Phil Rickman - The Secrets of Pain

Bliss felt Karen’s wobble of rage.

‘We? We pressed him? This blind obsession with nailing Sollers Bull to the wall, it’s turning you into a-’

‘What?’

‘Something I never thought you were.’

‘Mother of God, this is nothing to do with what Sollers thinks about me, or how well he knows me father-in-law. Sollers finds a source of uncomplicated sex with women he doesn’t even have to talk to. Vasile is the… intermediary, shall we say?’

‘Pimp.’

‘Whatever. All this spooky girls, Transylvania shit – he thinks we’re that thick? This is an old-fashioned gut feeling, Karen. Remember them?’

‘Sure, and you’re an old-fashioned detective, Frannie. Which is no longer a compliment.’

‘The blokes those kids saw in the pub,’ Bliss said. ‘Who’s to say they weren’t paid to do it? One job, big money. They’re probably on their way home now.’

‘Pulling two murders together – one knife, one blunt-force – because they both have connections to a man you don’t like?’

‘It was you who-’

‘Yeah, and I said tell the DCI. Leave it to a senior officer who hasn’t got a very visible axe to grind.’

Bliss drove slowly down towards the turn-off for Gaol Street. Traffic was light. The higher than usual percentage of police cars was very evident. He wasn’t expecting to see Annie tonight, though a late-night phone call couldn’t be ruled out.

Karen was right. It was best.

He needed Annie to get Sollers. Needed Annie to want to get Sollers.

Back home, Merrily went directly through to the scullery, called Fiona’s mobile.

Answering service. She thought of leaving a message, wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. She sat looking at the American paperback, with the Roman soldier and the fire. They came, they saw…

The book fell open at page 35.

Caradog was a warrior, born to it. From childhood he had been taught that fighting was something to be relished and, when necessary, he killed without much thought. But he was learning that there was something different about the way the Romans fought and killed. He wanted to know what it was. What had made them the finest fighting force in the world… so that he might use it against them.

Who was he really? Where was he? Barry had avoided telling her Byron’s real first name. There were ten million Joneses in the phone book.

Ethel was slaloming between Merrily’s ankles, and she got up to put out some Felix. She could hear the sound of the TV from the parlour. A chance here of discovering what was on Jane’s mind. Take some hot chocolate in. Meanwhile, she rang Lol to explain the situation. It was important to keep him in the loop. Start sharing more. Guard against slippage.

‘It was on the news,’ Lol said. ‘About the body on Credenhill. No name. God… Syd Spicer?’ A silence, then he said, ‘Don’t even think of shouldering any-’

‘It’s not about blame,’ Merrily said quickly. ‘It’s about finding out what was damaging him and making sure nobody else is affected. This is supposed to be my manor. If he was keeping something from us because it involved national so-called security… well, that’s not my problem, either.’

‘You need to be careful with those guys.’

‘Me? A harmless lunatic? A medieval throwback? Oh… I’ve been asked to do his funeral.’

‘Oh, no,’ Lol said. ‘Not that.’

And then there was someone at the door. An efficient tapping, as if with the tip of a walking stick or an umbrella. Or an army officer’s baton.

Merrily watched James Bull-Davies shaking out his umbrella, shuffling on the doormat, angled like a tower crane.

‘Not, ah, keeping you up, am I?’

‘It’s not yet nine o’clock, James. Coffee?’

‘Bit late for caffeine.’ James stood his umbrella under the Light of the World print. ‘No, hell, might as well. Thank you.’

Merrily led him into the stone-flagged kitchen. Chilly in here in these days of post-Aga economic restraint.

‘I’m sorry, I was meaning to call in, after…’

‘Mansel? Second cousin, twice removed, something like that. Hadn’t spoken to him in years. Nothing wrong, just never that close.’

‘Still a hell of a shock, though.’

‘Rather admired him for his refusal to give up the family home, the way we did ours. Otherwise, lived within his means. Which both his wives seem to have seen as being tight with money, but… shocking, as you say. Shouldn’t happen. Country going down the lavatory.’

James pulled out a chair at the refectory table and spread himself over it in his ungainly way. He was wearing an old tweed jacket, grey woollen tie.

‘Reason for disturbance… you met a friend of mine earlier. Lockley. William. Never Bill. Despises Bill, don’t know why.’

‘He said you were friends.’

‘Shipped orf to the same school, for our sins. Christ Col, Brecon. Also served Her Maj together as young chaps, briefly, before he… took a slightly different path. Now. This man Spicer…’

‘What does William do? With the Regiment?’

‘Nothing too active now. Had his time in the sandpit. They keep him on. Chaps like him have their uses, if it’s only a long memory.’ James coughed. ‘This is me talking to you, by the way. Not him. Not them. Fairly clear, that, I suppose?’

‘You know I’d never suspect you of making covert inquiries on behalf of the Ministry of Defence.’

Army county, this. Someone’s fingers snapped and men who were never quite retired came out of civilian limbo. James cleared his throat.

‘Here – far as I’m aware – purely on behalf of my old friend Lockley.’

‘As far as you’re aware.’

‘Or could ever expect to be aware.’

‘James, my head’s starting to ache.’

James shifted in his chair, like a minor rockfall.

‘Didn’t just drop out of the cot, Merrily. Fully aware of the degree of suspect politics which may appear to be lurking behind anything involving the military. Fully aware of that.’

‘Good. Go on.’

‘Having him as stand-in chaplain… not universally applauded.’ James sighed irritably. ‘Hate this kind of thing. Poor chap’s gorn, that should be an end to it. However, one or two things still leave cause for concern.’

The atmosphere had altered, the banter was over. The coffee pot began to burble. Merrily went to it. James cleared his throat again.

‘Probably know what they found in Spicer’s bedroom?’

‘I didn’t go in. Wasn’t invited.’

James was silent.

‘All right,’ Merrily said. ‘I may have an idea what was in there.’

‘I, ah… made it clear to Lockley that I had considerable respect for you, as a person. Wouldn’t like you to be buggered about. However, they… that is, we… I… were wondering how far you’d be prepared to share.’

She turned to face James, a mug in each hand.

‘Share?’

‘Things are sensitive. We’re in wars, could be for some time. Not made easier by the nation being in two minds about the need for it. Though, with all the loss of life, there’s a lot of sympathy, at present, for the chaps who have to fight. Anything which might affect that sympathy or the morale of the fighting man, which, between ourselves, is getting bloody close to rock bottom… PTSD, combat-stress… obviously needs to be watched.’

Rain skittered like moths on the high window. Merrily frowned.

‘I know how hard this is for you, James, but you’re going to have to spell this out.’

‘Merrily, this… hell’s bells, they don’t understand this stuff. Not their field of combat. Lockley’s job’s to ensure that whatever was bothering Spicer could not, if it ever emerged, be damaging to the reputation of the Regiment. Might’ve been the onset of mental illness. Might’ve been something personal or foolish. Or…’