The Dig by Cynan Jones Page B

house, he’ll start looking round, thought the man. Ag.
    The policeman had started to walk toward the house from the car and the big man came out.
    Afternoon, sir. It’s clearing up, the policeman said. The policeman looked at the man and looked out as if at the weather over the valley.
    The big man just nodded.
    Few questions, really, sir. The policeman was light and inoffensive the way they are and the man moved to bring him away from the house.
    Can you tell me what you were doing last night, or early this morning?
    The big man didn’t reply.
    The policeman looked around at the yard and privately noticed the two sets of tire tracks that were cut into the mud and that were not filled with overnight rain. He saw the old red van and guessed one set belonged to that. The policeman took in the many dumped engines and tires and the wastage of vehicles and machines about.
    We’ve had a report of fly-tipping. He waited. I just wanted to ask whether you would know anything about that.
    What did they tip? asked the man.
    The policeman didn’t respond. He was looking at the junk and the big man saw and said, Does it look like I throw things away?
    Just wondered if you could help, sir, said the policeman.
    Somebody pointed at me, said the man. The two men stood in the yard.
    The policeman could sense the man was guilty of something but knew he had not been tipping. He was suddenly aware of his singleness at the place. He knew the manhad past firearms offenses and way back some assault. He didn’t respond to the man, using the silence instead.
    I was here last night. Asleep.
    The policeman smiled. We had quite some rain, didn’t we. Kept the kids awake, he said. He felt this horrific electricity coming off the man. The policeman was smiling but he thought briefly and preciously of his kids.
    I don’t know, I was asleep, said the man.
    Did you go out this morning?
    I just fed the dogs. That’s all.
    The policeman looked over to the dog run with distaste.
    What sort of dogs do you have? he asked, as if he had an interest in them.
    Some big ones and some little ones, the man said. This couldn’t be it, he was thinking. They were like this when they raided the house. They had these stupid questions, then the rest of them all came out from nowhere.
    You haven’t been out this morning? asked the policeman.No, said the man. Somewhere in the near distance a chainsaw started up and some of the terriers yapped, knowing the sound from going ratting.
    The policeman looked round at the yapping of the dogs. Anyone been here? he asked.
    No, said the man.
    The policeman thought of the tire tracks without the rain in them.
    Mind if I take a look in the van? he asked.
    The big man’s heart quickened as his brain worked through his routine, as he went over each step. Yes. He’d followed his routine. He nodded at the van and the policeman went over and opened the back and looked in. There were just some palettes and bales in there. The policeman felt this horrible inside apprehension as he turned his back on the man. He had an extreme dislike of him.
    Distantly, the chainsaw was biting and idling. It stank of dogs in the van.
    The policeman stepped back and smiled at the man and made a kind of “everything’s fine” gesture.
    Well, he said. Thanks for your cooperation. Something is wrong here , he knew. He thought again of the rain keeping his children awake and thought how easily someone like this could turn, and thought again of the firearms charges and how there should have been backup, and he knew there was something wrong with the man.
    He looked out over the valley and then at the dog run and then he drove off.

    When the policeman had gone, the man went to the coal bunker and lifted out the badger. From inside the sack, the badger had dug into the pile of coal and the sack was torn and blackened with filth.
    The big man knelt by the bath panel and pushed it and the plastic wraithed