Simon Beckett - The Chemistry of Death

So I didn't mention that a second body had been found. But Henry's good mood was infectious, and by the time I left I was in a much brighter frame of mind. My spirits lifted further as I walked back home to collect my car. It was another beautiful morning, without the stifling heat that would come later. The yellows, purples and reds of the flowers edging the village green hurt the eye with their vibrancy, filling the air with the heavy sweetness of pollen. Only the police trailer parked nearby disturbed the illusion of rural quiet.

Its presence seemed to chastise my sudden optimism, but it had been so long since I'd felt like this I didn't care. Of course, I didn't question the reasons for it too closely. And I was careful not to link my new outlook with Jenny. It was enough just to appreciate the moment while it lasted.

As it turned out, it wasn't about to last much longer.

I was passing the church when a voice called out, 'Dr Hunter. A moment, please.'

Scarsdale was in the graveyard with Tom Mason, the younger of the two gardeners who tended Manham's flowerbeds and lawns. I faced him across the low church wall.

'Morning, Reverend. Tom.'

Tom bobbed his head with a shy smile, without looking up from the rose bush he was tending. Like his grandfather he was happiest left alone to look after his plants, which he did with almost bovine gentleness. By contrast, there was nothing bovine or gentle about Scarsdale. He didn't bother to acknowledge my greeting.

'I'm curious as to your thoughts on the current situation,' he said without preamble. His black suit seemed to absorb the sunlight among the old and uneven gravestones.

It seemed an odd thing to say. 'I'm not sure what you mean.'

'The village faces a difficult time. People all over the country will be watching to see how we acquit ourselves. Don't you agree?'

I hoped this wasn't going to be a repeat of his sermon. 'What is it you want, Reverend?'

'To show that Manham won't tolerate what's happened. This could be an opportunity to forge a stronger community. To unite in the face of this test.'

'I don't see how a lunatic abducting and killing women can be regarded as a "test".'

'No, perhaps you don't. But people are frankly concerned about the damage being done to the reputation of the village. And rightly so.'

'I would have thought they'd be more concerned with finding Lyn Metcalf and catching Sally Palmer's killer. Isn't that more important than worrying about Manham's reputation?'

'Don't play games with me, Dr Hunter,' he snapped. 'If more people had paid attention to what was going on in this community it might not have come to this.'

I should have known better than to argue with him. 'I still don't understand what your point is.'

I was conscious of the gardener's presence in the background, but Scarsdale was never shy about performing in front of an audience. He rocked back on his heels so that he was looking at me down the length of his nose.

'I've been approached by a number of parishioners. It's felt we need to present a united front. Especially in our dealings with the press.'

'Meaning what, exactly?' I asked, though I was beginning to get an inkling of where this was leading.

'It's felt that the village needs a spokesman. Someone best able to represent Manham to the outside world.'

'That's you, I take it.'

'If anyone else is willing to take on the responsibility, I'll be happy to stand aside.'

'What makes you think there'll be need for anyone to do it?'

'Because God hasn't finished with this village yet.'

He said it with a conviction I found unnerving. 'So what do you want from me?'

'You're a figure of some importance. Your support would be welcome.'

The idea of Scarsdale using this as a public platform for himself was galling. Yet I knew the fear and distrust that pervaded the village would create a receptive audience for him. It was a depressing thought.

'I've no intention of talking to the press, if that's what you mean.'

'It's also a question of attitude. I wouldn't want to think anyone was undermining the efforts of those acting in the village's best interests.'

'I tell you what, Reverend. You do what you think best for the village, and so will I.'

'Is that supposed to be a criticism?'

'Let's say we just have different views on what constitutes the village's best interests.'

He considered me, coldly. 'Perhaps I should remind you that people here have long memories. They're not likely to forget any transgressions at a time like this. Or forgive them, unchristian as that may be.'

'In that case I'll just have to try not to transgress.'

'You can be as glib as you like. But I'm not the only one who's wondered about your loyalties. People talk, Dr Hunter. And what I've been hearing is quite disturbing.'

'Then perhaps you shouldn't listen to gossip. As a man of the cloth aren't you supposed to give the benefit of the doubt?'

'Don't presume to tell me my job.'

'Then don't try to tell me mine.'

He glared at me. He might have said more, but there was a clatter from behind him as Tom Mason put his tools in the wheelbarrow. Scarsdale drew himself up, his eyes as hard as the gravestones he stood among.

'I won't keep you any longer, Dr Hunter. Good day,' he said, stiffly, and stalked away.

Well, you handled that well, I thought, sourly, as I continued on past the church. I hadn't meant it to turn into a confrontation, but Scarsdale brought out the worst in me. Still brooding about what he'd said, I didn't notice the car until it pulled up alongside.

'You look like you lost a pound and found a penny.'

It was Ben. Sunglasses on, he had a brawny arm propped on the open windowsill of his new black Land Rover. It was dusty, but still made mine look like an antique.

'Sorry. I was miles away.'

'So I noticed. Nothing to do with the Witchfinder General over there, was it?' he said, jerking his head towards the church. 'I saw you talking to him.'

I had to laugh. 'Yeah, it was, actually.' I gave him a brief rundown of the encounter. He shook his head.

'I don't know what God he's supposed to worship, but if the good reverend's any indication I wouldn't like to meet him down a dark alley. You should have told him to bollocks.'

'That would have gone down well.'

'By the sound of it he's got it in for you anyway. You're a threat to him.'

'Me?' I said, surprised.

'Think about it. Until now he's been a dried-up minister with a shrinking congregation. This is his big chance, and as far as he's concerned you're a potential challenge to his authority. You're a doctor, educated, come from the big city. And secular, let's not forget that.'

'I'm not interested in competing with him,' I said, exasperated.

'Doesn't matter. The miserable old bastard's set himself up as the Voice of Manham. If you're not with him you're against him.'

'As if things aren't bad enough as they are.'

'Oh, never doubt the ability of a righteous man to fuck things up. All in the name of the greater good, of course.'

I looked at him. His normal good humour seemed to have left him. 'You all right?'

'Just feeling cynical today. As you might have noticed.'

'What did you do to your head?'

There was a grazed bump next to one of his eyes, partly hidden by his sunglasses. His hand went to it.

'Got it chasing another bastard poacher in the reserve last night. Someone made a try for a marsh harrier's nest I've been keeping an eye on. I set off after them and went arse over elbow on one of the trails.'

'Did you catch them?'

He gave an angry shake of his head. 'I will, though. I'm sure it's that fucking Brenner. I found his car parked nearby. I waited for him, but he didn't show. Probably hiding, waiting for me to leave.' He gave a hard smile. 'I let the bastard's tyres down, so I hope he was.'