The Wood Beyond (41 page)

(Pres. made what look like verbatim notes of all this. Must have scribbled furiously. Perhaps he felt that prisoner's personal statement merited close consideration. Only comment at end was, 'SANITY?' Not an issue, of course. Catch-22 had always applied. If Arthur Grindal's letter clinched verdict, this outburst probably put lid on any hope of a strong recommendation to mercy.)

This was end of defence. No witnesses called, everyone possible having been called by prosecution.

(6)
  
Verdict guilty, sentence death, no recommendation to mercy.

(7)
  
CO says Sergt had shown many good qualities as soldier but recently stories had been circulating that he was centre of disaffection based on idea that working men with pacifist inclinations on both sides should unite in refusing to fight any more. Lt Grindal had given assurances from personal knowledge of Sergt that he could keep him straight. CO's sense that Lt had suffered personal betrayal meant he could not demur from court's verdict.

(8)
    
After such comments at battalion level, verdict was rubber-stamped approved all way up the line of command.

(9)
    
B 122 exemplary. Shows what a lot of fucking notice they took of that!

(10) Confirmed. Signed Douglas Haig CiC.

(That's it. Apart from Sergt's spirited outburst, it's pretty well par for the course. Evidence as it stands made it almost impossible for FGCM not to bring in guilty verdict. But in terms of basic legal and human rights - and I mean those which were accepted and operative in civvy courts in 1917 - the whole shebang is a mess which you wouldn't shoot a dingo on. Absence of ref. to Prisoner's Friend doesn't necessarily mean the poor bastard didn't do his best, but only that Pres. of Court, possibly out of kindness to a fellow officer because he knew that senior eyes which got bloodshot at any hint of a troublemaker would be scanning these records, didn't feel the need to record his efforts. Not much here for your comfort but then you didn't expect any, did you? One last thing. After you've read, marked and learned this, would you quite literally inwardly digest it, or destroy it by some other means. See you!)

Pascoe finished reading then gathered the papers up and took them through to the lounge where Ellie was sitting in front of the fire, nursing a glass of Scotch.

'Hi. All done?'

He knelt beside her and laid the fax sheets on the flames.

'I wish I could feel that was symbolic,' said Ellie. 'Shall I pour you a Scotch?'

'Better not,' said Pascoe.

'That doesn't mean what I think it means, I hope.'

'I need to see Studholme and I doubt if I'll have time tomorrow.'

'They've invented this thing called the telephone.'

'I need to see him,' repeated Pascoe.

She didn't argue but rose and went out into the hall. He heard her using the telephone. When she returned he looked at her enquiringly.

'Just fixing a baby-sitter. Hit lucky with Myrtle down the road. She'll be here in ten minutes. Any objection?'

'Yes,' he said smiling. 'If you hadn't been so quick getting stuck into that whisky, you could have done the driving too.'

xv

'You won't be late?' said Edwin Digweed.

'Definitely not.'

'Good, because Dora's promised us something really special.'

'I'm practically on my way,' said Wield.

He put down the phone and returned his attention to the TV screen. Behind him he heard the door of the CID audio-visual room open.

'Working late?' said Dalziel. 'Or do you just get lousy reception out in the sticks?'

Wield shifted sideways to give a clear view of the screen. On it a frozen frame over Des Patten's shoulder of Cap Marvell, lightly crouched, holding the heavy wire cutters at her side like a broad sword in a double-handed grip. Her expression was calm, with the calmness of concentration rather than repose, and her unblinking gaze was focused on the man before her.

Wield pressed his remote control and let the tape move forward frame by frame. The left foot advanced, the chest and arm muscles bunched visibly as the shoulders began to turn, taking the cutters behind her, like a tennis player winding up for a double-handed forehand drive. As she reached the furthermost point of her backswing, Wendy Walker came into the picture, putting her skinny body between the woman and the security guard, her back to Cap, her arms spread wide to inhibit any blow. Behind her they saw Marvell slowly relax. Then Wendy turned to face her, putting her hands on her upper arms and clearly speaking to her. They saw Cap's mouth open in reply, her expression relaxing into exaggerated surprise. Jimmy Howard appeared behind them and took the cutters from Cap's unresisting hands.

