Death's Jest-Book (23 page)

He went behind the reception desk
and followed her into the office.

It was the first time he'd been
in here since he'd supervised the search which followed Dick Dee's
death. They'd found nothing here or in the man's flat which added
much to the case for the Head of Reference being the Wordman, but it
hadn't mattered. In retrospect such a long trail of evidence, albeit
mainly circumstantial, led to his door that CID had had to field a
lot of hostile questioning about how many people had died because
they couldn't see what lay under their noses.

Things had changed considerably.

The paintings and photographs of
great lexicographers which had darkened the walls had been replaced
by some vapid watercolours of Yorkshire beauty spots and the plaster
had been given a coat of paint. The furniture too was new, or at
least new in here, probably a straight swap with another municipal
office organized by someone sensitive enough to guess that Rye might
not be too happy to feel that she was sitting on a seat polished by
the buttocks of the man who'd tried to kill her.

'Nice’ he said, looking
around. 'Lot brighter.'

'Yes. He's still here though.'

'You reckon? That bother you?'

She shook her head.

'No’ she said. 'They asked
me that, not directly of course, but they wanted to move me. And I
said no, this was where I wanted to be. You see, I always liked Dick.
He was kind to me. Except. . . yeah, well. Except. Maybe if I'd never
gone out to the tarn that day . . . Maybes, eh? But here in the
library, I always remember him as a good friend.'

She busied herself making coffee,
but he could see her dark eyes brimming with tears.

Dalziel said, 'He had to be
stopped. What happened to you stopped him. Nowt to feel guilty about,
luv. But I know how you feel. Couple of times I've had to send
someone down that I'd rather not have done. Only a couple of times,
you understand. Mainly I'm happy to kick 'em down the dungeon steps
and slam the door behind them. But with these two, I sometimes think
that if mebbe I'd. done summat a bit different, mebbe looked the
other way, I wouldn't have had to ... Aye, mebbe's not a spot you
want to spend a winter's night in. I'll take mine black’

Rye finished
making the coffee and by the time she set a
mug in front of
him, she was back in control.

'So apart from the fact that I'm
a recovered victim and one of your work-slaves' bit of fluff, how
come I'm getting the special treatment over a minor crime? From what
I've heard, you're stretched enough trying to deal with major ones!'

'We're never so stretched that we
can't find time to spread a little comfort and light’ said
Dalziel. 'Listen, I reckon I can talk to you straight. Being a victim
and surviving doesn't just get you tea, sympathy and congratulation.
It can also get you a lot of unwelcome attention from all sorts of
weirdos. There's lunatics out there who work out that having been
attacked once means you've probably got a taste for it. Or that it's
up to them to finish a job half done. Or they just get a kick out of
thinking that, because you've been scared shitless once, you're
really going to freak out when it happens a second time’

Rye had frozen with her mug
poised a couple of inches from her mouth.

'This is comfort and light?' she
said. 'What do you do when you bring bad news? Shove a severed leg
through the letter box and yell, "There's been a bit of an
accident, luv!"'

'You prefer round the houses,
I'll send DCI Pascoe’ said Dalziel. 'I'm not done yet. They're
the freaks and I'm glad to say there's not a lot of them around. But
there's another bunch. Them as reckon you're not the victim at all
but some other bugger is, someone who's either been jailed or in your
case killed. They reckon that what's happened to this other bugger is
your fault. Stands to reason, don't it? You're alive and he's dead.
Sick proboscis’

Rye
interpreted this as
sic probg
but was wise enough not to test
whether the variation was ironic or ignorant.

She said, 'Is this other bunch a
large bunch or do you have someone specific in mind?'

'More than my job's worth to put
names in your mouth’ said Dalziel virtuously. 'But you mention
a name and it 'ud be my duty to look into it’

He liked the way she didn't
hesitate.

'Charley Penn’ she said.
That's who we're sniffing around here, isn't it? Two of my neighbours
saw him, or someone who fits his description, but you know that.
Well, I'll talk about him, but let's get one thing clear. I am not
putting in a complaint about him. And I'll deny all knowledge of this
conversation if you try to make this official.'

