The candle flame was reflected in several small jars with stoppers, like the ones on the apothecary shelves in the kitchen, only clear. One had what looked like water in it, with some sediment at the bottom. Others contained sandy soil, crumbled dead leaves and what looked like chips of stone. Two bigger jars held coils of hair, yellow and white, and there was a small one with what seemed to be thin wood-shavings, but were probably nail clippings.
No mandolin case.
Just, you know, screamed…
‘What are you doing?’
Merrily came out of the tree. Susannah Pepper stood in the grass, her business suit vainly buttoned against the raw madness in the air.
‘You knew about this, Susannah?’
‘I thought you were going to look for her.’
‘Somebody broke into the tree. That would be why she screamed.’
‘It cost her a fortune. She had this guy who does wood sculptures up from Herefordshire. She told him she was going to make it into a summer house.’
‘Not exactly. Do you know what she kept in there?’
‘Private things. That was the point. We weren’t supposed to know.’
‘Good an excuse as any,’ Merrily said. ‘I was once married to a lawyer. The thing he used to say that I was most uneasy about was, “You can sleep better if you know when to stop asking questions.” There’s one thing missing from here.’
‘I don’t—’
‘The mandolin case she put in here last night?’
‘I don’t know anything about that. I think I’ve seen it, obviously…’
‘She play the mandolin often, Susannah? She play anything?’
‘She plays games,’ Susannah said.
Mumford
WAITED ON THE spare land round by the old Greyhound Dog pub, and he was wearing the new clothes he’d bought at Millet’s – sort of clothes he’d never worn in his life before, jogger’s clothes. Felt real strange, too loose. Like he was naked.
Also had on Robbie’s baseball cap, the one that was always far too big on the boy, made him look dafter than he’d known. Mabbe there was another reason Mumford was wearing that cap, but he didn’t want to think about that.
Thing was, nobody was looking at him. Half his life, folks had seen him coming – looked like a copper the way a sheep looked like a sheep – and now, feeling more conspicuous than at any time since his first day in uniform thirty years ago, he was aware of folks passing by and nobody noticing him. And he realized the so-called plain clothes he’d been wearing for work all those years weren’t plain clothes at all these days, they were obvious copper’s clothes.
Stayed at the Green Dragon last night, biggest hotel in Hereford, therefore the most anonymous. Money no object. Emerging this morning in his jogging kit: dumpy, middle-aged, bastard, casual civilian.
And even Jason Mebus never noticed him.
After he’d come out the pub, round about half-one, Jason had been straight down the chip shop, the Fries Tuck, and he was walking up now, over Greyfriars Bridge, loping along, eating his chips and still making faster progress than the two lines of cars queuing up to get into town. Saturday-afternoon shoppers. It was all queues in Hereford now – more useless chain stores and still no bypass on the schedules. Be gridlocked soon, this city.
Mabbe Jason was meeting somebody in town – a girl or one of his scumbag mates. Mumford let him get close enough to the end of the bridge and then he started jogging.
Smiling at himself. This was what retired bastards did, to stay alive. All looking like Mumford in his tracksuit top and his pale blue trousers with elasticized bottoms, and his trainers.
Nobody else even walking this side of the bridge. He could see the traffic lights up ahead now, the vehicles nose-to-tail. Over the wall on his left was the River Wye where there used to be a restaurant. All this kind of recreation happening across the road now at Left Bank Village, so it was lucky Jason wasn’t heading towards town on that side. No chance there; far too crowded.
Thirty yards behind Jason now, and the sound of his trainers was muffled by the growling traffic. Had his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes, looking down at the footpath, and just as well; with fifteen or twenty yards to go, Jason heard him and glanced over his shoulder and then back into his chips – just some sad ole jogger.
What Mumford did next was start smiling. Beaming all over his face. It didn’t come easy, never had, but he did it. Dumpy, middle-aged, genial, smiling bastard civilian.
Drawing level with Jason now, puffing a bit and slowing up as the traffic lights turned fortuitously to green, all the drivers’ attention fixed on getting through.
And Jason, stuffing a chip in his gob, never seen it coming.
Soon as the boy’s hand was back in the chip bag, Mumford’s shoulder connected with the muscle near the top of his arm, the bag flying up in the air.
‘Oh, sorry, mate! Sorry!’
‘You fuckin’ clumsy—’
‘Let me help you, boy,’ Mumford said and, with his back to the traffic, smacked Jason in the mouth, not too hard but hard enough.
The boy was still choking on the chip while Mumford was propelling him down the street to the left and across the car park, back towards the underside of the bridge. Figuring that under the bridge was best. Be nobody about on this side. Nice bit of dereliction, fair bit of cover.
Plenty of time, plenty of river. And he had the bastard who, one way or another, had murdered Robbie Walsh.
40
Heavier Than You Know
‘LEDWARDINE VICARAGE,’ LOL said.
‘Is the vicar there?’ Woman’s voice, local accent.
Lol said the vicar was out and asked if he could take a message.
He was unhappy. He’d answered two calls so far from parishioners, both of whom seemed to have recognized his voice, neither of whom had wanted to discuss the nature of their business with him. The tones suggesting that they thought the vicar was not out at all but was perhaps upstairs, sobbing into her pillow, aching from dozens of bruises in places where they wouldn’t show.
‘When will she be back? I mean, can you contact her? Has she got a mobile?’
‘No, she hasn’t. Not at the moment. I can’t contact her, I’m afraid.’
Lol heard a door opening behind him. Jane came into the scullery, looking flushed, followed by Eirion.
‘Damn,’ the woman said. ‘Look, if she comes in, can you get her to ring me. Like, just me, OK? Anybody else answers, don’t talk to them. Can you tell her that? My name’s Karen Dowell. Tell her I’m Andy Mumford’s… something or other, relation. She’ll know.’
‘Oh. You’re calling from police headquarters.’
Pause. ‘Who are you, exactly?’ Karen Dowell said.
‘My name’s Lol Robinson. I’m a… friend.’
Jane was making handle-turning motions at him, to wind this up. He tucked the phone between his shoulder and his cheek and raised both hands at her.
‘OK,’ Karen Dowell said, ‘I know who you are. Mr Robinson, have you heard from Andy?’
‘No, but I’ve had Bliss here.’
‘I know that. He said he was going to talk to the vicar. They all seem to trust the vicar.’
‘He talked to me instead.’
‘Where exactly is Mrs Watkins?’
‘She’s in Ludlow.’
‘Damn,’ Karen said. ‘Listen, can I really trust—’
‘Yes, you can.’
‘Not a word to Bliss, not to anybody, apart from the vicar and Andy, if he calls.’