He was still learning the ropes and political niceties, a man from the Ministry and not the village.
Holroyd couldn’t take his eyes off the torn nylon thread just above Harriet’s left knee.
‘Oh, thanks,’ she said without looking up, and he trudged his way up the stairs.
‘Ah, Holroyd, glad you could join us,’ said Nabulus standing up from behind his desk.
He closed the glass door and lowered the blind, something he usually did on Friday afternoons when according to village gossip, Harriet was taking down more than his notes.
Nabulus opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a small silver trophy no bigger than his hand. A favourite Party memento from a darts match in Scotland whilst discussing ways to improve the retirement of the old folk with his peers. He rubbed away the smudged fingerprints with his T-shirt and returned it to pride of place beside the decanter.
‘Following your lead, our village policeman has discovered a pair of snake venom thieves,’ said Nabulus returning to his chair.
It had the highest legs in the room unless Harriet was around.
‘Excellent work, Bastian. Who are they?’ asked Holroyd.
‘They escaped before I could apprehend them.’
‘Did you see their faces?’
‘No.’
‘Still, awfully brave to be in the jungle at that time of night, well done,’ said Holroyd.
‘Indeed,’ said Nabulus. ‘Look, why don’t you have a word with Malthus, he’s the only one with a poison licence in the village. Perhaps he knows something.’
‘I already have,’ said Bastian.
‘Then keep up the good work, the Party knows who its friends are,’ said Nabulus. ‘One last thing.’
‘Yes.’
‘You have a police training day on Tuesday. Don’t forget this time, and take Jambit with you. He could do with sprucing up.’
‘You think he can cope?’
‘Life’s a jungle, I insist. And don’t tell him what to expect, it will spoil the fun. Dismissed.’
* * *
Eliza awoke in a sweat with her knees sore and rushed to the wardrobe, frantically sliding the coat-hangers one way and then the other along the rail.
‘Where’s my yellow jacket with the pearl sequins?’ she asked Jeremiah, rolling him over in the bed.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Maybe Nabulus took it to the third hand shop. He said you’d broken the Rule of Three.’
‘Oh, Christ,’ she gasped, putting her hands to her head.
‘I should have said,’ sighed Jeremiah, before rolling back over with his face in the pillow.
Eliza quickly dressed and rushed out of the room.
‘Are you making breakfast?’ Jeremiah shouted down the stairs, but all he heard was the front door slam shut and the glass rattle in the panes as though another storm had arrived.
* * *
Eliza was on the high street and in the fifth third hand shop checking the rails.
‘Have you seen a yellow jacket come in lately?’ she asked the assistant, a young boy off school on work experience.
‘Linen with pearl sequins?’ asked the boy, raising his eyebrows.
He was a Party fanatic who hated to see anything remotely white on an ordinary citizen.
Eliza’s heart was jumping.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
‘Sorry, bartered yesterday. Are you okay?’
Her face was ashen as she nodded, her breathing short and quick.
‘Did you check the pockets?’ she asked.
‘Of course, they were empty. Are you sure you’re alright?’
She was holding onto a shelf of neatly positioned handbags, stopping herself from falling.
‘Age, just forget I was here.’
‘Okay, but we usually get old-timers giving us clothes not looking for them.’
Eliza left for church and the boy made a note of her visit.
Chapter Nine
Some things in life must be carefully considered, such as a final goodbye. Take this young girl who presumably once found joy in life’s nuances, agony had taken hold of her senses hence the suicide by hanging. The only sign of a struggle was the one lost in her mind as she hung from a tree on the village common. Her face was young but her clothes were old, the sort worn by retirees.
‘Still scribbling, Bastian?’ asked Nabulus.
It was morning and the sun had just come up.
‘For my records.’
‘And what are you writing?’
Nabulus was annoyed at being called out of bed so early and was unwilling to pretend that Bastian was his equal.
‘The foolish search far and wide for what they want when the answer lies under their nose,’ replied Bastian.
‘If I want a philosophy lesson, I’ll waste my points at University,’ said Nabulus.
Bastian picked up a pen from under their feet.
Nabulus’s eyes squinted at the squashed biro, ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, ‘but careless litter. A two points offence at most.’
‘Let me see,’ said a voice from behind, taking the pen still engrained in dirt from Bastian’s outstretched hand.
‘Jambit,’ said Nabulus, ‘what a pleasant surprise.’
‘Tiger Lodge, a retirement home like no other,’ said Jambit reading the motto along the edge of the pen.
‘Then she was working in Scotland,’ said Bastian.
‘Don’t get too excited,’ said Nabulus, ‘look over there.’ He was pointing at the two lecturers from the University of Holistic Medicine. ‘It must belong to them. They often visit Scotland to see their old students at work.’
The wind whistled a requiem as the dead girl was whisked away beneath a blanket on the back of a horse and cart to the University.
‘All the suicide clinics along the coast and she hangs herself here,’ said Nabulus shaking his head in disbelief.
The rope was made of grape vine and as twisted as the deceased’s neck.
‘Don’t worry, Bastian, I’ll make sure you get a full report,’ said Nabulus.
‘Let’s go for a drink,’ said Jambit to Bastian.
They entered the jungle towards their den, an old fur trapper’s cabin made of wood and invisible amongst the trees, though Bastian had declared its presence with Nabulus lest points were deducted for an illegal habitat.
‘I love this land,’ said Jambit looking into the sprawling jungle. ‘Everything is so sharp and alive.’
‘Except the girl,’ said Bastian.
‘What was that?’
‘A monkey.’
‘No, too heavy.’
Someone was staggering towards them and both men recognised the signs of opiate intoxication.
‘Up early, aren’t we?’ said Bastian.
‘Who wants to know?’ slurred the man with straggly uncombed hair.
He held a pipe with the opium still smouldering
