‘I’m so… so sorry.’
‘These things happen.’ Stock was beside her, sour with sweat.
‘I switched it off. I was sure I’d switched it off. I distinctly remember switching it off.’
‘You don’t understand.’ He leaned his face into hers, suddenly almost aggressive, his eyes red and squinting in the full sun. ‘These… things… happen here. They happen. I thought you knew this stuff.’
In a pocket of Merrily’s cassock, the mobile phone went again.
‘Answer it,’ Stock said. ‘Go on… answer it. There’ll be nobody there. I guarantee there’ll be nobody there.’
‘Don’t go,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to go.’
Skirt hitched up, shoes kicked off, she was squatting at the top end of the bed, her head back against the wooden wall. She raised a hand. A double click, and two of the bulkhead lights went out, leaving only the one over the bed still on. She was very much in shadow now, and there was no doubt at all any more. She was from his dreams.
‘Look.’ She was reaching down now, to the side of the bed, then underneath. A rustling. ‘Remember…’
Merrily had left very quickly, making the sign of the cross, then almost stumbling down the stairs, with her phone still screeching; she couldn’t seem to switch it off. Stock was right behind her, Lol making to follow, until Stephanie had called him, sultry siren in a slippery tennis dress, slipping off. She glanced down at it, then back at Lol, blinking hard as if trying to wake up. ‘He won’t come back,’ she said rapidly. ‘He’ll see the vicar off and then he’ll go to the pub, drink himself stupid, come crawling home in the early hours. Collapse on the couch, like the sad pig he’s become.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘What’s to be sorry about?’ She lifted a forefinger, crooking it at him. Baring her teeth. She said something he didn’t understand, which began with a sibilance. ‘Usha…’ He didn’t like it. He started down the wooden steps. It was the sound that made him look back – he had to – and he saw her haloed under the utility lamp, fingered by the slitted sunlight.
Garlanded again.
‘… A kam mangela.’
She was breathing hard, her breath surrounding her, it seemed, like a chilled mist.
‘I warn you,’ he heard, ‘don’t say no to me now.’
The voice came rolling warmly out of the phone, so loud Merrily had to pull it away from her ear. Stock heard and hmmmphed and walked away, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets.
‘Merrily! Wasn’t sure I’d get you. Knew you couldn’t be in church, this time of day. Least, I thought you wouldn’t.’
‘Charlie?’
‘You had lunch yet, Merrily?’
‘Charlie, listen, I’m with somebody right now.’
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ Charlie Howe said. ‘Just that I’ve got some information for you, my dear. Talking to Brother Morrell last night about this sad business with the Shelbone girl, and a couple of things rather clicked into place, and I thought… I thought you ought to know about them, that’s all. And, of course, I also thought you might like some lunch.’
‘Well, thanks, but… actually, I don’t feel too hungry. I was thinking of—Well, it’s been a complicated morning.’
‘A coffee, then. I’ll be here for an hour or so yet.’
‘Where?’
‘The Green Dragon in Broad Street? If you don’t manage to show up, look, give me a ring tonight – though I’ll be out till quite late. But you might find it worth your while, I’ll say n’more than that.’
‘All right. Thanks. That’s very good of—Charlie, how did you get this number?’
He laughed. ‘That Sophie Hill’s a hard one to crack, but her armour’s got its weak points, like everyone else’s. My, you do sound a bit subdued, girl. Nothing else going wrong in your life, is there? Can’t take on all the troubles of the world.’
‘No.’ She saw Gerard Stock walking back towards her and realized how badly she wanted to get away from here. ‘I’ll try and get over there. I’ll do my best.’
Gerard Stock had made an irritable circuit of the yard and, as he came beefing back, she saw the change at once and got in first.
‘Gerard, would you do something for me?’ He looked suspicious. ‘If I give you some prayers, would you be sure to say them?’
He stared at her.
‘I’ve got some appropriate ones printed out in a case in the car,’ she said. ‘I’d like you to say them at specific times. Both of you, if possible. If not… one of you will do.’
‘That going to help, is it, Merrily?’
For the first time, he was challenging her. Was this because she’d quite clearly messed up in there? Or was it because his wife was no longer with them? So where is she? And where’s Lol?
‘It will help,’ she assured him. ‘But I’d also like to come back again. I think this may need more attention. And more preparation than we were able to give it today.’
‘You and liddle Lol?’
She sighed. ‘Like I said, I’ve known Lol Robinson for some time, although I didn’t know he was living here. He’s somebody I can trust, that’s all.’
‘He’s a bloody psychotherapist. That why you brought him? Just tell me the truth.’
‘No. Really.’ She shook her head. ‘And he’s not yet officially a therapist, anyway.’
‘So what was it that made up your mind?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘What I’m asking’ – he tilted his head, scrutinizing her sideways – ‘is what happened, liddle lady, to make you decide I wasn’t after all just a scheming townie trying to shaft his neighbours?’
‘I’d never decided you were.’
‘Because something did happen in there, didn’t it?’
She took a breath. ‘All right, something happened.’
‘So tell me. I’ve got to go on living here.’
‘Tell me something. What does sulphur mean to you?’
‘Why?’
‘Is there anything around here that might… or might once have… released sulphur fumes?’
‘Not now. Not any more.’
‘Meaning what?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ll show you.’
She followed him back into the kitchen. The gloom seemed at once oppressive – or was she imagining that? He went straight to the wall where the implements hung, brought down a short pole with what looked like an ashpan from a stove or grate attached. He sniffed at it.
‘Can’t smell anything now.’ He thrust it towards her. ‘Can you?’
‘What is it?’
‘Was known, I’m told, as a brimstone tray. Used for feeding rolls of sulphur into the furnace.’
‘Why’d they do that?’
‘Some sort of fumigation. It also apparently made the drying hops turn yellow, which the brewers preferred for some reason. Made the beer look even more like piss, I don’t know. I don’t think they do it any more.’
‘Would sulphur have any special interest for Stewart Ash? Can you think of—?’
‘You’re saying you smelled sulphur.’
‘Quite powerfully.’
He tilted his head again. ‘Fire and brimstone… Merrily?’
‘That was what it smelled like. Could be argued it was subjective, I suppose.’
‘Oh… subjective.’ Stock held the wooden shaft of the brimstone tray with both hands like a spade. ‘There’s a good psychologist’s word. Why don’t we ask Lol what he thinks?’
‘Like you said, things are inclined to go awry in there. A few minor elements which, when you put them together, suggest a volatile atmosphere. Not necessarily connected with the murder of Stewart Ash.’