Chapter 12

A policeman came in with a sandwich on a cardboard plate and

a plastic cup of lukewarm tea.

"What's the time?" I asked.

"Lunch time," he said grimly, "we don't have much time for

terrorists who kill policemen."

"Oh. Right. Thanks for the sandwich, how do I get to a toilet

if I need it?"

"Bang on the door. In good time. Sometimes we don't hear for

hours on end."

"I see. Perhaps I'd better go now as a precautionary

measure."

"Suit yourself. After you."

As I passed down the corridor I felt my right foot flicked

into my left from behind and instantly sprawled on the concrete

floor.

"Shit," I said, struggling up with the bloody hand which had

broken my fall.

"Clumsy, aren't we, and mind your language." barked the

policeman.

I entered the antiquated bathroom and toilet combined. There

was no lock on the door. I squatted on the pan, hoping to clear my

bowels to give me a reasonable time ahead, but nothing came.

I returned to the cell, with some tissue staunching the blood

flow from my hand.

I drank the tea, but left the sandwich. The bread was dry,

and the ham so wafer thin, no taste would have transferred to the

bread. Besides I was not at all hungry. My uppermost emotion was

apathy.

I lay on my back, and for the first time my position

clarified itself in front of me like a vast yawning chasm. I was a

criminal - terrorist, even. I had lost Jess. I had lost my

liberty. I rolled towards the wall, and cried silently, biting my

knuckles to prevent any sound escaping which might give

satisfaction to my jailer.

And so passed some hours, alternating between apathy and

misery, interrupted only at some time called 'tea time', by

another cup of tea and another ham sandwich, which was of the same

generation as the previous one, and at 'bed-time' by the provision

of a rough blanket and a pillow, and the light being turned off.

At this latter visit I went to the bathroom again, this time

ensuring my feet were ready for a trip. I asked for toiletries,

and was told I'd have to wait until tomorrow. I should have asked

before the stores closed.

Then there was 'rise and shine' time, which turned out to be

'compulsory cold shower' time, but at least I had soap and one of

those disposable toothbrushes preloaded with chalky paste, but no

razor so I remained bristly. I asked how I would get a change of

clothes, and was given a form to fill in. It relied upon Jess's

help, which struck me as a long shot. I resolved to wash my pants

and vest at bedtime that day. Presumably to dry them, I would have

to wear them.

Before lunchtime I was taken to an interview room. It seemed

a long walk down corridors of plastic floor tiles with many double

doors that swung squeakily, and nearly always into my face, unless

I kept alert.

Detective Inspector Lucas introduced himself and his Sergeant

Victor Banks. He fiddled with a wall mounted tape recorder which

buzzed and he said who we all were, and that we were being

recorded. He read out the charges, and asked if I would like to

make a statement, and reiterated my right to have a lawyer.

I said no, and then, "Look, these events of -" and I had to

think, " - Tuesday morning really have their beginning some months

back. Have you got my lap-top?"

"We have. It is being examined."

"The relevant file is DRAGNOV, but you have to go through

SMART, My Environment, and shortcut to Wordprocessor, and

directory topdocs, via menu choices. I started writing pre

Windows. Print out the hundred pages from it and that will tell

you all until Sunday evening."

"Nothing happened Sunday evening. We're talking about Tuesday

Mr Spencer. Tuesday - not Sunday."

"It's all one happening. One event is connected with another.

You just perceived - oh - the last act."

"We 'perceived' your unauthorised minibus on the motorway, a

trashed helicopter and crew, an injured wife, damage and

unauthorised entry to the Minster, an illegally parked minibus,

and alcohol in a breath test."

"Well, my pages are going into my defence papers, so either

you read it or you don't. I still want those pages, and I think

I'm entitled to them and I don't want any 'oh sorry the computer

crashed so we can't get at your files'. So when you've done the

forensic I want the computer. There is a copy of those files

elsewhere by the way."

"OK. OK. I hear you."

I said, "Look, we can fence or we can get some things out of

the way. I am prepared to acknowledge the following.

