the phone down weakly. Henry at the Police Station…Henry had murdered her…Oh God. The whole world had gone mad. And here she was naked in a Vicarage at…Eva had no idea where she was. She dialled 999.
‘Emergency Services. Which department do you require?’ said the operator.
‘Police,’ said Eva. There was a click and a man’s voice came on.
‘Police here.’
‘This is Mrs Wilt,’ said Eva.
‘Mrs Wilt?’
‘Mrs Eva Wilt. Is it true that my husband has murdered…I mean has my husband…oh dear I don’t know what to say.’
‘You say you’re Mrs Wilt. Mrs. Eva Wilt?’ said the man.
Eva nodded and then said. ‘Yes.’
‘I see.’ said the man dubiously. ‘You’re quite sure you’re Mrs Wilt?’
‘Of course I’m sure. That’s what I’m ringing about.’
‘Might I enquire where you’re calling from?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Eva. ‘You see I’m in this house and I’ve got no clothes and…oh dear.’ The Vicar was coming up the path on to the terrace.
‘If you could just give us the address.’
‘I can’t stop now,’ said Eva and put the phone down. For moment she hesitated and then grabbing the ivy from the desk she rushed out of the room.
‘I tell you I don’t know where she is,’ said Wilt. ‘I expect you’ll find her under missing persons. She has passed from the realm of substantiality into that of abstraction.’
‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ asked the Inspector, reaching for his cup of coffee. It was eleven o’clock on Saturday morning but he persisted. He had twenty-eight hours to get to the truth.
‘I always warned her that Transcendental Meditation carried potential dangers,’ said Wilt, himself in a no-man’s-land between sleeping and walking. ‘But she would do it.’
‘Do what?’
‘Meditate transcendentally. In the lotus position. Perhaps she has gone too far this time. Possibly she has transmogrified herself’
‘Trans what?’ said Inspector Flint suspiciously.
‘Changed herself in some magical fashion into something else.’
‘Jesus, Wilt, if you start on those pork pies again…’
‘I was thinking of something more spiritual, Inspector, something beautiful.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Ah but think. Here am I sitting in this room with you as a direct result of going for walks with the dog and thinking dark thoughts about murdering my wife. From those hours of idle fancy I have gained the reputation of being a murderer without committing a murder. Who is to say but that Eva, whose thoughts were monotonously beautiful has not earned herself a commensurately beautiful reward? To put it in your terms, Inspector, we get what we ask for.’
‘I fervently hope so, Wilt,’ said the Inspector.
‘Ah,’ said Wilt, ‘but then where is she? Tell me that. Mere speculation will not do…’
‘Me tell you?’ shouted the Inspector upsetting his cup of coffee. ‘You know which hole in the ground you put her in or which cement mixer or incinerator you used.’
‘I was speaking metaphorically…I mean rhetorically,’ said Wilt. ‘I was trying to imagine what Eva would be if her thoughts such as they are took on the substance of
