‘To the others as well?’
‘They haven’t said, not that Em’s saying much, anyway. She’s thoroughly fed up in general, and in particular with me under her feet all day.’ Jack paused. ‘Denise’s done it again, you know. She’s made Em feel hard done by and resentful because she can’t swan off to the Canaries for a winter holiday.’
‘You could all go on holiday, and avoid Christmas.’
‘It’s an idea, isn’t it? When she’s in a better mood, I’ll suggest a break from the ritual and routine, and the bloody awful relatives.’ Jack paused again. ‘We can’t, can we? Em and the twins want you here for Christmas Day.’
‘We’ll see, shall we? By the way, where are the calls coming from?’
‘How should I know?’
‘If you were less of a Luddite, you’d know how to retrieve the number. It’s called technological progress.’
‘Oh, that. Well, there’s no point trying now. Denise called Em after, to gloat about her holiday.’
15
Owen Griffiths yawned. ‘I’ve been awake half the night. I can’t get over what happened yesterday.’ He shook his head, in wonder and in awe. ‘Did you sleep, or was your night full of monsters?’
‘I slept like the dead,’ McKenna said.
‘I want you to interview Doris. She pushed you, and you fell, so technically, she assaulted a police officer.’ Griffiths yawned again. ‘She might tell you what she and Carol know and we don’t, if you frighten her enough.’
‘Rhiannon’s frightened, and of more than the possibility of being married to a paedophile,’ McKenna said. ‘For all her eloquence, she manages to say very little, and she never gives a straight answer. I asked her if Elis is prone to violence.’
Griffiths smiled. ‘And did you really think she’d tell you? Her sort never give anything away, in case it bounces back and makes a hole in the posh façade.’
‘She still wants to pay for the funeral, and reminded me Elis will want to go.’
‘Funerals are open to all. I just hope Hogg can find something better to do on the day.’ Griffiths sighed. ‘Let’s take up Rhiannon’s offer, if only to get Arwel out of that house.’
‘Why don’t you go home for some sleep?’ McKenna asked.
‘I’m not that tired,’ Dewi said. ‘Me and the shopkeeper took turns, and nothing happened except a bloody great cockroach ran over my foot. I’ll go out with Mountain Rescue if you don’t want anything else done.’ Pulling a thick parka from the back of the chair, he asked, ‘Did something happen yesterday, sir? You seemed a bit odd when you came back from Caernarfon.’
McKenna flicked his lighter on and off. ‘Let’s say I saw powerful emotion rip away the thin veneer of civilized behaviour.’
Dewi grinned. ‘Caernarfon folk wouldn’t know civilized behaviour if it smacked them in the gob.’
The director of social services telephoned shortly before midday, as McKenna prepared to leave for Blodwel.
‘I’ve received a complaint, Chief Inspector.’
‘Have you?’
‘We’ve spent the last couple of days running round after the Thomases, at the expense of other clients.’ The voice was harsh. ‘Getting the funeral grant from the benefits agency, filling in endless forms for extra funds, ferrying the parents here, there and everywhere. Now we find the time was completely wasted! My social worker went to the immense trouble of visiting the family this morning, and that insolent girl not only told her to go away, but had the brazen impudence to blame this department for the boy’s death. Perhaps you can explain what’s happening?’
‘I’m sorry, I’ve no idea. May I suggest you discuss your complaint with Superintendent Griffiths?’
‘My God, do Social Services actually work weekends?’ Owen Griffiths asked. ‘He won’t call me. I’m too high up the ladder to push around. Rhiannon called to say the service’ll be at St Mihangel’s, probably Tuesday or Wednesday. The undertaker’s already taken Arwel. D’you think they’ll ring the church bells for him?’
‘It would be a nice touch,’ McKenna said. ‘I can hear the bells from the house when the wind’s in the right direction.’
Griffiths began to draw a border of crude bell shapes interspersed with crosses around the edge of a statement continuation sheet. ‘Manchester police released Tony’s body, so he’s being cremated. The soles of his feet were covered in cigarette burns, apparently. His funeral’s in Manchester, ’cos it’s cheaper.’ He stared bleakly at McKenna. ‘You’ll have to be buried, won’t you? The pope’s against cremation as well as contraception.’
