DVD Extras Include: Murder (The Mervyn Stone Mysteries, #2)

by Nev Fountain

  ‘It’s in the schedules. It’s been announced.’

  ‘I’m not doing it Robert. Absolutely not.’

  ‘It’s going to be very special. You as his friend, colleague and script editor should really be there. We’re going to have Marcus’s widow there, too, to share her memories of Marcus and how he wrote “The Burning Time”.’

  Cheryl?

  ‘All right, Robert. You win. I’ll be there.’

  * * *

  Once again, Mervyn emerged from the tube and crossed the road to TV Centre. He’d been in and out of the building more times that month than he had in the past decade.

  This time, the protest outside was bigger, noisier and more television-friendly. A huge easy-to-read banner had been unfurled adorned with the words ‘JUDGEMENT DAY IS AT HAND’. Some of the more attractive female protesters had dressed up in sexually provocative Vixens costumes (complete with added horns and forked tails) and hung ‘This Is Against God’ signs around their necks; a breathtaking example of Cake-Having-And-Eating that could nestle comfortably in the pages of any national newspaper willing to evoke moral outrage while still featuring pictures of near-naked women. Not surprisingly, the photographers were snapping away at them with gusto.

  The Godbotherers were obviously energised by the press coverage. This time it wasn’t just the BBC covering what was happening on its own doorstep. Cameras from every major television network were there. At the centre of it, basking in the limelight, was Lewis Bream. He was in his most tightly pressed, cardboard-looking suit, and his smile was so fixed and broad it looked like he’d bought it from a joke shop. He was talking to two journalists. He saw Mervyn approaching, and gave a cheery wave.

  ‘Good day, Mr Stone. This gentleman is from the Evening Standard and this lady is from The Star. Would you like to help them with their articles? They’re interested in eyewitness accounts of Mr Spicer’s demise.’

  ‘You were there?’ said one. ‘You were in the room when Marcus Spicer died?’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘Was it like The Omen? Did he claw at his neck or scream like he’d swallowed holy water?’

  They looked at him expectantly, like cartoon vultures holding knives and forks and tying on their napkins. Lewis hovered by them, waiting.

  ‘I believe one of the commandments is “Thou shalt not bear false witness”,’ said Mervyn darkly. ‘In other words, “No comment”.’

  The reporters realised they weren’t going to get anything from Mervyn, and drifted away to get a few quotes from a near-naked dominatrix screaming about sin.

  ‘Quite a turn-out,’ Mervyn shouted at Lewis over the din.

  ‘Our flock grows,’ said Lewis, surveying his empire. ‘With every passing day the miracle brings more disciples to our cause.’

  ‘You’ve managed to get rid of all the old disciples with the knitted hats and the cardigans. Are they back at HQ making miracle biscuits?’

  Lewis simply smiled. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to join us? Joy will be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth.’ He handed Mervyn a flyer. It had lists of chants and protests on it, complete with lyrics. Mervyn looked at it with ironic approval.

  ‘You’ve even organised the hecklers. Good to see you’re all shouting from the same hymn sheet.’

  ‘We’re about to pray. Would you like us to pray for you?’

  This unnerved Mervyn. ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Are you certain? This may be your last opportunity for redemption.’

  ‘What do you mean by that.’

  ‘Well you may have noticed… Sinners who enter this temple don’t come out of its doors alive.’

  Mervyn smiled coldly. ‘This is the BBC, Lewis. The reason sinners don’t come of those doors alive is because they leave from the back in chauffeur-driven cars.’

  As if his words were able to conjure up a chauffeur-driven car, one hove into view, but instead of scooting into the side entrance, it pulled to a halt outside the front.

  It was very big and very shiny. The tinted windows only hinted at the occupants within. The number plate read ‘GOD L35S’.

  There was a roar from the crowd; they instinctively knew who was in the car, and they were right.

  Aiden emerged from the driver’s side, ran around to the back and opened the boot. He pulled out a wheelchair and unfolded it in one smooth motion. Then he reached into the back seat and scooped up Cheryl’s frail form, depositing her in the chair. There was a low hiss from the crowd.