'What about this tape recorder
I've got strapped to my groin?' said Dalziel.

'Here's me thinking you were just
glad to see me’ she said boldly.

He laughed and said, 'You've been
keeping bad company, lass. So, unofficially, tell me about Charley.'

'What's to tell? He can't get his
head round finding out that his old schoolmate and best buddy was a
serial killer. End of story.'

'End of opening para,' said
Dalziel. 'What's he said to you?'

'Not much directly. Just sits out
there and glowers. I feel his eyes on me all the time.'

‘That all? Didn't he used
to send you .poems or summat?'

'Sort of, in the old days ... I
mean, before all this happened. Thing was, he used to fancy me. At
least I think he did, or maybe it was just some silly game he got off
on. Anyway, you know these German poems he's been working on for the
past thousand years or so?'

'Heinkel,' said Dalziel.

'Heine. He'd leave the odd love
poem lying around where he knew I'd find it. He'd pretend it was
accidental, but in that leering way he has which made it clear it
wasn't.'

'Can't blame the bugger for
trying,' said Dalziel.

'Can't you? All right, it wasn't
major harassment, but it became irritating and I might have said
something if he hadn't been . . . if. . .'

'If he hadn't been such a mate of
Dee's,' completed Dalziel. 'But he's not been sending you these
billy-doos since Dee snuffed it?'

'No, at least I'm spared that.
Though maybe it was better having him leering at me lecherously than
glaring at me as if he'd like to ... I don't know what.'

'So you feel threatened, then
your flat gets broken into, and there's a message on your computer
which is a straight link to Heinz

'Heine. You work that out for
yourself, or did your pet bloodhound sniff it out?'

Dalziel said gravely, 'Listen,
luv, sometimes what a cop needs to do 'cos he's a trained sniffer dog
and what he needs to do 'cos he's a love-sick puppy turns out to be
one and the same thing. What you grinning at?'

‘Trying to see you as a
love-sick puppy, Superintendent.'

'I like my tummy scratched as
well as the next man’ said Dalziel. 'Just takes a stronger
woman, that's all. Point I'm making is, in this case it weren't a
matter of professional versus personal. Brains and bollocks, they all
told young Bowler he had to have a word. Now that's sorted, let's get
back to onions. Charley Penn's scaring you, the break-in suggests a
link with Charley, why aren't you screaming for police protection?'

She ran her fingers through her
thick brown hair so that the silver blaze rippled like a fish in a
peaty stream.

'I don't know’ she said
unhappily. 'I suppose I wanted it to be all over, you know, draw a
line and say, that's it, new start. They wanted me to have
counselling, all that crap, but I said no. Watching Hat get better,
and helping him, that was like a kind of surrogate healing for me.
And this weekend we've just had, well, it was great. I felt really
happy. Then we got back and I saw the flat and I didn't want to let
it register, I suppose. I just wanted to tidy up and carry on like
nothing had happened.'

'I can understand that. How do
you feel now? Ready to make it official?'

She laughed and said, 'You don't
give up, do you? All right. I'll make it official my flat was broken
into. But I'm not pointing a finger. You want to talk to Penn, that's
up to you. He was in his usual spot earlier, but I expect he's gone
down to Hal's for a coffee.'

'Aye, he has. That's where I saw
him on my way in.'

She stared at him assessingly
then said, 'You've spoken to him already, haven't you? All this stuff
about needing me to give the go-ahead was bollocks!'

'Nay, lass,' said Dalziel
soothingly. 'I had an unofficial word, that's true. All you've done
is make it official. It's just a question of labels. Talking of
which, you didn't come into work on Friday carrying a suitcase with a
lot of labels on, did you?'

'Sorry?'

'You went off for the weekend
Friday evening with young Bowler, right?'

'That's right. But I went home
first to pick up my bag then drove round to Hat's.'

'Anyone shouting "Enjoy your
weekend away! Give him one for me!" as you left?'

'I don't remember, might have
done.'

'And was Penn in the library on
Friday?'

'Ah.' She had got his drift. She
frowned and said, 'Yes, he was. But I can't swear that anything was
said then that indicated I was going to be out of my flat till
Monday. Will you want to look around now it's official?'

