Phil Rickman - The Cold Calling

‘Also …’ Bobby said from somewhere down on the ground between Adrian and the back rails. ‘Also, this is Grayle … You killed her once. And it wasn’t her. You blew it. Got it wrong … Grayle’s bad luck for you, Adrian.’

‘ I do not get it wrong! ‘

‘You’re always getting it bloody wrong. What about the barbed wire in Wales? Put it out for a man, you catch a young lad. But he didn’t die, did he? You screwed up.’

Silence. Other noises behind the spattering on the stones. The smell of smoke from the pines. Grayle felt the rain pouring down her face, blurring her vision. Her clothes like a second, sodden skin. She was afraid to blink.

Adrian said, ‘How do you know about that?’

‘Ah,’ Bobby said. ‘Didn’t tell the stones, did you? Didn’t tell the stones you screwed up.’

Distant sheet lightning, no more than a veil. Grayle cringed. The barrel twitched. Oh Jesus. Involuntarily, Grayle squeezed her eyes shut, screamed, ‘Adrian, do you know who you shot down there. You shot Charlie … shot the goddamned minister!’

‘Well, good!’ he screamed back through the torrent. ‘Charlie was a disgrace. Charlie took drugs!’

‘And what the fuck did you give to Ersula?’ Bobby yelled.

‘You watch your filthy, vermin mouth …’

‘Maybe Grayle would like to know what else you don’t tell the Earth. Hey, considering where we are, considering how stones record , maybe the Earth would like to know what happens when you … when you take a sacrifice … when you pull the trigger … bring down the rock … sink in the knife … shove … shovel in the gravel and the concrete … When the earth-energy floods into your system like golden light? and you feel this … blinding joy? Maybe Grayle and the good old Earth goddess … your mother … your holy bride … would like to know what happens then, how you always come in your pants, when …’

‘ You filthy … swine …’

Grayle’s eyes jerked open to the sight of Adrian up on the lone recumbent stone, screaming, holding the rifle by the barrel, smashing it down on Bobby Maiden, Bobby shouting, ‘Get off the line, Grayle, get off the fucking line …’

And then it was all lights.

‘… that supposed to mean?’ On the edge of the headlight beams, the guy looked worn out, two days’ grey stubble.

‘Tony sent you, right?’

‘Kind of.’

‘Nothing to do with Riggs, like.’

‘I don’t work for Riggs.’

‘Oh, aye. Well, nobody does, do they? Nobody works for Riggs, officially.’

‘Look, Sister,’ Vic Clutton said. ‘Time’s getting on. I’ve got a bit of cleaning up to do before I leave.’

‘I hope that doesnae include me, pal.’

‘Oh, don’t be bloody daft.’ Clutton pulled a gun, a black pistol, out of his jacket pocket, tossed it into the dirt. ‘Pick it up. Feel safe.’

Andy ignored the gun. ‘What happened to your oppo over there?’

‘Shit, Sister, you gonner let me get a word in? Parker …’

Andy took a breath.

Clutton said, ‘Parker had me down here to keep an eye on Em.’

‘Didnae do a great job there, Victor.’

‘Look!’ Avoiding her eyes, talking rapidly to his shoes. ‘I was to watch her. Getting into bad company — policemen, this kind of business. He wanted to know how far it’d gone. I follow her down here, she picks Maiden up and I tail her and him to this hotel.’

‘You were in that very same hotel?’

‘Leaving them to get on with it. Well, I mean, that’s her business. She’s a free spirit. I’ve got no objection to a swish B and B on Parker’s tab, even if I’ve got to stay out of the bar and the dining room and that. And yeah, yeah, to my shame, I didn’t know nothing till next morning, when the premises are crawling with filth, and …’ A glint of tears. ‘… I have never been so shattered in my life, Sister. That girl …’

‘I know.’

‘Plus, I liked the guy, in spite of he was filth. He was clean filth, you know what I mean? I couldn’t handle it. I pissed off, building up the courage to phone Parker — hardest call I ever made. I start gabbling, I say, I don’t care what you want, Mr Parker, but, with all respect, me, what I want, I want Maiden …’

‘You’re saying you came down after Bobby on your own? So who’s this other guy?’

‘Yeah, I come back here. I’m gonner hang around till he come out. I’d’ve hung around a week … longer. But he come out, all fresh and clean, and he’s off over the fields, down the wood, and I’m straight in there after him. Woods? Fine by me. Good a place as any.’

‘Just like that, eh? Regardless of he didnae kill the girl. And you with that gun?’

‘No way.’ Vic Clutton looked at his hands. ‘That’s not mine, anyway. Way I was feeling, I didn’t need no shooter. I was gonner take him apart. When he meets up with this posh tart, I’d’ve took ‘em both apart. Only, this tart, she’s got a pick and she’s hacking up this concrete, sorter thing … and … Well, there’s a fucking stiff down there.’

‘You what? ‘

‘Yeah. I’m thinking … what? He done another one? What’s occurring? You know? Next thing, they’re off up this big house and then this other bloke’s arriving in this crappy old motor, and after a while him and Maiden drives off, and I’m on foot, aren’t I?’

‘What time’s this?’

‘Two … three … I dunno. Afternoon. I figure maybe they’ve come back here or they’re gonner come back here, so I trudge back and I’m laying low, and it’s getting dark and no Maiden. Then this white van pulls in and out jumps these blokes and … shit, I know ‘em. Last seen in Maiden’s flat … you remember that business?’

‘Just a minute.’ Andy walked over to the corpse. ‘Who is this guy? And where’s-’

‘Name’s Bez.’

He was shambling across the yard, a short, fat guy in a tartan dressing gown. The big, stupid bull terrier trotting alongside like this was big walkies time.

‘Don’t ask me what kind of bloody name that is, Anderson. And he’s fucking well dead, and I’m merely dying, so if you happen to have your little nurse’s outfit with you …’

Vic said, ‘Mr Bacton, I thought I told you to lie down.’

The cops came in from all directions almost simultaneously.

In force. Four cars and a van. The van was directly into the field, all these guys tumbling out with automatic rifles. The whole place surrounded. Portable lights. The stone circle cordoned off, armed guys around the back of the pines — some of them still smouldering in the hard, vertical rain.

A helicopter hovered above the Whispering Knights with a searchlight in case Adrian Fraser-Hale should overpower the three detectives and the four Armed Response blokes and make a break for it across the fields.

Seemed Adrian wasn’t in the mood. When he saw the van coming, he’d stopped hitting Bobby with the gun and he’d turned it round and Grayle had thought, Jesus, he’s gonna put it in his mouth. But Adrian had just looked at the gun in dismay, like checking the barrel wasn’t bent or anything, and then the cops were screaming at him, ordering him to lie down. Grayle too. Also Bobby, except the poor guy already was.

Adrian, handcuffed, was looking kind of affronted. Offended. The way he’d been a couple times on the journey from Cefn-y-bedd.

‘In the van,’ the senior-looking white-haired cop said. Bobby knew him, called him Ron.

As the back doors of the van flung open, Adrian turned, looked at them, didn’t seem to see anyone.