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 – 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 – 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 – 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 – and I wondered whether any on them was descended from me – and I thought I saw a familiar face then came the sound of a distant crump like they was blasting out at Abels Quarry – only I knew they werent
– and a voice a long way off saying some poor sods catching it – and I didn't want to blink though the sun was shining straight into my eyes – but I had to blink – 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 – and all I could hear were the rumble of the guns – and all I could feel was the straw from my palliasse pricking into my back…
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 else's future. We live in other men's dreams…
He closed his eyes and drifted back to that other place.
… but I’ll try to keep them dream children bright in my mind my love – you too – and tell little Ada about them – I still cant credit a bible heaven spite of old padre preaching at me every other day – 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
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.
'Don't advertise much,' observed Dalziel looking at a discreet plaque which read ALBA PHARMACEUTICALS Research Division. 'And there's nowt on the gate.'
'Might as well have put a neon sign on the roof for all the good it's done them,' said Longbottom ringing the bell.
The door was opened by a man in a dark green uniform with the name 'PATTEN' and a logo consisting of an orange sunburst and the letters 'TecSec' 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 didn't 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 Charles's 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 couldn't quite say who, came towards them saying, 'My dear chap, you're soaked. No need, I'm sure. The fuzz must have plenty of pensioned-off sawbones all too keen to earn a bob doing basics.'
Assuming none of this solicitude was aimed at him, Dalziel said, 'Aye, and we sometimes make do with a barber and a leech. You'll be Batty, I daresay.'
'Indeed,' said the man regarding Dalziel with the air of one nostalgic for the days of tradesmen's entrances. 'And you…?'
'Superintendent Andrew Dalziel,' offered Longbottom.
'Ah, the great white chief. Took your time getting here, superintendent.'
'Got the call on my way back from a meeting in Nottingham,' said Dalziel. He saw Longbottom smile his awareness that the meeting in question had taken place under floodlights on a rugby pitch.
'Well, at least now you're here, perhaps you can tell the bunch of incompetents who've preceded you to get their fingers out and start imposing some sort of order on this mess.'
'I'll do my best,' said the Fat Man mildly. 'Talking of messes, sir, that's a right one you've got out there. Looks like a health hazard to me.'
'On the contrary, it's a cordon sanitaire,' said Batty. 'After the damage those lunatics did last summer, it was quite clearly beyond the police force's competency to protect us, so we took steps of our own to thwart these criminals.'
'Criminals,' echoed Dalziel as if the word were new to him. 'You'll be prosecuting then, sir?'
Batty said, 'If it's left up to me, we will! Normally we don't care to give these lunatics the oxygen of publicity, but I suspect in this case, some exposure is already unavoidable?'
'Aye,' said Dalziel. 'Having a body dug up in your back yard usually gives off a lot worse stink than oxygen.'
'As I feared, though I suppose the exact nature of the publicity depends on how diplomatically things are handled. Troll, what can you tell us?'
Dalziel gave the pathologist a look which dared him to speculate an inch further than he'd done on the edge of the crater.
'Early days, David, early days,' murmured Longbottom.
'And getting close to early hours,' said Dalziel looking at his watch. 'Mebbe I could see the witnesses now…?'
'Yes, I suppose so. Patten will take you along. Troll, let's try to get your outside dry and your inside suitably wetted.'
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 Batty's name and followed the security man through one of the hessian doors and down a long corridor.
'We've got them locked up down here,' he said.
'Locked up?'
'They are trespassers, and once they got into the building, they ran amok. One of my men got hit in the stomach, I was threatened…'
'Oh aye?' said Dalziel, interested. Mebbe this could have some connection with Redcar after all. 'Anyone get really hurt?'
'More dignity than owt else,' said Patten enigmatically. 'That's where they are.'
They'd 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.
'At ease, Jimmy,' said Patten. 'This is Superintendent Dalziel.'
'I know,' said the man. 'How do you do, sir.'
Dalziel was used to being recognized but liked to know why.
'Do I know you?' he said.
'Not exactly, sir. But I know you. I was at Dartleby nick till I took the pension. Uniformed. PC Howard, sir.'
'Jumped ship, did you? All right, lad. You can piss off now.'
The man looked unhappily at Patten who said, 'We do have our orders…'
'That's what Eichmann said, and they hanged him. So bugger off. And by the way, Howard…'
'Yes, sir?'
'Your cock's on fire.'
Leaving the ex-policeman beating at his pocket, Dalziel stepped into the room and halted dead in his tracks.
'Bloody hell,' he said.