McKenna smiled gently. ‘You can’t be resurrected if your body’s been incinerated.’
‘And what makes you think I’d want to be?’
On his way home to feed the cat, McKenna walked through the Bible Gardens, along paths strewn with drifts of sodden leaves that not even the scouring wind from the east could dry. The great trees threshed and shivered, abandoned by the squirrels which scaled their heights in autumn to garner winter stores, hurling nuts to the ground and often, he recalled ruefully, on the heads of passersby. At the bottom of Glanrafon, the little sapling planted to replace the ancient Reformer’s Tree, felled on a hot July day after it rotted from the inside out, threshed and shivered like its ancient companions.
The votary light gleamed behind the great Gothic window of the cathedral chancel, and music, serene and beautiful, echoed within the vaulted building. Entranced, he stopped to listen, mourning the medieval schism which took this music from his own church and handed it to the Protestant heretic. He pictured the boys in the choir stalls, whom he often saw coming from evening practice, dressed in jeans and sweatshirts and trainers, kicking a football against the railings of the cathedral yard, and was suddenly overcome by thoughts of corruption within the glorification, like poisonous dregs in the Communion chalice.
He climbed the steps by the old almshouses, treading on a mosaic of epitaphs in slate and granite, and crossed the road by Debenham’s elegant frontage, opposite the great empty space occupied for three centuries past by the Castle Hotel, before it too rotted from the inside out.
The stray cat crouched outside the parlour window, scrawny fur riffled by the wind, staring at his own cat, who lounged on the inside, her tail swinging lazily. He fed both, then lunched on sandwiches and tea, while they ate peacefully side by side in the kitchen. Locking the front door, he walked down the hill, wondering in what mayhem they might indulge in his absence.
Fitful sunshine dappled thin colour on the hillside behind Blodwel and pushed shadows against walls and roof. Walking to the front door, McKenna shivered, cold with the spirit of this place, this genius loci almost a thing of substance. The bearded man unlocked the door, fumbling with the keys.
‘Why d’you need so many keys?’ McKenna asked.
‘I don’t know.’ Lovell smiled wanly. ‘They make holes in your pockets.’ The smile evaporated. ‘Did you want Mr Hogg? He’s off duty for the weekend.’
‘And Mrs Hogg?’
‘She’s supposed to be off as well, but she’s in the flat.’ He lingered, chewing the inside of his mouth like Peggy Thomas, then walked away, keys swinging and jangling.
McKenna followed. ‘You don’t work every weekend, do you?’
‘Three out of four. Dilys comes on duty as I go off.’
‘Who works with you?’
Lovell smiled wryly. ‘That famous person by the name of Nobody. There aren’t enough staff to double up all the time.’
‘Why don’t the Hoggs help out, then?’ McKenna asked.
‘You’ll have to ask her, won’t you?’
Doris seemed only annoyed. The dog snuffled at her feet, then at McKenna’s, its rancid smell like an aura. ‘I’m busy. I’ve got reports to write. Everything’s behind with all this coming and going and asking questions, and it’s not me you should be after, anyway. It’s rich folk who can buy their way in and out of everything.’
‘Might we go to the office?’ M
cKenna suggested.
‘I’ve told you, I’m busy.’
‘The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner you can get back to work.’ McKenna felt tempted to kick both woman and dog. ‘I don’t plan to leave until you have.’
She pushed past him, and unlocked the door of the little office where old metal desks and rickety chairs crowded the floor. ‘What d’you want?’
McKenna pushed the door shut. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t contact me, if only to apologize for your behaviour yesterday.’
‘My behaviour?’
‘You lashed out at me quite without provocation.’
Her face mottled with rage. ‘How dare you!’
McKenna lit a cigarette. ‘I’m even more surprised you didn’t complain about Carol Thomas. Should I expect another call from your director? He said nothing this morning. Doesn’t he know?’ He paused. ‘Shouldn’t we discuss Carol?’
‘She’s mental! They should put her away!’
‘What she did was extreme, but her reasons seem eminently sane. She believes you owe her brother. Why is that?’
