The Wood Beyond (6 page)

'By God, Wieldy, I thought mebbe life out among the turnip tops were turning you soft, but now I see it's turning you cynical!'

'I just state the facts, sir,' said Wield. 'And here's another. ALBA, as Mr Longbottom likely knows, have been here just four years.'

'Meaning Troll's saying the bones are at least five years old just to stress that Batty and his staff can't be in the frame? You don't reckon he's fixed the figures as a favour, do you?'

'No, sir. I'd mebbe not care to do business with him, but when it comes to his job, as we've all found out, he doesn't give an inch. You've known him longer than anyone, but, so you must know that.'

'I'm afraid so, Wieldy,' sighed Dalziel. 'Pity though. If I thought he'd stretched it to five for Batty, I'd have made bloody sure he stretched it to fifty for me. Still, it's early days. Mebbe it'll still turn out to be archaeology. I'm off to have another word with Batty, tell him the good news.'

'I bet you'll find Mr Longbottom's told him already,' said Wield.

'Very like, but one thing you're forgetting, Wieldy.'

'Yes, sir?'

'The wanker keeps a nice drop of malt. See about getting this water shifted, will you?'

'My pleasure,' said Sergeant Wield.

This morning there was a receptionist on duty in the hessian-hung hall. She informed Dalziel that the director was in the labs but would no doubt make himself available as soon as was convenient. Meanwhile if the superintendent cared to take a seat. .

Ex-Constable Howard was hovering behind her. He'd changed his burnt trousers but looked pretty bleary eyed.

'Working you hard, aren't they?' said Dalziel sympathetically.

'Bit short staffed, sir. Also Dr Batty wanted extra men on duty.'

'Someone should tell him about stable doors. Someone like me. Take me to the labs, lad.'

Without hesitation, Howard opened one of the doors and led the way through pursued by the receptionist's indignant twitter.

To Dalziel's inexpert eye, the lab he entered looked like a cross between a small menagerie and a high-class bog. Batty's features crinkled in a frown when he saw Dalziel but cleared almost immediately. He'd learned quickly - probably coached by Longbottom - that you didn't trade blows with the Fat Man, not unless you'd got a horseshoe up your boxing glove. Last night he'd poured the Scotch with a generous hand and they'd parted on excellent terms which didn't prevent either from heartily despising the other.

'Andy,' he said. 'Good morning. Any news?'

Nowt the Troll won't have told you already, thought Dalziel. And nowt that a drop of the Caledonian cream wouldn't improve.

'Just thought I'd let you know we'll be working out there most of the day, I'm afraid. Good news is them bones were likely here when your company took the place over, so I shouldn't have to bother your staff.'

'Excellent. We're very busy at the moment so could ill afford an interruption. And, Andy, I must compliment you on the way you've handled the media. Hardly a mention this morning. Our PR Department are very impressed. Many thanks both personally and on behalf of ALBA.'

Dalziel smiled with false modesty. False, not because he hadn't called in a lot of favours and up a lot of threats to minimize response to all the phone calls Marvell had made as soon as she got home, but because he permitted this twat to go on thinking it had anything to do with him or his sodding company.

'When we've got a closer dating we'll need to look back at the history of the house,' he said.

'Anything we can do to help, you've just got to ask,' said Batty. 'As I explained last night, all the records will be stored at Kirkton of course.'

Kirkton, an industrial suburb of Leeds, was ALBA's home base. Here the company had begun and grown, developing into a large rambling complex which Batty (once the truce had been struck the previous night) had described as a security nightmare. 'As I explained to your chap who came out when we had that first lot of bother in the summer, Pascoe his name was I think, seemed a very decent kind of fellow' - his faintly surprised tone had not passed unremarked - 'the reason we decided to move our research labs was because they were far too vulnerable at HQ. Chap from some animal mag just strolled right in and started taking pictures. Bloody cheek! So we decided to move out here, lock, stock, and barrel. It had been used as a hospital or clinic or something for years, so that was a step in the right direction and it meant we could give the impression that all the refurbishment and extension work had something to do with resuming its old function.'

'Oh aye,' Dalziel had interrupted. 'With no one knowing what was going off but a few lawyers, and all the contractors, and your own staff members and every bugger living in a radius of ten miles, I can see how you might've hoped to keep it quiet.'

