‘Mr Lackland,’ Amanda said, a small audience, mainly kids, forming behind her, ‘you were reported this morning to be calling for an exorcism here. And now this happens. Do you see a connection?’
‘Not in so many words,’ George said. ‘You know me, Amanda, we’ve had many a drink together in the Feathers, and you know I only act on what I believe the majority of people here would want me to—’
‘I’m sorry, George,’ Amanda said. ‘Could we start again, without the personal stuff; this is likely to go network.’ She turned to the cameraman. ‘Can you wipe that, Neil?’
George had clearly done this before, many times, knew how to kill a question he didn’t want to answer. Amanda was repositioning them for a second take when Merrily heard the voice of the policewoman, Kelly, from the other side of the castle gate.
‘Where’s he gone? Mr Longbeach!’
Lol hugged Merrily quickly and went to the gate.
‘All right, you can go in, Mr Longbeach,’ Kelly said. ‘Across the green, over the bridge, through the gate at the big tower. Sergeant Britton will be there. Don’t talk to anyone but Sergeant Britton, you understand?’
‘Thank you,’ Lol said.
The sun was hanging like a tarnished penny over distant Mid-Wales hills as they opened the castle gate for Lol, a diminutive figure in his Gomer Parry Plant Hire sweatshirt.
Merrily stared: what was he doing?
His interview over, George spotted Merrily and came across. They were almost alone on the square now, except for police, press people and the couple with the Power of God placard, who had been away and come back. The cameraman was trying to shoot the placard, instructing them not to look into the camera.
‘Come and have a coffee, Mrs Watkins,’ George said.
‘Just had some tea, thanks. I’m fine.’
‘You’re wasting your time, they’re not gonner let you in.’
‘No.’ She knew how pathetic she must be looking. ‘George…
‘You want to come back to the house, talk to Nancy?’
‘George, what happened between you and Bell?’
She was watching his face and saw it flinch. Saw his whole frame rock, the way a telegraph pole sometimes seemed to when hit by a sudden gust. But George recovered quickly.
‘Mrs Watkins, I think I told you and Bernard that I have as little as possible to do with the woman.’
‘Yes, but why?’
‘Because she’s not my type of person.’
‘All right. The petition, then.’ She leaned against the great cannon. ‘Why did you feel the need to manufacture that petition? What do you care about exorcizing Marion de la Bruyère? Reflecting public demand? Bollocks, George. There virtually isn’t any.’
‘Not the most seemly language from a lady of the cloth.’
‘Why don’t you let those poor people take their placard home? They’d much rather be watching Casualty.’
‘Not very well disposed towards you, are they?’ the Mayor said. ‘Those folks in the castle.’
‘You’re changing the subject.’
‘Woman with white hair and a dog collar? Doesn’t seem to like you at all.’
‘Nice try, George.’ She looked across at the TV team, on the corner of Mill Street. ‘Could be a long night for Amanda. I wonder if she’d like another interview, expressing serious doubts that anyone’s interested in disposing of Marion. As such. Only that someone might be hoping someone else might be damaged in the… in the slipstream of an exorcism. Or is cleansing a better word? A general cleansing. The removal of something dirty. Which wouldn’t necessarily be my word, but might be yours, Mr Mayor.’
George adjusted his watch-chain. ‘Leave this alone, Mrs Watkins. You’re on your own here. Even Bernard’s keeping his head down. Besides, you’re not even wearing your clerical uniform.’ He looked across at Amanda. ‘She wouldn’t—’
‘Amanda knows me. I’m like you, done this before. Learned how to use the media to put the cat among the pigeons. And sometimes to take the cat away before it does any damage. Not that I normally go in for that. I just… don’t seem to have much to lose tonight.’
‘I can’t talk about it.’ George backed away. ‘Not to a woman.’
‘Oh, you can,’ Merrily said softly. ‘I’m very non-judgemental. And awfully discreet.’
‘Please…’
‘And it’s not as if you were the first. Just the first citizen.’
The Inner Bailey was more impressive and better preserved than you would have expected from outside. A serious bit of building: walls and towers, archways and openings. Defensive holes expanded into stone window frames, entrances exposing stone stairways spiralling into the dark.
And it was quite dark in here; the retreating sun, already cloaked in aspiring rain clouds, had slipped away behind the outer walls, and Lol was feeling the chill of second thoughts.
‘Just that they weren’t expecting you,’ Sergeant Britton told him.
‘No. Sorry about the casual…’ Lol tugged at his Gomer Parry sweatshirt. ‘I just had the message from the Bishop’s office, and I thought, better not waste any time.’
‘Not to worry – they said you were slightly unconventional, sir.’
In the centre of the inner space was a squat round tower with a Norman arch and a mullioned window but no roof. A group of people had assembled outside it, mainly uniformed police and paramedics. Lol kept his distance.
‘How’s the girl?’
‘Sitting tight. Nearly four hours now. Dr Saltash is convinced she has absolutely no intention of doing it, just wants an audience.’ Steve Britton sniffed. ‘Wouldn’t bet on it, meself. She’ll be quite rational one minute, accepting a pack of sandwiches, can of Coke… and then she’s back up into the window space, all hunched up. And you know that all she’s gotter do is lean gently back and it’s all over.’
‘Salt— Nigel’s talking to her himself?’
‘Sandy Gee, our family liaison officer – she’s doing most of the talking, sometimes the Canon, when the girl starts on about being possessed. Dr Saltash is watching and making observations, offering advice. He says he’ll come out and talk to you in a few minutes, if you just hang on here. There’s really not that much space in there, and they don’t want her to feel crowded or threatened.’
‘When you say possessed? Things were a bit rushed. The Bishop’s office didn’t have time to explain much on the phone.’
‘They watch too much TV, sir. Too many DVDs. And what was in the morning papers didn’t help, obviously. All I know is she apparently turned up this morning, hung around for a couple of hours, found nothing was happening and got herself in a state. Then she sees the scaffolding in the tower, and up she goes. First she’s come to kill herself, then she’s waiting for the exorcism. Confused.’
‘Have they… done anything? Any kind of…’
‘Mumbo-jumbo? Sorry, sir, forgetting who I’m talking to. Long day. No, Dr Saltash advises against it, and I think he’s probably right. In my experience, you need to calm people like this down, not overexcite them.’
‘Sarge!’ The policewoman, Kelly, appeared by the gatehouse, holding up a mobile phone. ‘DI Bliss, Hereford. They’ve found the parents. They were shopping in Worcester.’
‘OK,’ Steve Britton said. ‘Better have a word. Excuse me, Mr Longbeach.’
And so Lol was on his own when Saltash came out of the castle.
Never seen him before, but there could be no mistake. Something in the walk, something in the cursory inspection of the police and paramedics gathered by the sawn-off round tower.
Sometimes, Lol wondered if there really was some trait, some aspect of demeanour, that united psychiatrists or if it was simply something that he projected on men once he knew that this was what they did. And they were men, nearly all of them. Maybe most women didn’t have the arrogance for it. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to sleep so easily.