The Wood Beyond (21 page)

'So will she make it?' asked Dalziel.

The doctor shrugged, the impatient shrug of the professional being asked the impossible by the objectionable.

'All systems had just about shut down when she came in,' he said. 'Bit like an animal going into hibernation. Whether we can start them up again is the question. And if we do, with that skull damage and the possible inhibition of oxygen flow to the brain, would she want them started up again?'

He was foolish enough to make this last remark in hearing distance of Cap Marvell.

'Listen, you noisome little erk,' she hissed. 'She'd better recover consciousness, because if she doesn't, I'll make sure there's the most probing inquiry you ever saw into the resuscitation policies of this department. Do you understand me, Dr God?'

Dalziel looked on with the approving admiration of a fellow artisan. This was good technique, he acknowledged. This was real piss-your-pants stuff.

When the doctor had retired looking shell-shocked, Cap turned to him and said, 'And what are you doing hanging around here, Andy? Don't you get paid good public money for arresting madmen like this bastard who left Wendy for dead? That road would be the obvious quiet route home for any drunk at the university party living out west. You saw the amount of drink some of that lot were putting away.'

This, from one who during her brief stay at the party had managed to consume enough gin to fell a flying Dutchman, seemed a touch rich. Also there was the question of being taught how to suck eggs. But Dalziel saw that this was not the time for formal debate and merely inscribed the points in the mental balance sheet he was building up on the question of which way to go with Amanda Marvell.

He said, 'Hit and run, if they're local, we'll get 'em. If they're not...'

He shrugged. She said, 'You mean you just give up?'

'I mean, it's harder. Look, luv, it's nasty, but it doesn't put the driver on the Ten Most Wanted list. And I don't see why you're getting so het up. From what I've seen, you and Walker weren't exactly best mates.'

She studied him as if she'd just turned up a stone, but when she answered he realized it was his question she'd been studying.

'I suppose guilt has a lot to do with it,' she said finally. 'Much of the time she was a pain in the arse, always demanding why we didn't take a much harder line, torch a few fur shops, bomb scientific researchers' cars, that sort of thing. I told her if that's what she wanted she should join another group, and she said soon as she found one with a bit more commitment, she'd be off. And I said, good, with a bit of luck she might blow herself up too, and then we'd all get a bit of peace. I really would have been glad to see the back of her. And now perhaps I have.'

Her eyes were moist. Dalziel said, 'Nay, lass, tha's likely got enough to feel guilty about without piling this lot on top too. It's nowt to do with you, and you know it. Interesting, but. The other night at Wanwood House, by the time I got there, it were you making all the fuss and Walker coming over all cooperative.'

'Perhaps just our natural reactions to your powerful personality,' said Cap.

'I'd not disagree, except she'd already made a statement to George Headingley and he's got as much personality as a park bench.'

'For heaven's sake, can't you stop being a policeman just for a moment?' she said with a flash of irritation which reminded him once more just how upset this business with Walker had left her. Time to get her to lighten up.

'Just now you were moaning I weren't doing what I get paid for,' he complained. 'I can thole a woman being illogical so long as she's consistent with it.'

She regarded him quite sweetly and said, 'Andy, what am I going to do with you?'

'Owt you like, long as it doesn't draw blood,' said Andy Dalziel. 'But not in this place. Shortage of beds, so they tell me. I'll ring you later.'

'I'll hang on here a while,' said Cap. 'Where will you be?'

'Not had me lunch yet, remember? I'll likely head down to the Black Bull for a pint and a real pork pie.'

She laughed at his ability to joke about food at a time of crisis, and before he could turn away gave him a vigorous farewell kiss which he recalled with some pleasure fifteen minutes later as he sunk his teeth into a juicy meat pie in the lounge bar of the Bull. But he also recalled with uneasy curiosity the inconsistencies of her attitude to Wendy Walker.

Apart from giving DC Dennis Seymour a watching brief to keep an eye on Traffic's investigations, there was little more he could do at this stage to assist or accelerate things. If the lass recovered, then maybe her evidence would help. If she didn't, then it became homicide, and the involvement of the head of CID would not be remarkable.

Just as he was finishing his second pint and thinking about leaving, the door opened to admit Sergeant Wield.

