“The path. report suggests the Hon. had been dead between two and four days. Dee’s alibi’d at work for most of the relevant daylight hours. After work with the evenings drawing in, seems less of a possibility. The time it would have taken to get out there means it would have been dusk when they arrived-”
“They?” interrupted Wield.
“The killer must have driven the Hon.’s Land-Rover back from the tarn, ergo he must have gone out there in it,” said Pascoe. “However, we do know that the Hon. often spent time out there fishing at night. In fact, interestingly, it was Dee himself who told us that. He has been most helpful and co-operative throughout.”
“That’s a mark agin him,” said Dalziel hopefully. “Member of the public trying to help the police has got summat on his conscience, that’s my experience.”
“Perhaps you should widen your social circles, sir,” murmured Pascoe. “But it makes little difference as Dee is alibi’d for the nights too.”
“Oh aye? Shagging someone, is he?” said the Fat Man.
“He didn’t volunteer any details of his emotional life,” said Pascoe. “But he spent one of the evenings in question at a county librarians’ meeting in Sheffield to which he drove with Percy Follows, getting back here after midnight. The other he spent at Charley Penn’s flat where, having drunk very freely of Penn’s Scotch, he spent the night on the sofa. Penn confirms.”
The phone rang. Dalziel picked it up, listened, then said, “If I were on my way, I’d not be answering the sodding phone, would I? Soon!”
He banged it down again.
“Mr. Trimble?” said Pascoe.
“His secretary. If it had been Dan, I’d not have been so polite. Pete, I’m letting you rabbit on like this in the hope you’re keeping the good news till the last. Should I hold my breath?”
“No, sir. Sorry.”
“Then sod it, I might as well go and help Dan find where he’s hid his Scotch,” said the Fat Man, rising and making for the door.
“Sir,” said Hat.
“What sir’s that, lad?” said Dalziel in the doorway.
“Sorry, sir?”
“Is it ‘Mr. Dalziel, sir, please don’t leave ’cos I’ve got summat very perceptive to say’? Or is it ‘Mr. Pascoe, sir, now the old fart’s gone, I’ve got summat very perceptive to say’?”
Hat knew that there were some questions better unanswered.
He said, “I was just thinking, what if there were two of them?”
“Two bodies you mean? Wieldy, you were at the PM. Didn’t the loose bits match?”
Wield said, “Think he means two killers.”
“Jesus. Why stick at two? If we’re into invention, let’s make it a mob.”
“Two would mean that neither of them actually needed to have travelled out to the tarn with Lord Pyke- Strengler,” said Hat. “And there’d have been a spare driver to bring his Land-Rover back.”
“To what end?” enquired Pascoe.
“The Land-Rover would get noticed from a distance out there,” said Hat. “The body where it was could have lain there a lot longer if we hadn’t happened to stumble on it. The longer it lies, the less there is for us to find. Or maybe the idea was to shift it. Maybe that was what Dee was up to, but he saw us wandering around on the far side of the tarn and when we started out towards the cottage, he got back there fast to intercept us. He didn’t seem very keen for us to go on.”
“In your statement all you say is he remarked it got a bit boggy further along the shore,” said Pascoe.
“Well, there’s different ways of saying things,” said Hat, blushing slightly.
“Especially if they don’t fit a thesis, eh?” said Pascoe. “Where’s this leading, Hat? Are we still talking about Dee? Like I just told you, he’s alibi’d.”
“Not if Charley Penn’s the other half of the pair, he isn’t,” said Hat.
Dalziel said, “Still fancy Charley, do you, lad? I’ll say this for you, once you get someone in your sights, you keep the bugger there.”
There wasn’t the usual force in his mockery, however, and Hat felt encouraged enough to go on.
“And if they were both in it, then it doesn’t matter that Penn’s got an alibi for the Johnson killing.”
“Which you established by interviewing his mother,” said Dalziel. “I were going to talk to you about your interview techniques, lad.”
His tone was now distinctly unfriendly.
“Something come up, sir?” said Pascoe.
“Nothing important. Just that Sherlock here got it all wrong and it seems Charley weren’t anywhere near his ma’s place that Sunday.”
Hat felt both crestfallen and elated at the same time.
Pascoe said, “He admits this?”
“He does now,” said Dalziel. “But don’t start oiling your handcuffs. He says he’s got another alibi. Claims he spent the afternoon on the nest with a ladyfriend.”
“And what’s the ladyfriend say?”
“Nowt. Turns out she’s on holiday in the Seychelles for three weeks. With her husband. So we need to tread careful.”
“Why’s that?”
“Seems the lady in question is Maggot Blossom. That’s right. Helpmeet and comfort to Joe Blossom, the Lord of the Flies, our beloved mayor. So we’ll need to wait till they get back afore we make enquiries.”
“Not like you to be so diplomatic, sir,” said Pascoe provocatively.
“Not diplomatic. Careful. Yon Maggot’s got a leg-lock could break a man’s spine.” Then in face of Pascoe’s sceptical moue, he added, “Also, she’s got a tattoo somewhere Charley couldn’t know about unless
…Any road, unless young Bowler here can come up with summat more than a funny feeling, looks like Penn’s right on the edge of the frame.”
Hat looked around desperately as if he hoped a messenger might arrive with a freshly penned confession.
Pascoe said encouragingly, “Nothing wrong with informed speculation, Hat. You must have something going through your mind to suggest the possibility that Dee and Penn might enter into a conspiracy?”
Hat said, “Well, they went to the same school.”
“So did Hitler and Wittgenstein,” laughed Pascoe. Then recalled where he’d got this bit of information. From Sam Johnson’s account of his first meeting with Charley Penn. He stopped laughing.
“And they play this weird game together,” Hat went on. “I saw them at it.”
“At it? You talking game as in rumpty-tumpty?” said Dalziel, interested.
“No, sir. It’s a board game, like Scrabble, only a lot harder. They use all kinds of different languages and there’s a lot of other rules. We saw a board when we were round at Penn’s flat, sir.”
“So we did,” said Pascoe. “Some odd name, what was it?”
“Pa-ro-no-mania,” said Hat carefully.
“Not paronomasia?” suggested Pascoe.
“No. Definitely mania. The other means word-play or punning, doesn’t it?” said Hat, happy to show Pascoe that he wasn’t the only clever bugger around.
“So it does,” said Pascoe. “And what does your word-which I must say I’ve never come across-mean?”
“It’s a real word, sir,” averred Hat, detecting a hint of dubiety. “It was Miss Pomona who told me about it after I saw them playing. Hang on, I’ve got a copy of the rules…”
He began to search through the wallet into which he’d put the papers Rye had given him before he’d taken to his sickbed.
“Here we go,” he said triumphantly, handing the tightly creased sheets to Pascoe who unfolded them carefully and read them with interest.
“OED, Second Edition. I stand corrected.”
“And I’m standing like a spare prick at a wedding,” said Dalziel. “This is worse than listening to yon pair of epidemics.”
