Bones and Silence

'You believe it was his idea?'

'Of course it was his bloody idea!' exclaimed Dalziel. 'It had dawned on him he might have been a bit hasty in concreting his missus under our garages. True, he could forge a few cheques, but without her official death, the big spondulicks were well out of his reach. Then he sees this long-legged blonde, hears Waterson's hard-luck I'm- being-blackmailed story, and bingo! He sees his way through.'

'But would he put so much reliance on a man he hardly knew, a man who by all accounts rates as a Grade A twit?'

'Aye, but not on the surface,' said Dalziel. 'Waterson liked to come across as really cool, to talk big. That's what got him into bother all the time. It was only when the shit hit the fan that he started falling to pieces. And then it was too late for Swain to back away. He just had to adjust to circumstances as best he could.'

Trimble frowned doubtfully and said, 'Evidence? I asked for evidence.'

'Evidence? It stands to reason it was Swain’s plan. It was Swain who had most to gain, wasn't it? Swain who could lay his hands on a Colt Python and Swain who knew what a mess it made of a face from seeing what it had done to his brother. It was Swain who had the clothes and jewellery and bits and pieces to back up their tale. It was Swain who would be identifying the body. It all stinks of Philip bloody Swain!'

'Olfactory evidence is rarely admissible,’ murmured Trimble with a smile that Dalziel did not return. 'Let's move on to his account of the actual shooting. Here we are. They go up to the bedroom together. Waterson has the gun. The girl is on the bed, very drunk. The plan is for Waterson to shoot her at close quarters. 'As I saw Waterson lift the gun I knew I couldn't go through with it. It was as if I'd been living in a sort of unreal cinematic world created by the shock and pain of Gail's death, a world in which normal reactions and behaviour didn't apply. Now all at once the mists cleared, the distortions straightened out, and I saw what a monstrous thing it was that Waterson had planned. I rushed at him to divert his aim but he was surprisingly strong and pushed me away. I stumbled, almost fell. Then the gun went off. I dived forward and this time managed to wrestle the gun free from his hand, but it was too late. The poor girl was slumped over the bed with blood and bone everywhere. And I was plunged even deeper into that nether world of shock, so deep indeed that I can remember hardly anything of the next few hours, and not much of the next few days. When I started to surface a little, I realized that some basic impulse for self-protection had made me stick to the story that this was Gail, though I took upon myself far more of the guilt for her death than was actually mine. When I heard that Waterson had disappeared, I understood why. He must have been convinced I was going to reveal the whole truth, and that in fact was my intention. But I felt I owed it to him to talk with him first. Perhaps he wouldn't have pulled the trigger if I hadn't tried to interfere. I knew from my own dreadful experience how accidents can look and feel like acts of murder, and I could not condemn without a hearing. I only wish I could have got to the poor chap before Arnie Stringer so tragically repaid his debt of friendship!

''My only desire now is to do all I can to clear up this whole ghastly business and put it behind me. After I left the Station earlier today, I realized I could never rest easy again until the whole truth was known, which was why I returned voluntarily to show where Gail was buried. My life is in ruins. I can only pray that eventually I shall find the strength to start rebuilding it.' End of statement.'

'Can't be, sir,' said Dalziel. 'You've missed out the swelling music! Jesus wept, it's worse than Gone with the Wind!'

'All right, Andrew,' said Trimble patiently. 'What do you think happened?'

'What I bloody well saw!' snarled the fat man.

'At least, most on it. What I reckon they agreed was that Waterson should pull the trigger. Swain had done his bit of murder and he wasn't about to go into partnership with someone who wouldn't put himself on an equal footing. Waterson'd agree to anything in advance. Full of bullshit, that one, and Swain still hadn't sussed him out. Then comes the moment and Waterson bottles out. Swain's gone too far to turn back now and he says he'll do it himself. Waterson grabs at the gun, Swain pushes him away, sticks the gun under that poor spaced-out lass's chin, and blows her face away. And that's it for Waterson. He goes catatonic and that's how I find 'em when I come steaming to the rescue.'

'And how do you explain Swain's first statement?'

'He had to think quick. No way as far as he could see that Waterson was going to stick to their original story. In fact it seems likely the little shit is going to cough the lot, so he gives a modified version, with himself involved in a struggle in which the gun might have gone off accidentally, as a fail-safe in case we start talking murder. At the same time he's still hoping he can get to Waterson before he coughs and try to minimize the damage. He underestimated Greg's powers of recovery! Goes to bed a quivering wreck, has a good night's sleep, and he's superstud again. So he sets out to repair matters by more or less writing the statement he'd agreed to give in the first place.

A bit longer, and he might have changed his mind. But first his wife comes in to see him and he can't resist making himself the star in a big drama in her eyes. Then Sergeant Wield turns up and he hands over his statement, all blase man of the world again. Which lasts till Wield is daft enough to leave him by himself.'

'Why did he take off then?'

'Because he got to thinking that not only was he in for a nasty grilling from us, but Swain would be none too pleased with him either. Also there was the drugs business. Ordinary trouble Waterson seems to have met by screaming and shouting. Real trouble, and he runs like buggery. So off he goes and hides on the lass's boat, best place he could have chosen as it turned out, but I doubt if he were that clever. It was just that there was nowhere else! But his luck ran out the day he rang his wife. Swain followed her to the Sally and was hanging around outside waiting for him when he realized that Sergeant Wield was there too. But Wield got mixed up with that gang of yobboes and Swain took his chance and picked up Greg. It'd be all sweetness and light till he established exactly what Greg had told us, then bang! Another one for his favourite boneyard. Now Waterson couldn't change his story, which left only Arnie Stringer, and once he started getting twinges of conscience 'cause I was sniffing around, that was him for the chop too. End of story.'

'And a very good story it is,' said Trimble. 'And sitting here listening to it, I'm inclined to go along with you, Andy. The trouble is that Philip Swain tells a good story too. And he's going to have psychiatrists and doctors and lawyers and character witnesses to support it. What are we going to have to support yours, Andy?'

'You've got what I tell you! You've got whatever those useless sods in Forensic can dig up! You've got the evidence of your own common bloody sense! You've got my own witness statement!'

Trimble shook his head sadly.

'If it were my decision,' he said, 'there'd be no question. But we merely feed what we have into the judiciary. That's as it should be. It must be left to the legal mind to decide what charges can confidently be brought. You don't disagree with that, do you?'