  Cheryl looked beautiful; dignified in a pale grey shirt and white jumper. A simple patterned skirt fanned across her knees. Mervyn wondered if the surges of passion he felt for her were nostalgia for who she used to be, or a masculine reaction to her obvious vulnerability.

  The crowd continued to hiss, slowly metamorphosing into a low ‘boo’. Cheryl didn’t do anything. She didn’t acknowledge the crowd or activate her wheelchair. She did nothing.

  Joanna left the limo from the back and sauntered around the boot, watching everything dispassionately. Watching Cheryl’s baptism of fire.

  How could she be so callous?

  Aiden pushed Cheryl’s chair slowly to the BBC entrance, walking with silent and sombre dignity. Mervyn wondered why Cheryl didn’t just push one of her levers and power into the building under her own ‘steam’…and then he heard the catcalls.

  That’s the problem with demonstrations, he thought with horrified delight. No matter how well-drilled, no matter how Lewis organised his troops, there were always one or two who went too far. The murmurings were low and menacing at first, incoherent; but when Cheryl didn’t acknowledge their presence, they were goaded into shouting.

  ‘You’re next, woman.’

  ‘God came for the sodomites, he came for the Egyptians, he came for your husband and he’ll be coming for you.’

  ‘Anybody want a second-hand wheelchair? Hardly used.’

  ‘You’ve not got long to go, blasphemer. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’

  And the cameras recorded it all.

  Mervyn could see Lewis’s face. It was the same, queasy panicked expression he wore when he had been interviewed on the BBC news channel. It was the expression of a man who knew the situation was getting away from him. He’d over-reached himself. Mervyn could also see the grim satisfaction on Joanna’s face. She knew this was going to happen.

  The fact that Cheryl was pushed bodily into the BBC made her look even more frail and vulnerable than she was already; she seemed the ultimate victim, a defenceless woman set upon by the mob. As graceful and innocent as the Madonna herself. It wasn’t just the religious who knew the power of imagery.

  Cheryl and Aiden vanished inside the BBC, still moving slowly and deliberately on their short journey to the reception desk. Once they had disappeared behind the glass, the cameras and reporters immediately turned their fickle attention back to Lewis, but this time the questions were along the lines of ‘Do you defend the comments of your supporters?’ and ‘Is it Christian for a sick woman to be taunted in public?’

  Lewis was getting crucified by the press again, thought Mervyn with some satisfaction. He’ll need another miracle to get out of this one.

  Joanna walked briskly into the building after Cheryl and Aiden. There was another low hiss from the crowd, and they surged forward; but now the cameras were all pointing away, Joanna didn’t feel any need to look dignified and meek like Cheryl. She felt no need to turn the other cheek. One Godbotherer (dressed in a plastic crown of thorns and a T-shirt with ‘Suffer the Vixens’ written on it) leaned over a barrier as if to grab her, and she turned on him, a stubby gunlike device suddenly in her fist. ‘Touch me and that’s assault,’ she snarled. ‘This taser’s got your name on it—let’s see how close to heaven you can jump.’ The Godbotherer dropped his hands, and Joanna walked inside. The door swallowed her up, then it spat out Aiden, emerging to park the car.

  Mervyn waited until the crowd lost its hysterical edginess, and then followed th
e others in.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Cheryl was waiting inside, parked near the reception desk. When she saw him she turned her head away.

  Joanna Paine was hovering behind her chair, arms tightly knotted into her chest. She didn’t notice Cheryl’s hostility to Mervyn, because she was pretty angry herself.

  ‘Do we have to hang around in full view of those freaks?’ she said, jerking a finger at the crowd outside. ‘Where’s Robert? Or Trevor?’

  A rock clattered against the glass, prompting a pushback from the police and a roar of protest from the crowd.

  ‘It seems they found someone without sin to cast the first stone for them,’ quipped Mervyn.

  ‘Shut up Mervyn,’ said Joanna, giving him an incendiary glance. She looked at her watch. ‘This is intolerable,’ she snapped. ‘If they’re not down in two minutes then I’m hailing a taxi and going.’

  ‘You didn’t have to come,’ said Cheryl.

