Phil Rickman - Crybbe

'Without the wall collapsing on it. Which it has.'

A chunk of wall about fifteen feet wide had been smashed in or wrenched out and then the bulldozer plunged in again. Clearly an amateur job, but the spot had been well-chosen. It would leave a jagged gap directly under the huge picture- window in the stable-block.

'All we do about Gomer, we just pay him off,' Humble said. He was unshaven. He wore a black motorcycle jacket. Half an hour ago he'd rung J. M. Powys's riverside cottage. 'Put Rachel on.' She'd been quite shocked, didn't see how he could possibly have known about her and J.M.

It meant Max would know by now. Max would not be particularly annoyed that she was with J. M. Powys, but she'd done it without clearing it with him first – that was the serious offence.

Time to move on, Rachel decided abruptly. The facade's crumbling. Time to negotiate a settlement.

'I think the bulldozer's damaged,' she said. 'Look at the way the blade-thing is twisted.'

'Couple of thou' should see Gomer right. See, Rachel, you bring in the Old Bill, you're causing unnecessary hassle. Some f… body might get the idea we paid him to do it. Max would not like that.'

Him? You sound as if you know who did it.'

'Yeah, well, I got my suspicions.'

'Would you like to share them?'

'I keep my eyes open,' Humble said.

'Not much you don't know, is there, Humble?'

Humble smirked. 'Not much, Rachel. Not much.'

The metal plate on the door said. When red light is showing, do not attempt to enter.

The red light was on.

Not sure what to do, Powys walked around the dull, brick building which had once been a lavatory. When he arrived back at the door he was holding up a foot.

'Oh shit, what's this?'

Making a face, Powys scraped off the used condom against a corner of the wall.

She was watching him in some amusement from the studio door, open now, the red light still on.

'Sorry, should have warned you. You'll never pick up a dog turd in this town, but French letters… an all-too-common hazard. Especially just here.'

Powys looked around and counted five of the things, shrivelling into the gravel. 'Favourite place,' Fay said. 'The grunts and squeals can be quite disconcerting when you arrive here in the dark.'

'Maybe it's the red light gets them going.' Powys looked up at the sign. ' "Do not attempt to enter." Obviously nobody takes much notice of that.'

'Come in,' said Fay.

He followed her into the little building and looked around. 'Incredible. A radio studio in Crybbe.'

'Geographically convenient.' Fay was unpacking two reels of quarter-inch tape. It's certainly not a reflection of the importance of the town.'

She set the tape rolling. I won't waste time. This is one bit. Henry Kettle's dowsing masterclass.'

'OK. Here we go. Is there any…? Fucking hell, Henry!'

'Caught you by surprise, did it?'

Powys grinned. 'Bit like sex, isn't it. The first time. Did the earth move for you?'

'Certainly did when he put his hands over mine. The rod just sort of flipped over. I did wonder afterwards if he was making it happen. Just go get it over with, get me off his back. He was obviously very busy. But I can be quite persistent, I suppose.'

He thought she probably could. She looked very nice this morning, in a dark skin and a glittery kind of top.

She noticed him studying the ensemble, 'I'm going to church afterwards.' Pushing the buttons on the tape-machine and flipping the controls on the console. 'Then I've got to go and pick up Arnold from the vet's.'

He's OK?'

'Actually the vet said on the phone that I might get a bit of a shock when I saw him, but there was nothing to worry about. Have you ever been inside the church?'

He shook his head. 'But you're a regular churchgoer, I suppose. With your dad in the business.'

'Oh hell, nothing to do with that. And I'm not, actually. What it is, Dad tells me Murray – that's the vicar – is doing his sermon on the New Age Phenomenon In Our Midst. I'll probably get a story out of it. Murray's a very mixed-up person. The town's damaged him, I think.'

'You think this town damages people?'

'It's damaged me,' said Fay. 'Listen, this is the bit. Obviously, what I was really interested in was what Henry Kettle was doing for Goff, and at one point I asked him, straight out.'

'… So, tell me, Henry, you're obviously in the middle of a major dowsing operation here in Crybbe. What exactly does that involve?'

'Oh, I… Oh dear. Look, switch that thing off a minute, will you?'

'He was waving his arms about, the way people do when you ask them a question they can't answer.'

'And did you switch off?'

'I did, I'm afraid.' Fay said. 'Sometimes you flip the pause button a couple of times to make it look as if you have and then record the lot, but I was starting to like him. "Don't press me, girl," he kept saying.'

'Did he say anything to indicate he was bothered, or upset by what he was finding?'

'I think he did, and it must be on the other tape.' Fay spun all the way back and pulled the reel off the deck. 'Hold this a minute, would you, er… sorry, I don't actually know what the J.M. stands for.'

'Joe.'

'Joe Powys. Mmm. It's a whole different person. Now, Joe Powys, some answers.' She had her fists on her hips, the second reel clutched in one. 'Who killed Henry Kettle?'

'Ah,' he said.

'You don't think it was an accident at all, do you?'

'Well,' he said, 'I don't think it's who killed him so much as what killed him. I'm sure nobody tampered with his brakes or anything.'

'So you think it might be something, shall we say… supernatural? And don't say it depends what I mean by supernatural.'

'How about you put the tape on, then we'll talk about it?'

'And you went to see Mrs Seagrove again, didn't you?'

'We loonies have to stick together.'

'So you did go to talk about the black dog… OK, OK, I'll put the tape on.'

She dragged the yellow leader tape past the heads, set it running on fast forward, stopped it. 'Somewhere around here, I think. I'd caught up with Henry in the wood between the Court and the church. I'd come straight from another job and I still had about half a tape left, so I just ran it off, walking along with Henry. When you're putting a package together you need lots of spare atmos and stuff.'

'Atmos?'

'Ambient sounds. Birdsong, wind in the trees. Also, I needed bits of him trudging along doing his dowsing bit. Radio's nearly as much of a fake as telly, you reshape it afterwards, rearrange sentences, manufacture pauses for effect in using spare ambience. So here's Henry in the wood. I hope.'

'That's curious. That is curious.'

'That's it. Hang on a minute, Joe, I'll find the start. OK, here we go…'

'… keep you a minute. Fay, just something I need to look at. Bear with me.'

'That's OK, Mr Kettle. Can I call you Henry during the interview? Makes it more informal.'

'You please yourself, girl. Call me a daft old bugger if you like.

Powys felt almost tearful. Every time someone like Henry died, the world faded a shade further into neutral.

'Well, bugger – don't mind me, Fay, talking to myself. That's curious. That is curious. If I didn't know better, I'd almost be inclined to think it wasn't an old stone at all. Funny old business. .. Just when you think you've come across everything you find something that don't… quite… add up. Come on then Fay, let's do your bit of radio, only we'll go somewhere else if you don't mind. ..'

Powys said, 'Can you just play that bit again.'

'… almost be inclined to think it wasn't an old stone at all…'

That's the bit.' There was a parallel here, something from Henry's journal. 'Fay, where was this, can you show me? Have you time before church?'