Candlenight

'Giles himself was particularly anxious people should believe it was a fall. I think he was embarrassed. Does that make sense to you?'

'I guess it does. Say the two guys are arrested, there's a court case. And then everybody working with Giles in London knows he got beat up on. In his beloved Wales. Yeah, I can buy that. No way would he want that out, the poor sucker.'

Bethan squeezed his hand on the wheel. 'I am so relieved. I was worried you would think we covered it up to protect ourselves.'

'Guto, yes. You, no. So who were they, these guys?'

'Just yobs. Troublemakers. Guto threw one in the castle ditch. I would know them again. We all would.'

'If it came out,' Berry wondered, 'is there any way we could use it to turn the heat on this thing? This guy, Inspector Jones—'

'Gwyn Arthur.'

'Yeah. Seemed approachable.'

'He is a nice man. But Giles did not die as a result of the attack. What could Gwyn Arthur really do now?'

'If only there'd been an inquest…'

'But what would it reveal? The medical evidence says he had an enormous tumour. What I would ask is, why did he develop the tumour? Why did Robin develop leukaemia?

Why did the hiker hang himself by the river? Why did the professor…? It's not something an inquest can go into, is it?'

'Paranoid delusions, Beth. Bethan. Listen, this may seem a distinctly American way of looking at things, and I apologise in advance, but is there anybody we could beat the truth out of?'

'Not my style,' Bethan said.

'Naw, me neither.'

'I am glad to hear it. But, look, there are still people we can talk to. I know… Why don't you stop at the next phone box.'

'We aren't gonna see any dead people, are we?' Berry was uncomfortable. He hated these places.

'Don't be a wimp. They cannot harm you.'

He shuddered. 'Bad enough seeing those pictures of Giles.'

'I know,' Bethan said quietly. 'I was there when they were taken.'

'Jesus, I'm sorry.' He kissed the top of her head. 'Forgive me?'

'I shall think about it.' she said.

'Bethan, is that you?'

'Hello, Dai. Where are you?'

'In the embalming room, come on through.'

Berry felt his legs giving way.

'Only kidding,' the bald man said, pushing through the purple curtains. 'Oh, I'm sorry, Bethan. I thought you had Guto with you. Bugger won't go within a mile of the embalming room, see.' He chuckled.

Bethan said, 'This is Berry Morelli. He and Guto have a similar attitude to death.'

Dai shook hands with Berry. The undertaker's hand was mercifully dry, no traces of embalming fluid. 'Morelli. Italian, is it? You want to go to that pizza place next door, show the buggers how to do it properly.'

Berry shook his head. 'No way you can teach an Englishman to make a pizza.'

'This could be true.' Dai said. 'The trouble with an Englishman, however, is he doesn't believe there is anything he cannot do. Come through to the office.'

The office looked out over a cleanly swept, white-walled yard. Over the top of the end wall they could see a segment of Pontmeurig castle.

There were four hard chairs with purple velvet seats and a desk. It had a phone on it and a diary, four brass coffin handles and a thickset man with crinkly grey hair.

Bethan said, 'Berry, this is Idwal Pugh. He is the mayor of Pontmeurig.'

'Hi, Mayor.' Berry said, shaking Idwal's hand. 'Berry Morelli. Don't get up.'

'I can never quite bring myself to sit on a chair in here,' Idwal Pugh said, short legs dangling over the side of the desk. 'Don't want to feel I'm here on business, see.'

'One day,' said Dai, 'we'll bring you in feet first, you bugger. Now, Bethan…'

'This is difficult.' Bethan said. 'And in confidence, please.'

'Of course,' Dai said. 'Sit down. I have told Big Gladys to make some tea.'

'Idwal, you remember that night at the Drovers… Well, of course you do.'

'Oh that night,' Idwal said. 'I told you, we should have gone to—' He looked at Berry in alarm. 'Not police, this chap, is he?'

'He's a friend of Giles,' Bethan said. And of mine. No, he's not police.'

'Only, I thought, with this, you know—'

'Idwal, relax.' Dai said. 'I am not so short of work that I want you to have a stroke.'

'And we were talking,' Bethan said, 'that night, before the trouble, about Y Groes, if you remember. Dai was annoyed that Giles Freeman had managed to secure a house there when he could not. And you said—'

'I suppose I said I would not want to live there myself.'

'Correct,' Bethan said. 'You said I think, that it was ungodly. Why did you say that?'

'What are you getting at here. Bethan?'

'Just tell me why you said that.'

'Well, I suppose… I'm a chapel man, see. Always been a chapel man.'

'Yes, and the only chapel in Y Groes is Dilwyn Dafis's garage before it was converted.'

'Well, see, it isn't just that…' Idwal began to fill his pipe. 'This is only my own thoughts, Bethan.'

'Yes, fine. Go on.'

'Well, this is a non-conformist area. Every village has at least one chapel.'

'At least,' Bethan said.

'But I remember, when I was a youngster, my dad telling me how they almost had to have a missionary expedition to take the Chapel to Y Groes. Known as Y Groesfan then, the crossing place. And the only village without a chapel. Only the other side of the Nearly Mountains, but it might have been some pagan place in Africa, the way they campaigned and raised the money.'

'Who campaigned?' Berry asked.

'Ah, well, see, this is the point. There was a farmer — I forget his name — who moved up towards Eglwys Fawr for a bigger farm and became a convert to the Chapel. And he still kept a field in Y Groesfan, on the edge of the village there. And he said, I will give this field for a chapel to be built there, and everybody began to raise money, in Eglwys, in Pont, in chapels down as far as Lampeter and Cardigan. It became a… how do you say it in English…?'

'Cause celebre?' said Berry.

'Exactly. A cause celebre. Everybody gave money for the new chapel in Y Groesfan. And I am asking myself why. What was there in the history of this village that everybody should instinctively put their hands in their pockets to raise the money for a chapel, when there was no demand from the inhabitants. No demand whatsoever, even though many doors were knocked upon and Bibles proffered.'

'But surely, it's a church village?'

'Pah!' said Idwal, puffing contemptuously on his pipe.

'So they raised the money and they built the chapel.' Bethan said. 'What happened then?'

'Oh, it went very well for a time. Like, as I say, a missionary conquest of some pagan place in Africa. People travelled from miles around to attend services at the new chapel. Like a pilgrimage, see. The first motor coach outings from Pont were to Y Groes — they'd got the name changed now, as well, to reflect its new status. The Cross. Oh, it was wonderful, for a while.'

'And what happened?' said Berry.

Idwal shrugged. 'Some say it was the war. Or that it was like everything that burns so bright. Soon extinguished. But myself, I think there is something in that place that needs to be cleaned out before the Lord can