"First I probably did drive the minibus over the alcohol

limit, and I'm prepared to consider the estimate of by how much

with your expert.

"Second the parking offence is not disputed.

"Third I was on the motorways M66, M62, M621.

"Fourth, I did knock the candles off the altar in the Minster

and will replace any broken ones. If there was any other damage or

loss it wasn't me.

"Fifth I did see what happened to your helicopter, and know

why it crashed, but I did not cause it to crash.

"And most of all I did not hit my wife, although I know what

caused her to fall."

Lucas sighed, clasped his hands, rested his elbows on the

table, put his thumbs under his square chin, and looked at me

through deeply shadowed dark brown eyes. He looked tense and

tired.

"So-o, you have a long story to tell that leads up to

Tuesday's events. Let's set that aside. We'll get your story and

we'll review it.

"Now I'm a simple man. I hear what you're prepared to admit

to, and yes, we could wrap that all up into a package and make up

a case, and go to trial, and do you for it. But we lost three good

police - men and - and - and a valuable machine, and that's a

crime unless it can be proved an accident, and I won't have that.

The pilot was experienced and cautious. And there was an assault,

unless it was an accident, and that is denied by the victim. And

in both instances you claim to be a witness but not the

instrument. But I say who else could it have been?

"So we'll do it my way. Let's start, not from the beginning

as in your papers, but let's say from where you hit your wife."

"I didn't hit her. She fell."

"So you did say. Why did she fall?"

"She was trying to stop me from going out. She had the keys

to the minibus and the yard gate with her, and she was running

upstairs. The dragon that wanted me to go out, pressurised the

pain centres of her brain and she fell and banged her head. I put

her to bed and left. With the dragon."

Lucas slapped his hands on the table.

"Wait on. Dragon? What's this bullshit about a dragon?"

"It's been interfering in my life for some months now."

Banks made a cough of disgust, "Bloody nutter - or just

cunning."

Lucas said grimly, "I suppose he has a name."

"Damien, although I think he picked it as an alias for use

with me."

"What about demon - the demon drink?"

"It wasn't relevant."

"I am suggesting that your dragon was an alcohol induced

delusion."

"Your suggestion is wrong, my computer file will confirm it

has been in my life for - for some three months now."

"You maintain the dragon has a physical presence?"

"Sort of. It can certainly create physical events."

"But you see it."

"When it so desires."

"OK. So you left with dragon Damien - to go to?"

"York. That was as much as he was prepared to say at that

time."

"Didn't that strike you as at best a risky undertaking? What

time was this by the way?"

"After two and before say two forty five in the morning."

"But it was a severe blizzard. Why go?"

"The dragon can compel - using the same effect that caused my

wife to fall. It's bloody painful. He'd done it to me before. On

the M65. Two of the Blackburn policemen saw it. Although they put

it down to wind. That's in the file I told you about."

"Wind as in flatulence?"

Sergeant Banks giggled.

"Look, if you aren't going to treat this seriously you may as

well put me back in the cell. I'm telling the truth however

bizarre it seems. To answer the question, no, wind as in gale."

"OK. So the dragon can give you jip in the head and you do as

you're told. But why did he want you to go to York?"

"To attend a meeting."

"What sort of a meeting?"

"He only let it out bit by bit. I think at the time we were

leaving he just said there were several of his kind assembled

there, they couldn't do it again, and he would be punished if he

didn't bring me to the meeting."

"And why are you so special?"

"I have asked him that many times, but it seems I put him on

the spot with a particular wish - which I later found out has a

contractual significance in relation to their exploitation licence

for this part of the galaxy."

There was a silence. Lucas interlaced his fingers, the

knuckles whitening.

"Mr Spencer, you aren't pulling my plonker are you?"

"I don't know how to answer you."

Suddenly he lost his cool and grabbed my jersey pulling me

over the table and pushing his pale, taut and haunted face into

mine.

"Now see here cookie, I lost a - good friends in that fucking

chopper, and dragons don't figure in my universe let alone

Yorkshire, so forget it," he shook me with each succeeding

syllable, "tell me what happened and why you did it."

