The Wood Beyond (16 page)

'You think so? When speed is of the essence, perhaps. But in this case .. . nevertheless, if there is any fabric which might be associated with the remains - though how you are going to tell when it has been flushed out under the good doctor's water jets, I don't know - Gentry will be your man. At the least, I hope he may come up with the missing pieces of my jigsaw. Particularly the skull. I long for the skull.'

'May be able to help you there, sir,' said Peter Pascoe.

This time both men started. Lightness of step was one of many things Pascoe had learned from his great master.

He placed a cardboard box carefully on the table.

'Where the hell have you popped up from?' said Dalziel sourly.

'As instructed, I went down to the lab to check on Dr Gentry's progress. This is the first fruit of his labours.'

He reached into the box and produced the gleaming white cranium.

The pathologist took it and observed satirically, 'I'm going to wash that hair right out of this man...’

'Dr Death say owt about hair?' asked Dalziel.

'He seemed confident that with his system of progressively finer filters, he would retrieve anything retrievable,' said Pascoe.

'Can't say fairer than that,' said Dalziel. 'You'll keep me posted, Troll?'

The pathologist wasn't listening but examining the cranium closely with the aid of a magnifier.

'Now we're getting somewhere,' he said. 'Look there, Andy. That long crack running from this compression here. I'd say that wasn't done by the summer's clearance.'

'Someone bashed him you mean? Cause of death?' said Dalziel.

'Could be. I'll let you know as soon as I'm certain, which is likely to be sooner if I'm given a bit of room to work in.'

'You hear that, chief inspector?' said Dalziel. 'Let the dog see the bone. We'll be off then, Troll. No need to see us out.'

The pathologist had shown no inclination to. In fact he now seemed oblivious to their existence let alone their presence.

'Fair loves his work, old Troll,' said Dalziel on the way to the car park. 'Could do with a few like him under me. Enjoy your little jaunt, did you? Nowt like a good family get-together.'

'It was a funeral I went to, sir, not a wedding,' said Pascoe reproachfully.

'All the better. I hate bloody weddings. All them speeches and you've got to buy a present. Funerals now, no one expects you to laugh, and wi' a bit of luck, you come away better off than when you went. You cop for owt?'

'Not really,' said Pascoe. 'My grandmother didn't have much to leave.'

'No? Hope you checked under the carpets and down the chair cushions.'

He hadn't, but he had no doubt Myra had.

He said, 'This body, sir. How are we playing it? From what Wieldy said, sounds like they could be pretty old bones.'

'Aye, the worst kind. I were hoping Longbottom couldn't get at cause of death. Open verdict, closed case. Champion.'

'But it's not looking that way?'

'You heard what he said about the cranium. Best hope now is he can date it so far back that everyone concerned's likely to have snuffed it too. I'll mebbe lean on him a bit.'

'Lean on him . . . ?'

'Few old bones of his own he'd not like resurrected,' said Dalziel, smiling nostalgically. 'Meanwhile, but, we'd best go on like we've got a real live murder case. First thing is to start tracing the history of yon house. That sounds like your kind of thing, lad. Lots of chat, not much mud on your shoes.'

'How kind,' said Pascoe. 'Any suggestions as to where I might start enjoying this sinecure?'

'ALBA bought it. Happen they'll know who they bought it from.'

'So, I should start at Wanwood. Talk to David Batty?'

'David, is it? Oh aye. You were out there getting nowhere in the summer. Got right friendly with this Batty, did you?'

'Not so's you'd notice. I gather his father, Thomas Batty, runs the company and most of his subordinates seem to refer to him as Mr David or Dr David in order, I presume, to avoid confusion.'

'What did you reckon to him?'

Pascoe shrugged.

'We got on OK, no more than that.'

'Wouldn't buy a used syringe from him then?'

'I saw no reason to doubt his honesty,' said Pascoe surprised. 'It was a Dr Fell thing really. Something about him made me feel uneasy. Probably just the way he made certain rather outmoded assumptions about our relationship.'

'Aye. Tried the same with me to start out,' said Dalziel. 'But we ended up big muckers. Any road, don't bother wi' him. Give their head office a ring. That'll be where the records are kept.'

'All right. It's in Leeds, isn't it?'

'That's right. Kirkton, just on the edge.'

