‘Not that I recall, Francis, no. He seemed to spend most of it sitting there with his chin sunk into his chest, conveying a certain boredom with the proceedings.’
‘He leave with anybody?’
Terry Stagg had spoken to the Hereforward committee secretary, confirming times and stuff, but going over the same ground would often throw up an anomaly.
‘He left with me, actually,’ Steve said. ‘As I told your colleague.’
‘And what did you talk about?’
‘Oh… trivia. Date of the next planning meeting, that sort of—’
‘Did Hereforward have a view on the Dinedor Serpent?’
‘Ah,’ Steve said.
‘Because Clem Ayling had very definite views, didn’t he?’
‘Ah, well, you see, Clem…’ Steve leaned back on his stool. ‘I’m afraid poor old Clem couldn’t see the romance in it. Old-fashioned Herefordian, wanted the city to expand and prosper, offer more jobs and, yes, have its own university, he was with us on that…’
‘But couldn’t get excited about a trickle of gravel.’
‘No, I — Francis, where’s this going?’
‘You tell me, Steve.’
‘Well, we…’ Steve picking up his coffee for support. ‘We had quite a debate about the Serpent some months ago. Yes, the tourist potential of a world-famous prehistoric monument… if that’s what it is, we can’t easily ignore it.’
‘So, in saying it was worthless, Ayling was at odds with the rest of the committee?’
‘Ahm…’ Steve putting down his coffee. ‘Essentially, no. This was one of the few issues where Clem and the rest of us were broadly in agreement, although most of us were more tactful about how we phrased it.’
‘I see,’ Bliss said.
‘Obviously, if we’d been talking about something on the scale of Stonehenge… but, as you said yourself, this is a trickle of gravel. The tourism potential is always going to be minimal. That was how we saw it. And we certainly need that relief road — Hereford being the only substantial centre in the country without a bypass. This is a move in the right direction. Vital, really.’
‘Had to go through…’
‘
‘So Hereforward didn’t manage to come up with a brilliant compromise solution.’
‘We’re working on it. We’ve asked to be kept informed of developments. If the Serpent does turn out to be something unique, then it’s our job to capitalise on it. But the council would need some convincing, and the more they get slagged off from outside the more they’ll resist.’
‘Who’s been slagging them off? In particular.’
‘The archaeologist, Blore, didn’t help an awful lot did he? Considering we were paying him…’
‘Who were?’
‘Hereforward used him as a consultant on the Serpent.’
‘Must’ve been costly.’
‘Not particularly, and we wanted an educated viewpoint.’
Big name, more like, Bliss thought.
‘And then he shoots his mouth off to the media. My colleagues weren’t pleased.’
‘Why? Blore’s a notorious loose cannon. They’d been thinking they could buy his opinion?’
Steve shrugged, wiping his nose.
‘I hear he’s in charge of this other local dig now,’ Bliss said. ‘Ledwardine?’
‘Got in by the back door. Not our problem, that, thank God — strictly a local issue. Local councillor wanted us to intervene, but a bunch of upmarket houses is not the same as a road and I suppose big stones would have more tourist appeal than pebbles.’ Steve looked at his watch — wafer-thin, and an extra dial, probably for New York time. ‘I’m afraid I’ve a meeting at three at Ross and Belmont’s close to impassable, so if you have any
‘Would hate to hold you up, Steve. You look like a man in a hurry.’
‘Always,’ Steve said. ‘Surprised I haven’t seen you around, Francis. Which gym do you use?’
Bliss stared at him. This was a man who would get on well with Annie Howe. Christ, this man might even be able to
‘Out of interest,’ Bliss said. ‘You being a blue-sky thinker, Steve… a
‘I’m a planning officer. But, you’re right, Hereforward lets us off the mental leash.’
‘So who did it, Steve? Who killed Clement Ayling?’
‘You’re asking
He looked thrown for a moment. Kind of feller who’d hate ever to be caught without an informed opinion.
‘I was thinking you could give me a blue-sky idea,’ Bliss said. ‘An independent assessment.’
Steve Furneaux actually looked, for a moment, like he was drawing up a shortlist. Or maybe — call this blue-sky thinking — wondering how best he could convince Bliss that Hereforward was a blind alley.
But he never found out who’d be in Steve’s frame; his mobile went off. ‘Excuse me a moment.
‘Boss?’
‘Hello, Sergeant.’
‘Oh.’ Karen Dowell picking up his signal. ‘Right. I’d better keep this short, then.’
Bliss fiddled with his sugar spoon while Karen told him that Howe was calling the class together for 2.30 p.m. On account of they’d found the rest of Ayling.
‘Well… more or less,’ Karen said.
Bliss put the spoon down gently.
‘Where?’
‘In the river. Half in, half out, kind of thing. Up against Bredwardine Bridge. You know where I mean?’
‘So that would be… the big river.’
‘Even bigger at present, as you can imagine,’ Karen Dowell said. ‘Well high, and a lot of debris, fallen trees and stuff washed up against the bridge. The body was apparently somewhere in the middle of all that.’
‘Intact?’
‘Still in the suit.’
Bliss had tuned out the background chat, and his mind was back in the mist with Harri Tomlin.
‘This is getting a bit spooky, Sergeant.’
‘Best if you tell me later, is it, boss?’
‘Karen, when you said
‘In relation to the body? Well, it just leaves the eyes, doesn’t it? The eyes are still missing.’
‘Ah.’
‘Got to go, boss. Sorry.’
‘OK. Thanks, Sergeant.’
‘Developments?’ Steve Furneaux said.
Was that a flicker of relief in Steve’s eyes?
Maybe, maybe not.
‘It’s the old story, Steve. No lunch, as they say, for the wicked.’ Bliss slid down from his stool. ‘Oh… before I go… was Charlie Howe at the meeting?’
‘Yes, I believe… Yes he was. We were surprised to see him because he was only just out of hospital.