"Sir - steady - you can't do that."

He flung me back.

"Well?"

"Look. I can only tell you what happened as I saw it. I can't

provide you with a neat logical package. Let's face it, you'll

have a hard time explaining how I got on the M62 at junction four

without your police car noticing, and by the way I want his report

too.

"And how do you explain I got through four foot snowdrifts on

the M62?

"And I want to hear the tape of your helicopter crew as they

found my minibus and leading up to the crash. And I want that too

as part of my defence, so we should hear it together. Because I

don't think you'll explain those in today's physics.

"So if you aren't prepared to listen without assaulting me,

I'm saying nothing.

"And I'm sorry you lost your friends, and I understand your

anger, and the anger of your constable who tripped me up in the

cells, so I got this cut, but I did not crash your helicopter.

Nor, for the record, do I think any of the crew failed. It was a

tragic accident resulting from - I would say - the arrogance of an

individual belonging to an extra-terrestial-species who look like

dragons."

Lucas said, "Interview terminated 1.45pm," and then, "Get him

out Vick before I kick the bastard."

I was returned to my cell.

I was, I guess an hour later, brought back into the interview

room.

Lucas and Banks were there as before, and the recorder was

started. After the formalities Lucas said, in a voice taut with

the strain of rigid self control, "Mr Spencer, I can only urge you

to seek a lawyer. We are charging you with the most serious of

crimes, and I cannot guarantee to be able to secure your rights,

and your knowledge of them seems limited. Do you wish to have a

lawyer? There is a duty solicitor on hand. I am giving you time

to consider."

"I understand what you say. But a lawyer would be yet one

more person to convince that what's happened did happen - and

since I find it hardly believable myself I think I'd rather try to

do that directly - on my own. I'm sure you'll treat me according

to the law. After all if you didn't, presumably there'd be some

doubt about the conviction - if it occurred, and I'd get a lawyer

to appeal, and then I would get things put right. Or have I got it

wrong?"

"You put me in a difficult position."

"Why? Are you saying you need a lawyer on my side to keep you

straight?"

He looked uncomfortable, "No, Mr Spencer, that is not what

I'm saying. I am concentrating on getting the evidence so that

you, as prime suspect, are convicted of the crimes you have

committed. I would wish you to have someone thinking of your

rights, which I may not necessarily have at the forefront of my

attention."

"Are you saying that you go for a conviction over and above

the need to establish the truth?"

"Mr Spencer, this is not helping. Get a lawyer."

"No. You play it straight and I'll be content."

"Right. I have had enough - I have explained your rights. I

now inform you that I have applied to the court for a five day

detention for you here under the prevention of terrorism act. You

are entitled to defend against the application. You will need to

appear in court for this."

"Don't bother. I've nowhere to go. I'll not defend. You keep

me. Let's just get to the truth."

"Take him back Banks."

The day dribbled through - this time a dinner or rather an

all-day breakfast from, by its temperature, a very distant

canteen, arrived. I had some of it, but I was too tense to eat a

great deal. Another night of not much sleep, this time interrupted

by the noise from the next door cell occupied by a drunk or

druggie, I couldn't tell which, but he howled. He subsided after

about four in the morning or so it seemed. I could have done with

a bottle of my own.

Next morning, a parcel of clothes and toiletries arrived from

home. At least Jess had done that, but she sent no note or

message. I turned over in my mind the possibility of getting out

of jail, say by asking for bail. But if I did, where would I go?

Jess and home were now not for me. A hotel? That would be too

costly. I tried to see beyond the present, what could my life be

if, say, I were proved innocent of the major crimes? Would Jess

accept that I had not hurt her? Would we be able to retie the

strands of our life together, or had Damien irreparably damaged

her view of me as a sane person to live with? I thought of writing

to Jess, and decided on a very short note.

Eventually paper and a pencil were provided.

"Newby Wiske Police Cell

Thursday (I think)

Dear Jess,

Thanks for putting the clothes etc together. I hope that you

recovered quickly from your bang on the head. I didn't touch you -

that was Damien - but you'll have to make up your own mind on

that.