Up to this point Patten hadn't moved. Now he stepped forward and spoke. And the two women closely escorted by Patten and Howard moved out of shot through a door.

'So what do you think, sir?' said Wield glancing at Dalziel for the first time. If the Fat Man had needed a moment to control his expression, he'd put it to good use.

'It's OK but it's not Disney,' he said. 'We could do with subtitles.'

'Yes. I asked Patten what were said and he could only give a general idea. So I thought I'd get Howard up here to see if his memory were any better. Novello's gone to fetch him.'

Dalziel looked surprised.

'Chancing your arm a bit, Wieldy. You told his brief? I'm sure he'll be able to quote something in PACE that makes taking a prisoner from the cells to chat about another case without telling his brief a capital offence.'

'Probably,' said Wield. 'Except he's not a prisoner. There's nowt'll stick except driving when disqualified. So Novello's processing him out, then inviting him as an ex-colleague and a fellow professional in the security business to lend us a hand here.'

'Oh aye. Very green.'

'Sorry?'

'Recycling rubbish,' said Dalziel scornfully.

'We've got to take help where we can find it,' said Wield. 'I gather we've let Ms Marvell go?'

'Aye. Like Howard, nowt to hold her on.'

'Difference is, we know Howard's guilty, sir,' said Wield gently.

'And after watching them pictures, you reckon she's off the hook, do you?'

Wield was saved from reply by the opening of the door to admit DC Novello and Jimmy Howard.

'Hello, Jimmy. Nice of you to give us a hand,' said Wield.

'You've got a nerve after banging me up like that,' said Howard. But there was little force in his protest as he took in the brooding presence of Dalziel who'd spread himself across a chair which didn't look like it was enjoying his proximity either.

'Just take a look at this tape of what happened the other night, Jimmy, and see if you can recollect exactly what was said. Not just you. Everyone,' instructed Wield.

He wound the tape back and ran it through at normal speed.

'Bloody hell,' said Howard. 'You're not still going on about this, are you? I mean, what's the problem?'

'No problem, Jimmy. Just try to recall what was said,' urged Wield.

Once more he ran the sequence, this time in slow motion.

'I've been through all this,' said Howard. 'OK, when I came in after the skinny lass, t'other, her with the headlights, she's standing in front of Des, looking like she's just about to swing yon cutters at him

'How do you work that out?' said Wield. 'You must have been looking at her back.'

'Aye, but you could see she was getting ready for a swing. I mean, just look at the pictures. There it goes. She's not getting ready for a clog dance, is she?'

'Any words spoken?'

'Des said something like,
Easy now.
She said nowt, but she were breathing pretty hard.'

'Then what?'

'Skinny lass is in front of me. We've both stopped short when we saw what was happening .. .'

'I'm sorry. Why was that? You stopping, I mean.'

'Well, it's like bursting into a room and finding someone with a knife at someone else's throat. You pause to take stock, don't you?'

'You felt there was as real a threat as that, did you?' said Wield glancing at the Fat Man who yawned and looked at his watch.

'You could have cut the air,' said Howard. 'Then the skinny lass shoots forward and jumps between the two of them.'

'What's she saying at this point?'

Howard stared at the screen then said,
'Hold it, Cap.
Something like that.'

'And when she turns round?' said Wield letting the tape run on.

'She said,
Cool it, Cap. We don't want anyone getting hurt here, do we? Not without cause.
Something like that.'

'And did Marvell say anything in reply? She seems to open her mouth there.'

'Yeah. She said,
Jesus,
sort of long drawn out on her breath, like she just couldn't believe her ears. But she relaxed and me and Des moved forward and got them sorted, no more trouble. Look, what's the point of this? No one's pressing charges, are they?'

'Not about the break-in, no,' said Wield.

'About what then? I mean, what odds can it make to anyone who said what? You need a formal complaint for threatening behaviour.'

'Not always,' said Wield. 'And especially not when it's threatening with a deadly weapon.'

'That thing? Deadly?' Howard laughed.

