A Prospect of Vengeance

and prehistoric, and all that. It's anything that's in the past and in the ground. Or above the ground — like . . . like industrial archaeology.'

'It's a perfectly horrible place,' snapped Rachel.

'People excavate Victorian rubbish dumps. And they find quite valuable things,' countered Christopher.

Damn 'the Cambridge chap' , thought Rachel. 'And get tetanus, probably.'

Dr Laurence Groom considered his wife and son in turn, and came to a scientist's conclusion inevitably, as Rachel knew he dummy2

would. 'It sounds interesting.' But at least he had the grace to look at his wife apologetically. 'And . . . I've always wanted to clear that place up. That pond is undoubtedly the breeding place for our mosquitoes.' Then he smiled at his son. 'I doubt that we'll cast any fresh light on the past, to upset the experts. But you never know what we'll find, I agree.'

That, as it transpired, was an understatement. Because, as regards the past and the experts Dr Laurence Groom was wholly wrong.

PART ONE

Ian Robinson and The Ghosts of '78

1

Ian knew that there was someone in his flat the moment he opened the door. And then, almost instantly (and with a mixture of relief and distaste outweighing surprise and fear), not someone, but Reginald Buller. Once smelt, the special mixture of cowdung, old tarred rope and probably illegal substances which Reg Buller smoked was unforgettable.

As he moved towards the living-room door he wrinkled his dummy2

nose again, and knew that it wasn't altogether because of the tobacco, but also because Jenny had undoubtedly conned him, he realized. Not only were they already spending good money, but with her instinct for winners and the Tully-Buller reputation for getting results, the pressure to go ahead would likely be irresistible. Even while seeming to meet his doubts she had painted him into a corner as usual.

'Hullo, Reg.' He observed simultaneously that Buller had helped himself to a beer from the fridge and that he was busy examining the typescripts on the table. 'Picked the lock, did you?'

'Would I do that?' Buller replaced the papers without haste, but not very neatly. 'You've got a nice Chubb lock, in any case.' He grinned at Ian. 'Beyond me, that is. When it comes to breaking-and-entering, I'm strictly amateur.'

'Well, you certainly didn't climb in.' There was something utterly disarming about Reg Buller, although he had never been able to pin it down. But perhaps that was all part of the man's stock-in-trade. 'The back's burglar-proof, I'm reliably informed by the local crime prevention officer. And the front's a bit public on a Sunday morning. Apart from which, the wistaria isn't strong enough — you've put on weight, Reg.'

Buller shook his head. 'Not weight — prosperity, this is. Like the Swedish lady said to me, 'Much to hold is much to love.'

Sheer prosperity, my lad.'

dummy2

'It looks more like sheer beer-drinking to me. How did you get in.'

'Ah . . .' Buller lifted his beer-glass. 'I hoped you wouldn't mind. It's almost sun-over-the-yardarm time, and I was thirsty. Besides which, you always have stocks of this good Cologne beer — I remember that from last time. And ... I am working for you again after all.' He drank. 'Always a pleasure, that is.'

The beer or the work? 'Have another. I'll have one too. When you've told me how you got in, that is.'

'This is the other. But I'll have a third — they are little ones ...

I used my key.'

'Your . . . key?'

'That's the ticket. You lent me a spare last time, when I was in an' out, dropping stuff off. So I had another one cut, just in case.'

Ian felt himself being shepherded towards the kitchen. 'In case of what?'

'In case I had to come calling again. Like, for a rainy day. An'

today is rainy, and I knew you'd be at church this morning, like always ... an' ... I wanted to catch you before Mr Tully arrives. An' he said 12.30. An' . . .' He gave Ian a sidelong look.

'And?' Ian knew that look of old.

'I wanted to make sure the coast was clear.' Buller studied his beer for a moment. Then drank some of it. Then studied dummy2

what remained with regret. 'What I always like about Cologne . . . apart from the art galleries, an' the museums, an'

all the culture, of course ... is that, every time your glass gets down to the last inch or so, they just automatically bring you another full one. An' that's what I would describe as a very civilized custom . . . Providing you're not driving — because the police are something cruel there, if you've had a couple.'

Ian opened the fridge door. 'Ein Kolsch, Herr Buller?' He waited uneasily while another bottle from his fast depleting stock disappeared. 'What d'you mean — making sure the coast is clear, Reg?'

Buller drank. 'You don't know you're being followed? But then, you wouldn't of course! The Lady might know better . . .

but you'd just go walkabout without another thought — I know you!'

Ian thought bitterly of the 'Lady' and her instincts. But he only thought of her for a moment. Then he started thinking of himself. 'I'm being followed?' He tried to imply a mere wish for confirmation, rather than the actual