The Wood Beyond (27 page)

'Life,' she groaned. 'Jesus, what do those fucking Frogs put in their booze?'

Catch her unawares and she could be deliciously politically incorrect. But no time now to enjoy the sound, not to mention the sight, of her, sprawled across the bed in a state of naked abandon which even in his present haste brought the familiar lustful tightness to his throat.

The doorbell had long stopped ringing. He dragged on his dressing gown and staggered onto the landing, shouting, 'Rosie, love, get up, will you? You're late.'

'No I'm not,' said his daughter from the foot of the stairs. 'I've had my breakfast and I've been making yours.'

She was all dressed ready for school, neat and tidy as could be, and in the kitchen the percolator was bubbling, the toaster toasting, and two bowls of muesli sat on the table.

By his there was a bulky package.

'I had to sign for it,' said Rosie proudly. 'The postman said really you or Mummy should sign but I said you were busy.'

That at least was something, thought Pascoe. On recent evidence, he'd not have been surprised if she'd told the man her parents were pissed out of their minds and probably bonking their eyeballs out.

He said, 'You've done really well, darling. But you should have waited. You know you oughtn't to be playing around with electrical things in the kitchen.'

She regarded him with the scorn of one who'd been born knowing how to programme a VCR, and said, 'Skimmed milk or Gold Top?'

Pascoe examined the package. The label told him it was from Barbara Lomax, Ada's solicitor. He'd phoned her office to say that he'd carried out Ada's instructions with regard to disposing of her ashes, and would be interested to know what other duties his role as executor required of him. He'd expected there might be a few papers to sign, but this package looked like serious work.

Well, it would have to wait. Legal duties were important, but he had a greater master than the Law to serve.

He shovelled in his muesli, slurped down his coffee, refused (much to Rosie's distress) his toast, and on his way up to the bathroom passed Ellie on her way down.

'Bloody red wine,' she hissed at him. 'You know it doesn't agree with me.'

'It wasn't my idea,' he called but she was already out of earshot.

He went out of the door at a run but she caught him as he backed the car out of the garage.

'But it was worth it,' she murmured bending to kiss him through the window. Then rather spoilt it by adding doubtfully, 'At least I think it was .. . never mind, it'll probably all come back later.'

As he drove too fast along the road into town, he found himself like a tardy schoolboy rehearsing excuses. Maybe I should have asked Rosie to write me a note! he mocked himself. Just tell the fat old sod the truth. Which was? That I slept in. Why? Because I slept too well. Also because I slept too badly. Which? Both. How come? I slept well because we wined and dined and . . . exhausted ourselves. And I slept badly because I've got this maggot in my mind like one of those maggots which grew fat on all those thousands of bodies out there in the Salient, corners now of foreign fields, compost and bone meal, long ploughed under, to set the green shoots reaching for the sun, for beasts to graze on and finally create those mountains of excess for which the EU is the jest and riddle of the known world.

No! Better Rosie's note than this rambling truth. Dear Mr Dalziel, my daddy is late because he and Mummy got pissed last night. I will try to make sure it doesn't happen again.

His radio crackled. Control, which in this case meant Dalziel, wanted to know his location. He was approaching a roundabout. Straight on would take him to his desk in about fifteen minutes. Exit right and the ring road would bring him within striking distance of Wanwood House in about the same time.

A bit of advice from his younger detective days sprang into his mind.
Never be late, always be somewhere else.
Could even have been the Fat Man himself.

He kept going round the roundabout.

Into his radio mike he said, 'Location Wanwood House following up yesterday's enquiries at ALBA HQ.'

What he was going to do when he got there he had no idea. This was an absurd schoolboyish way for a mature DCI to be behaving. But when you thought about all those young boys who back in 1914 had lied themselves to death, perhaps there was a balance to be redressed, and every act of mature childishness was a tiny chipping at that greatest mountain of European waste, the Everest of unused youth.

Perhaps. Or perhaps he was just following a well-worn track into the male midlife crisis.

