‘I wouldn’t look at those for too long, if I were you,’ Larry suddenly said. He’d been watching out the corner of his eye. ‘Pictures like that have a way of burrowing in and not going away.’
‘I think you might be right.’ Matt switched the phone off and buzzed his windows down to look out. The first thing he saw was a family who were eating in the front window of a Burger King. A little boy and girl, in paper crowns, were laughing very hard. He looked away from that, too.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
It was 6 p.m. when Larry and Matt rapped their knuckles against the front door of the Evangelical Church, which sat slap bang in the middle of the high street, wedged between an off-licence and a laundrette. Shops were closing, shutters were being pulled down. The chip shop had a queue out the door and into the street.
The sun had finally slid off the edge of the earth’s rim, so Menham had descended into its most fitting state. Night. The haze of the streetlights turned the underside of the clouds orange. A thin canopy, a tent roof. Though Matt knew that way above that glow was silent, infinite darkness.
Larry had just checked his phone and to Matt’s relief he confirmed that Keech and a few other officers were en route to Barley Street right now. They’d set up both in front and behind the house to keep an eye on the seance. Larry said that he and Matt would join them back there soon.
Larry hammered his knuckles on the church door a second time. Much louder.
As they waited Matt slipped his hands into his pockets, kicked a stone on the pavement and looked up and down the street. A harsh clash of music was coming from a pub a few doors up. The chalkboard outside said a Bon Jovi tribute act, called Jon Bovi, was playing later at 7 p.m. They were halfway through a sound check and the music was spilling into the street.
‘Oh dear,’ Matt winced, eager to break the tension in his gut. ‘So that’s an hour they’ve got to learn the guitar.’
Larry went to smile, but then the door suddenly rattled as locks and bolts slid back. There were lots of them, like this was the front gate of a dingy prison, not a church porch.
The door opened a tiny way and standing in it was the bald guy from yesterday. Jim … no, Jerry. That was it. Jerry. The one with the bent fingers, who’d almost nuked Matt’s gonads with spilt coffee.
‘Hi, Jerry,’ Matt said.
‘Oh …’ He smiled nervously. ‘It’s you.’
‘It’s me … and this is Detective Inspector Forbes.’
Larry stepped forward. ‘I’d like a quick word with your pastor. Is he in there?’
‘I’m … er … I’m afraid Todd’s busy right now.’
‘This’ll only take a minute.’
‘He’s in a meeting, you’ll have—’
Larry put a hand on the door. ‘This isn’t going to wait.’
Jerry ran a nervous tongue across his lips, looking at Matt now and again.
‘Jerry?’ Matt said. ‘I think you better just let us inside, okay?’
He sucked in lips that looked chapped, squirmed a little, then finally he nodded. ‘Suppose.’
Once they were inside, the first thing Matt noticed was that all the church lights were off, and Jerry made no attempt to switch any of them on. He just led them through the dark, dusty foyer and into the main sanctuary where rows of rickety wooden chairs were swamped in inky shadow. There were no pews here. No stone arches. Just mildewed carpets and decades-old paint jobs. It reminded him of the Scout hut Matt tried out as a kid. The one his mum took him out of because he found the badges too stressful. Anyone getting married here would either have to be blind or not having a photographer.
He glanced above the pulpit and froze.
‘Relax.’ Jerry chuckled. ‘It’s just Jesus.’
A pair of dull but huge eyes stared out of the shadows. Each was licked with a slightly reflective paint so they almost glowed. It was a large, fibreglass Christ. Hanging on his cross and leaning forward. Staring down at Matt with that familiar look of forehead-slapping disappointment.
‘Where are you taking us?’ Matt asked.
‘Are you nervous being in a church?’
‘Just wondering how long it’ll take.’
‘One minute. They’re all down in the cellar.’
Larry and Matt glanced at each other. The cellar?
Jerry put both of his palms up. ‘Both of you wait here and I’ll get him. Grab a seat. Pray if you like.’
Fibreglass Jesus creaked.
‘Nah,’ Larry said. ‘We’ll tag along with you, thanks.’
Jerry mulled this over. His cheek bulged with a pondering tongue.
‘Then we’ll find him ourselves.’
Jerry sighed. ‘This way.’
He unlocked another door, which led to a long dreary corridor with a floor of sticky lino, torn in places. Matt could hear the soles of their shoes peeling off it like sellotape. At the end, a flight of stone steps led down to a metal door at the bottom. A bare bulb on a very long chain dangled from the ceiling, throwing an insipid, depressing glow across the stone steps. Matt could see the faint wisps of a spider’s web swaying in threads, wisping and reaching from the chain.
Jerry looked down the stairs and seemed startled to see that the door was slightly ajar. Enough so they could all suddenly hear low voices.
‘Stay here,’ Jerry said quickly. ‘I’ll get him.’
‘Wait,’ Matt whispered. ‘What are they doing down there?’
‘It’s a private meeting. I don’t like pulling him out of it.’
Matt moved his foot down one of the steps. ‘Sounds like …’ he turned to Larry. ‘That’s a man crying down there.’
‘It’s private. Step aside.’
Larry reached out and grabbed Jerry’s arm. ‘Just give it a sec.’
Jerry strained his face, but Matt noticed he still did
