Phil Rickman - The Cold Calling

‘No signature, no address,’ Cindy said. ‘Gareth’s excuse for not publishing it.’

‘A nutter,’ Maiden said.

‘Oh no, Bobby. Sadly, not a nutter at all. A valid argument, it is, in theory. But hardly, as he implies, one that the blood-sport fraternities would use in defence of their rural pursuits.’

‘OK,’ Maiden said. ‘Let’s get this right. When you first told us about this, you said that some woman argued that when William II was topped in the New Forest, his blood …’

‘Dripped all the way along the road from the sacrificial site in the New Forest to Salisbury Cathedral. According to Margaret Murray, the ultimate fertilizer for the earth because William was, as she put it, the Divine Victim. The god-king.’

‘Human blood being more effective, in this guy’s view …’

‘In the view of every primitive tradition in the world, Bobby.’

‘… than animal blood. So he’s taken to hunting people.’

‘Because he believes the Earth needs it.’

‘Especially with all the threats to traditional blood sports, right?’

‘I think you may have grasped the essential point.’

‘He’s mad,’ Maiden said.

‘No … as I keep saying, he is not. This man is not a conventional psychopath. He even prefers his victims to be people who, according to his philosophy, might well deserve to die. He is a man with a cause. He believes utterly in what he is doing. And he has some rather influential support.’

‘What?’

‘I’d like to show you a videotape on the television. Little Grayle Underhill gave it to me, bless her. We’ll wait for Marcus to return. Be especially receptive to this, he will.’

But when Marcus came in from the kitchen he looked in no mood for TV. He was carrying a radio. He looked no less exhausted than Cindy and a lot more agitated.

‘Maiden, they’re giving your name out.’

‘Who are?’

‘The police. On the radio. Christ, they’re as good as saying you murdered that woman. Say if anyone spots you they shouldn’t approach you. They’re saying you’re bloody well unstable.’

‘They’re not wrong, are they?’ Maiden sighed. Maybe the whole thing was a set-up. He tried to feel angry, but there was no tension in him, only a dark sorrow.

‘Bobby …’ Cindy put down his glass. ‘How long, do you think, before they find out where you are?’

‘Well, they probably suspect I’m still in the area. I don’t know. They’ll lean on Andy, maybe. Hard. So … Best thing is if I just walk into Abergavenny police station and-’

‘No! Sit down. Do you really want to go to prison?’

‘It’d give me a bit of time to think,’ Maiden said heavily. ‘Pending the trial. Pending the appeal.’

‘While this man goes on killing?’

Maiden sighed. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to believe.’

‘We need you, Bobby. Look at us, Marcus and me … old men. An end-of-the-pier embarrassment and the editor of an excuse for a magazine dying slowly and ignominiously. Pathetic, we are.’

‘Bastard,’ Marcus muttered.

‘I, uh, I have a confession,’ Grayle said.

They were through Hereford, headed for the Malvern Hills. Adrian Fraser-Hale had his long legs stretched out, the passenger seat pushed back as far as it would go. He beamed.

‘You’re going to tell me you’re not really a journalist, your name isn’t Turner and in fact you’re Ersula Underhill’s sister. Am I right?’

Grayle damn near hurled the car into the hedge.

‘Hey, calm down, old girl.’ Adrian folded his hands behind his head. ‘Roger found out. He was bound to, you know.’

‘Oh Jesus.’ Grayle slowed down. ‘He talked to, uh, Marcus Bacton, right?’

‘You’re joking . Roger absolutely can’t stand Marcus Bacton. No, when you’d gone yesterday, he put in a call to the New York Courier . Roger is terribly paranoid. He thinks other academics are trying to steal his ideas or hijack his TV programme. The more powerful people seem, the more insecure they are. So anyone who shows up at Cefn-y-bedd, he wants to know who exactly they are and what connections they might have.’

‘Pretty stupid of me,’ Grayle said.

‘Anyway, the Courier said they didn’t have a Grayle Turner but they’d recently parted company with a Grayle Underhill . Wasn’t awfully hard to put two and two together.’

‘He’s mad at me, right?’

‘I suspect he isn’t terribly pleased, to be honest. He’ll get over it.’ Adrian grinned. ‘At least it means I won’t have to watch what I’m saying any more.’

‘The reason I didn’t just come and say who I was, I had a feeling of … well, of maybe something going on between Roger and Ersula. People told me all this stuff about what a ladies’ man he was.’

Adrian chuckled.

‘Well,’ Grayle said, ‘if she’d, like, got hurt — and I mean, when it comes to men, being this kind of hard-assed intellectual isn’t … you know what I’m saying?’

‘Actually, yes. One always had the feeling that behind that cool facade she was really a terribly vulnerable girl. I’m an old-fashioned sort of chap and a bit of a sucker for a lady in distress and … Well, you know, what can one say? I did rather fancy her myself. I’m afraid.’

That amiable buffoon, Adrian Fraser-Hale…

Oh, Jeez, poor Adrian.

‘Although it pretty soon became apparent that I wasn’t, you know, quite … shall we say, cerebral enough … to compete.’

‘With Roger?’

‘Roger.’ Adrian grimaced. ‘He really is such a frightful bastard.’

The Great Pyramid.

Well, a great pyramid. The one arranged in steps. All pyramids looked the same to Bobby Maiden, except this one, with the steps.

Roger Falconer was halfway up, vaguely listening to a short guy with a beard, who was having to breathe so hard to keep up with him that it was taking the edge off the theory he was airing. Falconer would listen to his companion’s stuff, with an occasional nod, and then do this expression that was nearer to a lopsided smile than a sneer but you got the idea, before sliding in some piece of superior knowledge like a stiletto, leaving the short guy spluttering.

‘Wrong episode,’ Cindy said. ‘Flick it forward half an hour.’

‘As we won’t see the end,’ Maiden said, ‘who wins?’

The phone rang. ‘Ignore it,’ Cindy said.

‘The little chap has a heart attack.’ Marcus reached for the phone. ‘But Falconer has to finish his piece to camera before calling for an ambulance, and so he dies. I’d better get it.’

‘Might be the police,’ Cindy said.

‘Better we know about it than they just show up here with their Armalites or whatever they’re sending the buggers out with these days.’ Marcus snatched the receiver. ‘Yes? Oh … Anderson.’

Oh God, Maiden thought. Really should have tried to call her at the hospital. She’ll have heard it on the radio, seen it on TV. Or someone will. Be all round the General by now.

‘… yes, I know that,’ Marcus was saying. ‘Absolutely not … If the bastard’s saying that, it’s a put-up job. Tell him where he can stick it … No, he’s all right, he … What name? … Right … No, don’t. Don’t worry … Yes, call me tonight.’

Marcus put down the phone.

‘Just reassure me that she was calling from the hospital,’ Maiden said.

‘Who’s this bastard Riggs?’

‘I told you about him.’

‘Oh, he’s the one. He’s been to see Anderson. Told her it’s an open-and-shut case and they need to put you away for your own good, that sort of thing.’

‘She tell him anything?’