Authors: Reginald Hill
Physically, the cabinets relating to the years 1915-19 were the most accessible. Wield guessed that this was because they were the first to be dumped down here, after the war when the hospital administrators started looking forward to a period of peace and profit. Whoever had lugged them down the stairs had seen no reason to go deeper into the cellar than he needed, so had left them close by the entrance.
After 1946, perhaps something to do with the establishment of the National Health Service, other means of disposing of outdated records had been found.
Wield read through the early Admin stuff and glanced at some of the medical records. If the bones had anything to do with the hospital, and if these cabinets contained any clue to this connection, there were two ways of doing this. One was the Wield way which meant reading through everything and taking notes and hoping that out of such a careful cold collation some piece of nutritious information might emerge. The other was the lucky Pascoe way of putting in your thumb at random and hoping you pulled out a nice juicy plum.
He closed his eyes, jerked open a drawer, reached in, and grabbed a file.
'Well, bugger me,' he said. 'But not too much.'
A good policeman knows that coincidences though always suspicious are not invariably significant.
The file he had in his hand belonged to Second Lieutenant Herbert Grindal of the West Yorkshire Fusiliers.
So what did it mean? Wield asked himself.
Simply that Arthur Grindal who had so generously donated his country house to his nation's needs, had also contributed a son (or nephew maybe?) to his country's defence, and that when this same youth was wounded, he'd ended up at Wanwood Hospital for treatment. Nothing surprising or sinister in that. Nothing, considering the casualty rate in that mass mayhem, particularly ironic either. As for tragic, he riffled through the file, saw that Grindal had been invalided in September 1917 suffering from a broken arm and neurasthenia and had been passed fit for service by a medical board the following January. So, a happy ending, assuming of course that he made it through to the end of the war.
He dropped the file back into its drawer and glanced at his watch. He'd been here long enough, he decided. He'd tell Pascoe precisely what he'd found and done, and hope that maybe he'd get a bit more precision in return about where to look for what.
He didn't suffer from claustrophobia but it was a relief to get out of that cellar and back to daylight. Not that there was much left this November afternoon, and only a tiny fraction of that filtered through the grubby panes of the only window admitting on this old back kitchen. But he stood by it, his eyes drinking in the bright gloom.
There was nothing much to see. The back kitchen formed a bay protruding from the rear of the house, and the window was set in the wall looking sideways across a cobbled yard littered with dustbins to a matching bay about thirty feet away. There was a door in that wall and now there was something to see. The door opened fractionally but no one came out. Then a figure came round the corner of the house, looked right and left and right again like a good boy crossing the road, then moved swiftly to the open door.
It was Jimmy Howard. He paused in the doorway. It was too far and too dusky to see who was inside, and in any case the TecSec man blocked most of the view. But Wield got an impression of a white-clad arm reaching out and Howard taking something which he slipped into his pocket. Then the door was closed and Howard was walking swiftly away.
Wield moved swiftly too. He had the kind of mind which had automatically mapped every area of Wanwood House that he'd walked through. A locked door delayed him for a few seconds while he made a detour, but he was still quick enough to reach a corridor leading towards the lab area as a white-coated figure passed through a door at the other end.
No problem even from behind. It was the radiantly beautiful research assistant, Jane Ambler.
That was half the puzzle solved. He turned round and headed back the way he'd come, diverting before he reached the back kitchen to head towards the TecSec office. But as he passed a window opening onto the staff car park, he glimpsed Howard getting into an old Escort and driving away.
So despite knowing that Wield was onto him, the dickhead was still driving himself to work. Perhaps he thought a deal had been done. If so, he was soon going to find out all bets were off.
Wield went out to his own car and picked up his radio mike.
'DS Wield,' he said. 'I've got a job for any car you might have in the vicinity of the west linkway.
He gave details of Howard's car and number, noted from his earlier researches into the status of the ex-cop's licence. Privately, the kind of mind which forgot nothing could sometimes be a real pain, but professionally it came in very useful.
'I think you'll find the driver doesn't have a current licence,' he said. 'I'd like him booked and held till I get there. But don't mention my name. Oh, and by the way, he's ex-job and will probably be asking favours. We're right out of them, OK?'