  ‘I’m here for Marcus. I look after his interests whether he’s here with us…or not. Unless you’d like to dispense with my services. You do have the right…’

  Cheryl and Joanna glared at each other, a hostile silence growing between them. Mervyn threw himself in its path like a reckless bodyguard. ‘Well we all know where we’re going. We don’t really need anyone to collect us. Has anyone got a pass who can sign us in?’

  ‘I had a BBC pass,’ scowled Joanna. ‘I present Booking the Trend, the Radio 4 series about the publishing industry. But I lost it and didn’t get a replacement.’

  ‘I don’t think you need the pass,’ said Mervyn. ‘They can look you up on the computer and make you a temporary one.’

  Joanna went off to the reception desk, leaving Cheryl and Mervyn alone. Mervyn sat down. He smiled feebly and cleared his throat.

  ‘Cheryl about the other day, I hope you don’t think—’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to you.’

  ‘Okay.’ He decided to let it drop.

  But he couldn’t.

  ‘Because I didn’t want to—’

  ‘Stop. Really.’

  ‘I mean I didn’t mean to create an awkward situation.’

  ‘You mean like this one?’

  Mervyn shut up.

  Oh well, he thought. This is getting embarrassing.

  There was a shrieking noise from outside the building, which Mervyn assumed was a mad protester shouting ‘Murder! Murder! Murder!’ Then the sound joined them inside the BBC and he could hear it was someone shouting ‘Mervyn! Mervyn! Mervyn!’

  Samantha Carbury had arrived. She clattered towards him, knees pinned together by a tiny skirt, big noisy shoes clonking on the tiled floor. She fell on to him, hugging him and sitting on his knee.

  Oh, he thought. This is getting really embarrassing now.

  * * *

  The green room was much busier than before, but much quieter. The atmosphere was distinctly muted.

  Cheryl’s wheelchair was surrounded by sympathy. She was flanked by Joanna Paine, Brian Crowbridge and Aiden the minder. Robert was also there, apologising for Trevor’s failure to collect them. He had no idea what had become of him.

  Samantha was alone, on the other side of the room, a lost little figure. Cheryl had lost her husband, and needed to be looked after; Samantha never had anyone to begin with, so it went without saying she was supposed to take care of herself.

  Well, Samantha was not quite alone. At least she had Mervyn.

  Mervyn couldn’t get rid of her; every time he entered the room he could see her in his peripheral vision, delivering a cracked, longing gaze. Every time he stayed still for a moment, standing or sitting, she was magically there, close by him, brushing imaginary lint off his jacket, draping her hand across his thigh, laying her head on his shoulder.

  ‘I’m so sorry about Marcus, Cheryl.’ Brian shook his head sympathetically and immersed his head in his hands. ‘But I’m sure wherever he is now, he’s at peace.’

  ‘He’s not anywhere now, Brian,’ Cheryl snapped. ‘He’s dead. There’s no afterlife, there’s no heaven, hell, Elysian Fields or Nirvana. Whatever’s left of him is lying on a table, then he’ll get put into an expensive box, the expensive box will then be buried, and they will both be eaten by insects, worms and maggots.’

  ‘Oh Cheryl!’ gasped Samantha, clutching Mervyn’s arm. ‘How horrible to say that. The body may pass away, but I can tell you, because I know it, his spirit is definitely still here, very near to us.’

  Robert was standing in the doorway, arms folded, watching the scene play out. Was it Mervyn’s imagination, or did Robert’s mouth twitch in amusement when Samantha said that?

  Samantha was still gripping Mervyn fiercely; hard enough to leave a bruise. She was obviously expecting some sort of comfort so Mervyn patted her arm awkwardly. ‘There, there.’ Joanna watched his feeble efforts at reassuring Samantha with wry amusement.

  Robert cleared his throat, and Mervyn sprang to his feet with obvious relief.

  ‘Hi everyone. We’ll be ready for you in five minutes.’

  Mervyn followed Robert into the recording suite. It was empty save for the two of them, so Mervyn took the opportunity to find out what the hell was going on.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this. I can’t believe you dragged Cheryl into this. She’s a grieving widow. We haven’t even buried Marcus yet.’

