To Dream of the Dead

’Twas strange that people there should walk

And yet I could not hear them talk.

Thomas Traherne ‘Shadows in the Water’

‘No such thing,’ Bliss said. ‘Not yet.’

‘No?’

‘Well, all right, we’re getting killers who are close to inhuman. When they become totally inhuman, detectives will be redundant. Nothing to go on. Nothing to get hold of. I don’t wanna be doing this job when that happens.’

Seven o’clock Christmas night.

‘It wasn’t even rage that did for him,’ Bliss said. ‘Nothing so over-the-top. It was much smaller, a much more human thing — he was aggrieved. He’d been taken advantage of. Exploited. Even wairse…’ Bliss could feel his accent dipping into the Mersey. ‘He’d been asked to do something beneath him. He’d been dissed. He was being treated like the odd job man — oh, and on your way, Gregory, if you could just pop into the church. And buy a spray can, would you, there’s a good boy.’

‘Spends years refining a technique,’ Annie Howe said. ‘Has this image of himself as a well-oiled killing machine. And he’s made a lot of money — an increasing amount of money. And he’s realised that the further up- market his clients are — like Lasky — the less chance he has of being nicked.’

‘Yeh, but what he may’ve taken a while to realise is that his clients don’t see him as a fellow businessman. They don’t respect him — not like he, in some way, respects them — you heard the way he talked about Blore. Admiring. This big, confident git with a professorship and a world-class reputation and his own TV show. But when you hear Blore talk about Glyn…’

‘Not that he has yet,’ Annie said.

‘He will. Sooner or later, he will. He won’t be able to hold it in. Not with Glyn running off at the mouth. Some of what Glyn’s been saying — when we tell him — will offend Blore deeply. Hit him right in the intellect.’

‘All right,’ Annie said. ‘So they used him to mess up the church.’

‘Daft idea. Overkill. They always went that bit too far, like with Ayling. Glyn’s feeling put-on, demeaned, and when this mad woman comes out of the shadows, calling him satanic, demonic, screaming the place down… what’s he gonna do? What can he do?’

‘Stooke was to have been knifed, too, I take it?’ Annie said. ‘Until someone thought, why not take advantage of the conditions? Blore, I’d guess?’

‘Merrily tells me there’s a quote from the Bible about the Antichrist being drowned before the Endtime… it’s not perfect but it’ll do. But Glyn’s a knifie. He doesn’t like this idea. But because of his respect for Blore, a famous man who still likes a beer with the lads, he’ll do it. Waiting out there. Gives Stooke a shout. Here, mate, giss a hand. But although he’s stronger and fitter it’s bloody hard work. Put the blade in, the target’s disabled immediately. This way, the target’s fighting back, fighting for his life, and you get pissed wet through. Plus, you’ve gorra hit him and stuff. I’ll be interested to see the PM report, what other damage has been done.’

‘The worst aspect of this,’ Annie said, ‘is that Glyn is not, by any normal definition, a psycho. He is — and, ironically, Frederick West was another example — a man doing a job, to the best of his fairly considerable abilities.’

‘We’re having to move the goalposts,’ Bliss said. ‘In the old days no remorse was the primary symptom of a psychopath. Nowadays, it’s almost the norm in the criminal classes. Conscience is an anachronism. Now whether you could put that down to… what Merrily Watkins, say, would put it down to… I don’t know.’

‘I’m not sure what I know any more.’

Annie rolled over on to her back. Her breasts were quite a bit smaller than Kirsty’s and her body was more angular. Her face — most of the time — was more than a touch severe. You could see her bones. Feel her bones. Bliss put a hand on Annie’s bare stomach. He could feel the gym in her.

Well, that was OK. It was all OK, really.

And what he really loved — hold on, back off, Frannie — what he was loving was the cop pillow talk. You got home after a result, you were high on it, and Kirsty never wanted to know. You did not bring felons into the bedroom.

At some stage, he’d start to hate himself again, about Kirsty and the kids. It was his fault. No question. He hadn’t even tried to save it this time. Hell, he’d put a wedge into the split.

He’d nipped over with the presents mid morning, left them in the porch at the farm, buggered off quick. Too soon to discuss visiting rights. Then back to his house in Marden, where she was waiting. She’d even cleaned the place up a bit. Well… changed the duvet cover. Would’ve been safer to go to Malvern, but they both needed to get back to Gaol Street later. So much to do. So many long hours of interrogation on the schedule. Frigging sublime.

‘Something’s just struck me,’ he said. ‘Do you reckon it’s conceivable that some small portion of our council tax will have helped pay for the murders of Clement Ayling and Mathew Elliot Stooke?’

‘Francis — do not even ponder the question.’

‘Hmm. Leonora? Much more to come from her?’

‘Thought it was going to be downhill all the way, Francis, but she’s quite clever. She’s realising that there might be a way of putting Blore firmly into the driving seat. Yes, she’d known him a while. Which she knew could be proved, because she did the pictures for a Sunday magazine feature on him about a year ago. It may well have started there. It was clearly a very strong physical attraction. And the way she talks about Stooke, it’s as if he’d served his purpose, time to move on. And, for some reason, he was becoming irritating. Starting to lose it — she said that twice. Lose what?’

‘I’ve talked to Mrs Watkins about this, and I’m definitely not going there, and nor will the CPS. Let’s just say there’s a lorra money to come from Stooke’s royalties. Most she’d get would be half if it was divorce. And Blore — not as rich as you might think. Three kids from a defunct marriage to maintain, apparently, down in Surrey. That’s what the CPS understand.’

Bliss kissed Annie’s neck. She put a slim hand over his hand on her stomach.

Charlie’s daughter.

Woooh.

They hadn’t talked much about Charlie, and he could tell she was in two minds, one of them thinking if it came out through Furneaux, well, at least it would be over. Probably no more than a minor sex-scandal, the procurement of women by Steve in the same way he procured drugs. Control. Except you could only control Charlie when he found it useful to seem to be under control.

Bliss had tentatively mentioned it to Annie about an hour ago. Annie who’d become like she was because of Charlie. Because she’d needed to put a big, big space between what she was and what Charlie Howe had been.

‘Whatever,’ she’d said, hand on the inside of Bliss’s thigh. ‘This will hurt him far more profoundly, if he ever finds out.’

‘And will he?’

‘Might do.’ And then she’d said, ‘I saw a picture of you and your wife on the sideboard downstairs. She’s rather beautiful, isn’t she?’

Bliss had raised himself up and looked down at the severe, angular face. He could’ve told her about the no felons in the bedroom rule and a lot of other stuff besides.

‘Annie,’ he said. ‘I’ve gorra tell you, this is one thing you just don’t understand.’

Later he woke up in the dark, the Acting Detective Superintendent still asleep, the curtains open, a scuzzy moon over the chimneys. It hadn’t rained for nearly a day. It could even be over.

Bliss and Annie had decided to go for it and nick Blore on suspicion of conspiracy to murder. While they were still waiting for the CPS, Blore had wandered into Gaol Street himself, mid morning. Casually bumptious. Thought he ought to drop in and make a statement about Gregory. He didn’t get to walk out. It would be hard going for a while, but when Blore worked out the depth of shite he was in, he might start off by giving them Lyndon Pierce to dilute the mix. And that would rebound.