“It’s a miracle,” said Icarus Smith.
“You never can tell,” said I.
19
We headed back to my office, Icarus, Johnny Boy, Captain Ian and I. We took a taxi, I recall, and the cabbie told us all about the knowledge. I don’t remember too much about what he said, but I’m damn sure he was wrong about the route to Heartbreak Hotel.
Once we were safely back in my office, I leaned my butt on my desk.
“OK,” said I, with more suavity than a Swiss sword-swallower in a Swedish swivel chair. “I guess you’d like me to explain it all to you.”
Heads nodded all round, as they generally do when I ask a question like that.
“The first thing you have to understand is that Colin did not put the hit out on his old man.”
“He didn’t?” said Johnny Boy. “But he was the prime suspect.”
“Little guy,” said I, “this isn’t some episode of Columbo. In the world of Lazlo Woodbine, it is never the prime suspect.”
“I knew that,” said Icarus.
“Well you never told me,” said Johnny Boy.
“Might I continue?” I enquired, with more retort than a Reigate squire on a cardboard box in Carfax.
Heads nodded all round again and I was set into telling of my tale. “It wasn’t Colin and it wasn’t Eartha.”
“Eartha?” said Icarus.
“Put a sock in it, kid. Eartha was number one on my list. She called me in to search for Her missing husband. I figured that She wouldn’t have done that unless She cared about him. Unless, on the other hand that rocks the cradle, She wanted evidence for a divorce. Which She didn’t, because God had got up to His capers with the Jewish girls before and She’s taken him back every time. So, at the start off, I figured She cared. But. She shows up at my office, less than an hour after He’s copped it, with the will in Her hand and She’s hardly the grieving widow. She doesn’t show a flicker of emotion on that plug-ugly puss of Hers. And that made me suspicious. She’s got the will and the will fingers Colin. I tell Her that. But She doesn’t care about that either. It seems that She’s happy to have Colin put in the frame. And as investigations prove that Colin is running the Ministry of Serendipity, an organization dedicated to dumbing down the public — thumbing down the public in fact — to keep them unaware that demons and angels are walking on the face of the Earth, it looks like Colin all the way. And it seems that Colin’s mum doesn’t give a flea’s fart about him either. To me it all smells worse than a Baskerville do-do in a devil’s footbath. But, like I say, it wasn’t Her.”
“So who was it?” said Icarus.
“Well, it wasn’t Colin and it wasn’t Eartha and it wasn’t even Captain Ian here.”
“Me?” said Captain Ian. “You thought it might have been me?”
“Sure, guy, I had you right up there on my list. Icarus goes to the movies a lot, he’ll tell you how it works. There’s only ever a limited number of suspects. And you get to meet them all early on in the plot. Like Cormerant, right? You tipped me off when you told me that Jesus could be seen on TV, but you weren’t at liberty to divulge his identity. You knew I’d take a hint and watch TV and you knew I’d see your brother being interviewed. You led me right to him.”
“His brother?” said Icarus.
“Sure, his brother,” said I. “Don’t you realize who this guy really is?”
“He’s an angel,” said Johnny Boy.
“He’s Jesus Christ,” said I.
There was a bit of a silence then, but I could live with that.
“Jesus Christ!” said Johnny Boy. “I mean … well … Jesus Christ!”
“Please don’t,” said Captain Ian. “No matter how people say my name, it always sounds like swearing.”
“But I mean … well … you are …” Johnny Boy dropped down to his knees, though the change in height was negligible.
“How did you know, Mr Woodentop?”
I let that one pass, because after all, he was the Lord. “I wouldn’t have guessed,” said I, “if it hadn’t been for Barry. He was stopping the effects of the Red Head drug working on me and he had to be doing that for a good reason. He knew that with the help of the drug I could solve the case and he wanted me to solve the case, but I figured that you’d tipped Barry the wink to stop me from seeing who you really were.”
“But we couldn’t see him for who he really is,” said Icarus. “And we still can’t. I mean, well, sir, you just look like an angel to me. No offence meant, of course.”
“None taken, I assure you,” said the Lord.
“He does look like an angel,” said I. “But an angel with a golden sword. Check out a copy of the Bibliomystikon[18] ‘And the Lord of Hosts shall come amongst them and slay them with a sword of gold.’ It ain’t your regular practice for angels.”
“You certainly know your occult scripture,” said Jesus.
“Lord,” I told him, “in my business, knowing your occult scripture can mean the difference between singing a psalm at a Sunday school clam-bake and spearing a clam with a jaded jackeroo. If you know what I mean and if you don’t, who does?”
“You have me on that one,” said Jesus. “But it wasn’t me who murdered my father. So just who was it?”
“Well, it wasn’t your sister Christene, either.”
“Actually I thought it might have been,” said Jesus.
“His sister?” said Icarus. “Where does his sister come into this?”
“Philomena Christina Maria O’Connor,” said I. “The dame with the dangerous digits. She was in cahoots with Colin. More of that sibling rivalry, you see. Mr Christ here, the elder son, got all the glory. Barry told me how he had his sister edited out of the New Testament. Because he had full editorial control. And they’d stopped writing Bibles by the time that Colin came along, so he never got a mention anywhere. The Godalmings are a very dysfunctional family. There’s a lot of jealousy going on there. The same as in any other family, I guess.”
“I tried to be nice,” said Jesus. “I always try to be nice. I’m noted for it.”
“It’s not your fault, Lord. Well, some of it is. But let’s just have a suspect head-count here. It wasn’t Colin and it wasn’t Eartha and it wasn’t Jesus and it wasn’t Christene.”
“So it was Cormerant,” said Icarus. “He was, after all, the devil incarnate.”
“Right up there in my listings,” said I, cooler than a catechumen at a canon’s coffee morning. “Along with Fangio for a while; you can never trust a skinny guy. But no, my friend, it wasn’t even Cormerant.”
There was a lot of sighing then and a fair bit of scratching at heads.
“So who was it?” Icarus shouted.
“It wasn’t anybody,” I said. “Because God wasn’t murdered. God isn’t dead.”
“WHAT?” they all went, and very loudly too.
“He isn’t dead,” I said. “The whole thing was a scam. A set-up from the beginning. Jesus here gave it away when he told us all about how God had to take out mortgage after mortgage on Heaven and Hell until He ran out of money. I figured, how had He done that? He’d have had to have taken out life insurance, right? A whole lot of life insurance, to cover all those extra mortgages. And who wouldn’t insure God’s life? The guy’s eternal, right? A pretty safe bet. But what if God was to die and His wife cashed in His life insurance policies to pay off all the debts and reclaim Heaven and Hell? If He faked His own death, everything would get sorted.”