by Phil Rickman
Danny had no answer. Unless that was how Mostyn got his rocks off.
Inside the dark green tent, the Hardkit DVD was starting up again, with a blast of metal and commentary: ‘You know me. I’m Smiffy Gill. I’m a bloke likes to grab life by the balls.’
‘All right,’ Danny said. ‘You stay there, Gomer, you’ll only send your blood pressure through the roof. I’ll go back, see what I can do.’
The guy was outside the Hardkit tent and he’d been joined by another feller Danny recalled from the night of the storm.
Danny reckoned if he was right, one of them would have a bit of a Scottish accent. He strolled over.
‘’Ow’re you?’
They just looked at him. Danny nodded at the Hardkit sign.
‘Seems like good stuff.’
‘It’s very good stuff, ma friend,’ the bulky guy said.
Thickset, couple of days’ stubble. A big-money bloke on his day off. Danny put on a rueful smile.
‘Too bloody costly for me, I reckons.’
The other guy – sharp-faced and wary-eyed – said, ‘There are shorter, more economical courses that don’t involve staying here. But we’re not the best people to talk to about them. Sorry.’
‘Weeell,’ Danny said slowly, ‘thing is, I en’t that interested in the shootin’ weekends and all that. Just I was told to ask in yere about… other events.’
The Scots guy eyed him.
‘In connection with what?’
‘Poultry,’ Danny said. ‘Poultry contests. Kind o’ thing.’
‘Oh…’ The Scots guy grinned. ‘Right.’ Turned to his mate. ‘This gentleman’s looking for a poultry contest.’
‘I usually talks to Kenny, see. I was told he’d be yere, but he en’t.’
‘That’s quite true, ma rustic friend. He isn’t.’
‘I’d ring him,’ Danny said ‘but phones, you never knows who you’re talkin’ to, do you?’
‘You do not.’
‘See, I’d arranged to bring a bird. Kenny, he was gonner let me know when and where, kind o’ thing.’
Starting to sweat a bit now. If Kenny Mostyn was to walk in now, he’d be stuffed.
‘You’re a breeder yourself, then?’
‘Of many years standin’.’
Putting a bit of menace under his voice now. If you looked like a bit of a hard bastard, why not play to it?
‘Good for you,’ the Scots guy said.
Danny looked him in the eyes.
‘If this is a problem for you fellers, just forget you seen me. I’ll call by the shop tomorrow. If I can find the time.’
The two guys looked at each other.
‘Ah, well,’ the Scots guy said. ‘That possibly could be a wee bit too late, you know?’
‘Bloody is tonight, is it?’ Danny slapped his thigh. ‘Fuck.’
The bald guy gave the Scots guy a look, and the Scots guy looked at Danny with no fear at all but definitely a measure of respect.
‘Y’know how it is, pal. Busy guy, Kenny. But if you want to stick around, I believe he’s due to call in later.’
‘Sure to.’
Danny nodded, a bit curt, walked away without looking behind him, to find Gomer. They went back to the Jeep on the parking area, where they unwrapped the sandwiches that Danny’s wife Greta had put up for him, sat there eating them very slowly, not saying much, Danny pretty unsure how he felt about this.
It was around four-thirty before a battleship-grey BMW four-by-four pulled in. HARDKIT in a neat curve across the bonnet. They watched a man jump down. He had on a shiny suit and a bow tie and carried an overnight bag.
‘Wassis about?’ Gomer said.
Danny moaned.
‘Bloody dinner, ennit? It’s on the tickets Lol give me. This feller can’t be goin’ to no cocking tonight.’
‘Mabbe afterwards,’ Gomer said. ‘Mabbe a few of ’em, sittin’ with their cigars, watchin’ the feathers fly.’
‘Not yere. Savitch wouldn’t risk it.’
‘We better find out, then.’
‘Aw, Gomer…’
‘En’t gonner get a better chance.’ Gomer sat back, tilted his cap over his eyes. ‘Mabbe a long night, boy.’