'Put like that it does sound a touch optimistic,' laughed Batty. 'But we left a token presence in the Kirkton labs to fool the activists' spies, and for nearly four years it seemed to work. Must have lulled us, I suppose. Then bang! Suddenly last summer the loonies got in and really made a mess of things. That's when I realized that being remote and isolated was an advantage only till they winkled you out. Moving again clearly wasn't a solution. So we got a new security company in and gave them the brief to make us secure. The results you have seen.'

He had spoken complacently. Dalziel had kept his own thoughts about those results to himself. No point in rowing with a fellow who had a half-f bottle of Glenmorangie at his elbow.

It had been empty by the time he left, but he'd noticed an unopened one in the cabinet Batty had taken his glass from. The memory rose before him now like a vision of the Holy Grail. He coughed he hoped thirstily and said, 'Now you've had a chance to clear up, did that lot last night do much damage when they ran loose inside?'

'Not a lot and mainly superficial,' said Batty. 'But it's good of you to be concerned.'

All this gratitude undiluted by a dram was beginning to grate a bit. Wield had entered the lab. He caught Dalziel's eye and gave a minute shake of his head to indicate he wanted a word but it wasn't desperate.

Dalziel said, 'What I'm really concerned about is making sure these aren't the same lot who were running riot in the summer.'

'Oh that's all behind us now,' said Batty dismissively.

'We learnt our lesson. Let's stick with the present, shall we?'

'Might he behind you,' said Dalziel magisterially. 'Not behind the family of that poor sod who got himself killed up at Redcar. Fraser Greenleaf. Same line of business as you only a lot bigger. I'd have thought you'd have heard of them.'

For a second Batty allowed himself to look irritated, then his face assumed a solemn air and he said, 'Of course. I wasn't thinking. But do you really believe there might be a connection with these people?'

'Can't ignore the possibility, sir.'

'Of course not. Good lord. Women. What's the world coming to?'

'We're a long way from proving a connection,' said Dalziel. 'What about you? Made up your mind about prosecuting yet?'

Batty smiled and shrugged.

'Like I said, not up to me. Head office decision. I know what I'd do, but I'm just a poor scientist.'

Who also, if Wield was right, happened to be a member of ALBA's ruling family. Which probably meant they weren't going to prosecute, but Batty wanted to distance himself from a decision he'd opposed.

Sharp bugger this, thought Dalziel. But not sharp enough to see there was a man dying of thirst in front of him!

Wield meanwhile was taking a tour round the lab, looking at the caged animals with a distaste not even his rugose features could disguise.

He watched as a radiantly beautiful young woman in a radiantly white lab coat picked up a tiny monkey which threw its arms round her neck in a baby-like need for reassurance. Expertly she disengaged it, turned it over and plunged a hypodermic into the base of its spine.

'Ouch,' said Wield. 'Doesn't that hurt?'

'Done properly, the animal hardly feels it,' she reassured him.

He glanced at her security badge which told him he was speaking to Jane Ambler. Research Assistant.

'No, Jane,' he said amiably. 'It was you I meant.'

She regarded him dispassionately and said, 'Oh dear. Perhaps before you come on so judgmental, you should talk to someone with rheumatoid arthritis.'

'OK,' said Wield.

He stooped to the cage, pushed his finger through the mesh and made soothing guttural noises to the tiny beast. Then he straightened up.

'He's against it,' he said.

He found he was talking to Dalziel.

'When you're done feeding the animals, sergeant, mebbe we can have a word.'

The Fat Man led the way through the reception area where the receptionist was still sulking. He gave her a big smile and nodded at Howard who'd snapped to attention.

Outside Wield said, 'That TecSec man, don't I know him?'

Dalziel, used to being upstaged by his sergeant's encyclopaedic knowledge of the dustiest corners of Mid- Yorkshire, was not displeased to be able to reply negligently, 'Oh aye. But not the way you're thinking. He were one of ours, uniformed out at Dartleby till he took early retirement and got himself privatized. Thinking of following suit, lad?'

'Not more than once a day, sir. Howard. Oh yes. Jimmy Howard. Didn't so much take retirement as had it force-fed, if I remember right.'