Whatever, he'd better start thinking of a reason for visiting Wanwood or he might find crisis coming a little early this year.

iii

Wield usually got on well with women. After they got over the twin barriers of his looks and his profession, they found his presence so unthreatening that even the most nervous were able to relax, though only the most perceptive, such as Ellie Pascoe, got beyond the face and the job into the penetralium of his mystery, and worked out the cause of their comfort was his gayness. Like sometimes cancels out like, however, and it soon became apparent he wasn't going to get anything out of the first two ANIMA women he interviewed, Meg Jenkins and Donna Linsey, who ran a pet shop and their lives together. He doubted if they'd have sold him a goldfish and was glad to put their musty, musky premises behind him.

The next three were much more unbending but not to any great effect other than a consensus that what Wendy Walker did outside the group was a mystery. This in itself was not uninteresting, in that to keep yourself to yourself within any group of Yorkshire women required an act of will beyond the reach of all but the most dedicated. But Wield had been too long at his last to cobble significance out of secrecy. He knew better than most that the habit of discretion was harder to divest than the reasons for it. Like the old adage said, once a nun, always a nun.

Annabel Jacklin happily was as unnunlike as you can get without starring in
The Sound of Music.
This was Jacksie, the buxom blonde whose descent into the crater had prefaced the discovery of the buried bones. Previously Wield had only glimpsed her sodden wet, mud streaked, and deeply shocked. Fully recovered from her experience, she now made the most of a not-too-distant resemblance both in looks and bounce to Marilyn Monroe at her peak in
Some Like It Hot,
a movie which an old partner of Wield's had once made him sit through three times. This was not an experience likely to be repeated in the company of Edwin Digweed who was fervent in his belief that the only good films ever made were square-shaped, grainy, and usually silent, which left Wield nothing to do but shrug and say, 'Nobody's perfect.'

But any hint of flirtatious flaunt at finding a strange man on her doorstep vanished the moment Wield identified the reason for his visit.

'I nearly fainted when I realized who it was they'd got in Intensive Care,' she said. 'First time it's happened to me, someone I knew personally I mean, and it's a real shock, you know. You're in a kind of different mode when You're at work, sort of detached - you've got to be, in our job - and seeing someone you know sort of jolts you back to what you are normally, do you know what I mean?'

'Yes,' said Wield. 'Same in my line.'

'I can imagine. How is she, do you know? It's my day off but I was going to call round and see how she was doing.'

'Still unconscious, I believe. But they're doing their best. Sorry. Here's me telling you. What I need's a bit of background, Miss Jacklin. Had you known Miss Walker long? Were you close friends?'

'Yes. Well, I think so. I don't know. I mean, I knew her .. . know her . . . we were friends but not for all that long . . .'

'You mean, you got on well but you hadn't known her long enough really to know a lot about her?' said Wield.

'That's right. Hey, why don't you answer all the questions as well as ask them?' said the woman, her earlier sparkle reasserting itself.

'Does that mean you met outside the group?'

'Couple of times, yeah. It was her who kept me in the group really. When she joined I was feeling pretty pissed off. Not with helping the animals and things, I've always done that since a kid, you know, RSPCA, donkey sanctuaries, animal shelters, then I got into signing petitions, and marches, and protests ...'

'Then you joined ANIMA,' inserted Wield.

'That's right. Woman who worked in the same place as me who I sometimes saw at demos took me along. It was all right as long as she was there, then she left. Husband got a job down south. After that it wasn't so good.'

'How?'

'Well, the others, I don't know, treated me like I was still a kid. They all think the sun shines out of Cap's bum . ..'

'And you don't?'

'Oh, she's fine. It wasn't her. I mean, it was in a way 'cos she's so single-minded and I could tell she got exasperated a couple of times when I did something clumsy. I don't mean to, but they make me a bit nervous. Anyway I didn't mind Cap, she's the leader, but I couldn't see how this gave any of the others the right to patronize me.'

'And that made you want to leave?'

'Partly, but what really pissed me off was when I found I was being left out of things. Someone said something, and I realized they were talking about an op. I hadn't been on. I asked Cap and she said vaguely that she'd tried to contact me but I hadn't been available which was crap. And I thought if it's happened once, how many more times?'

'When was this?' asked Wield.

'Oh earlier in the year. So I was ready to tell them all to stuff it when Wendy joined. At first I thought, what the hell's this? I mean, first time you meet her, she comes over a bit weird. But once I got talking, we really hit it off.'

