The Cure of Souls

to be held more directly answerable for the effects of what’s been described as “irresponsible ministry”.’

‘But doesn’t this pre-empt the result of the inquest? Isn’t it usually the coroner who makes comments like that?’

‘I think it’s more of a reaction from the police to an impending onslaught by the media. It could be weeks or months before the inquest’s over. Anyway, the Diocese needs to prepare a counter statement, so an emergency meeting’s been called at the Bishop’s Palace for this morning. The Bishop needs to hear your explanations, in considerable detail, to decide if any of it’s—’

‘Rational enough to repeat. Hang on, you just said the Crown Prosecution Service. But Stock’s dead, so there’s no prosecution, only the inquest. Why should the CPS—? Oh.’

‘Quite,’ Sophie said.

‘Oh my God.’ Merrily went cold.

‘It doesn’t necessarily mean anyone’s contemplating prosecuting either the Church or… or…’

‘Or me.’

‘I’m very sorry to have to drop this on you, Merrily.’

‘Hardly your fault.’ How could it have come to this?

‘The meeting’s at eleven a.m.,’ Sophie said, ‘on the dot. If I were you, I’d—’

‘Sophie, perhaps… you could make my apologies.’

Pause. She counted six, seven, eight, nine little green cider apples on the lawn.

Sophie said, ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I’ve got another appointment, that’s all.’

‘Merrily, let’s be perfectly clear about this: you do realize what your non-appearance would be taken to imply, don’t you?’

‘Things have happened. Don’t suppose the news has reached the Cathedral close yet.’

‘News?’

‘Allan Henry’s stepdaughter, Layla – you remember Layla? Black kimono, champagne glass? Layla was stabbed to death early this morning by Amy Shelbone. Who also injured Eirion.’

‘What?’ Sophie’s voice was faint and fractured, like the crinkling of tissue paper.

‘That’s actually not the reason I won’t be able to make it to the meeting,’ Merrily said. ‘But I thought you should know.’

Lol picked up his keys, locked the stables and drove the Astra up the lane. Despite the window being wound all the way down, the day was already too hot for him. Already, he felt oppressed.

On his way through Knight’s Frome, he spotted Simon St John standing on the humpback bridge. Simon started flagging him down.

‘I’m sorry, Lol.’ He was wearing a black shirt and a dog collar and very old jeans. He was sweating, and his hair looked like the leaves of a long-abandoned house plant. ‘Whatever I said to you the other night, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t you remember?’

‘Whatever it was, it was probably offensive and I’m sorry.’ Simon squinted, the sun directly in his eyes, but he made no effort to avoid it. ‘Have you spoken to Mrs Watkins today?’

‘Not since first light.’

‘Lol, I need her.’

Lol stared at him, said nothing.

‘I’m in a lot of trouble.’ Simon’s eyes were glassy with sunlight and anxiety. ‘I phoned her and asked her to come over, but I’m not sure she’s going to.’

‘Tell me,’ Lol said. He didn’t have that much time but if this involved Merrily he wanted to know about it.

‘It’s a priest thing.’ Simon started to laugh. ‘Oh, fucking hell…’

‘Why do you swear so much, Simon?’

‘Denial. I’m a sick, polluted priest in denial. Pity me, Lol, we’re not exactly twin souls, you and I, but I guess we’ve been to some of the same places. In my case complicated from time to time, as you may have heard, by a certain sexual ambivalence – but, then, in the seventies and eighties an entirely heterosexual rock musician was considered a serious pervert.’

‘That’s not the pollution, though, is it?’ Lol said from his vantage point on the hill of no sleep. What was the point of all this confessional stuff? It was as though Simon was desperate to convey sincerity, openness.

‘Oh no,’ the vicar said, ‘physical pressures I can control. He turned his head and stared at the bridge, the church, the roofs of the village. ‘This bloody place!’

Lol suddenly thought of Isabel in the churchyard. Seemed such a nice boring place, it did, after Wales. No historical baggage. No history at all that wasn’t to do with hops. Perfect, it was. And now – blood everywhere.

‘I’m horribly, horribly sensitive, Lol,’ Simon said. ‘That’s my problem. Like people with a skin condition who can’t go out in the sun. Will you tell her that?’

Eirion saw she had other preoccupations and said perhaps he’d take a walk around the village. When he’d gone, Merrily phoned Huw Owen over in the Brecon Beacons.

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Wondered if you’d be calling one of these days. We do get the papers up here – not necessarily the same day, mind. Anyroad, say nowt, that’s my advice. When the trial date’s set, we’ll happen have a chat about it.’

‘There won’t be a trial. He hanged himself last night.’

‘Who?’

‘Stock. In his cell at the remand centre.’

‘Simplifies things,’ Huw said.

‘No, it doesn’t.’

‘You can get yourself through an inquest. You can tell the coroner why any comparisons with the Taylor case are inappropriate.’

‘No. I mean, yes, all that’s very much on the cards, and I’m really trying not to think about it yet. But to complicate things, informed sources at Knight’s Frome are suggesting there’s a remaining problem.’

‘At this kiln place?’

‘That the killing happened not because Stock was in any way possessed, but because his wife was.’

‘By what?’

‘A gypsy girl went missing, back in the sixties. There’s reason to think she was imprisoned in the kiln and either strangled or choked to death on sulphur, and then her body was burned in the furnace. All I wanted to ask is, have you had any dealings with, or do you know anything about, Romany beliefs?’

‘Specifically?’

‘Specifically, the mulo.’

He didn’t say he had, he didn’t say he hadn’t. ‘How long you got to play with?’

She told him, expecting him to laugh.

He didn’t. ‘Walk away, lass,’ he said. ‘Just take a holiday. There’s no shame in that.’

44 Avoiding the Second Death

HER HAIR FELL not much more than shoulder-length but was bushed out, maybe a little frizzy; her nose was hooked, her mouth small but full-lipped. The sleeveless white blouse she wore was knotted under her breasts. She had her hands clasped behind her head, her face upturned. Smiling at the sun – eating the world.

Rebekah.

The black and white photograph was pinned to the wall above a small inglenook in the back room. Eating the world, and then she choked. It broke your heart.

‘That’s not one of Lake’s?’ Merrily asked Al.