'What fettle?' enquired Dalziel genially. 'Looking for me, are you?'

'Looking for a spot of lunch actually, sir,' said Wield.

'Well you might as well get me another pint while you're ordering,' said the Fat Man magnanimously. 'Then you can tell me how you've been filling the long weary hours since last we met.'

He's in a good mood with himself, thought Wield. Something must be going his way.

He set the drinks on the table and sat down.

'Had a chat with Jimmy Howard this morning,' he said.

'Oh aye? And what did he tell you? That TecSec's a cover for the White Slave Trade?'

Though very ready to sing his sergeant's praises to others, Dalziel found that a touch of mocking scepticism was an excellent stimulant when they were working out some original idea of their own.

'Forgot to ask him about that, sir,' said Wield. 'No, told me nothing much except that he hadn't come across anything iffy since he joined the firm, but that had only been since September. In fact he told me three times at least that he only joined in September.'

'So what does that mean?' asked Dalziel.

'Maybe just that he joined in September,' said Wield.

'I leaned on him just a little and made him promise to give us a bell if he does notice anything that worries him.'

'And you think he will?'

'Could be he'll just go running to his old mate, Patten. Or could be he'll be fly and keep his options open.'

'His old mate?' said Dalziel.

'I got the collator to run the two of them through her machine to see if any link came up. Couple of years back, there was a bust-up at the old Lighthouse Club. You remember the place, sir, went under when we opposed their licence because there were so many complaints about noise and nuisance. There was usually a pretty heavy game going on in their back room, and this night it ended up with one guy kicked half to death. Patten was involved there as a witness, didn't really see anything, it all happened so fast and the guy who did the damage, a stranger, had it away on his toes before the police arrived. Well, the police who arrived was initially Jimmy Howard. And there were some whispers that Patten should have been the main face in the frame. Only Howard's version of what he found propped up Patten's story and no one else was willing to say out loud what they were happy to whisper.'

'So Howard's a bit bent and Patten's a hard man. You got owt I don't know?' said Dalziel.

Unfazed, Wield went on, 'I got a breakdown of all the jobs TecSec have been hired to do since they were founded eighteen months ago. Until they picked up the ALBA contract three months back, it amounted to next to nowt.'

'So what? Not easy getting a new company off the ground these days,' said Dalziel with all the political authority of a man who'd once been too drunk to switch off
Question Time.

'Yes, sir. Still doesn't explain how a shoestring outfit like TecSec picked up a contract like that. As for ALBA, they're big, but not yet international like Fraser Greenleaf who are basically American. Word among the money men is that FG have been taking a greedy look towards ALBA for some time, but so far the ALBA board have been able to convince their biggest shareholders that they'll make less money out of annexation than they will out of hanging on. There's rumours of some big breakthrough which will net billions and take over a big slice of FG's market share.'

'Sounds like a bloody war,' grunted Dalziel. 'OK, so yon weird mate of yours in the City Squad knows his businesses. But did he come up with anything really dodgy?'

'No, sir,' Wield admitted.

'I bet he didn't. And I can tell you how TecSec got the job. Bossman there, Captain bloody Sanderson, is an old school chum of Dr bloody Batty. That's how the world wanks, Wieldy. And as more of the folk you and me went to school with are in clink than in the Cabinet or the City, that's why I'm no one's hot tip for Commissioner, and you're not even shortlisted for Queen of the May.'

'What about Patten? He's a partner, remember.'

'Sanderson's not daft, realizes most army officers are only as good as their NCOs, and Patten was a bloody good one. So when they get dumped together  - '

'Didn't,' interrupted Wield bravely. 'Patten got out six months before the captain's demob and didn't team up with him till three months after that.'

'Right little mole, aren't you, lad?' said Dalziel. 'So they meet at some reunion. Sanderson says, what are you doing now, sergeant? Patten says, not a lot. Sanderson says, I could use a good man to organize the practical side of things while I do the selling. How do you fancy the job?'

'He's a partner,’ repeated Wield.

'So he invests his severance pay. Everyone gets a lump sum these days.'

'All gone,' said Wield. 'Nowt left.'

'How do you know that? You've not been playing with them buttons again, have you? Hacking into bank statements?'

