Phil Rickman - The Lamp of the Wicked

‘What you have to understand, see,’ Jumbo said, ‘is this issue of client confidentiality. Couldn’t breathe a word of this while the client was alive, and I wouldn’t be able to tell you now but for—’

‘’Cept for me twisting the fat bastard’s arm,’ Gomer said grimly.

‘Well, yes. Except for my friendship of many years with Mr Parry. Now, you’ll know that I was retained initially through Marquis and Co., the London investigation bureau working on a regular basis for the Vestalia company. However, Mrs Box – so satisfied, she was, with my services that she asked me to undertake separate inquiries on a more personal basis, which of course I was delighted to do. This all come about because of the name of a Midlands-based company which she’ve noticed in the newspaper in relation to this Underhowle business, see. The name being Efflapure.’

‘See?’ Gomer said urgently. ‘See?’

Merrily blinked, well overburdened with information.

‘The reason this name struck a chord,’ Jumbo Humphries said, ‘was that, although the business side was something she left largely to her husband, she was vaguely aware of some investment he’ve made in this very company – Efflapure.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Merrily said.

‘As you say. My inquiries at Companies House and other sources revealed that Mr Gareth Box had invested substantially in Efflapure, and was – until his death, of course – a director.’

‘See?’ Gomer said. ‘This feller was keeping Lodge in work.’

‘Maybe I’m tired,’ Merrily had said, ‘but I think there’s something I’m missing.’

Eirion finally dragged himself away around six, leaving Merrily and Jane alone in front of the sitting-room fire.

‘You’re OK?’ Merrily asked the kid.

‘Yeah. We’re OK.’ Jane slumped down on the sofa. It was dark outside; the fire of logs and coal was the only light in the room. ‘I feel like I’ve been away. I feel like I’m still away.’

‘Strange days,’ Merrily said, head resting on a cushion.

‘I don’t know what to say. It’s like when Lucy Devenish died. It wasn’t real then, and this is different, obviously, because I didn’t really know Jenny Driscoll, but I did . You know? We just walked the streets in the rain for less than an hour and I knew her.’

‘Maybe you had more in common than you imagined.’

‘She said… she was talking about you, and she said, “It’s a deep-embedded evil she’s confronting. And she needs the angels at her shoulder.” What did she mean?’

‘She could’ve meant anything. I don’t really know, flower. There are lots of things I wish I knew.’ Merrily closed her eyes, thinking of Melanie’s angel, all the little connections you could make if you wanted to.

What will you do with the money?’ Jane asked.

‘If it turns out that it’s mine to give, I think I’m going to find out which charity is supporting research into electro- hypersensitivity.’

‘Cool,’ Jane said.

‘Yes. I’m sure Ted will agree, if threatened.’

‘Will the paper still do this story?’

‘They’ve got a much bigger story now, haven’t they?’

‘I mean you and Lol.’

‘I think that’s very unlikely, but I don’t really care. I think it’s time me and Lol… came out, as it were.’

‘You’re just saying that because he’s this big star now. Well… he is in Hereford.’

‘And then the world.’

Jane said, ‘I think I saw Jenny Box’s ghost.’

Merrily opened her eyes and sat up.

‘It was when we got back here, Moira and me. Jenny was walking across the square. She must’ve been dead some time by then.’ Jane gazed into the fire. ‘Moira didn’t see her at all.’

‘Moira didn’t know her,’ Merrily said softly.

‘You couldn’t miss her. Who else walked around with a big white scarf over her head? And her face – unclear. Like a face in motion. Like a face painted by… who was that guy?’

‘Francis Bacon?’

‘Yeah, of course.’

‘Were you scared?’

‘No. Not then. I didn’t know what I was seeing.’

‘Are you scared now?’

‘A bit. When we found her dead, it was… it was like somebody had played this awful trick on me. But afterwards… I mean it’s awesome, isn’t it? It’s bloody awesome, Mum. The implications, you know? Awesome.’

‘Yes. It is, sometimes.’

‘And I’m sorry, Mum,’ Jane said. ‘I’m really so sorry .’

It was after nine when Frannie Bliss arrived. Jane had gone to ‘bed. Merrily had fallen asleep on the sofa. She staggered to the door and brought him back into the lounge.

‘You look terrible,’ she said.

‘And you look all sleepy and sexy. And I didn’t say that. I’m a married man, just.’

‘Have you even seen Kirsty today?’

‘Nope.’

‘Do you have a job?’

‘Bloody right.’

‘Do you want coffee?’

‘I don’t think I will.’

‘Heavens,’ Merrily said, ‘have we entered a parallel universe?’

The fire had burned low. Bliss sat down on the sofa. ‘I’ve nicked Fergus.’

‘You sure of him?’

‘No. But, by God, I’ll try. I want this man so bad I can’t breathe when I think about it.’

‘Handle him carefully.’

‘Merrily, I’ll handle him like with those little plastic tongs they give you to shovel a scone onto your plate in these self- service joints. I, er… Lol… Lol did well.’

‘Six numbers and an encore.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Yes, he did.’ Merrily shovelled a little coal onto the fire and poked it until a few small flames appeared. ‘I think he was probably the only person who, from the very beginning, had a strong feeling that Roddy Lodge was innocent. And he didn’t let it go. It was… a new Lol.’

‘Lot of changes.’ Bliss looked very tired. ‘Lots still to understand. Lots we never will. Listen.’ He moved to the edge of the sofa. ‘Couple of things. You were in from the beginning, so I’m telling you. One… Melanie Pullman. Missing bones.’

‘Oh God.’

‘Two toes and an ankle bone from the left foot.’

‘They’re definitely not… ?’

We went down another metre. Nothing.’

‘So what’s it tell you?’

‘I don’t know, Merrily. I don’t know what it tells us. The other thing is this.’ He brought a folded sheet of paper from his inside pocket. ‘It’s a photocopy – one of the photocopies I showed you before. Neither of us noticed this, but then why should we?’

Merrily unfolded the paper and held it close to the flames.

INSIDE THE HOUSE OF HORROR

EXCLUSIVE

Former tenants talk for the first time about real life in

Twenty-Five Cromwell Street.

By GARETH BOX

‘Christ,’ she said.

Frannie leaned back in his chair. ‘Box started his career in the Gloucester office of the Three Counties News Agency.’

‘Yeah, I know Three Counties.’

‘They don’t pay much, but it’s good experience for a young reporter. You get to see your stories in the big papers – usually under somebody else’s byline, but it’s a start. Also the big papers get to know you. You can make an impression.’

‘But he wasn’t at the news agency when he wrote this, was he?’

‘No, he was in London by then, working on a national, but in quite a lowly position. But then the West story breaks, and he gets them to send him back to his old hunting ground. And he comes up with some heavy dirt. He knew exactly who’d been in Cromwell Street when all the murders were happening, all the torturing in the cellars. He knew exactly who to go to for the inside stuff. His paper was very pleased with him. Never looked back. Within a year he’s an assistant editor in features and writing Jenny Box’s column, and the rest is… as they say.’