Gently steaming against a big radiator were eight women, each mucky enough to have set Dalzielâs granny spinning in her grave.
That Wield, he swore to himself. He kept quiet on purpose. Iâll punch the bugger handsome!
One woman detached herself from the huddle and came towards him, saying, âThank God, hereâs tâorgan grinder. Now mebbe we can get shut of the monkeys.â
She glared towards Patten as she spoke. He returned the glare indifferently. Dalziel on the other hand studied the woman with the intense interest of a gourmet served a new dish. Not that there was much to whet the appetite. She had less meat on her than a picked-over chicken wing and her cheeks were pale and hollow as wind-carved limestone.
Memory stirred. That business down the mine when Pascoe got hurt â¦
He said, âYouâre one of them Women Against Pit Closures lot from Burrthorpe. Walker, isnât it? Wendy Walker?â
She stepped by him and slammed the door in Pattenâs face. Then she said, âThatâs right. Got a fag?â
He pulled out a packet. He rarely smoked now, not because of health fears, still less because of social pressures, but because heâd found it was blunting his ability to distinguish single malts with a single sniff. But he still carried fags, finding them professionally useful both as ice-breakers and cage-rattlers.
âYouâre a long way off the coalface, luv,â he said, flicking his old petrol lighter.
âCoal?â
She drew the word into herself with a long breath that reduced the cigarette by an inch of ash.
âWhatâs that?â she said on the outgoing puff. âThey shut Burrthorpe last year like theyâve shut most on tâothers. Them bastards made a lot of promises they didnât keep, but when they said theyâd pay us back for the Strike, by God they kept that one!â
âItâs still a long way from home.â
âHome is where the hate is, and thereâs nowt left to hate in Burrthorpe, just an empty hole in the ground where there used to be a community.â
âIâm sorry to interrupt this reunion and the Channel 4 documentary, but you, whoever you are, how long are we to be restrained by these thugs in these disgusting conditions?â
The voice, as up-to-Oxford county as Walkerâs was down-to-earth Yorkshire, belonged to a small sturdy woman, her short-cropped black hair accentuating the determined cast of her handsome features. This one too brought a memory popping up in Dalzielâs mind, hot as a piece of fresh toast, of a woman heâd known and liked â more than liked â down in Lincolnshire after Pascoeâs wedding ⦠He hadnât thought about her for years. What could have pressed that button? he wondered as he stared with undisguised pleasure at the way this womanâs wet sweater clung to her melopeponic breasts.
âNay, lass,â he said. âNo oneâs restraining you, whoever you are. You can bugger off any time you like, once youâve made your statement. You have been asked to make a statement, Miss er â¦?â
âMarvell. Amanda Marvell. Yes, weâve been asked but most of us are refusing till such time as we have proper representation.â
She glared accusingly, and in Dalzielâs eyes, most becomingly, at Wendy Walker who snapped, âYeah, Iâve made my statement. In fact, when it comes down to it, Iâm the only one whoâs really got owt to state. Mebbe more than youâll care to hear, Cap. All I want is to get out of here.â
âYou surprise me, Wendy,â said Marvell, all cool control. âWhat happened to all the big talk about going for the jugular and taking no prisoners? First sign of trouble, and youâre all for breaking ranks.â
âYeah? Mebbe I should have been more choosy who I formed ranks with in the first place,â snarled Walker.
âReally? You mean we donât match up to the standards of your mining chums? Well, I can see that. Once they encountered real opposition, they pretty soon crumbled too, didnât they?â
There was a time when a provocation like this to a Burrthorpe lass would have started World War Three, and indeed a small red spot at the heart of those pallid cheeks seemed to indicate some incipient nuclear activity. But before she could explode, a round-faced blonde who looked even wetter and more miserable than the rest said, âWendyâs right, Cap. This is serious stuff. It was bones we found out there, a body. Letâs just make our statements and go home. Please.â
Marvellâs et-tu-Brute look was even more devastating than her jâaccuse glare, and Dalziel was experiencing a definite wringing of the withers when the door opened and George Headingleyâs broad anxious face appeared.
âHello, sir. Heard you were here. Can we have a word?â
âIf we must,â said Dalziel reluctantly, and with a last mnemonic look at Cap Marvellâs gently steaming bosom, he went out into the corridor.
âAll right, George,â he said. âFill me in.â
Headingley, a pink-faced middle-aged man with a sad moustache and a cream-tea paunch, said, âThat lot in there belong to ANIMA, the animal rights group and they wereââ
Dalziel said, âI donât give a toss if they belong to the Dagenham Girl Pipers and theyâve come here to rehearse, theyâre witnesses is all that matters. So what did they witness?â
âWell, Iâve got one statement on tape so far. The others arenât being very cooperative but this lass â¦â
âAye. Wendy Walker. First time in her life sheâs been cooperative with the police, I bet. Letâs hear this tape then.â
Headingley led him to a small office where the recorder was set up. Dalziel listened intently then said, âThis Cap, the one with the chest â¦â
âMarvell. Captain Marvell, get it? Sheâs the boss, except that she and Walker donât see eye to eye.â
âI noticed. She sounds a bit of a hard case.â
âYes, sir. Patten, thatâs the TecSec chief, reckons she had serious thoughts about taking a swing at him.â
âCould pack quite a punch with that weight behind it,â said Dalziel, smiling reminiscently.
âIt were a set of wire cutters she was swinging. Weâve got them here, sir. Give you a real headache if these connected.â
Dalziel looked at the heavy implement and said, âBag it and have it checked for blood.â
âBut no one got hurt,â protested Headingley.
âNot here they didnât.â
âYou donât mean you think maybe Redcar ⦠but theyâre women, sir!â
âWorldâs changing, George,â said Dalziel. âSo what else have you been doing, apart from collecting one statement?â
âWell, I had a talk with Dr Batty when I got here â¦â
âHe was here when you arrived?â
âYes, sir. Expect that Patten rang him first. Then I got things organized outside, and I thought Iâd better see if we could rustle up some sort of refreshment for the ladies. I asked that fellow Howard â he used to be one of ours â but he said he couldnât leave the door, so I went to look for myself. Found the staff canteen, got a tea urn brewing â¦â
âYou must be the highest paid tea boy since Geoffrey Howe left the cabinet,â said Dalziel. Still, at least old George knew his limitations. Why get wet and in the way outside when you had someone like Wieldy, who could organize a piss-up on a Welsh Sunday, fifty miles from the nearest brewery.
âSo what now, sir?â said Headingley. âStatements?â
Dalziel thought then said, âWalkerâs the only one with owt to state and weâve got hers. Give them all their cup of tea, take details, name, address, the usual, keep it all low key and chatty, but see if you can get any of them to let on theyâve been here before.â
Headingley was looking puzzled and the Fat Man said with didactic clarity, âTie âem in with last summerâs raid here and weâre well on the way to tying âem in with Redcar.â
âOh yes. I see. You really think thenââ