A dragon in winter

A Dragon in Winter Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The next day Lucas faced me across the table and pushed the thirty four pages of script which described the night and morning of my alleged crimes, towards me.

"This is what you propose for a defence? A dragon called Damien, illusions of helicopters and snow ploughs, and energy fields? Let alone a parliament of dragons in York Minster, a time viewer and another extra terrestrial - thing - that lets contracts to the damned dragons. It's bullshit."

"It's the truth - what happened."

"No, you slimy scum. You're not wriggling out of the charges with that lot."

"How wriggle?"

"Pretending to be insane. I want you locked up in jail with the other crims, for a good long stretch so that society - and - society - is safe from you."

"So, if it's all a sham, how do you account for the way the stuff I wrote before I came here, dovetails into these pages here? Did I know I was going to go to York in a blizzard, at no notice at all, on a crazy errand?"

"You've just exploited the story you were writing." 

"Oh yes? That's got to be one hell of a coincidence."

"No, you've just bolted a set of lies to a story, and I'm not letting you get away with it. I want a confession right now that makes sense, and tells me how you, and not some product of your criminal imagination, downed the helicopter."

"So you don't think I assaulted Jess."

"I don't give a fuck about Jess. I want to know how you trashed the chopper with my - my - friends - in it."

"It's in there. On those pages," I said pointing to the little heap.

"You smug bastard," he shouted and swung a fist at my face which connected with my eyebrow, making it bleed messily.

"Sir - please - you mustn't do that," shouted Banks leaping between us, "please."

He continued breathlessly, "Insolent behaviour by the accused provoked Detective Inspector to remonstrate with the accused during which he, the accused, was injured. Interview terminated," and he slammed the stop switch of the recorder.

"Thank you Vick. I could kill this bastard."

"Not wise, sir. How do we explain this?"

By now there was blood on the table and on the papers in front of me.

"Get the first aid lass in here first. Get him cleaned up and then we'll regroup."

The woman PC handled me silently and clinically, putting a couple of butterfly sutures on my wound and then a bandage like a bandanna around my head. The disinfectant stung. The papers were taken away and the blood carefully cleaned from the table.

"Can I have a couple of Panadols?", I asked.

The tablets were provided with a cup of lukewarm tea. The WPC finished attending to me and stood in the classical feet-apart, hands-clasped-behind-the-back stance of at-ease, her back to the door, her aloof profile presented to me. The room was quiet apart from rain pattering against the windows.

A man I had not met before entered the interview room, and silently indicated the WPC should leave. He was tall, and thin with unblinking brown eyes, and a black, expressionless poker-playing face. He said nothing as the door closed behind the policewoman.

He sat carefully opposite me.

"Mr Spencer, I am not here to question your story. I have read everything you have written, and said, about the matters for which you are held here. I also have evidence of related happenings which the police do not have - and further will not get. I pass no comment on what you have said. Your written account, however unprecedented, is cogent and well explained. It is my responsibility to derive a solution to a number of related problems. Is that clear?"