59
Cheated
DARTH VAYNOR AND Elly Clatter arrived in the CID room simultaneously, Bliss ejecting from his office, all caffeined-up.
‘I’m not wearing this, son. Not like she can hide in a cupboard under the frigging sink.’
‘Last her dad knew,’ Darth said, ‘she was living with a bloke in a flat in Belmont. We turn up there, front and back, only to find the guy in the sack with somebody else. Didn’t know where Victoria had gone. Didn’t seem too upset, mind.’
‘Just grateful he’d still got both eyes. How long since she went?’
‘Days. “Duh, whatever day this is” – that kind of guy, you know? Observant.’
‘Right.’ Bliss looked around. ‘Where’s Rich? I want this frigging city dismantled.’
Elly Clatter said, ‘Francis, if I could just—’
‘What?’
‘BBC are here. They—’
‘No! Tell them to piss off. Tell them we’ll let them know soon as—’
‘Francis.’ Elly’s hands on his shoulders. ‘They know. It’s all over the Net. Carly Horne was with some of her mates when Karen picked her up?’
Karen came over, nodding. Bliss moaned.
‘Kid’s a big social networker,’ Elly said. ‘There’s now a Friends of Carly Facebook site, campaigning for her release?’
Bliss let out his breath in a slow rasp. If he ever came face to face with the little twat who invented Facebook…
‘So what that means is?’
‘Sky,’ Elly said. ‘And BBC News 24. So far.’
‘What it also means,’ Karen said, ‘is that wherever Victoria is, she’d have to’ve gone blind and deaf not to know we’re looking for her. Meanwhile, Carly’s denying everything and Joss is saying very little. Time for you to have a go, boss?’
‘Yeh,’ Bliss said. ‘I think it could be.’
Mentally sharpening a knife on a steel.
A mile or so before Ledwardine, Merrily’s phone chimed and she pulled onto the verge.
‘I don’t know quite what you were expecting,’ Fiona Spicer said, ‘but I’ve just been given the results of the post-mortem.’
It was as though her voice was in a straitjacket.
‘Natural causes.’
‘Oh.’
If he’d been younger,’ Fiona said, ‘they’d be using terms like… if I can say this… Idiopathic Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy? I’m told it means a sudden, inexplicable heart attack. In an older man, even one as fit as Sam, it’s… less inexplicable.’
‘Had you… any reason to think he had a heart problem?’
‘No, and if he had I’m not sure he would’ve told me. He liked to deal with his own problems. As you know.’
‘Yes. How do you—?’
‘Angry. Cheated. Angry that he won’t see his daughter married.’ Finally, fissures of a deep grief under her words. ‘Cheated by his God. Nobody to blame but his damned God. Can you understand that?’
‘Yes. I can understand it. Fiona—’
‘I’ve a few other people to call. And Emily’s arrived. Our daughter. And her fiancé. I suppose that means they’ll release his body, so we can… Perhaps I could call you tomorrow, if that’s convenient – I do remember what Good Friday involves for a vicar.’
‘Whenever you like. If I’m in church, I’ll call you back as soon—’
She’d gone. Would not share the sob. Merrily put the phone on the dash and told Lol. Felt like she’d been kicked.
‘I realize people can go for years without knowing they have a heart condition, but this is… There may still be an inquest, but it’ll be a quickie. No reason for anything to come out. Not now.’
She picked up Lol’s hand, below the bandage. Since he’d told her about his minutes of fear inside
Byron’s compound, she’d felt they were together again, in a deeper sense. Flitting in and out of one another’s energy fields, like neurotic damsel flies. It must not go on.
‘I was thinking I could leave it for a while. Until after Easter. See if it made any more sense. Now… if I don’t do something now.’
Lol squeezed her hand, as if to show he still could.
‘Start by telling James.’
‘About the possible re-emergence of an ancient Roman pagan cult and the possible involvement of a retired SAS trooper in the theft of a bull?’
‘We both know what you can tell him.’
‘Lol, I hardly like even to mention it out loud.’
‘You mean bull?’ Lol said. ‘Mansel Bull?’
