Bones and Silence

with Dad gone and all that money in the bank, he's going to be wanting something a bit more cut-glass than me answering the phone, isn't he?'

'I don't know,' said Pascoe. 'Only a fool bothers with cut-glass when he's got immortal diamond.'

It was a line which could have sounded emptily corny, but the grave pleasure with which Shirley Appleyard accepted it made the risk worthwhile.

'Thanks,' she said. 'I'll mebbe see you.'

He watched her walking away. Life had tested her hard during her nineteen brief years. He hoped it wasn't a test to destruction.

'Make a complaint?' said Dalziel. 'But why'd he ask you?'

'Because I was there, I suppose,' said Pascoe.

'He knows you're on my team and he knows the first thing you're going to do is warn me,' said Dalziel reflectively. 'And he could have said all that to my face, couldn't he, and achieved the same effect? So it must have been you in particular he wanted to talk to. But why?'

'I think you're reading too much into it, sir. He was just very angry. Incidentally, was what he said true? Did you accuse him of those things?'

'In a manner of speaking,' said Dalziel with the long-suffering expression of one used to misinterpretation.

'In what manner of speaking do you tell a man he's murdered not only his wife but his business partner?' wondered Pascoe.

'In a bloody uncompromising manner,’ growled Dalziel.

'But how can you be so sure, sir?' demanded Pascoe. 'Until we can talk to Waterson and Beverley King, we're stuck with Waterson's statement, and as for Stringer, there's no motive or evidence to suggest anything but an accident, and Stringer's last words confirm this.'

'Mebbe. Bit odd he felt he had to confirm it. Wouldn't you say?'

'He opened his eyes, saw me and Swain side by side, put two and two together and wanted to get things straight. Human nature, when you're dying.'

'You reckon?' said Dalziel, shaking his head. 'Funny view of human nature they sold you at that college, Peter. If I were you, I'd write and ask for a refund. What was it he said again?'

'He said it wasn't Swain's fault, how many times do I have to tell you,' said Pascoe, driven to petulance.

'No, the exact words. First rule of detective work, lad. Always be precise.'

Pascoe took a deep breath, closed his eyes and recited, 'Phil not to blame. God's will. Only helping a friend. Good friend to me.'

'That's it? You're sure?'

'Yes, I'm sure.'

'Then why did you say all he said was that it wasn't Swain's fault?'

'Because that's what he did say!' exclaimed Pascoe indignantly. 'That was the gist.'

'The gist.' Dalziel chewed on the word. 'Aye, the gist. Mebbe that's what Swain wanted you to remember, just the gist! Mebbe that's why he grabbed you and made all that commotion about getting my wrist slapped so you'd come back here full of his pathetic threats and with no better bloody recollection of what Stringer actually said than the sodding bloody gist!'

Dalziel struck his desktop so hard that his telephone jumped inches in the air with a little squeak of alarm and a pile of papers fluttered out of his in-tray on to Pascoe's lap.

'But what else did he say besides it wasn't Swain's fault?' asked Pascoe, clutching the errant mail. A familiar typeface caught his eye and he tried to shuffle it to the top.

'He said, helping a friend, right? How was running a JCB over Stringer helping a friend?'

'He was referring to the job . . .'

'They were business partners! If Marks went out with Spencer to stock shelves, you'd not call that helping a friend, would you?'

'Probably not,' said Pascoe. 'Sir, have you looked at your mail yet?'

'No! When have I had time to look at mail, doing every other bugger's job?' said Dalziel irritably. 'Like yours. You're supposed to be the clever sod with words, aren't you? Well, you've not been so clever here, lad. Helping a friend . . . I'll tell you what it means to me, shall I? I think it means there was something Swain did to help Stringer out, and it was a bit dodgy, and when Arnie realized he were popping his clogs, he wanted to be sure his mate didn't get lumbered . . . Are you listening to me, Chief Inspector?'

'Yes, sir. Sorry. It's just that there's a letter here from the Dark Lady.'

'Not another! It's barely a week since the last. I wish she'd put up or shut up!'

'She was helpful last time, sir,' reminded Pascoe.

'I'd have heard about Thackeray soon enough,' said Dalziel ungraciously. 'What's she say this time? Knows who Jack the Ripper was, does she?'

'Nothing so dramatic,' said Pascoe, troubled. 'But you said Tony Appleyard came back up here in February, and you were wondering how it might be that Swain helped a friend

He held out the letter. Impatiently Dalziel snatched it, scanned it quickly then read it again more slowly.

'Christ, it's a bit cryptic, isn't it?'