  ‘I have my reasons,’ said Robert, and his eyes flicked across to Joanna Paine, who he could see through the door. Marcus’s ex-agent was flicking through a magazine with frank uninterest. ‘I know she’s the grieving widow. That’s why I brought her here.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Robert moved Mervyn over to a corner. ‘I mean, there’s more to this commentary than meets the eye. I’ll let you into a little secret; you’re not the only detective around here, Mervyn.’

  He walked off to the console to twiddle some knobs, leaving Mervyn to pick up his jaw from the floor. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘You know what we were talking about the last time we were here? About Samantha and the bottles of water?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well I’ve discovered evidence. I know Samantha Carbury killed Marcus.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘And, furthermore, I know how she did it, too.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Oh yeah, she did it, all right.’

  ‘Well… How?’

  ‘Ah-ah-ah, Mervyn, that would be telling! You’re not the detective this time. I’m going to unmask her today in front of everyone.’

  ‘You’re mad.’

  Robert’s eyes narrowed as he demonstrated one of his trademark flashes of anger. ‘And you’re jealous. Go and sit down. I’ll call you all through in a minute.’

  Mervyn turned to go.

  ‘Hey, Mervyn,’ said Robert.

  Mervyn turned.

  ‘Here you go. I made you a copy.’

  Robert threw a CD over to him. ‘COMMENTARY’ was written untidily on the case.

  ‘Not that it matters any more, because I’ve solved the case, but I said I’d give you your “evidence”. I hope that puts you in the picture.’ Robert winked and gave a wicked grin. ‘I’m sure you’ll end up with the same deduction as me… Eventually.’

  Mervyn realised he wasn’t going to get anything out of Robert, so he walked back into the green room, fidgeting nervously with the case as he slipped it into his pocket. He was filled with a premonition that something unpleasant was going to happen. He wandered over to the refreshments table and picked up a bottle of water.

  Then he realised what he was doing, thought better of it and put it back. He went to the far corner of the room to sit. Samantha immediately moved to be near him.

  ‘You’re the third person to do that, pick up a bottle of water and put it down,’ said Joanna, without looking up from her magazine.

  The bottles of water were arranged exactly as
they had been that fateful day. Everyone was casting nervous glances at them. No one was drinking.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ snapped Joanna. She got up, picked up a bottle, broke the seal…

  click-click-click-click

  …and took a swig. She slammed the bottle down, half empty, and stomped off to the recording suite.

  * * *

  Everyone followed her back. Cheryl, Samantha, Brian and Mervyn sat at the desk with their headphones. Samantha sat uncomfortably close to Mervyn. Aiden and Joanna glowered through the glass, both with arms crossed, expressions fixed, like stone lions guarding the gates to a stately home. Aiden had his eyes fixed on Cheryl. Obviously, his job had transferred from guarding Marcus’s body to looking after Cheryl’s.

  Robert entered, perched on the desk, and pulled his most solemn face. ‘Now I don’t need to point out that this is going to be a somewhat sadder occasion than last time.’ Everyone nodded thoughtfully. Brian reached across and patted Cheryl’s knee. Samantha hugged Mervyn’s shoulder.

  Robert abruptly changed tack, trying to inject some life into the room. ‘…But I don’t think Marcus would have wanted us to stop having fun, so…have fun! Remember, don’t repeat yourselves, don’t get ahead of yourselves, don’t just describe what you’re seeing, and keep it light, just like Marcus did.’

  ‘And don’t go quiet, like Marcus,’ said Mervyn.

  Everyone looked at him. He wondered why. He also wondered why the room had got so cold. Then he realised.

  ‘Oh God, I didn’t mean that. I mean during the commentary… He went quiet during the commentary. During the part of the commentary before he…’

  ‘I’m just going to start the tape,’ Robert said hurriedly, and he disappeared into the studio.

  Mervyn avoided looking at Cheryl. Brian avoided looking at Mervyn, for some reason. Cheryl didn’t look anyone in the eye. Samantha stared at Mervyn, waiting for the sympathetic smile that Mervyn was determined not to give.

  ‘Do you want me to introduce the episode at the start again?’ said Mervyn nervously.

  ‘No, Mervyn,’ Robert crackled over the headphones. ‘We’ve got Richard Dawkins to record a special intro telling the listener how important it is.’