As he peeled off his overalls, Patten came out of the house and walked towards him.
'Any luck?' he said.
'Sorry?'
'With them files. Any missing bodies or bones?'
'Not yet. But we'll keep on looking.'
'Rather you than me,' said Patten. 'Cheers.'
He smiled, crinkling his scar, and returned to the house.
Why's he so happy I'm spending my time here in that filthy cellar? wondered Wield. Perhaps Jimmy Howard had the answer.
He went to find out.
At the station, Charley Slocum, the custody sergeant, greeted his arrival without much enthusiasm.
'Yes, we've got him. He's making a lot of noise and asking for you. Seems to think you can get him out of this. I hope you're going to disabuse him, Wieldy. If this is some clever little CID scheme you should have kept him to yourself. He's in the system now, and that means no deals.'
'Fine, Charley. Got a list of his belongings?'
He checked through the list. All legit.
He said, 'Where's his car?'
'Out back.'
'Give us a moment? I need a witness.'
They went out to the Escort. Wield opened the driver's door and checked in the glove shelf and the door wallets. Nothing except the usual array of maps, dusters, et cetera. He paused, then stooped and lifted the rubber footmat.
A small white envelope lay revealed.
'What's that?' asked Slocum.
'How should I know?' said Wield picking it up by one corner and dropping it in an evidence bag. 'But if you wheel Howard out for me, I'll ask him.'
vii
After Wield had left the Black Bull, Pascoe and Dalziel had sat in silence for a while.
'Another pint, sir,' Pascoe finally ventured.
'Don't think so,' said the Fat Man. 'Enough's enough.'
This was like God resting on the fourth day.
'Can I have that on tape?' said Pascoe.
Dalziel frowned and said, 'You got no work to do?'
Pascoe said, 'I thought I'd go to the hospital. See how Walker is. And I guess that's where Ellie will be.'
'Aye. Hope she's not doing owt daft like blaming herself. There's no future in it, blaming yourself.'
'No one knows yet there's anything for anyone to blame themselves for,' said Pascoe.
'Oh there's always summat, lad. There's always summat, ' said Dalziel. 'Off you go, see how she is. Both on 'em.'
'What'll you do, sir?'
'Start back where I should've started in the first place,' said Dalziel. 'At the crime.'
'The bones, you mean?'
'Nay, lad. Still don't know if there's a crime in them or not. No, it's unlawful entry, criminal damage, threatening behaviour, I mean. Them's the crimes we do know about. I let 'em go too easy because - '
'Because you had, potentially at least, a much more serious investigation on your hands,' interjected Pascoe. 'And because ALBA didn't want to prosecute.'
' - because I had other fish to fry,' said Dalziel ambiguously. 'Should have made sure I filleted 'em first. Still, only one thing to do when you get a bone stuck ...'
'And what's that?'
'Take a big bite of summat, chew it hard and swallow it down!' Pascoe contained his smile till he got outside, then immediately felt guilty.
Even a man engaged in a less prurient profession might have entertained himself deconstructing such an image, he assured himself defensively as he drove away. Has my life in the police locker room rendered me perceptibly coarser? One for Ellie.
But not just now, he thought when he saw her in the hospital waiting room.
'No change?' he said.
'She's moved up a level of consciousness they reckon,' said Ellie. 'But no one's making any forecasts.'
'You know what doctors are,' said Pascoe lightly. 'Won't tell you the time in case they get sued. Listen, love, this isn't down to you, any of it.'
'I should never have introduced her to Cap. Or kept it from you. I should have made her talk when she came round to see me, but. ..'
'But I came in.'
'No! I wasn't going to blame you, not this time. Most other times, yes, but not this one.' She managed a smile. 'All I was thinking was, we'd just been about to go to bed and it wasn't going to happen now. And I was looking forward to our evening in, and that wasn't going to happen either. All because of sodding Wendy Walker!'
'And now you feel guilty. Without knowing anything about what happened. Listen, Wendy lying unconscious up there may have, in fact very probably does have, nothing to do with you or any of this business about her brother. So just wait and see, eh? And no need to wait here. Who's up there with her?'
