Part 30 (1/2)

'Because you were unconscious! Because you wouldn't see us! Because it doesn't matter! I suppose you went to give Heseltine a change of air. You'd taken him under your wing, hadn't you? Who the h.e.l.l cares?'

Denton closed his eyes. He was almost panting. 'There's a barn in Normandy. I think there's a body buried in it.'

'Oh, Jesus-!' Munro clapped his hat on his head and stood up. 'Let's get out of here.' He turned on Denton. 'Look, I'm sorry you're feeling poorly, but I've got a long ton of work to do. This is all old stuff, closed, finished. You get yourself better, that's your job. Don't complicate mine, will you?'

Denton kept his eyes closed. 'Why would two men who found where they think a body is buried in France be dead or near-dead as soon as they get back?'

Munro started to say something. He looked at Markson. 'You're blowing bubbles. Denton, think about it - Jarrold tried to shoot you. The d.i.c.k wrapped him up and put him on the ground and that was the end of him - he went right to the station and the lock-up, and he hasn't seen the light of day since. Yes, Jarrold tried to kill you on the day you got back from France. But there's no way he could have had a hand in this other fella's suicide the next day - and no reason! Now get yourself better, and we'll have a brew-up together and chew it over someplace friendly, all right?' He jerked his head at Markson.

When the two detectives reached the door, Denton said, eyes still closed, 'Munro? What's happened to Guillam?'

'He was busted down to detective and sent to East Ham - the whole way across London from where he lives. Satisfied?'

'Wasn't Guillam partly responsible for attempted murder?'

Munro sighed. 'Georgie's got friends, Denton.' He and Markson went out, and the door closed.

Gallichan came that afternoon and made himself comfortable so that he could explore more of Denton's dreams. Denton was tired of it. He said, 'I read once about a doctor who found a man who'd been shot in the stomach. The man healed with a hole the doctor could look through. He learned all sorts of things about the stomach. It made him famous. I think you're using these dreams as a hole to look into my mind.'

'I resent the very idea that I'm doing this for some egoistical purpose of my own.'

'It's my mind. I don't like you looking into it. And dreams aren't much of a window.'

'Well, they're not meaningless, either. The German, what's-his-name, says that's the point - dreams aren't some sort of accident caused by eating too much toasted cheese. They have profound meaning. It is our task to find that out.'

Denton was still smarting from Munro's visit. To a degree, he had found Gallichan's interest flattering, the exploration itself interesting, but it had run its course and his mood was bad. 'Get out of my stomach,' he said.

'But we're making progress! We have identified feeling - fear, guilt - and persons: your dead wife, the laughing child, the man with the shotgun.'

'I never said I felt guilt, doctor. Sorrow, yes - the two aren't the same thing. And I didn't say the person with the shotgun was a man.'

'Well, it wasn't a woman, surely. Forgive me, but I think you are deliberately avoiding the obvious conclusion - that the man with the shotgun is yourself.' He seemed very pleased with that.

Denton simply looked at him. Then he burst out laughing - real laughter. When he was done, he said, 'I think you need to read another book. My dreams aren't well-made plays, doctor. They're a mess. I don't know about your dreams, but mine are a train wreck - bodies on the track, wreckage everywhere, people staggering around with blood running down their faces. If mine have meaning, it's for the feelings I have, not some neat tale that's like King Lear King Lear reduced to a bedtime story.' Before Gallichan could object, Denton raised a hand and said, 'Enough. Get me out of here.' reduced to a bedtime story.' Before Gallichan could object, Denton raised a hand and said, 'Enough. Get me out of here.'

The portly doctor shook his head. 'Even your imagery is full of violence. You are a violent man, Mr Denton.'

'I don't need you to tell me that.'

Gallichan stood, not entirely willingly. 'We could go so much deeper,' he said.

'Let's not.'

The doctor shrugged. 'What a pity.'

'I want to go home.'

Next day, Munro came back. He was apologetic. Between the two men was a mostly unacknowledged respect, even friends.h.i.+p; if it was made difficult by Denton's putting his oversized nose into police business, Munro still didn't want the relations.h.i.+p to end. He said he was sorry about yesterday; he said he had been to some extent carrying on for Markson's benefit. 'I don't like for a youngster to think we let the public make up our minds for us.'

'Are you going to do anything about France?'

Munro sighed. 'I've been thinking about it.' He lowered his bulk into the metal chair and put his bowler on the bed. It was raining out, and water dripped from it on the sheet. 'Tell it to me - all of it.'

Denton tried. Munro groaned when he went all the way back to Mary Thomason, but there was no other way to tell it - the Wesselons, the note to Denton, the remarques on the drawing, the Mayflower Baths. The only thing Denton skimmed over was the trunk, because of Janet; Munro saw the omission, frowned, said, 'About this drawing-'

'Don't interrupt.'

'Where'd you get the drawing?'

'What the h.e.l.l does it matter? I got it and I know it was hers!'

Munro gave him a long look. 'So you're hiding something. Better to tell me, you know.'

'No.'

Munro shrugged. 'You'll have to, if I really ask.'

Denton groaned with disgust and finished his story.

'Are you telling me that you believe the missing woman and the servant who went to France are connected?'

'If she did the little drawings of Lazarus and the Mayflower Baths, that's all the connection that's needed.'

'And now you think the brother or Crum, or whoever he is, is missing?'

'He disappeared from the scene.'

'In France?'

'Yes.'

'So you have a man who may or may not exist, who did or did not disappear at some later time, but there's a body buried in a barn in Normandy, and it may be his.' Munro shook his head.

'I don't have all of it, Munro. But something happened there. And Crum's disappearance later later is a matter of one letter Himple wrote to his valet - Crum could have been dead for weeks. Who would know?' When he saw Munro's pained expression, he said, 'If something happened to the brother in France, then maybe something happened earlier to the girl, as well. Ask the French to dig in the barn!' is a matter of one letter Himple wrote to his valet - Crum could have been dead for weeks. Who would know?' When he saw Munro's pained expression, he said, 'If something happened to the brother in France, then maybe something happened earlier to the girl, as well. Ask the French to dig in the barn!'

'You mean, I should do exactly what Georgie Guillam got sent to Siberia for - use the Metropolitan Police to forward a scheme of a private party.' He picked up his hat and looked into it as if something that made him unhappy lived in there. 'It just doesn't hang together. It's all speculation. Look - bring me somebody who knows this man Crum and misses him. Bring me a mother, the sister, a wife, a lover - anybody who's close to him and knows he's gone. You're talking about a man you've never seen, and you want me to act as if he's missing. Denton, he's something you've created out of whole cloth!'

'The valet knew him. The housekeeper knew him.'

'Have they reported him missing?'

'All right. I'm going home tomorrow. I'll handle it myself.'

'Don't do it! Now, I'm warning you-!'

'What are you going to do, break my other leg?'