'No, sir. Had a word with Mr Charlesworth. He had a word with some of his friends.'

Arnie Charlesworth was one of the town's leading bookies and an old drinking chum of Dalziel's.

'Not been taking my name in vain I hope, lad,' he said suspiciously.

'Not in vain, sir. Mr Charlesworth's affectionate respect for you proved very useful. Seems Patten spent his first couple of months out of the army trying to parlay his lump sum into a large fortune by way of various complicated bets. Got pretty close too but in the end there was always a horse fell, or ate a dodgy carrot or something. You know how bookies hate the thought of losing. He paid up. It was either that or intensive care. Then he vanished from the local gambling scene for a few months till the summer when he showed up again as a partner in TecSec with money in his pocket.'

'So he went off somewhere the bookies didn't know him, hit a lucky streak, and worked his leavings back into enough to buy the partnership. Wieldy, you're really straining at this one.'

'You want me to drop it, sir?'

Dalziel finished his pint and looked reflectively into the bottom of his glass.

'You still think there's summat there, do you?' he said.

Taking this not to be solely a hint that another drink would be welcome, Wield said, 'Could be not much in the end, but something, yes.'

‘Then keep prodding. I've put a feeler out to see if this Sanderson had any strikes against him in the army.'

'Officially, sir?' said Wield concealing his pleasure at this retrospective evidence of the Fat Man's confidence.

'Officially's no use. Bloody army starts singing "Onward Christian Soldiers" if any civilian starts asking questions about one of its own. No, this is personal contact stuff. Anything comes up I'll let you know. Meanwhile mebbe I can have half your attention back on this bones-in-the-wood thing. Just because you've dumped a few tons of sludge on Dr Death doesn't mean you can wash your hands and forget about it.'

'No, sir. Almost forgot. Just before I left the factory, there was a message for you from the forensic lab. Seems Dr Gentry's sluices have come up with something.'

'Useful?' said Dalziel hopefully.

Wield shrugged. 'Useful' wasn't a word that Gentry used a lot. He saw his job as making discoveries. The use they were put to was in the purview of coarser life forms, like detective superintendents.

'OK, Wieldy, why don't you shoot along there . ..'

'Sorry, sir,' said the sergeant firmly. 'I'm off this afternoon. Should have finished more than an hour ago. Unless you're authorizing overtime . . . ?'

'Only if you'll take washers,' said Dalziel. 'Where the hell's Peter? He's the only one can get any sense out of Death. I knew I should never have let him bunk off to Kirkton. I bet the bugger's sneaking around there, trying to prove he's descended from the Lords of the fucking Manor.'

Though not following the reference, Wield sprang to Pascoe's defence.

'The DCI 'ud not waste time, sir,' he said reprovingly. 'Whatever he's doing, you can bet your last penny it'll need done.'

'Yes, OK, Wieldy,' said the Fat Man. 'But whatever he's doing, it's not worth it if it means I've got to go and talk to yon walking corpse, Gentry!'

ix

The church door was locked.

A man in search of sanctuary, or even just a bit of shelter from the rain, was out of luck in modern Kirkton.

Pascoe turned up his coat collar and leaned against the ancient woodwork. He'd managed to find two Pascoe headstones in the unkempt graveyard before the first spots had signalled that the sad old sun had lost its struggle against the creeping barrage of cloud from the west.

The first stone had been one of the many leaning up against the churchyard wall, presumably not so much signalling the last resting place of those named thereon as that they were somewhere in the vicinity. Many were rendered illegible by the impious abrasion of time, but fortunately the mason who had inscribed the Pasco (sic) stone had struck deep, and though the sharp edges of the lettering had long since been rounded by the wind and rain and moss and frost, the message from the grave remained clear.

'Here lye ye earthly relics of Walter Pasco shoemaker of this parish passed away in ye fifty-third year of his life, April 16th 1742 "His soul at last amended".'

Soul. Last. Mended, thought Pascoe. Someone had had a sense of humour. Modern vicars got rather uptight about what they thought of as unsuitable inscriptions, but surely something like this could only have been devised by people genuinely fond of the dead man who didn't doubt that he was sharing the final joke with them.