
“Oxen. Great. Now we’re really getting somewhere. Make a note of that, Chief Inspector.”
“What are you getting at?” asked Pascoe.
“Aleph,” said Urquhart significantly.
“Is that Aleph in Wonderland or Aleph Through the Looking Glass?” enquired Dalziel.
“Aleph is the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet,” said Urquhart. “It is also the Old Hebrew and Phoenician word meaning ox, and it seems likely that the form the letter takes is based on a hieroglyph of an ox’s head. Greek alpha is derived from this, and ultimately Roman and our own a which, in some versions of its capital form can still be seen to contain those original hieroglyphic elements. As thus in the Book of Kells…”
He took out a pen and drew a letter:
Dalziel looked at it in silence for a moment then said, “If they served me that as an ox’s head, I’d send it back. Is there any point to all this, lad?”
“A of course is also a word, the first word as it is the first letter of our alphabet. In the beginning was the word… And note the references in the Dialogue to the indefinite beginnings of the path. A is the indefinite article. You will be wondering perhaps why there are two oxen, two alephs…”
“The AA man,” said Pascoe. “Whose initials are also AA. Which the Wordman took for a sign. So what are you saying, Dr. Urquhart? That there could be some alphabetical sequence here?”
“No, sorry. I can see how that might be useful, but there’s nothing obvious in the others. You might get a b from boy or even bazouki in the Pitman case, but that would be stretching, and all the c’s in the Ripley case and the d’s in the Steel case seem completely out of reach. So I doubt if what you’ve got here is a straightforward alphabetical progression. Your Wordman might, of course, be simply spelling a word. In which case let us hope it’s a short one, but it’s just as likely it could be several words which form a message.”
“Am having a good time, wish you were here,” suggested Dalziel, scratching his crotch like a man refuting Bishop Berkeley. “Look, gents, as the actress said to the bishop, can you make this a quickie as I’ve got work to do? Any long-term stuff, or general theorizing, mebbe you could set it down in writing when you’ve had more chance to study the Dialogues, and I’ll hang it up in the CID bog so we all get a chance to use it.”
Bowler, who’d been puzzled by the academics’ apparent indifference to the Fat Man’s sceptical rudeness, caught a glance passing between Pascoe and Pottle, and it came to him that the DCI had forewarned them of Dalziel’s likely reaction, which previous acquaintance had probably prepared them for anyway.
Urquhart said, “I’d certainly like more time to check out this illumination. It wouldn’t surprise me to find a lot more stuff hidden there. But for the time being I think I can say that what you’ve got here is someone obsessed with language, not just at a linguistic level, but at a philosophical level, maybe even a magical level. Words originally were simply the names of things and human transactions, both practical and abstract, couldn’t have functioned without them. I mean, if you don’t know the names, you have to produce the things themselves, and you end up like the academicians in Swift’s Lagado, dragging around a bagful of articles you may possibly want to refer to. In primitive societies the belief still exists that knowledge of the real names of individuals or even certain objects gives you power over them which is why they are at such pains to keep them secret. Spells are words arranged in a significant order and often coupled with the secret names of deities or devils-”
“So we’re looking for a nut who probably likes doing riddles and crosswords?” Dalziel crashed in brutally. “Dr. Pottle?”
“I think your Wordman is a seriously disturbed personality who will show very little sign of this on the surface, in fact may appear a particularly laid-back and unflappable individual. But this will have been acquired behaviour and if you look back far enough in their lives, such individuals will almost inevitably have done something or experienced something which gives a hint that dangerous currents and tangling weeds may lie beneath that placid surface.”
“Well, that really narrows things down,” said Dalziel. “That it, then?”
His tone didn’t invite further discourse but Pascoe said, “Before you go, I wonder if this means anything to either of you?”
He showed them a piece of paper on which was drawn .
Pottle examined it, turned it round, shrugged and said, “I’d need to know much more about its context to even hazard a guess.”
Pascoe said, “There was a wound on Councillor Steel’s head. It may be, and certainly we can find no other candidate, the necessary mark referred to in the Dialogue. When the blood was washed away, these are the marks left by the burin. They could of course be accidental, but their resemblance to letters, a P certainly, and a badly formed M perhaps. The squiggle between could be simply an incidental ripping of the skin or it may be another less well-defined but nonetheless deliberate mark.”
Dalziel looked sceptical but his left hand was scratching his stubble pate as if impelled by some irresistible sympathy.
Urquhart suddenly snickered a laugh.
“Share the joke, sunshine?” suggested Dalziel.
“The councillor was called Cyril, wasn’t he?” said the linguist. “In the Russian Cyrillic alphabet, what looks like our P is in fact an R, while that thing that you called a badly formed M could be a Cyrillic P. And if the scratch in between is just a shorthand I which is rather a complex letter in Russian and not easy to do in a hurry on a head with an engraving tool, this could simply be RIP in the Cyrillic alphabet. Gerrit?”
Dalziel shook his head as if to clear it of the aftereffects of long slumber and rose slowly to his feet.
“Gorrit,” he said in a mild, long-suffering voice. “Right joker, this Wordman, ain’t he? What’s it they say? Laugh and the world laughs with you. Thanks, gents. That’s definitely it. Sergeant Wield will show you out.”
Pascoe, clearly feeling that this expression of appreciation fell some way short of warm, said, “It’s been really useful. Many thanks for giving us your time this morning. We’ll look forward to hearing from you again as soon as you’ve had time for mature reflection, won’t we, sir?”
“Can’t wait,” said Dalziel. “And Sergeant Wield, be sure to arrest Dr. Urquhart if he starts smoking that stuff afore he leaves the building.”
The linguist, who had once more taken his leather pouch from his pocket, paused in the doorway, smiled at Dalziel and said, “Away play wi’ yersel’, Hamish.”
It wasn’t often his underlings had the pleasure of seeing their Great Master nonplussed but for a moment after the door closed behind Pottle, Urquhart and Wield, this was an experience Pascoe and Bowler enjoyed.
Then he turned his gaze on them and they both smoothed away all signs of anything but alert intelligence from their faces.
“So, Peter, you happy now?” demanded Dalziel.
“I think it was a very useful meeting, sir, and with luck we’ll get a great deal more help from the pair of them.”
“You reckon? And mebbe I’ll join the Women’s Institute. Jesus, you’d think on the Sabbath, we could get just a little bit of real help in taking things forward. Owt ’ud do. Just a name with enough justification for me to go and kick shit out of it.”
“There’s always Roote.”
“Still whistling that tune, Pete? Thought your dog here had sniffed him out and found nowt.”
First Wield, now the Fat Man. Not forgetting, of course, Roote himself. Did the whole world know about his so-called secret surveillance? wondered Hat.
“And there weren’t owt in his statement nor anyone else’s to put him in the frame for the councillor, were there?”
“He’s a clever fellow,” said Pascoe.
“Ah, I see. That means the cleaner he looks, the guiltier he obviously is, does it? Tell you what, minute you see him walking on water with an angelic choir singing ‘Jerusalem,’ you pull your wellies on and put him under arrest. Bowler, how about you? Are you good for owt more than kissing strange men in public lavatories?”
It wasn’t a very inviting invitation, but Hat guessed it was the only one he was likely to get.
He said, “I checked out one or two people, and something came up, probably nothing…”
“You’d best not be wasting my time with it if it’s probably nothing, lad,” growled Dalziel.
“No, sir. It’s this writer fellow, Charley Penn. He was at the preview, and it’s reported that he had a bit of a set-to with Councillor Steel, so that’s why I ran him through the computer. And it turns out he has a record.”
