Bones and Silence

'Well, that's all right till things start going to pieces, one thing after another, and all the time you're saying, Thy will, not mine, and sometimes you're excusing God, and sometimes you're excusing yourself ... Do you understand what I mean? No! Why the hell should you?'

He looked at Dalziel with a terrible contempt but the fat man did not feel it was all directed at him, nor would he have much cared if it had been.

He said, 'Mebbe I understand how your lass feels playing second fiddle to a pile of red bricks. Excuse me.'

He walked away and ran lightly up the stairway to the office.

Shirley Appleyard said, 'What's up?'

'Nowt,' said Dalziel. 'We heard a rumour that your husband came back up here early in February. I were just asking your dad if he'd heard owt about it.'

'And what's he say?'

'That he hadn't. I don't suppose you knew owt about it either, else you'd have told me when you asked me to find him, wouldn't you?'

She didn't meet his gaze for a moment but when she did, hers was as unblinking as his.

'That's what they say about you,' she said. 'Doesn't matter what's in front of you, you'll keep walking straight forward till you tread on the truth, even if it means bringing it back broken.'

'So you did know he'd been back?'

'I heard a rumour, that was all. A lad said another lad said . . .'

'But you didn't make more inquiries?'

'I've got some pride,' she flashed. 'If he'd come back to see me, he knew where I was. I didn't want people to think I was crawling after him.'

'So you kept quiet till you saw the chance to get someone else doing the crawling for you?'

'No!' she said. 'You're not built for crawling, are you?'

It was, he decided, mainly a compliment.

'So shall I keep on looking?' he asked. Her answer wasn't going to influence him in the slightest, but he wanted to hear what it was.

'Please yourself,' she said.

'What's up, lass? Lost interest? Or hope?'

‘'What's it matter? In the long run, what's any of it matter?'

'The truth matters,' he said. 'Tread on it hard as you like, you'll not break it. It's only lies that crack easily.'

He trotted down the stairs thinking that Pascoe would have been proud to hear him coming over so philosophical.

Stringer was in the pick-up, Swain in the JCB. Both had their engines running.

'All done, Superintendent?' Swain shouted above the noise.

'Just about,' bellowed Dalziel. 'Your brother shot himself in there, didn't he?'

He pointed into the barn. The pride of the Diplomatic Corps, thought Wield.

'That's right.'

'Must have asked yourself a thousand times why he did it?'

Only Dalziel could contrive to have an intimate tete-a-tete fortissimo.

'No. Only once,' shouted Swain, clearly determined not to back away.

'You mean you got the right answer straight off?'

'I mean he obviously shot himself because there was no way he could see to save the farm.'

'At the inquest you said no other way.'

'Did I? I may have done. Makes no difference, does it?'

'Didn't he try to borrow money from you to pay off his debts?'

'Naturally. But I didn't have enough to lend.'

'What about your wife? Didn't he ask her?'

'Possibly. But she would not have been inclined to put money into a bankrupt farm. Nor am I inclined to listen to your offensive questions any more, Dalziel. I thought you'd been officially warned about harassing me over Gail's death.'

'It's not your wife's death I'm talking about, sir, it's your brother's,' yelled Dalziel. 'But I gather Mrs Swain coughed up quick enough once you'd inherited Moscow?'

'It was our home then. A good investment.'

'So if you did say no other way, you'd have been right? I mean, your brother must have known that once you inherited, there'd be a much better chance of Mrs Swain sorting things out?'

'I doubt if Tom was in the right state of mind for such abstruse calculations, Superintendent,' said Swain, his