‘How should I know? She’s mad!’ Doris shivered. ‘She’s disgusting! Sickening! She should die for shame over what she did to that body. She defiled him!’
‘Arwel’s degradation came from other hands,’ McKenna said. ‘But Carol’s degraded you, hasn’t she? Have you been sick yet?’ He blew a smoke ring towards the ceiling, and watched its slow disintegration. ‘Did you know sin eating’s like a family inheritance? It’s often passed from mother to daughter in a very Biblical fashion.’
‘You’re talking rubbish,’ Doris said, her composure returning. ‘Nobody believes that stuff these days.’
‘Carol does.’ He blew another smoke ring, and watched it travel towards the ceiling. ‘And she made you ingest all the sins visited on Arwel. They’ll be more than enough to poison the stoutest spirit.’ He stubbed out the cigarette. ‘If you were Roman Catholic, you could seek help from the church, although I imagine those sins are beyond the redemptive power of any priest. If you were a mother, your own child could take them in the fullness of time. But you’re neither papist nor parent, and I can’t think how you might be shriven. Doesn’t that put the fear of God in you?’ Opening the door, he found the dog athwart the opening, barring his way. He nudged it aside with his foot, and walked away from the sounds of the woman’s unholy terror.
Owen Griffiths paced his office again. ‘Forensics’ve finished with the horsebox and trailer, and I hope you’ve finished with Doris.’ He sat down, and began fiddling with his pens. ‘I wouldn’t’ve credited you with nastiness of that order. It’s bordering on wanton cruelty, to any God-fearing soul.’
‘If she was God-fearing, or had a soul worth the name, she wouldn’t condone what goes on there, let alone be part of it.’
‘Maybe she’s scared of Hogg, maybe she sees nothing wrong. Values get distorted in institutions, without people knowing.’
‘That’s a very foolish and misguided viewpoint,’ McKenna snapped. ‘Fear and ignorance are always put forward to excuse Germany under Hitler, and all the other excesses of wickedness that besmirch history.’
‘There’s too much likening of Hogg to Hitler,’ Griffiths said. ‘I’ve heard the gossip. And Doris Hogg isn’t Eva Braun!’
McKenna dragged a cigarette from the packet. ‘Places like Blodwel are the breeding grounds of wickedness, wherever it crops up.’ Lighting the cigarette, he added, ‘Delve into your own heart with a little more brutal honesty, and you’ll know exactly what I mean.’
‘You giving me another lecture?’
‘I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, because you haven’t seen the light in their eyes, or smelt the odour they carry, like something rotting.’ McKenna paused. ‘Seeing evil as inhuman lets us exclude evil people from the human race, so we aren’t forced to examine how they bring to life and act out the dark and complex fantasies of every human psyche, and don’t need to accept the similar potential in us all, given the right triggers and the right climate.’
‘I’m fully aware of the limits of my potential,’ Griffiths said. ‘I know exactly what I could and couldn’t do.’
‘Only in your present environment. You’ve no idea what you might do elsewhere, any more than I have. Our parents’ generation slaughtered men, women and children because they were led to believe such destruction was necessary to survival, but I don’t expect they saw themselves as murderers.’
Strapped in the front passenger seat of McKenna’s car, Eifion Roberts pulled at the belt cutting across his belly, muttering, ‘They build cars like they make clothes these days, and if you’re not thin as a stick, God help you!’
‘Stop bellyaching,’ McKenna said. ‘You should go on a diet. How many of your cadavers died from obesity?’
‘I don’t bloody know, ’cos I don’t keep tally! God, McKenna, I never thought you’d join the PC lobby.’
‘I worry about you.’
‘Because I drink a bit, and eat three square meals a day? I was a fat bouncing baby and a big strapping lad, and now I’m a fat old man. So what?’
‘You’re hardly old.’
‘I feel like Methuselah some times.’
McKenna grinned. ‘Dracula’s more up your street.’
‘Oh, shut up!’ Dr Roberts fidgeted again with the seat belt. ‘Blood’s got a nasty metallic taste.’
‘I wonder how sin tastes.’
‘We could ask Doris, couldn’t we? Why didn’t you do what Griffiths told you, and keep shtum?’
‘It’s left a horrible taste in my mouth.’
