As for Kirkton it were just the same as I long to be back in only so much better â with all them tumbledown cottages alongside Grindals turned into gardens â and the mill itself had big airy windows and I could see lasses and lads laughing and talking inside â and that old bog meadow out towards Haggs Farm that used to stink so much was all drained and the river banks built up so thered be no more flooding â and High Street seemed wider too with all them slimy cobbles that broke old Tom Steddings head when his horse slipped covered over with level tarmac â and the Maisterhouse away through the trees with its red brick glowing and its pointing gleaming like it were just built yesterday.
Even St Marks looked a lot more welcoming cos the parson had ripped out them gloomy windows that used to terrify us kids with their blood and flames â and in their stead hed put clear new glass which let sun come streaming through like spring water. Even the old tombstones had been cleaned up and I took this fancy to see my own â only I thought on that Id not be buried here with tothers of my name but far away across the sea where none would ever find me â and soon as I thought that I felt myself being hauled back to this awful place.
But I werent going easy and I fought against it and hung on still and peered over the wall into the schoolyard to see the kiddies playing there all so happy and strong and free â and I wondered whether any on them was descended from me â and I thought I saw a familiar face â then came the sound of a distant crump like they was blasting out at Abels Quarry â only I knew they werent â and a voice a long way off saying some poor sods catching it â and I didnât want to blink though the sun was shining straight into my eyes â but I had to blink â and though it was only a second or even less when I opened my eyes again sun were gone and kiddies were gone and all I could see were the night sky through the window red and terrible as that old stained glass â and all I could hear were the rumble of the guns â and all I could feel was the straw from my palliasse pricking into my back â¦
Pascoe awoke. Had he been dreaming? He thought he had but his dream had gone. Or had it? Did dreams ever go? Our present was someone elseâs future. We live in other menâs dreams â¦
He closed his eyes and drifted back to that other place.
⦠but Ill try to keep them dream children bright in my mind my love â you too â and tell little Ada about them â I still cant credit a bible heaven spite of old padre preaching at me every other day â so unless this lots going to teach us summat about the way we live here on earth wheres the point of it all eh?
Wheres the bloody point?
vi (#ulink_64f6c67b-7a70-54a7-88be-8b4e2ba127f1)
Wanwood House had had pieces added to it in the modern Portaloo style, but basically it was a square solid Victorian building, its proportions not palatial but just far enough outside the human scale to put a peasant in his place. Thus did the nineteenth-century Yorkshireman underline the natural order of things.
His twentieth-century successors were more self-effacing it seemed.
âDonât advertise much,â observed Dalziel looking at a discreet plaque which read ALBA PHARMACEUTICALS Research Division. âAnd thereâs nowt on the gate.â
âMight as well have put a neon sign on the roof for all the good itâs done them,â said Longbottom ringing the bell.
The door was opened by a man in a dark green uniform with the name âPATTENâ and a logo consisting of an orange sunburst and the letters âTecSecâ at his breast. He was leanly muscular with close-cropped hair and a long scar down the right cheek which, helped by a slightly askew nose, suggested that at some time the whole face had been removed and rather badly stitched back on. Dalziel viewed him with the distaste of a professional soldier for private armies. But at least the man sized them up at a glance and didnât do anything silly like asking for identification.
He ushered them through the nineteenth into the twentieth century in the form of a modern reception area with a stainless-steel desk, pink fitted carpet and hessian-hung walls from which depended what might have been a selection of Prince Charlesâs watercolours left standing in the rain.
One of three doors almost invisible in their hessian camouflage opened and a slim fair-haired man in his thirties and a dinner jacket, who reminded Dalziel of someone but he couldnât quite say who, came towards them saying, âMy dear chap, youâre soaked. No need, Iâm sure. The fuzz must have plenty of pensioned-off sawbones all too keen to earn a bob doing basics.â
Assuming none of this solicitude was aimed at him, Dalziel said, âAye, and we sometimes make do with a barber and a leech. Youâll be Batty, I daresay.â
âIndeed,â said the man regarding Dalziel with the air of one nostalgic for the days of tradesmenâs entrances. âAnd you â¦?â
âSuperintendent Andrew Dalziel,â offered Longbottom.
âAh, the great white chief. Took your time getting here, superintendent.â
âGot the call on my way back from a meeting in Nottingham,â said Dalziel. He saw Longbottom smile his awareness that the meeting in question had taken place under floodlights on a rugby pitch.
âWell, at least now youâre here, perhaps you can tell the bunch of incompetents whoâve preceded you to get their fingers out and start imposing some sort of order on this mess.â
âIâll do my best,â said the Fat Man mildly. âTalking of messes, sir, thatâs a right one youâve got out there. Looks like a health hazard to me.â
âOn the contrary, itâs a cordon sanitaire,â said Batty. âAfter the damage those lunatics did last summer, it was quite clearly beyond the police forceâs competency to protect us, so we took steps of our own to thwart these criminals.â
âCriminals,â echoed Dalziel as if the word were new to him. âYouâll be prosecuting then, sir?â
Batty said, âIf itâs left up to me, we will! Normally we donât care to give these lunatics the oxygen of publicity, but I suspect in this case, some exposure is already unavoidable?â
âAye,â said Dalziel. âHaving a body dug up in your back yard usually gives off a lot worse stink than oxygen.â
âAs I feared, though I suppose the exact nature of the publicity depends on how diplomatically things are handled. Troll, what can you tell us?â
Dalziel gave the pathologist a look which dared him to speculate an inch further than heâd done on the edge of the crater.
âEarly days, David, early days,â murmured Longbottom.
âAnd getting close to early hours,â said Dalziel looking at his watch. âMebbe I could see the witnesses now â¦?â
âYes, I suppose so. Patten will take you along. Troll, letâs try to get your outside dry and your inside suitably wetted.â
With an apologetic mop and mow at Dalziel, the pathologist let himself be led away. Dalziel who kept his slates as carefully as any shopkeeper, chalked up another small debt against Battyâs name and followed the security man through one of the hessian doors and down a long corridor.
âWeâve got them locked up down here,â he said.
âLocked up?â
âThey are trespassers, and once they got into the building, they ran amok. One of my men got hit in the stomach, I was threatened â¦â
âOh aye?â said Dalziel, interested. Mebbe this could have some connection with Redcar after all. âAnyone get really hurt?â
âMore dignity than owt else,â said Patten enigmatically. âThatâs where they are.â
Theyâd turned left at a T-junction in the corridor. Ahead, Dalziel had already observed another TecSec man slouching against a door, his head wreathed in smoke. As soon as he became aware of their approach, he straightened his uniform and snapped to attention. There was no sign of a cigarette. Dalziel admired the legerdemain and bet on the big front pocket of the dark green trousers.
âAt ease, Jimmy,â said Patten. âThis is Superintendent Dalziel.â
âI know,â said the man. âHow do you do, sir.â
Dalziel was used to being recognized but liked to know why.
âDo I know you?â he said.
âNot exactly, sir. But I know you. I was at Dartleby nick till I took the pension. Uniformed. PC Howard, sir.â
âJumped ship, did you? All right, lad. You can piss off now.â
The man looked unhappily at Patten who said, âWe do have our orders â¦â
âThatâs what Eichmann said, and they hanged him. So bugger off. And by the way, Howard â¦â
âYes, sir?â
âYour cockâs on fire.â
Leaving the ex-policeman beating at his pocket, Dalziel stepped into the room and halted dead in his tracks.
âBloody hell,â he said.