Bones and Silence

month for you. And it's odd the way it works. Some might say that there's just too many deaths, that it goes way beyond coincidence, that benefit of doubt has got to stop somewhere. But juries don't think like that. It's addictive, doubt. Accept the Crown's got it wrong once, and next time it's that much easier; twice, and after that they're ready to think a trout in the milk got there by jumping out of the galley of a passing Concorde. So I reckon you've made it, Phil. I reckon the prosecution'll write off your wife and Arnie as accidents, accept you had nowt to do with Waterson's death, and slap your wrist for getting mixed up in the plot to kill King. Congratulations! I mean, they'll probably still send you down for a spell, but from what I've seen of you, I'm sure you can eat your porridge and come out smiling, specially when it's only Baby Bear's plate you've got to get through.'

He finished speaking and Swain studied his beaming face like a sailor still fearful of reefs between him and the sheltered harbour.

'Is this official, Superintendent?' he asked.

'It's better than official,' laughed Dalziel. 'It's what I think.'

Swain nodded and began to smile.

'Then that's good enough for me,' he said. 'I thank you for coming. It was an unexpected kindness.'

He stood up and extended his hand. Dalziel examined it for a moment, then grasped it firmly. For a few seconds the two men stood smile to smile, then Dalziel said, 'Only. . .'

'Only. . .?'

'Only it's a pity,' began Dalziel then broke off, shaking his head as though in regret. The smile left Swain's face. He tried to withdraw his hand but Dalziel's grip was not to be broken and slowly, without any obvious force exerted by the fat man, Swain found himself pressed back down into his chair.

'What are you talking about?' he gasped.

'It's a pity about the other body,' said Dalziel. 'I mean, you must have thought, like the Yanks say, if it's not broke, don't fix it. If there's no risk, why take precautions? If you've got certainty, who needs doubt? You can let go of my hand now, if you like, Phil. Don't want the screws talking, do we?'

'What the hell are you on about? What other body?' demanded Swain, nursing his bloodless hand.

'Young Tony Appleyard's, of course. I can see why you didn't bother much there, Phil. I mean, everything pointed so clearly to Arnie. Motive, opportunity, behaviour. And he even believed himself he'd done it!'

'He did do it! You bastard, what are you trying to pin on me? I don't need to listen to this. I want to talk to my solicitor!'

'Like I said, Phil, that'd either mean him coming back from Barbados, which he wouldn't like, or you going out there, which isn't convenient just at present. But of course you're free to terminate this interview any time you like. Just say the word. I can't stay much longer anyway. Got my public to think of. What's it to be?'

Swain made an effort to get control of himself and said, 'I think you're a bad loser, Dalziel, and this is just a little bit of compensatory sadism. But the telly's always lousy on a Bank Holiday, so I might as well let you entertain me for a while.'

Dalziel nodded approval.

'You know, Phil,' he said genially. 'I didn't like you at all when we first met, but recently you've grown on me. Like a polyp. I'll be almost sorry to cut you off. Right now, here's the case as I see it. Arnie came to you right enough, thinking he'd killed Appleyard. But all that business of you agreeing to help, and your missus rowing with you because she overheard, was so much crap. No, what really made you sit up and take notice was when Arnie told you he'd been fighting with his son-in-law in your bam! Because that's where you'd dumped your missus when you killed her, probably the night before. So now you say you'll check up on the lad and you get out there pretty damn quick, and it's just as well you do, because young Appleyard was only stunned and he's just woken up in the corner where he fell and he's just realized he's not alone!'

Dalziel paused, shaking his head as though made speechless by his mental picture of the scene. Swain said thickly, 'This is pure fantasy. ‘

‘Aye, it's fantastic all right,' said Dalziel. 'That's what the jury will have to understand, that two creatures as fantastic as you and Greg Waterson could exist. Between you, you'd just about have made a normal human being. But it was all you to start with. There you were with a witness to your wife's death, and back there in the house was a poor sod who thought he'd killed that witness. You must have thought the logic was inescapable, Phil. You picked up the nearest weapon, which happened to be an old broken-handled pitchfork, and you stuck it through that lad's throat. Good luck or good aim? Who knows? Down he went and back into the house you go to tell poor old Arnie, yes he was right, his son-in-law was dead.

'After that, well, we know the way it really was, Phil, and we know the way you say it was. Could be you'll still get away with it. Could be they'll even believe your missus died accidental, so you'll be able to keep the money. But it won't do you any good because you'll be serving a long, long time for the one killing you thought you need never worry about, the one you thought could never show up on your doorstep.'

'You're lying, Dalziel,' said Swain with some of his composure recovered. 'You haven't got the face for a bluff.'

'You think so? Oh, I see what you're getting at. You reckon because you took the precaution of having that barn cleared out, there can't be any physical evidence. Now that would be all right if only Joe Swindles had stuffed everything into his crusher. But he didn't, did he? I mean, he couldn't have, else how would I know about the pitchfork?'

He let Swain digest this for a moment, then added softly, 'And if you think that lying around Joe Swindles's yard all these weeks would mean there were no traces on the spike, think again. There’s blood there right enough and it's the right group, you can take my word for it.'

As he spoke he gently caressed a large sticking plaster on the ball of his thumb.

Swain said, 'Why have you come here, Dalziel? Why are you telling me all this?'

Dalziel smiled and thought of all the things he wasn't telling Swain. He wasn't telling him that bats did not sleep consistently through their winter hibernation but woke up from time to time, because they were disturbed, or because of changes in temperature, or simply because they needed to get rid of the excess water created by the metabolizing of their fatty food reserves. Clever Pascoe to set Dr Death hunting for traces of bat piss! And clever Dr Death to find significantly larger traces on the woman's clothing than the youth's, suggesting that she'd been there first and longer. Gentry had also proved conclusively that Appleyard's neck wound could not have been made by any