‘I understand,’ Lol said.
‘Don’t even make notes, you only need the sense of this.’
‘OK.’
‘I’ve been doing PNC checks for Andy – police computer, yeah?’
‘Right.’
‘And following stuff up. I’m good with computers, it’s my thing. Checked out a number of people connected with the Plascarreg, which you don’t need to know about. The one you do need to know about is Jonathan Swift.’
‘The writer?’
‘It’s a guy in Ludlow who Andy asked me to check a few days ago. He calls himself something else there, but this is the name in which his car’s registered. He hasn’t got a record, but I’m always suspicious when there’s a name change involved, so I made a few calls. We had a previous address for him in Cheshire, near Stockport, so I belled a bloke I was at the police college with, works at Greater Manchester Police. Keeping it off the record. And he put me onto another guy, OK? I’m stressing again that this is unofficial, Mr Robinson, and only for (a) Andy, (b) the vicar, right? My neck’s gonner be on the block here.’
‘Is this a man called Jonathan Scole?’
‘That’s correct. His real name’s Swift, and the crux of it is his parents were shot dead. Both of them. They… you there, Mr Robinson?’
‘Yes.’
‘You on your own?’
Lol caught Jane’s eye, pointed at the door. ‘Yes.’
‘All right: Swift’s parents ran a transport caff – greasy spoon, yeah? They were shot as they were leaving at closing time, just before midnight. Takings stolen. I remember this one, actually, although no reason you would. Major police hunt, but nobody ever caught. Very efficient. Head shots with a handgun. Well, no shortage of them in the Manchester area these days.’
‘Recently?’ Lol nodded as Jane shrugged and slipped out, with Eirion.
‘Last year. I’ve got the date somewhere, but that don’t matter. Bit of a puzzler, though, because the takings came to just over three hundred. Peanuts, in other words. Two people shot dead at close range, for three hundred? Even in Manchester, you don’t get that. It was on Crimewatch and they got zilch from the public. It was all very carefully planned, and kids after money for drugs aren’t that careful, take my word.’
‘And so… what’s the significance?’
‘Contract killing,’ Karen said. ‘That’s the whisper. That’s the unspoken. Not a shred of evidence, mind.’
‘The parents were, like, underworld figures?’
‘Good God, no, they were respectable people who worked day and night and didn’t even have any points on their driving licences. Contract killing en’t what it used to be, Mr Robinson. Too many guns about now, and too many evil little buggers who’ll do it for a thousand or less.’
‘So this guy in Ludlow changed his name… because his parents were murdered?’
‘He changed his name, originally, on police advice, because people started pointing the finger. Collected a lot of money, see – sale of a house, sale of a café to a national chain looking for a site. Now, he was personally in the clear – away on a business-studies course. Full alibi. But, as I say, neighbours and friends of Mr and Mrs Swift were whispering about terrible domestic rows. Had a temper on him, see. Not a happy family.’
‘Look,’ Lol said, feeling his chest going tight, ‘can you spell this out? What are we worrying about, in particular? I don’t know this guy, but I think Merrily does.’
‘Well, Mr Robinson, I don’t know, do I? I’m just passing on what I’ve discovered. It might be something or nothing. But I’d feel real bad if I hadn’t passed it on and then something happened. Which is why I’m telling you now rather than wait till Andy shows up. And that’s another problem, ennit?’
‘If I’m allowed to write your number down,’ Lol said, ‘I’ll call you back if I hear from Andy.’
‘That would be very good of you, long as you remember—’
‘Don’t talk to anyone else, if you’re not there.’
‘That’s exactly right,’ Karen said.
Jane didn’t even ask who he’d been talking to. She pressed him into a chair in the kitchen, knelt down facing him, gripping the chair arms.
‘Lol, listen… just listen, and then answer the questions. When Jack Fine from Q magazine came, what exactly—?’
‘Jane, we need to swap over.’ Lol pushed himself up, patting his jeans to make sure he had his car keys. ‘You need to stay here, and I have to go over to Ludlow.’
‘Huh? Mum is OK, isn’t she?’
‘I’m sure she’s fine. Just some things I need to tell her.’
‘What things?’
Jane’s eyes were concentrated and glittering with so much awareness it was scary. Age of transition: old enough to drive, almost old enough to vote for a new government and get drunk in pubs with the state’s blessing. Old enough to have no more adult so-called secrets being whispered behind your back.
But telling her about her mother and a man who the police didn’t like because his parents had been shot dead… and about the kids on the Plascarreg who’d shown Robbie Walsh what it was like to be hanged… how could any of this really help?
‘You’re feeling sidelined, aren’t you? Out of it,’ Jane said. ‘She never thinks about that.’
‘She doesn’t have time.’
‘You make too many excuses for her. Sometimes she needs to put her own relationship first. Yeah, OK, do it. You go, we’ll stay. But first, we need to ask you some things.’
‘It’s called The Weir House, right, and it’s down below the castle, near the river?’
‘She might not even be there now. Lol—’
‘It’s a small town, I’ll find her.’
‘Lol, you can spare, like, ten… OK, five… five minutes? You do want to know who set you up, don’t you? The anonymous notes?’
‘It was a little kid. I’ve just—’
‘It was a big kid, actually.’
‘Lol,’ Eirion said, ‘she’s right, for once. This is heavier than you know. For starters, Jack Fine’s not from Q magazine, he’s this bastard I go to school with, and he was here purely to get information out of you. I don’t want to hold you up or anything, but basically Jane recognized him and this morning we went to his dad’s house to face him up.’
‘His dad publishes magazines,’ Jane said. ‘He used to be a national-paper journalist, and now he publishes all kinds of trade and, like, professional magazines and junk like that. He also tips off the papers on stories, and the son, J.D. Fyneham – Jack Fine – his personal weekend job is on much the same lines. He’s got all this desktop publishing kit, and he does this church-magazine scam, and he’s open for commissions and it seems to me he’s not fussy where they come from.’
‘We got so far with him,’ Eirion said, ‘and then it became clear there were people he was more intimidated by than, like, Jane.’
‘What, you mean he edits the Yardies’ international newsletter?’ Lol stood up. ‘Look, guys, I’m sure this is significant stuff I’ll really want to know about… tonight?’
‘Just tell us what questions Fyneham asked you,’ Eirion said. ‘And then you can go, and we’ll stop here by the phone.’
‘Well, he… he did try to find out about Merrily and me. I suspect he’d heard something, but I headed him off. I said I wasn’t in any particular relationship at present.’
‘Oh, we know he’d heard something,’ Eirion said. ‘In fact, any day now you could open the Sun and find, like, “Villagers have been shocked by the violent love-affair between their woman vicar and a rock singer with a conviction for a sex offence.” Well, more guarded than that, obviously…’
‘He’s not kidding, Lol,’ Jane said, watching his eyes.