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for myself. Found the staff canteen, got a tea urn brewing
    'You must be the highest paid tea boy since Geoffrey Howe left the cabinet,' 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.
    'So what now, sir?' said Headingley. 'Statements?'
    Dalziel thought then said, 'Walker's the only one with owt to state and we've 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 they've been here before.'
    Headingley was looking puzzled and the Fat Man said with didactic clarity, 'Tie 'em in with last summer's raid here and we're well on the way to tying 'em in with Redcar.'
    'Oh yes. I see. You really think then - '
    'Not paid to think, George. I employ someone to think for me, and the bugger's at a funeral so we'll have to get by on our lonesome. Patten!'
    Closed doors and thick walls were no sound barrier and a moment later the TecSec man appeared.
    Dalziel said, 'The ladies are going along to the staff canteen for refreshments then they'll be going home. I presume you've got all your animals locked away?'
    'Don't worry. They won't get anywhere near the labs,' said Patten confidently.
    'Nay, lad, it's your men I'm talking about. No more strong-arm stuff, you with me?'
    'Because they're female, you mean? Listen, that chunky cow, the one they call Cap, she nearly took my head off with a bloody great pair of wire cutters.'
    'Is that right? Your head looks OK to me,' said Dalziel examining it critically.
    'No thanks to her,' said Patten. 'All I'm saying is, if my men get assaulted . . .'
    'They should count their blessings,' said Dalziel. 'There's a place in Harrogate where it costs good money to get beaten up by a handsome young woman. Like the address? All right, George? Everything under control?'
    'Yes, sir. What about you, sir?' said George Headingley. 'Where are you going to be?'
    'Me?' said Dalziel smacking his lips in anticipation. 'I'm going to be wherever Dr Batty keeps his single methanol.'

vii
    As Pascoe drove north the following morning, the weather got worse but his mood got better. By the time he got within tuning distance of Radio Mid-Yorkshire, his car was being machine-gunned by horizontal hail, but the familiar mix of dated pops and parish pump gossip sounded in his ears like the first cuckoo of spring.
    I must be turning into a Yorkshireman, he thought as he sang along with Boney M.
    A newscast followed, a mixture of local and national. One item caught his attention.
    'Police have confirmed the discovery last night of human remains in the grounds of Wanwood House, research headquarters of ALBA Pharmaceuticals. Tests to ascertain the cause of death are not yet complete and the police spokesman was unwilling to comment on reports that the discovery was made by a group of animal rights protesters.'
    It sounded to Pascoe's experienced ear that Andy Dalziel was sitting tight on this one, and with one of those mighty buttocks in your face, even the voice of nation speaking unto nation got a bit muffled.
    It also confirmed him in his half-formed resolution that it was worth diverting to dispose of Ada's ashes. Dalziel believed that time off on any pretext meant you owed him a week of twenty-five-hour days. With a possible murder on his hands, he'd probably raise that to thirty, particularly as Pascoe had been in sole charge of the investigation into the ALBA raid last summer. It had only merited a DCI's involvement because of the possible connection with the killing at FG's labs up at Redcar. There's always a certain pleasure in solving another mob's case, but Dalziel who was a good delegator had neither interfered nor complained when Pascoe had reported that the investigation was going nowhere. On the other hand Pascoe did not doubt he would be held