‘Mr Oxley?’ she said.
‘Who are you?’
‘Detective Sergeant Fry. Would you like to take the costume off, sir, so I can talk to you properly?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I can’t be seen out of character by the public. It ruins the illusion. I have to put it on and take it off in the van.’
‘Nobody’s looking. They’ve all gone off to watch something else.’
‘Besides, I’m not wearing any clothes under here. It gets too hot.’
‘Right.’
388
Fry glared at Gavin Murfin, who was beginning to snigger. He was standing near a coil of the rat’s tail, as if he might be about to stamp on it.
‘I need a beer anyway/ said Lucas. ‘What the hell do you want?’
‘There was an incident yesterday at Hey Bridge, sir. We had some complaints of damage and intimidation.’
‘Oh, that. We were just practising. We call it a raid - we turn up somewhere we’re not expected. It’s traditional.’
‘Why did you take Mr Alton with you?’ said Fry.
The vicar? He wanted to come. He’s been desperate to get in with the Border Rats ever since he arrived. He comes and watches the rehearsals, and practises the moves and the words to himself in that church of his. He loves every minute of it.’
‘It seems strange for him to have taken part in this escapade with you just at that time.’
‘Eh? Oh, skeletons in the churchyard. Well, I suppose it helped take his mind off it.’
Fry could see moisture gathering in the lower folds of the rat costume and soaking through the canvas. It must be really hot in there.
‘Mr Oxley, when was the churchyard last cleared? Was it before Mr Alton came to the village?’
‘Yes, it would be.’
‘Was it cleared after the last incumbent left?’
‘The old chap? I don’t know. Can’t remember.’
‘Who used to do the work?’
There were a few folk chipped in. Look, I’m fed up of this. I’m going for that beer now.’
Lucas Oxley tried to walk away past Diane Fry, but found himself brought to a halt near her shoulder.
I’m afraid my colleague appears to be standing on your tail,’ said Fry.
Tell him to get off.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be gentle. He’s an animal lover.’
‘Some of us went up to the church to help sometimes. Me, Dad. Scott did a bit. Marion nagged us to do it, because she’s a churchwarden. Is that what you wanted to know?’
That’s very helpful, sir. But why did Mrs Oxley stop nagging?’
Things got hard. We had to go looking for work more. We didn’t have time.’
‘No time to clear some weeds from the churchyard?’
389
‘No.’
‘Are you telling me the truth?’
‘If your bloody ape doesn’t get off my tail, I’m going to make a complaint.’
‘By all means/ said Fry. ‘The RSPCA is round the corner.’
Now the Border Rats were on a high. With their performance over, they were left almost delirious from the physical exertion, the noise and the sound of the music, the response of the crowd and the different level they seemed to be lifted to when people performed in harmony. It was what they had put so much time and effort into practising for, week after week. Their legs ached and their hands and wrists tingled from the repeated impact of their sticks. One of the Hey Bridge men had taken a blow on the shoulder from Scott’s stick, and he would have a terrific bruise in the morning. But he didn’t care.
It would take a while for them to come down again. And relaxing properly involved beer. Lucas seemed to be busy, so the dancers left the musicians to pack up their instruments and count the money, and they edged away towards the Wheatsheaf, each with the same thought in mind. Scott told them he knew a short cut, so they followed him.
They had to pass through a narrow alleyway between tall buildings. The moment they stepped out of the square and into the shadows of the alley, they began to feel cold. The sun never reached here, and the dampness from the river beneath them was rising through the setts. Their sweat began to dry uncomfortably on their skin. But they were still laughing and joking as they emerged at the top of a flight of stone steps that led down into the lane off Bargate, where the Wheatsheaf stood. The Rats had kept their sticks with them, ready for another set after the beer break. Unconsciously, they were still moving almost in step, with the rhythm of the drum still sounding in their ears. In a few minutes, they would be shouting at each other to be heard above the noise of the pub, and the rhythm would gradually subside in their minds.
But there was shouting already in the lane beneath them. Scott and Melvyn were in front, and they halted on