Merrily put on her sunglasses and started up the car.
‘Thanks for saying it first.’
‘Watch much TV, Carly?’
Carly looked up, ebony hair still slanted defiantly across one eye.
Bliss said, ‘Bet you’ve seen all them women’s-prison reality shows. Could be worse inside, couldn’t it? Get to wear your own clothes, have yer hair done, decorate the cell.’
‘Think you’re scaring me?’ Carly said.
‘Of course they’re a bit misleading, them shows. They only talk to the mouthy prisoners, the ones who’re a bit of a laugh. And speak English. No point in following one of the many smouldering, resentful East European ladies on Her Maj’s guest list.’
‘I fear you’re sailing perilously close to racist shores, Inspector,’ Mr Ryan Nye said.
Everyone’s favourite duty solicitor, all glossy black hair and geek specs. Interesting how the smarmy twat was always first out of bed for something newsworthy.
Bliss shook his head.
‘You know me better than that, Mr Nye. I’m just thinking how aggrieved certain migrant ladies in the slammer might feel at having to share a landing with someone who set up two of their innocent compatriots to get murdered.’
‘Innocent, bollocks!’
Carly halfway out of her chair. Bliss smiled.
‘Had it coming, did they? Look, Carly, I’m just giving yer a chance to make things easier all round. We’ll have the DNA matches up soon, and that’ll be that. Though I think it’s only fair to tell you that poor little Joss has already seen the light.’
Ryan Nye looking at him, trying to work out if he was lying. Bliss just looked sad.
‘It was that ugly scratch just below the left shoulder blade that did it. No wonder she was wearing a high-necked sweater. You got any scratches anywhere, Carly? We can get yer a plaster and a dab of Germolene. Should I summon a doctor and a nice police lady to hold your clothes?’
‘I never…’ Carly wrapped her arms around her chest. ‘You listening? You won’t find no DNA ’cause I never touched either of them women.’
‘Could be you never did, Carly, but that doesn’t make a lorra difference nowadays. Whether or not you struck any of the fatal blows, you still helped engineer a double murder. The courts draw few distinctions any more. You were involved, kid.’
Bliss paused, the flat of a forefinger angled thoughtfully under his bottom lip.
‘Now, it could be you didn’t realize it would get that far. If you were able to convince us of that, it might help you no end. Though pairsonally, Carly, I’d find it hard to credit, ’cause your attitude so far has been unremittingly cocky with norra hint of remorse. The attitude, in fact, of someone who feels the world can only be a better place without the likes of Maria and Ileana Marinescu. Someone almost proud of her—’
‘No!’
‘Yes.’
Carly said nothing. Bliss was also silent for a while. Coming on like he was thinking something out. Giving it nearly half a minute before he said, ‘How well do you know Victoria Buckland, Carly?’
Now was that a little shudder?
‘See, we know Victoria of old, and she’s gorra hell of a talent for self-preservation. The very last person to put both hands up and say, No, no, it’s all down to me, officer, those kids had nothing to do with the actual violence, I’m a grown woman, me, and there’s no way I’d let young girls take the rap for smashing anybody’s—’
‘Inspector…’
‘Mr Nye?’
‘Perhaps we could save some time. May I have a word in private with my client?’
‘Absolutely, Mr Nye,’ Bliss said. ‘I’ll be just outside, if required.’
60
Cult
THE TIN-ROOFED LEAN-TO that James Bull-Davies called his study overlooked the stable yard. They could see Alison out there forking sodden straw into a barrow. James’s face was stretched, his washed-out eyes mottled with uncertainty.
‘Normal way of things, this makes very little sense, even you must see that.’
‘Normal way of things,’ Merrily said.
She wouldn’t sit down.
‘Never your favourite word, is it, vicar? Normal.’
Out in the yard, Alison tossed the fork into the barrow. She looked tired.
‘I should be doing that,’ James said. ‘Should’ve been done hours ago, but we had to go into town this morning, see a man about an overdraft. Or a woman, as it turned out.’
‘Things are bad?’
