“Took his own knife along to sort out Jax Ripley,” said Wield.
“True, but he still makes it clear that the weapon was somehow provided for him in some manner he could fit into his grand plan. And similarly with the drug used to poison Sam Johnson.”
“So what are you saying, Doctor?” enquired Trimble.
“Only that, if the maintenance man’s version is true, it means that the Wordman is rearranging the facts of the incident to fit in with his fantasy, or even to persuade us of its reality. Which would be very interesting.”
“Interesting!” groaned Dalziel. “Like it’s interesting if you’re waiting for a bus and a giraffe walks down the street, only it doesn’t get you anywhere!”
Pascoe hid a smile and went on, “Whatever the truth of that, the two men were certainly electrocuted in the Roman Experience…”
“Sounded more like a Greek experience, from what I heard,” grunted Urquhart who looked even more wrecked than Pascoe felt and had been struggling to find a dormitory position on an upright plastic chair.
“As always, I bow to expertise,” said Pascoe. “Anyway, they were in the Centre basement area-”
“Sir,” interrupted Hat Bowler, “had they arranged to meet there to, you know, do it? Like a date, I mean. Or had it just happened? Or was it a sexual assault?”
“I think, in view of the dressing-up element, and unless we discount the Dialogue completely, it was all planned and voluntary,” said Pascoe. “The duty security man says that Bird had warned him that he would be testing the basement effects early that evening for about an hour to make sure that all was well. The security videos were as useless as ever. A fire door wedged open at the head of the main stair down to the Experience effectively cut out the corridor along which Follows must have approached from the library and therefore cut out the pursuing Wordman too. There is no video camera in place yet in the Experience area. I presume Bird and Follows knew this otherwise they’d hardly have rendezvoused there. You look doubtful, Hat.”
“It’s just that, well, those two didn’t seem the type…”
Pascoe raised an eyebrow, Wield scratched his nose, and Hat stumbled on, “… sorry, I didn’t mean not the type to be gay, because I don’t know what that would be, but they didn’t seem to like each other, in fact the few times I saw them, they seemed to be getting right up each other’s noses.”
“Not their noses you should have been watching,” muttered Dalziel.
Pottle said, “This apparent antagonism was almost certainly their way of concealing the relationship, though it may well be that a real antagonism actually played a significant role in it too. There are certain kinds of lovers’ quarrels which add a positive spice to heterosexual relationships. The vigorous verbal battles we so often find being joined between men and women in Shakespeare are nearly always a prelude to their eventual coupling.”
“I should add,” said Pascoe, “that the security man does recollect other occasions when Bird used the theatre for what he called lighting rehearsals, just him and allegedly the lighting director, though the security man once glimpsed what he called this lanky blonde in an off the shoulder dress before a door was shut in his face. I suspect they had been taking advantage of Bird’s access to props and costumes to play out their fantasies for some time and the completion of the Roman Experience had seemed like an opportunity not to be refused.”
Trimble said hopefully, “This killing couldn’t be just a bit of good old-fashioned gay-bashing, could it? That would make things such a lot simpler.”
Pascoe opened his mouth to make a sharp response to this crass comment, but Wield came quickly in with, “Sorry, sir, but there’s nothing in the Dialogue to suggest the Wordman disapproves. He may be mad but that doesn’t mean he’s got to be bigoted.”
Then he glanced at Pascoe and dropped an eyelid as if to say, I’m a big boy now, I can look after myself.
Pottle added, “I agree with the sergeant. Indeed so far I have found little to suggest that the Wordman disapproves in moral terms of any of his victims. Certainly there are no traces of homophobia.”
“Yes, of course. Sorry,” said Trimble. “Mr. Pascoe, please go on.”
“Yes, as I was saying, the pathologist has confirmed that death was by electrocution. After death the bodies were interfered with in a curious way…”
“After!” grunted Dalziel.
“… with Follows having a mark scratched on his fore-head. Scratches on skin are difficult but the best guess is it was intended to look like this.”
Pascoe went to the drywipe board and drew: $
“It’s a dollar sign,” said Trimble.
“Possibly,” said Pascoe. “And certainly if that’s what it is meant to be, there is a link of a kind with what was found in Ambrose Bird’s mouth.”
He produced a plastic evidence bag in which a small metal disc was visible.
“It is a Roman coin, copper or bronze. We showed it to Ms. Carcanet, the Heritage Director. As you may know, she’s been unwell and the news of what had happened in the Roman Experience didn’t do her state of mind any good. But she managed to tell us that the head stamped on the coin is probably that of the Emperor Diocletian, though it’s very worn, far too badly for the inscription to be legible.”
“But it is genuine?” asked Trimble.
“Oh yes. Most of the coins in the tourist bags like the one Follows was carrying are replicas, but for authenticity they decided to include a few examples of the real thing, well-used Roman coins too worn to have any value to a collector. Did the Wordman select it deliberately because he wanted the real thing, I wonder. And perhaps too we should recall that the classical Greeks used to place an obolus or small coin in the mouth of the dead so that they could pay Charon to ferry them over the Styx.”
“Karen?” said Dalziel. “Over the sticks? Grand National’s not been the same since they invented women jockeys.”
Pascoe, who’d heard it all before, ignored this provocative philistinism and concluded, “Anyway there we have it, a dollar sign and a Roman coin. I suppose it could be some kind of statement about money being the root of all evil?”
He looked hopefully towards the two doctors.
Pottle shook his head.
“I doubt it. As I say, I find little evidence of any warped moral schema here. He’s not killing people because they are prostitutes, or black, or Arsenal supporters. No, I’d guess that the coin and the sign are riddle elements rather than psychological indices. Perhaps our semiotic expert can help.”
He blew a wraith of smoke towards Drew Urquhart who had apparently overcome all the gymnastic problems inherent in going to sleep on a hard office chair.
The linguist opened his eyes, yawned, and scratched his stubbly face.
“Thought about it,” he said. “Not a fucking clue what they mean.”
Dalziel rolled his eyes like ten-pin bowls but before he could knock the Scot over, he continued, “But there is a couple of wee things that did strike me. I’ll go through the Dialogue bit by bit if that’s OK, Mr. Trimble?”
He looked deferentially towards the Chief Constable. The sly sod’s sending Andy up! thought Pascoe. With an embarrassed glance at his Head of CID, Trimble nodded.
“First para takes the form of a question, establishing a dialogue between him and us. Second starts biblically, ‘me of little faith,’ version of Matthew 14.31. Then note ‘a quarter of the way.’ Eight deaths so far, implying another twenty-four to go, though not necessarily, as I shall explain later.”
“Can’t wait,” said Dalziel.
“Cross your legs and think of Jesus, my old gran used to say,” said Urquhart. “Something else here, same para, you must have noticed it with your guid Scots ancestry, Mr. Dalziel. ‘Braggart step.’ Now how does it go?”
He started humming a tune, then interpolated the odd word as though having difficulty remembering, the whiles looking imploringly at Dalziel who suddenly amazed them all by breaking forth in a not unpleasing baritone and singing, “If you’re thinking in your inner hairt the braggart’s in my step, ye’ve never smelt the tangle o’ the Isles!”
“Bravo,” said Urquhart. “Guid to see you’ve not gone completely native.”
“So the Wordman knows the song. So what?”
“By heather paths wi’ heaven in their wiles,” murmured Urquhart. “It all builds a picture. Next para: ‘Happy word.’ Presumably followed because of course he is following Follows. Well, we knew he was a word freak, but