'Had a lot in common, did you?' asked Wield.

'Not much,' admitted Jacksie. 'But she was outside the inner circle too and that made a real difference. She said some really saucy things to some of the others, and behind their backs . . . well, I couldn't tell you what she said, not to a man.'

She smiled and waited to be pressed. Wield said, 'So what else did you talk about when you weren't slagging off the others?'

She looked ready to bridle, then perhaps recollected what had brought him looking for her.

'Oh she went on a bit about miners and women's rights and things,' she said with the light dismissiveness of one whose world-view was experientially myopic. 'And she told me about getting wed when she was seventeen and what a prick he turned out to be.'

'Did she mention any other men, you know, boyfriends?'

'No one special. She told me a few stories about fellows, you know, funny stories, the stupid way they go on when they're doing it. Sometimes, though, I thought she might be a bit sort of both ways, if you follow me, and that was why she liked me.'

'Did she try anything?' said Wield with what he hoped was heterosexual sternness.

'Oh no. You don't have to look hard to see I'm not that way inclined,' said Jacksie with the naive and cruel certainty that anyone as attractive as herself must be straight. 'Not that it bothered that Donna from making a pass once - you should have seen the looks Meg gave me! - so mebbe I'm wrong about Wendy. Anyway, it never came up. Girls, I mean. Just men.'

'So what else did you talk about?'

'The group, mainly. I told her about being pissed off and she said they did seem as go-ahead as the activities committee of the WI and weren't there other groups with a bit more go that we could join?'

'And are there?'

'Oh yes, a few. You get to hear things at big demos, recognize faces.'

'Did you make any contacts then?'

Suddenly she was looking at him with eyes whose blue had more of storm trooper than baby doll in them, and her body language had changed from fancy-a-slice-of-this? to where-the-hell-are-you-coming-from?

'What's all this got to do with Wendy being knocked down?' she asked coldly.

'Just trying to put together a picture,' said Wield.

'Is that right? You mean, seeing as you were here and this stupid cow's all shook up because her friend's in hospital, you might as well see if you can get her to incriminate anybody while she's not looking.'

It wasn't altogether true but true enough to mean the interview had just about run its course.

'Sorry,' said Wield. 'And I'm really sorry about Wendy. We'll do our best to get the bastard. I'm off to see Ms Marvell now. I gather she's really cut up about what's happened.'

If he'd asked another direct question he suspected he'd have been told to get stuffed, but the obliquity got him his answer.

'Don't see why she should be, they were always at each other's throats. Wendy's fault as much as Cap's.'

'Because she thought you should be a more hard-nosed group?'

'Yes, generally. Though it's funny, that last row they had, the night we found the bones ...'

'Yes?'

Jacksie checked what she was going to say to make sure it didn't contain anything that could be used in evidence against anybody, then went on, 'It were the other way round. They were the last to be brought into that room where they locked us up till you lot arrived. When they came in they were going at it hammer and tongs. Wendy said, "What the hell were you going to do, Cap? Take his head off?" And Cap said, "Why not? They've been hired to protect those bastards cutting up the animals, so that makes them the enemy too." Funny that. And now, if you don't mind, I've wasted enough time yacking to you. I'm going to the hospital to see how Wendy is for myself.'

Which brought him finally and he had to admit reluctantly to Cap Marvell's door. It was one thing to mock the Fat Man's fancy behind his back, another to be Put in a situation where there was no avoiding close contemplation of its implications. In most things Dalziel was a law unto himself, but that only worked so long as he was, without fear or favour,
the
Law unto others. For a cop to screw someone likely to be called as a witness in a case he was working on was foolhardy. For a cop to screw anyone likely to end up in the dock was folly. OK, so Cap Marvell looked unlikely to be prosecuted by ALBA in connection with the raid on Wanwood, but sooner or later she was going to be prosecuted for something! Dalziel had obviously judged this a risk worth taking, assuming of course that judgment figured at all in matters sexual. But even he must have been taken aback by the speed with which it had proved necessary for Cap to be interviewed again in connection with a criminal matter. Not that it seemed probable she would have anything to contribute to the Walker inquiry other than the necessary comments of a known associate. Perhaps it would turn out to be a fortuitous early warning, making Dalziel step back before he got in too deep.