‘Recession, still. People don’t want to burden themselves with extra horses, feed bills, vet bills…’
‘It’ll lift.’
‘My lifetime, you think?’ James frowned, watched Alison wheeling the barrow away. ‘Should’ve made William Lockley clear out his own shit.’
‘May not be his to clear,’ Merrily said. ‘Not all of it.’
She felt the ground becoming marshy. She’d left Lol on the square, in search of Danny and Gomer. Feeling obliged to come here alone.
‘And I know my limitations, James.’
He sat down in the hard chair behind an old oak desk stained with cup marks. Drumming his fingers on a worn blotter.
‘SAS are the finest in the world at what they do. Train, train and train again. And, the pressures being commensurate with the rewards of the job, there’s little doubt that some chaps get drawn into odd byways. But the idea of a cult…’
‘In fairness, much of it seems to have developed after they left the Regiment.’
James grimaced, drew in his chin.
‘This Roman army business… you’re suggesting that’s actually in some way become central to the exercises devised by Jones and Mostyn for their clientele?’
‘Think what people pay to go on Buddhist retreats and stay at ashrams. Add to that a powerful physical regime. And the almost mystical glow that surrounds the SAS.’
‘And this includes the ritual slaughter of animals?’
‘I… believe so. For some participants. The ones considered suitable. And discreet. And able to meet the fees.’
‘An elite?’
‘Belonging to an elite has always been very sexy.’
‘And not really a swindle, I’d guess.’
‘Only in that nobody should have to pay for spiritual knowledge. No, I… I think it almost certainly works. I think it alters them psychologically and in quite dramatic ways. I think there might even…’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Doesn’t matter. But you have to remember we’re looking at something specifically shaped to the military two thousand years ago, when life was cheaper that we can imagine. Which, today, might have some questionable side effects. On some people.’
‘Dangerous, you think.’
‘Very. I think.’
James said. ‘What about Savitch?’
‘That’s all circumstantial. The link is Hardkit, which supplies the equipment and know-how for Savitch’s hunting and paint-balling weekends.’
‘Was at his press launch today. Everything in place, all boxes ticked. Green energy, but also farmer-friendly.’ James craned forward onto his elbows. ‘No right at all to resent that man. My family, what’s left of it, we can’t do anything for the community any more – b
arely hold ourselves together. But Savitch is… Used to hear him sneering at anything that didn’t fit his ludicrous concept of what country life should be about. Now he smiles tolerantly, witters on wistfully about tradition. Not a sham, as such, he just…’
‘You can’t stand him, can you?’
‘Is it that obvious?’ James looked pale with defeat. ‘But he’s such an insubstantial man that it’s hard to see him getting down and dirty with the likes of Jones and Mostyn.’
‘I don’t think he does. I think that killing, for Savitch, is something done from a safe distance with a twelve-bore and nice gloves. I think he simply passes some clients on to Jones, probably via Mostyn, for a cut. And even then, I suppose, it’s like SAS selection – many won’t go all the way.’
‘And the ones who don’t slink quietly away? Don’t like it, Merrily. Army turns out men. Danger of this creating…?’
‘Monsters.’
‘All right. What’s the bottom line?’
‘That’s where it gets even more speculative.’
‘Then speculate.’
‘I’d much rather go and lie down in a dark room, but…’ Merrily pulled out her cigarettes without the usual request for clearance ‘… it’s just about conceivable, James, that, somewhere along the line, this takes in the killing of your cousin Mansel.’
She lit up, as the legs of James’s wooden chair screeched on the stained flags.
William Lockley was back on the phone within half an hour of James’s call. James just listened, his chin retracted, eyes half-closed.
‘Have to remember Mrs Watkins is not actually in your employ, William,’ he said after a while, then spent some more time listening and then barked, ‘All right, will do,’ and hung up. ‘William conveys his respects, with a polite request for you to pop into Hereford.’
‘Me? I’d’ve thought…’ Merrily had her cigarettes out again. She shut the pack and pushed it back into her bag. ‘Where in Hereford?’