I'm not sure what the future will bring - whether the

accusations of assaulting you, and bringing down the police

helicopter will be proved or not. I am innocent, but the truth -

Damien's involvement - isn't easy for anyone to accept -

particularly people as pragmatic as the police.

I thought of trying to get home - bail or something - but

unless you want me there, I'm probably best here - rough and bleak

though it is.

I hope one day you'll understand what's happened to me.

Love as always, Jeff."

The note was taken, and an envelope appeared with my address

typed on it and a policeman showed me that, a covering form from

the police, and the insertion of that and my note in the envelope.

He said a copy had been kept taken for evidence.

Before lunch Lucas faced me across the table. He passed me a

pile of papers, doubtless the one hundred pages of my account of

the dragon, and my lap-top.

The room recorder was switched on and the ceremony of

introductions was conducted. It was Thursday 28th January at 11.30

am. I thought 'Time and date have no reality to me anymore.'

"Mr Spencer", he said, "I have read that," he pointed to my

typescript, "and find it nothing more or less than a fairy tale. I

understand you write fiction - we have printed every

non-proprietary file on your lap-top, and the PC at your home, and

as you have given it a file name with NOV on the end, and as it is

in the same directory as your other fictional work, I would submit

it is a work of fiction and has no bearing on the events of last

Tuesday - other than to shed more light on your ability to lie

through your teeth, and so trash the reliability of any of your

verbal evidence.

"Therefore I do not intend to enter into a dialogue with you

as to its relevance. Is that understood?"

"I understand what you say. You are mistaken. But I

understand what you say."

"We have examined the site of your wife's encounter with you

on the stairs. There is evidence of the contusion on her head

caused by the banister rail. However this does not rule out your

tripping or otherwise grabbing her in her flight up the stairs,

and she remains firmly convinced that you assaulted her. You do

admit going after her. Accordingly we intend to prosecute you with

the assault.

"We have examined the statement of our colleagues at junction

four on the M66. They do not report your Transit as passing their

observation point. We must assume therefore that you joined the

M62 after this junction, on the Halifax side."

"Just a minute," I said, "how did I get to somewhere else?

Didn't the police report an ambulance with a helicopter escort and

snowplough?"

"I said that they did not report your Transit."

"But surely they confirm the ambulance and snowplough and the

helicopter?"

"No."

"I don't believe you."

"Tough. I have the statements. Whatever you say, you have

admitted to being on the motorway, how you got there you may or

may not choose to reveal, but it is not an issue that need be

explored. You started at Colney. You were on the M62 M621, you

were seen by our helicopter and you have admitted it. And we

picked up you and your vehicle at York Minster, which you have

admitted was the objective of your journey that night, for

whatever God forsaken reason.

"Regarding the helicopter. We have a transcript of the report

of your siting as transmitted from the helicopter radio to the

incident co-ordinator," he spread a paper on the table, "it reads

as follows. 'The snow's very thick at low level. Oh, there it is -

bloody hell it's only a Ford Transit - white minibus. It's

travelling far too fast, it's out of control, Jesus what's

happening, I'll fly across - oh shit it's firing something at us'

- then the recording fuzzes with interference, and the microphone

picks up the start of the crash and cuts out."

"So what happened before all that?"

"Communications were very poor particularly towards Halifax.

We didn't transcribe the signal."

"Why did he say 'It's only a minibus'? He was expecting

something else, wasn't he?"

"If someone's shooting at you, you may not be exactly clear."

"No, he said that before he was shot at."

"That's not important. What is important - what I wanted you

to hear - is that you shot at the helicopter with a weapon."

"Not me. The dragon. He used -"

"Enough of the dragon. There's no such thing. You used a

weapon."

"So where is it? What is it? What the dragon used was a

destructive beam of some kind - I don't have that or any weapon."

"You must have dumped it. We'll find it."

"Whatever you find won't be mine or the dragon's."

