Phil Rickman - The Lamp of the Wicked

Course I done it, you ole fuck. Been over to fuckin’ Ledwardine loads o’ times, look. Got clients all over that village – rich bastards. Hadn’t planned to torch your place, but I’d got a coupler minutes spare that night .

Then a final contemptuous push, leaving Gomer on his back in the mud, and then Lodge was off and away – up the pylon, though Gomer didn’t know that at the time, as he heaved himself to his feet, straightening his specs, winded, unsteady. But perhaps it had been his brain that was most battered, by what he’d heard.

No wonder he’d been so quiet for days, hanging round Minnie’s grave.

Merrily put the kettle on the stove and came to sit down opposite him. She was remembering Lol’s graphic description of the exchange between Roddy Lodge up in the pylon and Gomer on the ground – Lol recalling Gomer’s opening challenge as completely as if it was the first line of one of his own songs.

Where was it you set that fire, boy? Where’d you go? Where was it you went Monday night?

‘You just couldn’t believe it, could you?’ she said.

‘Couldn’t be sure I’d yeard it right,’ Gomer said. ‘Well, I was sure, see, but then I’m thinking mabbe he was – ’scuse me, vicar – pissing up my leg, so to speak.’

‘I don’t think he was ever that clever, do you?’

No. Lodge had surmised that, because Gomer lived in Ledwardine, that was also where his depot was. Aggressively admitting to something he hadn’t done just to get the little guy out of his way, and simultaneously proving his innocence. And how had Gomer reacted? He’d straightened his glasses and gone to the pylon to seek confirmation.

‘You were trying to get him to say it again, just to be sure, in your own mind. Or maybe to catch him out.’

‘Ar.’ Gomer took off his glasses, rubbed them on his sleeve. ‘Silly bugger. Gutted, see. How could I get it that wrong? Ever since, been asking meself, asking Min at the grave if it was me killed him. Hounded an innocent man to his death.’

‘Well: A – you didn’t force him up the pylon, and B – he wasn’t innocent at all, was he?’

‘Innocent till proved guilty.’ Gomer rammed both hands through his wild, white hair. ‘ Rock-solid sure , I was, that he’d started that fire.’

Which he admitted again on the pylon.’

‘Ar, along with how he was gonner do… wossername?’ ‘Madonna. I know. Who doesn’t even live in the area.’

‘Load of ole wallop! All bloody lies. Couldn’t trust a thing he said. He was in Ross that night, from early on – Cliff Morgan told me that. They got witnesses seen him in two pubs in Ross.’

‘But think about it this way… If you hadn’t had good reason to suspect Lodge, we’d never have gone over there and found what we found, and Lynsey Davies would’ve been quietly reburied somewhere more discreet. God moves in myst—’

‘I tried to tell him. Tried to tell that boy, Bliss, when he’s draggin’ me away.’

‘Perhaps that wasn’t really the best time, Gomer.’

‘Still oughter’ve told him afterwards, though, ennit? Likely they’d have talked him down off there, see, if I hadn’t been standing at the bottom givin’ the bugger stick. Worst of it is, they en’t never gonner know the full truth now, is it? Never .’ He looked across at Merrily, then lowered his gaze. ‘And now I’ve dumped it all on you, vicar. Didn’t wanner do that.’

Merrily patted his hand. ‘It’s what I’m here for, as we vicars like to say.’

‘You gonner tell him?’ He looked apprehensive, but she knew that whatever she wanted he’d go with it; he nearly always did – a channel for God’s opinion, wasn’t she? Which made offering Gomer advice so much more of a responsibility.

‘I don’t somehow think it’s going to arise. You… haven’t heard from him again, have you? In connection with more digging?’

Gomer shook his head. No time for that in the last couple of days, anyway. He’d been tidying up a few small jobs, things he could do without hauling young Lol out. Need the boy tomorrow, mind, to install a new tank for Mrs Pawson, now the cops had finished messing up her garden. Her’d been in London, and who could blame her, with no working drainage and knowing what had lain underneath the Efflapure?

The two phones began to ring simultaneously, in the kitchen ‘and the scullery. When the answering machine kicked in, the message was fully audible through the open scullery door.

‘Merrily, I need to talk to you… urgently , so call me soon as you get back, eh? Or if you’re there now, will you please pick up the phone?’

‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘Coincidences, eh? Give me a minute, Gomer.’

‘Jesus, Merrily, you took your flaming time.’

‘God’s work, Francis.’

‘Yeh, listen, I’ll keep it short. The shit’s just hit the fan. One of the people Andy Mumford spoke to in Much Marcle – on my behalf, on the subject of our late friend West – decided there could be a few quid in it and phoned some bloody hack.’

‘Oh no …’

‘Who of course gets onto our press lady at Hereford for an official quote. And the upshot is, to head off any really wild speculation, Fleming’s been forced to put out a statement on the West angle. And he’s fuming, naturally. And Andy’s on the carpet. And I’m lying very low. So if anybody contacts you, you haven’t spoken to me in yonks.’

‘Why should anyone phone me?’

‘You didn’t see the local TV news? They had this story about the Rector of Underhowle backing out of Roddy’s funeral due to protests by people who don’t want him lying shoulder to shoulder with their God-fearing ancestors. Then it was mentioned that you’d be standing in.’

‘I was named ?’

‘I’m afraid so, Merrily. So if you’re talking to anybody there, or here or anywhere, I did not take you into Roddy’s lair, you know nothing about any pictures on walls, et cetera, et cetera.’

‘You’re saying you want me to lie for you?’

‘If you would, please,’ Bliss said. ‘Er, you got the package?’

‘Yes, thanks very much. It’ll make a change from the Bible.’

‘Seriously,’ Bliss said, ‘I should give them a glance. There is a connection with West, gorra be. Huw Owen knows that, as you—’

What? ’

‘Sorry, Merrily?’

‘Right, let’s sort this. Why did you really phone Huw Owen? And how does Huw Owen know there’s a connection between Roddy Lodge and Fred West?’

‘Well, he doesn’t know ,’ Bliss said awkwardly. ‘I mean, none of us know .’

‘It’s all right,’ Merrily said tightly. ‘I’ll ask him myself.’

‘Fred bloody West,’ Gomer said. ‘Now why don’t that surprise me?’

Merrily had left the scullery door open; he could hardly have avoided overhearing. Hardly mattered now, if it was all coming out in the press.

She sat down. ‘You remember the case you found for them, behind the bungalow? It contained a pile of press cuttings on the West case. Things like that.’

‘Always givin’ you all this ole wallop ’bout what he done and who he done it with,’ Gomer mused. ‘Showin’ you photos of his missus’s… of his missus.’ He looked beyond Merrily towards the dark window in the back wall. ‘Just the same as Lodge – lies, lies and more bloody lies. You never thought much of it, see… and then the truth turns out to be… a sight worse. Sight more worse than you could ever imagine anybody could be. Least of all some cocky little builder, love nest in the back of his bloody van… always showing you photos.’