'Your flat? Not worth it if
you've cleaned it up. You might think about improving your security,
but. talking of which, I'm glad to see they're spending a bit of
money on a decent system to protect their staff round here. Better
late than never, eh?'

The absence of a decent security
system in the Centre had been one of the obstacles to an early
solution of the Wordman case. By an irony not unremarked by his civic
colleagues, Stuffer Steel had been the man mainly responsible for the
penny-pinching approach which had led to the installation of the
Centre's original bog-standard basic CCTV system.

'I don't think it's their staff
they're worried about,' said Rye. 'Heritage is displaying the Elsecar
Hoard next month, and it was a condition of getting it that our
security was right up to date.'

'Poor old Stuffer must be
spinning in his grave,' said Dalziel.

Councillor Steel, when news of
the controversy about the Hoard first hit the headlines, had opined
that the remaining Elsecars should be sent down the mines (if a mine
could be found for them to be sent down) and their Hoard sold and the
money distributed among the poor and oppressed of Yorkshire.

Andy Dalziel, no great lover of
the councillor, for once agreed with him.

'Yes, I suppose he must,' said
Rye.

There were tears in her eyes
again and Dalziel cursed himself for his insensitivity.

He said, 'Better be off now. Take
care, lass. And don't be too hard on young Bowler. But I'd not be too
soft either! Cheers.'

On his way out of the library, he
met Penn coming back in.

Dalziel took the book out of his
pocket and flourished it.

'Nice one, Charley’ he
said. 'Can't wait to read it.'

Penn watched him go, then made
his way to his usual place and sat down.

Rye was back behind the counter.

Their gazes met, and locked.

It was Rye who broke off first.
She grimaced as if in pain, put her hand to her head, then retreated
into the office, kicking the door shut behind her.

Charley Penn smiled a wintry
smile.

'Gotcha’ he mouthed. Then
he turned to his books.

On
Wednesday morning, despite the early hour, the passengers on the
overnight flight from New York to Manchester strode into the public
arrivals area with the sprightly step of the born-again who'd not
only survived six hours trapped in a tin can but had passed through
the Green Channel without some fish-eyed customs official attempting
to investigate their private parts.

One, an attractive
athletic-looking young woman with a papoose harness tied tightly
against her breast so that it didn't impede her from pushing her
luggage trolley, scanned the crowd waiting along the barrier eagerly
as if in search of a familiar face.

She didn't
find it, but what she did see was a man in a sober grey suit holding
up a piece of white card bearing the name carnwath.

She went to him and said, 'Hi.
I'm Meg Carnwath.'

'Hello,' he said. 'I'm Detective
Sergeant Young, Greater Manchester CID.'

'Oh God. What's happened? Has Oz
had an accident. . . ?'

'No, no, he's fine, really. It's
this case he's a witness in ... he's told you about it?'

'Yes, he has. He rang up
yesterday to say that it had been put back till this afternoon, but
he'd still have plenty of time to meet me and drive me back home.'

'How'd he sound?'

'A bit nervous. He said he'd be
glad when this first stage was over. After that he thought he'd be
OK, like a first night.'

'Well, he's right to be nervous.
We got a whisper there might be an attempt to bring pressure on him
via you. Probably nothing in it, but for everyone's sake, it made
sense for us to pick you up and keep you nice and safe till Mr
Carnwath has given his evidence.'

'Oh God,' exclaimed the woman,
wide-eyed. 'Oz said this guy who killed the girl was pretty heavily
connected, but this is like something out of the movies.'

'We'll try to keep the car chases
within the legal limit,' said Young, smiling. 'Anyway, even if there
was anything to worry about, there isn't now. Here, let me take
that.'

Pushing the trolley he led her
out to the waiting car which was a big Mercedes.

'Well, this is nice,' she said.
'Didn't realize the police were so upmarket.'

'We didn't want to draw
attention,' he said. 'Escort you to a police car and everyone would
have you down as a drug smuggler! Besides, you deserve a bit of
comfort after being squashed in a plane seat so long. There's a baby
harness in the back if you want it.'