Wield regarded him seriously and said, 'It's intent that counts, Jimmy, thought you'd have remembered that. And swung hard enough at your head, that thing could kill you, which in my book makes it deadly.'

'Kill... ? Like up at Redcar you mean? You still harping on about that?'

'Mustn't leave any stones unturned even if it means turning some of them twice,' said Wield. 'So you're sure that's all you can remember of what was said.'

'Yeah. Sure. Why don't you ask them as did the talking anyway?'

'Well, we have. As far as possible.'

'What's that mean?' asked Howard suspiciously.

'It means you can't talk to the dead,' boomed Dalziel. 'Sergeant, get this scrote out of here. He were no use to us in the Force, why the hell should he be any use to us out of it?'

Howard wasn't bothering with even a token indignation, Wield noticed. There was quite a different expression on his face. The sergeant nodded at Novello who also looked as if she wanted to say something. But Dalziel rose and stretched himself and the movement, though free of menace, set the DC urging an unresisting Howard through the door.

'No further forward then, Wieldy,' said the Fat Man scratching his neck as though it contained something he would like to get out.

'No, sir,' said Wield. He wanted to add that Dalziel's dismissal had got rid of Howard before he'd finished with him, but felt that the moment was so unripe he could break a tooth on it.

'Peter gone home?'

'Yes, sir. He'd just gone when I got back with this tape.'

'And you didn't reckon it were important enough to call him back to take a look at it? Well, you were dead right, weren't you? The lad'll learn more watching
Coronation Street
than this. So, Howard set loose, Cap Marvell set loose, no more useless revelations from Troll Longbottom or Dr Death, we might as well hang the
Vacancies
sign outside the cells and head off to enjoy the weekend, Wieldy. Fancy a pint?'

'No thanks, sir. Better get back.'

'Quite right. Mustn't let your dinner spoil. What's it tonight? Parsnip pie?'

Provoked by the sneer, Wield said, 'Meatless day were yesterday, sir. Day after, we always get Dora Creed to go to town on a nice bit of lamb or mebbe a rib of beef. You remember Miss Creed, sir? Runs the Wayside Café?'

A glint of interest and envy touched Dalziel's eyes as he recollected the superb nosh Dora Creed dished up for hungry travellers out at Enscombe.

'Sounds like your ship's really come home at last, Wieldy. I'm glad for you. No one deserves it more. Goodnight then.'

He turned and left the room. Wield stood in thought for a moment.

Sympathy to the Fat Man was like flashing
The Satanic Verses
at a mullah. Clever thing was to head on home and let the memory of Dalziel's unhappiness season his own content. But while his partner, Edwin, might have the shot-silk sensibility to enjoy such a refined Gallic pleasure, his heart was Yorkshire homespun.

He went into the corridor and called after the retreating figure, 'Mebbe just a pint then, sir.'

xvi

Cap Marvell sat in front of the television with a glass of her ersatz whisky in one hand and the remote control in the other, zapping across the channels in search of one which might lead her out of the dark maze of her mind for a few minutes. Vain hope, even with the service which vaingloriously trumpets itself as the best in the world.

She turned off the sound but left the picture on for the sake of the shifting images and flickering colours which brought the illusion of life into the room.

She had had a good decade and more in which to find herself, and now here she was, feeling completely lost again. That was real progress! But she had to be practical. Was there anything that could be saved from the situation? Only herself, perhaps; and the way she was feeling now, she wasn't sure she was worth the effort.

Fuck that fat bastard! Five days ago she hadn't known him and she had felt unassailable in mind, spirit and conscience. Now here she was, feeling as adrift as she had felt all those years ago when she had seen the first cracks filigreeing the delicate eggshell structure of her life as Mrs Rupert Pitt-Evenlode.

She sucked on her whisky. She had seen him flinch as he tasted it, and now she drained the glass in defiant affirmation of her own identity which had felt so whole and permanent till he showed up. And would do again. That was the only possible response to this crisis. To survive, to carry on. To show the bastard!

She found herself smiling at her own illogicality. As lovers all over the world know (and how many have not been lovers?), showing you don't care is evidence incontrovertible that you do. But it was a start. Not the showing, but the smiling. Life after Dalziel was a real possibility.