"Prove it, Mr Spencer. You tell us what really happened. Now

I have a proposal. You like the lap-top. You type that evening or

morning as you see it - here if you like - and we'll take it from

there. It'll save us transcribing it, and you can sign it as a

statement."

"Don't I have a right to seek bail, or what's this habeus

corpus we hear about?"

"Under the Prevention of Terrorism Act I can hold you for

five days. I have sought and obtained that authorisation. You

chose not to oppose that - if you remember. You are under arrest

and have been charged for all the acts we have listed. We have

told you about your rights. You have refused the assistance of a

lawyer. We are conducting our investigations and you are writing a

statement. We appreciate your co-operation with our enquiries. It

will go well towards making the court feel at least merciful,

rather than revengeful. Do you want it the hard way? Besides - get

out to do what? Go where?"

"OK. OK," I sighed. "You may have a point. I'll get on with

it."

So I sat at the lap-top touching its familiar keys, and

typed from page one hundred.

The interview room had windows of wired and frosted glass. I

could see the sun as it paced the day out, until it went behind an

adjacent building. Darkness came outside, and the light was

replaced by the flat coldness of the fluorescent lighting of the

panels in the ceiling. A faulty tube pinged regularly, making the

room beat with pulses of light.

I had been provided with coffee in plastic cups at two hour

intervals, and at six o'clock the all day breakfast came - this

time somewhat warmer. The smell made me hungry - and probably the

activity and stimulation of the writing. The feeling I could still

be productive.

The Police Constable was young enough to be my

grand-daughter.

She put the tray on the table.

I smiled and said, "Thank you."

She looked through me, rather than at me, "We have to do it.

Sir."

"R-right."

I still ate some of the meal, but the chill of the young

woman's attitude had frozen my momentary appetite.

Lucas and another man entered, with Banks bringing up the

rear.

I finished what was in my mouth, and moved the tray aside.

After the routine with the recorder, Lucas said, with rather

bad grace, "Spencer, this is Doctor Whittaker. He will be

conducting the - um - psychological assessment."

"What's that for?" I asked

"How do you do, Mr Spencer," said Dr Whittaker, extending a

big hand, his grey eyes momentarily hidden in the flash of the

lights reflecting in his spectacles.

In that setting I was confused, and stood up to take his

hand. Banks made a rapid movement I saw only out of the corner of

my eye, so I sat down quickly, my arm brushing two plastic cups

noisily clacking to the floor.

"Please remain seated Mr Spencer," said Banks in a menacing

tone.

As I relaxed my foot, one of the cups which had rolled

underneath crackled, as it crushed. The sharp sound echoed against

the room's hard surfaced interior.

I nodded to Dr Whittaker, who never took his eyes off my

every action.

Dr Whittaker spoke quietly. He spaced his words out as though

each one had been carefully selected, measured for quality and

breadth and inserted into the logic of the preformed sentence, "Mr

Spencer, in view of the somewhat colourful nature of the claims

you have made concerning the events leading up to the Tuesday in

question, I have been asked to prepare a psychological evaluation,

which means, before you ask again, that I am to determine your

state of mind."

Lucas fidgetted restively and looked grim - as if he felt he

were wasting his time.

Dr Whittaker went on, "After all it might be unfortunate if

you were wrongly judged as unable to plead, and thereby escaped

your obligation to pay your debt to society -"

"Too bloody right," grunted Lucas half under his breath,

while the Doctor continued inexorably, " - just as it would be

equally unfortunate if we were to try, convict, and punish someone

who was ill or otherwise mentally incapacitated. I am sure as

someone educated enough to produce all this," he pointed to my

typescript, which was in front of Lucas, "setting aside

momentarily its content, will understand the logic of my duty."

"I - I think so. So who's side are you on?"

"I am a professional. I do not ally myself to sides."

"Who pays you then?"

"The taxpayer, ultimately. I consider myself to be paid by

all citizens of this country."

Irritatedly Lucas intervened, "Spencer, stop asking

questions."