'Dennis Seymour.'
'Fine. So any news, we'll be the first to get it. Now let's go home.'
She said hesitantly, 'Yes, you're right, I know it... but would you mind if I stay just a bit longer? What I mean is, could you pick Rosie up from school? Sorry. I'm being selfish. I know you've got work to do ...'
'Nothing that any other three or four ordinary detectives couldn't manage in a month,’ he said. 'Of course I'll pick Rosie up. By the way, how'd you get on with little Miss Martinet?'
'It was fine. Well, sort of. Basically she seems to think that Rose only swears in front of us because she feels it's a kind of password admitting her to the family's innermost sanctum. In other words, it's us she's learned from, but as for the most part it's only when we're by ourselves that we use these words, she thinks they belong to our special language.'
'Shit,' said Pascoe.
'My response in a nutshell. Which makes you think, doesn't it?'
'So what do we do?'
'Watch our language. Stuff her ears with bread pellets. I don't know. I certainly don't want to introduce her to the concept of censorship at this stage in her development.'
'Oh good. I'll go and dig out that old Bible you hid in the attic, shall I? Only joking. Only just joking, I mean. Don't be too long, eh?'
He kissed her. She responded hard, giving him some tongue. He enjoyed it then drew away.
'One thing old Virgin Bottom guaranteed before she got dumped was no spare beds in the NHS!' he said. 'We really should go private.'
Rosie greeted his appearance at the school gate with some suspicion.
'Why's Mummy not here?' she demanded.
'Well you know how she feels about stereotypical behaviour,' he said swinging her high.
Home, he provided her with a cheese and jam sandwich and a glass of apple juice with a squeeze of tomato puree and left her watching a cartoon on television while he sat down and opened the package from Ada's lawyer.
In it he found another carefully bound packet with his name on it and a covering note from the lawyer.
Dear Mr Pascoe,
Your grandmother left instructions that once I had heard from you that her wishes regarding the disposal of her ashes had been carried out, I was to dispatch to you the enclosed packet. I have no knowledge of its contents other than assurances that they are Mrs Pascoe's family papers of no testimonial interest to us as executors of her will. Should that prove not to be the case, however, or if there is any doubt, I am sure you will contact me for professional advice.
Yours sincerely, Barbara Lomax
He took a paperknife and carefully cut through the layers of Sellotape swathing the packet, noting with amusement that Ada had scrawled her name across the main junctions of tape, thus making it almost impossible to remove and replace them undetected.
Like a sensible Yorkshire woman, she obviously felt that only fools and gods put those they trusted most in the way of temptation.
The packet contained another envelope addressed to him in Ada's hand, a plastic folder stuffed with documents and letters, an old exercise book and yet another package wrapped in a piece of chamois leather so dry that it cracked as he tried to unfold it. What emerged, as though from the fragments of a very old eggshell, was another book, about the size of a World's Classics volume. It had a leather cover and was clearly home-made, with exercise-book paper cut down and sewn together with oiled thread and a soldier's careful stitch. Each page was crammed with minute writing in faded pencil. Pascoe rose and got the Sherlock Holmes magnifying glass which had been a joke birthday present many years ago. He examined a page at random
...
New Years Day - its snowing - we all moan but not much - a man can thole cold - in fact theres talk of a fellow in 3 platoon deliberately let his left foot get frostbitten so as hed lose a couple of toes and get Blightied - could be true seeing as words gone up on Orders that not taking proper precautions against frostbite is an offence - next thing not ducking a bullet will be an offence! One things for sure but - it can get as cold as it likes but nobody wants the winter over - like little Harry Holmes whos got a way with words and a not half bad voice either sings - The flowers that bloom in the Spring trala are bottomed in bone meal and blood And the brass hats are starting to sing trala Lets attack dear old Fritzes left wing trala And straighten our line through that wood So thats what we mean when we say or we sing Fuck off to the flowers that bloom in the Spring! - Happy New Year to everybody - everybody who wants this war to finish I mean - British or German. Happy New Year.