'Kirkton?' echoed Pascoe. Into his mind jumped Ada's passport with her place of birth given as Kirkton, Yorkshire. No mention of Leeds.

'That's right. Mean something to you?' said Dalziel observing him shrewdly.

'No, sir. I was just thinking, it's not all that far and these things are often better done in person than on the phone. Less chance of being choked off. . .'

'You mean you want to waste time driving out there? What the fuck for? It's not your English Heritage sort of place, tha knows. Eat their young out at Kirkton, so they say.'

'Nonetheless,' said Pascoe.

'That's it then,' said Dalziel. 'No arguing with you once you start nonethelessing me. But think on, let the locals know you're treading on their patch. Very thin skins they've got in Leeds. Can't scratch their own arseholes without bleeding.'

As if to demonstrate his own freedom from this grievous failing, he settled back on the bonnet of Longbottom's old Jag and rubbed his buttocks sensuously against the gleaming silver mascot.

'I'll be careful,' promised Pascoe, opening the door of his car. 'Where can I get hold of you in case, just in case, there is a diplomatic incident?'

The Fat Man slid off the Jaguar and started walking away.

'I'll be around,' he tossed negligently over his shoulder. 'Witnesses, interrogations, whatever comes along. You know me, lad, always there where I'm most needed.'

Such uncharacteristic evasiveness aroused the deepest suspicion.

Pascoe applied the ultimate test. Winding down his window, he called after the Fat Man, 'Time for a quick pint in the Bull, sir?'

Dalziel turned his head like a bishop's wife being propositioned by a kerb crawler.

'At this time in the morning? You want to take care, Peter, else you'll be getting a reputation as a drinker.'

To which there was no possible, or at least no passable, reply.

iv

As Fate nudged Peter Pascoe ever deeper into his familial past, Edgar Wield was giving the myopic old goddess a hearty shove back.

'Sorry, mate,' he said to the man he'd just contrived to collide with outside a William Hill's betting shop. 'Hey, it's Jimmy Howard, isn't it? Hardly recognized you out of uniform. Mind you, I didn't recognize you in your new uniform yesterday, not till Mr Dalziel said who you were.'

He accompanied his words with an effort to rearrange his features into an expression of pleased surprise, though conscious that the effect was probably as disconcerting as one of the heads on Mount Rushmore sneezing.

'What do you want?' responded Howard making no reciprocal effort to feign pleasure. He had after all been a policeman as well as a gambler and knew all the odds against such chance encounters.

Wield was quite pleased to drop the pretence, moving readily from old-mate to ancient-mariner mode as he fixed the other with a glittering eye and said, 'I were just thinking, Jimmy. Bit out of the way, Wanwood House. Awkward to get to on nights, unless you've got a car.'

He saw at once he'd hit the mark. Howard had got out of the Force ahead of his conviction for over-the-limit driving, but that hadn't stopped him getting a year's suspension which would be up at the end of the month. According to the roster in Patten's office, Howard had been doing a week on, week off night duty since September. Last bus to get anywhere near Wanwood ran at seven o'clock. First of the day wasn't till 9.30. Was Howard the kind of twit who, faced with this problem, would think, sod it! and risk driving himself there? Everything Wield could dig up about him suggested he was, and now the man's expression gave confirmation.

'Give you a lift anywhere, Jimmy?' said Wield. 'You'll be pleased when you get your licence back, I bet. Lose it again, and it could be forever.'

'No thanks, sarge,' said Howard. 'I'm just popping in here.'

He tried to push by into the betting shop but Wield's arm was in the way.

'Always give the first race a miss,' he said confidently. 'If you win, you just plough it back, and if you lose, well, it wasn't worth it anyway. I'll buy you a cuppa instead.'

He steered the man irresistibly round the corner into a small café which time and the Public Health Inspectorate had passed by. Wield, looking at the verdigrised spoon with which he was expected to stir his tea, wished he'd followed their example.

He said, 'There is something you could help me with, Jimmy.'

The man looked simultaneously uneasy and relieved that they were getting down to the nub of this 'accidental' meeting at last.

'It's that report you did about what happened when those animal rights women got loose in Wanwood,' said Wield, and noted with interest that relief now dominated.

'I wrote everything down,' said Howard.