The doctor placed a hand on Lucas' arm. "No, no, John, these

are not like your sort of dialogues. This is not a contest of

wills to discover a fact, or reveal an act, or expose a lie. It is

to see what the man himself feels - right or wrong. You were

asking Mr Spencer, or can I call you Jeff?"

"I had my answer. Call me Jeff if you wish."

"Good. Now Jeff, I understand you have been writing some more

of your account of events, as you see them. How far have you

reached, in time that is?"

"It's up to date - well, as far as this morning. But it's

still in there," I pointed to the lap-top, "it needs printing

out."

"Good - good. So now you have written your account, why not

tell me in your own words?"

"Those are my own words. Why should I? When you can read them

just as well, particularly as I've taken the trouble to make them

as true and clear as I can. We always stumble and confuse when

talking. And people filter what you say through what they wanted

to hear, and the truth is somehow lost or distorted. No, you read

it."

"But there's things you will not say in there are there not?"

"Like what?"

"Like what it feels to, say, hit another person, or wreck a

machine."

"Well - I wouldn't know - would I? Not having done either."

"Can you imagine how it would feel, Jeff. Hmm? Come now, use

that writer's fertile imagination."

"I can't remember hitting anyone in my adult life. I remember

hitting a bully at school once, anger and resentment preceded the

act and satisfaction came afterwards, because I was never bullied

again by anyone. As to wrecking property I've never done that

deliberately, ever. I don't understand the mind that does that -

destroying the creation of another human being. OK, I've had a car

crash that was my fault, but it was accidental. I just felt

foolish at my incompetence and irritated at the consequences in

lost time and money, and sorry for those involved."

"That's all very rational Jeff." He picked up a typescript,

presumably a transcript from the recorder, removed his glasses,

looked at it, replaced the glasses, and regarded me, "So why the

dragon, or several as I understand it, and something else that

grants an - exploration licence is it? To the dragons?"

"I'm not sure of the question you're asking me. Do you mean

why do they exist? Isn't that like saying 'Why humans, or why

cats?' It isn't an answerable question."

"No, Jeff, now - do not play with me. Why did you write them,

or more accurately the first one into your account? And in your

verbal representations you added the remainder."

"Because that's what happened."

"But surely you must realise that it is difficult for us to

accept what you say, when there is no factual support, apart from

your bizarre interpretation of evidence that is otherwise

explicable in rational terms."

"I don't have a problem. It happened. I wrote it down. You've

read some of it. The rest is there to be read, after a bit of

routine with a printer. I do have other problems, like my life

being trashed, and losing Jess, but that is the result of what

happened. If I deny what happened, it means I've carried out

meaningless and incoherent acts leading to no benefit to myself.

If - if the dragons hadn't intervened in my life, I wouldn't be

sitting here."

Lucas interrupted, "Interview terminated at 4.55pm." and he

banged the stop switch of the recorder.

"But I had not finished, D.I. Lucas."

"Sorry, Doctor but I don't like the way this is going. Don't

you see he's manipulating you? This man got pissed, assaulted his

wife who merely wanted to keep him off the road in the state he

was in, drove drunk half across the country, shot down the

pursuing helicopter using a terrorist weapon killing - my - my -

mates, and fell asleep in, and desecrated a church."

"The way you were going it doesn't bloody matter what he says

about dragons. If he believes the dragons he's a nutter. If he

doesn't he's equally bonkers for the things he actually did. No

let's keep it simple. He's a violent criminal who tried to escape

the consequences of his first crime, and fucked up because of the

weather and the booze."

"You haven't explained how I got into the Minster," I said.

"What?" asked Lucas.

"I said, you haven't explained how I got into the Minster. It

would be locked, at that time of night."

"So, how did you?"

"It's in the lap-top."

"Oh, for Chrissake, Banks, put him away, and get the crap

printed. We'll talk in the morning Doctor."

Banks led me by the arm, which he twisted behind my back.

Between one pair of closed double doors, and the next, he breathed

in my ear, "We'll fix that little problem too," and he wrenched my

shoulder, "eh, matey?"

Chapter Thirteen

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