‘It’s no worse than a lot of Celtic traditions.’
‘I’m appalled by the implications for Carol.’
‘She might feel a lot better.’
‘Doris said she defiled Arwel’s body.’
‘Fat chance after everybody else’d had a go!’
McKenna turned towards Deiniolen and the mountain passes. ‘It was a truly horrible experience.’
‘Carol isn’t guaranteed eternal damnation for taking her own bit of vengeance. For all we know, God’s happy to offload some of the work. He’s stuck with the same boring routines for eternity.’ Roberts grinned. ‘He can’t even die to get away from the daily grind, can He?’
‘Do you and God talk on a direct line?’
‘We don’t need the help of priest or pastor. When I strip a body to its bare bones, I see such wonder, so maybe He shows me the secrets of life as well as death. I’ve seen it all, except the colour of the soul.’ Gazing through the window at thorny trees stripped bare by the harsh breaths of winter, the pathologist added, ‘Don’t you wonder where all those souls go?’
‘Heaven or Hell, after a few thousand millennia in purgatory.’
‘What about the practical details? Does our construct of linear time survive after death? Has the pope visited Heaven or Hell or purgatory?’
‘One has faith,’ McKenna said. ‘It’s all very simple.’
‘So do I pity you or envy you?’ Dr Roberts asked. ‘I think the soul is simple energy. You can’t make it, you can’t destroy it.’
‘And is mankind going to the devil because we’ve exhausted the supply?’ McKenna drew up in the forecourt of the shop-cum-garage on the village street.
‘Don’t ask me. I’m not your priest.’ Muttering again, he struggled from the car. ‘What’re we doing in this Godforsaken place?’
McKenna locked the car and set the alarm. ‘Looking for Gary.’
‘Why should we fare better than your lot and Mountain Rescue?’ Looking up and down the street, squinting at the hummocks and rises of the foothills, strewn with outcrops of veined white rock, Eifion Roberts added, ‘And don’t think I’m hiking up those bloody mountains, ’cos that horrible mountain darkness’ll drop on us like a bloody shroud before long.’ He looked into the distance, at cloud massed around the peaks overhanging Llanberis Pass, vapours trailing against escarpments of slate, a monochromatic scene of whi
te sky beyond the grey cloud, of black mountain shapes in the foreground etched against grey mountain shapes in the distance, awesome, grandiose and terrifying. Trailing in McKenna’s wake, he said, ‘It’s no wonder folk here turn to crime. There’s nowt else to do but bash the wife and kids and ogle a good-looking ewe every full moon. Talk about limited horizons!’
‘Will you shut up?’ McKenna snarled. ‘People might hear you!’
‘What people? I don’t see any people.’ Panting gently, Dr Roberts caught up with his companion. ‘They’re all inside those poky little hovels with the doors shut tight.’
‘You wanted to come, so stop moaning, and save your precious breath for walking.’
‘I was bored. Nobody’s died needing my attention, and there’s nothing worth watching on telly. I’ve got limited horizons of my own.’ He slumped down on the low stone wall bordering the road. ‘We won’t suddenly come upon young Gary, you know. If he’s here to be found, the others’ll find him, sooner or later.’
Sitting beside his friend, McKenna lit a cigarette. The stones ground against each other under their weight, gathering energy. Dr Roberts coughed as smoke, pungent in the cold air, drifted past his face, and McKenna felt the slab beneath his buttocks rock.
‘Forensics found a few strands of Arwel’s hair in the cab of the horsebox, but nothing else of interest, nor in the trailer.’
‘Have they demolished that sculpture on wheels yet? They’re wasting time and money on that.’ Dr Roberts rubbed his hands together, then thrust them in his pockets, and a gently shivering passed through his body to the wall. ‘I doubt we’ll match Elis’s samples with Arwel’s. The preliminary profile is quite different.’
McKenna dropped ash to the ground, where it lay in a little grey tube, rolled gently by the wind creeping through the valley. ‘Tony Jones told a boy at the South Wales home he’d been sodomized and beaten and humiliated, but didn’t say by whom.’
‘What about the other lad Jack Tuttle saw?’
In Guilty Night Page 26