'Yeah, and very good it looks. Whatever else you've forgotten about being a cop, Jimmy, you've not forgotten how to write a report.'

'So what's the problem?'

'If Dr Batty goes for a prosecution, he's going to need more than trespass. You know how difficult that one is, even with the new laws. He'll need damage, and a bit of assault wouldn't come amiss either. So a bit more detail, just to make things look good . .'

He waited with interest to see how this invitation to embroider would be taken. Howard visibly relaxed, as if feeling more at home, and said, 'You mean you'd like a bit more verbals, sarge? No problem. We'd got 'em all inside and really, they looked so wet and miserable, and a bit scared too, we didn't anticipate any problem, when suddenly that boss woman, the one with the chest, she yells, "OK, ladies, let's go for it!", something like that, punches Nev who's holding her with them wire cutters she had, and takes off like a scalded cat. Next minute they're all lashing out like rugby internationals and taking off in all directions. I went after the skinny one

'Wendy Walker,' said Wield. 'What about Marvell, the one who started it?'

'Long gone, but Walker followed after her, don't know if it were accidental or what, and she'd got close to the lab area when we caught her up.'

'So what slowed her down?'

'Des Patten, that's what. He'd stayed back in the control room when we fetched them in. But hearing all the commotion, he'd come out to take a look, and he found Marvell. Might have wished he hadn't if we hadn't arrived. That Marvell woman looked all set to take a swing at him with them cutters, and by God, with her build I'd rather she hit me once than twice!'

'But you came to the rescue.'

'Sort of. In fact it were that skinny lass who grabbed her first, then I pitched in.'

'And Patten?'

'Just stood there looking. Takes a lot to faze Des. And when the big lass quietened down, he reached out and took the cutters. Then we went off to that room we locked them up in. No more trouble after that, but if you'd like a bit more colour, just show me where.'

'Need to square it with Des though,' said Wield. 'I mean, I don't want the two of you saying different.'

'No problem with Des,' said Howard confidently. 'He knows how things work.'

'I'd have guessed that. Known him long?'

'I'd seen him around. At the track. He likes a bet too.'

'Was it him who got you the job then?'

'Not really. It were Rosso who said they were expanding and looking for experienced men . . .'

'Rosso?'

'Les Rosthwaite, Captain Sanderson's batman who came out with him.'

'Out of the army? Same mob as Patten?'

It was beginning to fall into place. Wield had checked the TecSec company registration and found the names of the directors given as Simon Sanderson and Desmond Patten. He recalled the photo in Patten's office. The smartly suited chap in the middle he guessed as Sanderson, which meant the small chap with the baby curls was Rosthwaite.

'That's right. Yorkshire Fusiliers.'

'And this Rosso is a friend of yours?'

'Well, we knew each other way back,' said Howard hedgily.

'Is he a partner too?'

Howard was looking at him in surprise.

'Sorry, thought you'd know, sarge. He's dead.'

'No,' said Wield. 'I didn't know. What happened?'

'Car smash. He were stupid. Bit of a piss artist. Yes, I know I got done for being over the limit, but Rosso were different. He'd drive when he couldn't stand! Ran off the road into a tree a month back.'

'But it was him that got you the job?'

'That's right. At least he told me they were needing more bodies 'cos they'd got this new contract with ALBA. I reckon with my record and experience I'd have walked into the job anyway.'

'Lot of sympathy for guys with drunk-driving sheets, have they?' said Wield. 'So when you joined they'd started the work at Wanwood clearing the woods.'

'All finished,' said Howard with some emphasis. 'It were September when I started.'

'And you've not heard anything?'

'What about?' said Howard looking agitated.

'Well, about finding owt when they cleared the woods, for instance.'

'No,' said Howard. Did he sound relieved. 'Like I say, it were September when I joined. I took a right good rest, I mean convalescence, after leaving the Force.'

'And you look really good, Jimmy,' said Wield. 'They'll be glad to hear it down at Dartleby. You've still got a lot of friends out there. Once a cop, eh?'

A lie. Coppers carved their names on sand. Once out, for whatever reason, the door closed behind you, consigning you forever to the 'them' with no claims whatever on the 'us'. Even the mighty Dalziel when his turn came would fade like the after-grumble of a summer storm. Not that he'd look back. Which was just as well, else they'd all likely turn into pillars of the community!