Mean Spirit

Otherwise, yeah, it’s very like the face you drew. Got the scar when he died, maybe?’

‘He was shot in the back of the head,’ Maiden said.

‘Oh.’

‘I believe he got the scar in prison.’

‘So he did have a scar.’

‘If not several. According to Seward, another inmate with a longstanding grudge surprised Clarence in the prison library. With a fish slice he’d nicked from the kitchens. And sharpened.’

Grayle winced. She was probably thinking about hedging tools and a dead man in a ditch. Maiden hesitated.

Grayle took a breath. ‘Just finish the story, Bobby.’

‘It’s really about what Clarence did next. He’s half-blinded by the blood, according to Seward, but still manages to push the guy’s head through the back of a free-standing bookshelf. OK? Leaving his face sticking out among the books, like in a pillory?’

‘Uh-oh,’ Grayle said.

‘And he can’t get free, and he’s hanging there. And then Clarence goes around the other side and props up these leather-bound encyclopedias against the guy’s ears on either side for further support. And then he starts hitting him. For … well, for a long time. It was said the blood spread so far that the library had to throw away more than a hundred books.’

‘This was in the pen? Where were the … wardens … the guards?’

‘Oh, well they were attending to a small disturbance elsewhere. It probably didn’t even involve a bribe — none of the screws would’ve lost sleep over something unpleasant happening to Clarence. They hate people prison life doesn’t seem to bother, and nothing ever got to Clarence. If you spat in his food, Seward says, he’d eat it all up in front of you and ask for seconds. And then he’d bide his time, but eventually he’d come and “visit” you, as he liked to put it.’

‘Jesus. And this is what… visits Callard? I take everything back. No wonder she’s so fucked up. Jeez, I only have to look at that drawing and I’m …’ Grayle shuddered.

Marcus said, ‘You ever come across this man personally, Maiden?’

‘No, I didn’t know him at all. Clarence would’ve been doing his bird when I was at the Met. I’ve just been having a quick look at Seward’s book. Looked up Judge in the index. Lots of references. Clarence has rare qualities, Seward says. Possibly the only person he truly admires, apart from Lady Thatcher.’

‘Hold on,’ Grayle said. ‘Let’s get back to the scar. Were there no pictures of him with this scar from the fish-slice attack?’

Maiden thought about it. ‘I don’t know. None that I’m aware of. With a scar like that you can understand him keeping a low profile.’

‘So you can categorically state that you never saw a picture of it?’

‘Not categorically. But I’m pretty sure. It could be artistic licence, though, couldn’t it? We’re never going to know for certain unless we dig him up and call in a facial reconstruction expert.’

‘So, Bobby — let’s just get this right — you only know what the scar looked like from Callard’s description, that it was like half of a pair of glasses. In fact it may not be quite like you’ve drawn it here, but we’ll never know. OK, let’s deal with the other rational explanation. What if Callard deliberately fed us this image of the face, with the glasses’ scar? Maybe planted the whole idea of this Clarence. And even Seward, with his peculiar laugh.’

‘Except that it was Les Hole who first mentioned Seward,’ Maiden said.

Marcus looked pained. ‘Underhill, why would she anyway?’

‘I have no idea. I’m exhausting rational possibilities, is all. It still makes no sense to me why she suddenly skipped out last night, and it doesn’t to you, Marcus, if you’d only admit it.’

Marcus was silent.

‘So let’s look at the crank stuff,’ Grayle said. ‘Spirit drawings. It’s a common enough thing for an artist to be present at a seance, right?’

Cindy, who’d been absorbing all this stuff in silence, said, ‘And the artist does not necessarily have to be a medium. Sometimes he or she works the same way as I believe police artists do, creating the face according to the instructions of the medium. And on occasion,’ Cindy coughed lightly, ‘this is done without them even speaking.’

‘The image gets transferred mentally,’ Grayle said. ‘It sounds crazy, but I’ve seen this happen.’

‘Usually, I think,’ Cindy said softly, ‘when there is, er, a close personal link between the medium and the, er, artist.’

Marcus stiffened, directed a hard look at Bobby. Grayle made no comment.

Cindy said, ‘What were your feelings, Bobby, when you were doing this drawing? What sensations were you experiencing?’

‘I can’t remember. I can’t remember doing the drawing. All I have a clear memory of is Seffi saying, “He’s touching me”, and me diving at her. And then the window bursting.’

Grayle wondered what might have happened at this point if the window hadn’t exploded. ‘This gets us nowhere,’ she said hastily. ‘What actually happened to Judge?’

‘From what I can remember,’ Bobby said, ‘his body was found in a rubbish skip somewhere. He’d been shot in the back of the head. It was assumed it was a gangland killing. Only one shot, close range. Looked professional. No-one was ever caught.’

‘When was this?’

‘Over a year ago.’ He opened the paperback. ‘I assume this edition’s only just out. In the front here, Seward’s written a ridiculous kind of eulogy to the old thug, also offering a large reward for information leading to his killer. He says he’ll hand any new information over to the police immediately. I think that’s where we’re supposed to laugh.’

‘What exactly was Clarence to Seward?’

‘Minder, enforcer. Basically, what he did to that bloke in the prison for free was what he did professionally to people on the outside.’

‘Oh boy,’ Grayle said sombrely. ‘If we believe Callard, both of them were present at this Sir Barber’s party in Cheltenham. One of them alive, one-’

‘Quite.’ Marcus gave a short cough. ‘Er … no matter how bizarre it seems, we probably have to consider this is what we’re looking at. The planned reuniting of the ex-criminal, Seward, and this … this Clarence Judge … across the, ah … the, ah …’

‘I think the word you’re groping for, Marcus, is, uh, grave. Question: was this Seward intent on using Callard to reach his dead pal, Clarence? Was that what this whole Cheltenham charade was about?’

‘We know he is obsessed with spiritualism,’ Bobby said. ‘We know he has used mediums to try and contact his mother because it’s in the book. And we know he was shattered and angry — almost affronted — by Judge’s murder.’

‘And we know’, Grayle felt suddenly very excited, ‘that he was real determined to find out who the killer was, because he was offering … how much, Bobby?’

‘Up to twenty grand.’

‘Strange, huh? That’s close to what Callard was paid to put on a seance.’

‘Right,’ Bobby said, ‘we also have reason to think that it was Seward, not Barber, who was putting up the cash that night. That Barber was a front, presumably because Seward suspected Seffi would refuse to do it if she knew she was being employed by someone like him.’

‘Right! Hey, this is cool. Seward, who believes firmly in this stuff, is investing twenty grand in Callard being able to put him in contact with Clarence so that — this is it, guys — so he can find out from Clarence who it was shot him!’

‘Good God,’ Marcus said.

‘It adds up,’ Bobby admitted. ‘Seward’s making no secret of being determined to find out who killed his friend, but the underlying truth there might be that Judge and Seward have the same enemies, and Seward’s watching his own back. He’s thinking: they got Clarence, am I going to be next? Yeah. I can accept, given his beliefs, that he would set this up.’

‘I can see this whole thing,’ Grayle said. ‘Seward stays in the background until Callard says, “I’m getting a guy coming through with like weird eyes and a funny scar. He’s got a message for Gary. Do we have a