Phil Rickman - Remains of an Altar

Merrily said nothing. He meant the proposed merger of West Mercia Police with two other regions, creating a superforce supposedly more capable of tackling terrorism and major crime but probably in the process also saving the Home Office milllions of pounds by raising the bar and reducing aggravated burglary to a misdemeanour.

He held up a hand, a raspberry globule like a stigmata in the centre of the palm. He was a Roman Catholic, fond of symbolism.

‘A warning, Merrily. We’re becoming hopelessly politicized. It’s no longer about nailing villains to the wall.’

Merrily poured more coffee.

‘Can I take it Mr Khan is a practising Muslim?’

‘Practising? Bastard’s got it off to a fine art. See, these days, if there’s a Muslim who speaks out publicly against terrorism, as Raji’s been known to do – I’m a Brit, don’t I sound like a Brit? – some clowns tend to be less concerned about what else he’s into.’

‘And you think drugs are passing through the Royal Oak in significant quantities? I mean, what are we talking about – crack, speed, heroin … ?’

‘And acid,’ Bliss said. ‘Acid is back. Turn off your mind, relax and float off a sixth-floor balcony.’

‘Is all this widely known?’

‘What is widely known, but not widely highlighted, is that there are suddenly more drugs – by far – on the streets of these old market towns than we can hope to control. Coke and cannabis – recreational stuff for the middle classes – and cheap nasties for the kids. I expect Jane—’

‘I’d know.’

‘What they all say, Merrily. Moorfield … a famously liberal headteacher.’

‘School director.’

‘Eh?’

‘What he prefers to be called.’

‘God help us.’ Bliss took an angry bite out of his doughnut. ‘I mean, look at Pershore. You imagine anything like that happening in Pershore?’

‘Remind me.’

‘Lad called Chris Smith found shot through the head in his van in a car park near the river. Signs of torture. Mouth taped, cigarette burns. Other things I won’t describe with food around. Local CID didn’t know him – no form – but subsequently identified as quite a prominent local dealer, operating in the area for over a year.’

‘Linked to this Raji Khan, you think?’

‘We don’t know. Less than half an hour from the Oak. If you were to twist my arm … Aaah .’ Bliss made a frustrated hissing noise. ‘Lot of us coming round to thinking it should all be decriminalized, everything you can smoke, swallow or inject. We’re pouring billions down the pan, in man-hours and paperwork, and we’re losing the battle. And we’re bored with it and all the ancillary villainy by brain-dead street-trash supporting a thousand-a-week habit. Some point, we’re gonna back away, wash our hands, say fuck it.’

Bliss put up both hands, pushing it all away.

‘And I have told you nothing , Merrily. In fact, we haven’t even had this little meeting in the lovely old cloisters that your lot pinched off my lot in fifteen-whenever-it-was.’

‘Like that, huh?’

‘You’re a mate.’ Bliss beamed bleakly. ‘And I like to be there for me mates. And I hope you feel the same way.’

‘So what you’re saying … if I happen to come across anything in Wychehill that might be pertinent to the inquiries you’re not allowed to make…’

‘ Not actively encouraged to make. Yes, that would be helpful. You priests, so intuitive. Even the Prods.’ Bliss tucked the remains of his doughnut into his mouth. ‘Just one thing – if you do happen to learn anything—’

‘Call you at home.’

‘Exactly. Or on the mobile, if urgent.’ He fingered up a bead of jam left on his plate and licked it off. ‘So … the good people of Wychehill are claiming that all the extra traffic and the nasty music has disturbed something a bit…’

Bliss waggled his fingers and made spooky woo, woo noises.

‘Sometimes, Merrily, I don’t know how you keep this up.’

It was very warm now, and the Cathedral green was smudged with people in T-shirts and summer frocks, some of them camped around the recently installed life-size bronze sculpture of a pensive Sir Edward Elgar gazing up at the tower.

A teenage girl sitting by the plinth was wearing cans and had an iPod in her lap. Walking back towards the gatehouse, Merrily thought it unlikely that the kid was listening to The Enigma Variations . If it had been Jane, not in a million years; to Jane, unless attitudes had changed, Elgar was just some pompous, imperialist old fart.

I’m not keeping up any more, that’s the trouble .

Merrily stopped in dismay, looking back at the Cathedral tower, under major repair again – scaffolding around it like a thousand interlinked Zimmer frames. And she was not yet forty, but she’d reached the age when ‘keeping up’ required consistent effort. Jane never bothered about staying ahead of the game, because Jane knew she was the game.

Scary. Everything was scary. Like the thought of a centralized police service directed by nervous politics. Merrily went across to the Hereford tourist information centre and picked up what she could on the Malverns before climbing the stone steps to the Deliverance office, where Sophie was putting the phone down.

‘Just came in to say that if there’s nobody I need to see, I think it might be best to go back to Wychehill. Get this over. Is that all right?’

‘Did Mr Bliss clarify things?’

‘Mr Bliss muddled things further, as Mr Bliss so loves to do.’

‘Merrily, three things … I resorted to the telephone, from which I learned that the Royal Oak used to be a favoured meeting place for rambling clubs because of its capacious car park and access to several footpaths. The Ramblers’ Association, needless to say, has lodged a complaint with the tourist authorities.’

‘It’s what they do. I don’t think I’m going to worry too much about the Royal Oak.’

‘I also checked with Worcester Deliverance. It appears that mysterious balls of light are not unknown in the Malverns. Usually connected with UFOs rather than anything psychic. Unexplained cyclists with lamps, however … that’s a new one.’

‘Oh, well. Thanks, Soph—’

‘And, thirdly, the Reverend Spicer rang. The public meeting in Wychehill planned for Wednesday … I’m sorry about this, Merrily.’

‘Called off? No, you wouldn’t be sorry about that, would you?’

‘Brought forward. To tomorrow evening.’

‘ What? ’

‘For reasons of discretion, according to Mr Spicer. They want to be sure there are no press people there. Or, indeed, employees of the local authorities or the tourist associations, who’ve been known to attend such meetings. He says it’s something that should be settled by local people … and you, of course.’

‘But I’ve got a christening in the afternoon!’

‘The part of the meeting relevant to you won’t start until eight-thirty.’

‘No, I mean, I still have people in Wychehill to see.’

Sophie sighed. ‘Sometimes I think you try too hard.’

‘You either do the job or you don’t. I’ll just have to go back tonight.’

‘Merrily…’ Sophie rocked back. ‘That’s ridiculous. You’ve been there twice already, you’ve been up since dawn … Have you even eaten?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Right,’ Sophie stood up. ‘ I ’ll take you.’

‘No, it’s—’

‘If you fall asleep at the wheel on the way back…’

‘I’ll ask Lol, OK? Give me a chance to see Jane before we go – I’m starting to feel like a part-time parent.’

Maybe it was what Bliss had suggested, about Jane and drugs. She rang Lol, and there was no answer.