Dialogues of the Dead

in Bowler, slightly punch-drunk, said, 'Have we met? I don't remember you . ..' 'No, you're right. In fact we haven't actually met, though I think we may have come close to an encounter recently. Roote. Francis Roote. Franny to my friends.' 'So how do you know me, Mr Roote?' 'I'm not really sure. A mutual friend could have pointed you out, I suppose. Sergeant Wield, perhaps. Or Mr Pascoe. There he is now.' He gave a little wave. Bowler followed its direction and found himself looking straight into DCI Pascoe's accusing eyes. He couldn't blame him for not looking happy. To come to something like this and find the guy you suspected was stalking you chatting merrily to the DC instructed to check him out with maximum discretion was enough to give anyone a touch of the Dalziels. Roote said, 'Excuse me. Time to get down to business, I think. Jude Illingworth the engraver's here demonstrating her tech niques and I don't want to miss that.' He moved away towards an alcove in which Bowler could see a tall woman with no hair talking to a knot of people. At the same rime out of the corner of his eye he saw Pascoe heading in his direction and prepared to be defensive. 'Sir,' he said pre-emptively as the DCI arrived, 'I've no idea what he's doing here. Shall I check the invite list? Or maybe he came with a friend ...' 'Relax,' said Pascoe. 'I've a good idea how he got in. What I'd like to know though is how come you're so friendly with him?' Bowler explained what had happened. 'I've no idea how he got on to me, sir,' he concluded unhappily. 'I really did tiptoe around . ..' 'The man's a spider,' said Pascoe. 'Not the kind that builds a web but one of those who leaves trailing threads drifting in the breeze. Slightest touch and he knows you're there.' This was almost as airy-fairy as Roote's spiel, thought Bowler. 'Anyway, glad you've made it, Hat. I won't keep you any longer. You'll be keen to look at what's on offer. And if you see something you fancy, grab it, that's my advice. Don't waste time.' Jesus, why did the sight of young love provoke even sensible cops like Peter Pascoe into the jocularity of maiden aunts? Hat asked himself resentfully. Then he glimpsed what he'd been looking for: Rye, appearing with a newly laden tray of nibbles. 'No, sir,' he said, moving away from Pascoe. 'I'll not waste any time.'

Time was still here and 1 was still in it, but as I moved around and regarded those isho are its unwitting servants, my aura was coming in waves, or rather pulses, as if its source were a great beating heart like the sun. Twice, three times, its heat and brightness grew almost unbearable as I encountered first this face, then that. Could they all be marked down? Perhaps ... but their time, or rather their time-out, was not yet.. . and in any case could surely not be here ... And then you brought us face to face.

'Councillor Steel, I'd like a word with you,' said Charley Penn. 'Oh yes? Normally I'd say words come cheap, but not from you writers, eh? I saw the price of one of your books in Smith's the other day. Feed a family for a week, you could, on that money.' 'Not your family, I shouldn't have thought,' said Penn, glancing at the nibble-loaded plate in the councillor's hand. The?' Steel snorted contemptuously. 'Don't have no family except meself, Mr Penn.' 'That's what I mean.' Steel laughed. One of his political strengths was that he was uninsultable. He said, 'You mean I like my grub? Fill up while you can, that's what growing up rough taught me. Mebbe if I'd gone to a posh school like you, I'd eat more dainty. Not that a man's going to get fat on this bird-seed they feed you here. And who's paying for it, eh? And the vino, too. The ratepayers, that's who.' 'Well, they can afford it, can't they? Out of those millions they'll be saving once you get my literature group grant axed. Feeling pleased with yourself now you've kicked that bunch of