‘Excuse me,’ Annie Howe said. ‘Am I missing something here?’
‘Byron’s been putting two and two together,’ Lockley said. ‘And making seven.’
‘That’s your big inquiry, isn’t it? Doesn’t take a genius.’
‘Perhaps,’ Howe said, ‘you could tell us about the bulls you took.’
‘Rustling, too, eh?’ Byron said. ‘Is there no depth to which this scum won’t sink? Tell me, do you have any evidence of that?’
‘Do you deny ever taking a bull?’
‘Absolutely. It’s ridiculous.’
‘But central to the practice of Mithraism,’ Merrily said. ‘Surely.’
‘It was, two thousand years ago. In the days before the slaughter of livestock was subject to regulations. Even then, there’d have to be a compromise as, according to the legend, Mithras personally hauls the bull to his cave.’
‘And how do you get over that problem?’
‘Meditative visualization. Do I need to explain that? All right, I will. The candidate is summoned to the mithraeum. He travels from wherever he lives, books into humble accommodation – or brings a tent – and spends a day in contemplation of his role, during which he’s permitted to drink water but must eat nothing. He bathes in a river, usually the Wye. He’s brought, blindfolded, to the mithraeum, where his comrades are gathered. The ritual begins.’
‘His comrades.’ William flipping him a glance. ‘Just so we know, anyone from the Lines involved in this?’
‘Not any more. Like I said when these ladies were powdering their noses, none of this need concern you, William. It started in the Regiment, just a few of us, now it’s moved on. I’m not saying it won’t come back one day, as long as the camp sits on Magnis.’
Lockley glanced towards the window. He seemed unsettled, as though the world had skidded out of his mental grasp.
‘What does that mean?’ Merrily said. ‘“As long as the camp sits on Magnis”? When you were talking about a ritual landscape… with its own god. The god of the Regiment?’
‘By your rules, I’m an atheist.’
For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Down in the city, a car horn blared.
‘It’s about mindset,’ Byron said. ‘You don’t know what I mean, do you? None of you. Not even you, William. Communism in your day, and the IRA. Now it’s men driven by religion, who don’t care what happens to them in this life or how they leave it. We could lose it this time, because we ain’t got the mindset.’
‘Byron,’ Lockley said, ‘we don’t do holy wars any more.’
‘You think the Crusades were holy, William? The Crusades served man’s need for extreme warfare.’
‘Mithras coming through,’ Merrily said.
‘Call it what you want.’
Merrily put her head on one side, holding Byron’s electric blue gaze, hands clasped under the table.
‘Do you ever think you might be dealing here with something so powerful that while experienced soldiers like you might be able to handle it, civilians-’
‘Mrs Watson, you’re in no position to make any kind of qualified assessment.’
‘-might just become a little crazy?’
‘Come back to me when you’re better informed.’
‘Can I just ask… when did you last see Syd? Did you see him again after he came to Credenhill as chaplain?’
No reply. Merrily thought she glimpsed a flaring rage in his eyes, blue lights in a ravaged landscape.
‘I’ve been wondering if you were the main reason why Syd felt he had to come back. Mithras and you, the demons from his past that he had to deal with.’ Merrily glanced at Howe. ‘Maybe he thought something still lived in him. Something repugnant that was buried so deep inside himself that he couldn’t reach it. Something he had to come back and deal with.’
Winging it now. She felt quite dizzy, the room tilting, a throbbing in her chest. Byron was still looking at her, his hands either side of the chair ready to launch himself out of it. And in his eyes…
He can enter you without moving, that man, one of the nurses had said.
And then it was gone.
Byron didn’t move.
‘Chief Inspector, why don’t I just give you a DNA swab, so you can compare it with whatever you found in Mansel’s yard?’
‘I still haven’t mentioned Mansel Bull,’ Annie Howe said.
‘Don’t treat me like a clown.’
‘You knew Mr Bull well?’
‘I was acquainted with Mansel and his… family.’ Byron blinked. ‘ Mansel Bull. You’re making something out of it because his name’s Bull. That’s all this is. Am I right?’
Howe said, ‘Do you know who killed Mansel Bull?’
‘How would I?’
‘Am I right in thinking that in this… virtual ceremony of the slaughter of the bull, it’s considered important that the candidate imagines himself covered in its blood?’
‘You can find all this in books and on the Net. But if you really think I’d go out and carve up a neighbour-’
‘Let’s end it there.’ Annie Howe began packing her laptop into her case. ‘I’m glad you felt able to open up to us, Mr Jones.’
Byron didn’t look at her, or at Merrily. At the door, he glanced back.
‘I once thought of asking you to join us, William. When they package you off, maybe you should think about it. Bring you alive when you’re least expecting it. Unimaginable, mate.’
‘But purely a psychological thing,’ Merrily said. ‘Just a discipline.’
William Lockley rose to his feet, flexing his shoulders.
‘Is there an offence of desecrating an historical monument, Annie? Because, as I see it, that’s all you’ve got.’
‘May not even be an ancient monument,’ Howe said.
‘He’s not your killer. That’s my opinion.’
‘You’re probably right.’
‘It’s an oddball thing, but if he’s used it to turn around his fortunes, good luck to him. Though if he thinks it’ll ever be embraced by the Credenhill boys…’ At the door, Lockley turned, smiled. ‘Worthwhile exercise, ladies, and I may be in touch to clarify a few points. Anything you want from me, you know where I am.’
Annie Howe strode across the room and shut the door firmly, stood with her back against it, her angular face unusually flushed.
‘What would Spicer’s reaction have been, do you think, on learning about the murder of Mansel Bull?’
‘I doubt it would’ve helped him sleep.’
‘All right, I’ll tell you something else. We have a witness who saw a man in a field, on the night of the killing, drenched in blood and apparently high on the experience.’
‘ High?’
‘Well, in a state of some apparent euphoria, according to our witness.’
‘Oh.’ Merrily stood up. ‘Bloody hell.’
‘Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it? Jones said he knew Mansel Bull and his… at which point he hesitated and then said family.’
‘I remember that, too.’
‘Mansel Bull didn’t have a family, as such,’ Howe said. ‘He had two ex-wives.’
‘So I gather.’
‘And a brother.’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you met Sollers Bull?’
‘Never.’
‘He’s an ambitious man. Someone I suppose you’d call a member of the new countryside elite.’