Dalziel, who took too much pride in Wield's internet mind to be a bad loser, said, 'You usually do. So fill me in.'

'There was talk he was on the take, but before it got anywhere, he were picked up driving over the limit. Got himself a soft quack who gave him a note saying job stress, and no one stood in his way when he went for medical retirement with pension afore the case came up and he got kicked out without.'

'And the other? Being on the take?'

'Well, nowt was proved. But he's a hard-betting man and those who saw him at the races reckoned he couldn't be losing that much on a constable's take-home. Makes you wonder, don't it?'

'Wonder what, Wieldy?'

'Did TecSec not know about him? Or did they know and take him on
despite
? Or did they know and take him on
because?'

Dalziel shook his head admiringly.

'That's a really nasty mind you've got there, Wieldy. Any reason other than natural prejudice?'

'It was you who said private security companies are guilty till proven innocent, sir,' said Wield reproachfully. 'I've not seen much of this lot, but there's something about them doesn't sit right.'

Dalziel regarded him thoughtfully. A Wield uneasiness was not something to be dismissed lightly.

'All right,' he said. 'Take a closer look. Let on it's these animal libbers we're interested in, how they acted when they got into the building last night. Which we are.'

'Right, sir. But it doesn't sound to me like ALBA will be prosecuting.'

'Big ears you've got. Listen, lad. No one tells me when to stop looking. And I'll keep this ANIMA bunch in view till I'm completely satisfied there's no link with Redcar.'

'You don't really think there could be a connection, sir?' said Wield dubiously. 'I mean from what's known about this lot, they're at the soft end of the movement.'

'First rule of this job is, take nowt on trust,' said the Fat Man sternly. 'Keep your eye on the ball and you'll not buy any dummies.'

This struck Wield as a bit rich when he recalled from Dalziel's complaint last night at not having been warned of the gender of the protesters that the main thing he seemed to have kept his eye on, and which he mentioned at least three times in the sergeant's mitigation, was Amanda Marvell's knockers.

He said, 'I'll make a note of that,' not bothering to muffle the sarcasm.

Dalziel snorted in exasperation and said, 'All right, so what's going off? Toad-licking season started early in Brigadoon, has it?'

This was Dalziel's name for Enscombe.

'Sorry, sir?'

'Jokes last night, and back there you were coming over like the press agent for disadvantaged chimps. So what's it all mean?'

'I don't much like what they're doing there,' admitted Wield. 'Sorry. I know I should keep my neb out.'

'Bloody right you should. Public needs protecting from a neb like yours. Any road, what was it you came in to tell me? You realize I've come out of there as thirsty as I went in, so it had better be important.'

'Not really, sir. Control came through on the radio. Said that woman in charge of the ANIMA lot, what's her name? Marbles ... ? Movables.. . ?'

Wield forgetting a name was as likely as the Godfather forgetting a grudge, but Dalziel found himself saying, 'Marvell,' before he could stop himself.

'That's right. Seems she called in at the station, wanted to see you to make a statement. Could be you're right, sir, and she's come to confess.'

'Oh aye? Well, she had her chance to confess last night,' said Dalziel. 'Let her wait. She can sit around till she gets piles.'

'Oh she's not sitting around, sir. When she found you weren't there, she took off. Said for you to call at her flat, it 'ud be more comfortable there anyway. Says not to worry about turning up at lunch time as she can easily rustle up a snack. You want the address, sir?'

All this was said absolutely deadpan, and pans didn't come any deader than Wield's. But Dalziel was not fooled.

'No, I don't want the bloody address,' he snarled. 'And just because you look like the man in the iron mask, don't imagine I can't see you're smirking!'

He strode away. And Wield, his smirk now externalized, watched him go, thinking, and just because you look like a rhino in retreat, don't imagine I can't see you're horny!

ix

In a long narrow office as chaotic as the museum was neat, Pascoe drank strong tea with Major Hilary Studholme.

The major had listened to Pascoe's story with an attention as undiverted as his pistol. With a mental
moue
of apology in the direction of Ada, Pascoe had felt it better in the circumstances not to explicate her probable motives, and though stopping well short of any direct assertion of regimental pride, it was as nothing to the distance he stayed from even a hint of paranoiac loathing.