The Lamp of the Wicked

‘Or you stayed until someone dug you out,’ Bliss said. ‘Sorry, uncalled for. But if you don’t know what we’re talking about now, you must’ve been so stuck into the old books that you never read a single newspaper in the mid-1990s.’

Connor-Crewe’s football face darkened. ‘If you’re telling me that Lynsey Davies spent some time at 25 Cromwell Street—’

‘No,’ Bliss said, ‘I’m asking if you knew she’d been at 25 Cromwell Street.’

‘The answer to that is no.’

‘Of course,’ Bliss said, ‘the vast majority of people could’ve had absolutely no idea how far it went with Fred and Rose. But we do know that one or two of the residents, over the years, had a strong interest in various occult practices of a kind probably not demonstrated at most colleges of further education. So it seems not unlikely that it was there that Lynsey was first introduced to the concept of sexual magic.’

‘If she was there.’

‘Take it from me,’ Bliss said. ‘Or take it from this.’ He stabbed the diary with a thumb.

‘Inspector Bliss…’ Connor-Crewe’s smile was like elastic, overstretched. ‘I wouldn’t take anything from that account. My experience of magical diaries is that they contain a considerable amount of fantasy. Often less a record of what actually happened than a rather faulty memoir of what the diarist would like to have happened. And I have to say —’

‘You’d have to be a strange kind of person, sir, to fantasize that you’d been to Cromwell Street and had a sexual relationship with the mass murderer Frederick West.’

‘I have to say that I do not see what possible bearing any of this could have on the presumed murder of Melanie Pullman.’

‘Did I mention Miss Pullman, sir?’

‘No, but—’

‘So stop trying to change the subject. You see, my information is that, for Lynsey Davies, the period at Cromwell Street was the most exciting time of her life. A lot of youngsters said something similar. Must’ve been a terrible comedown when she had to leave.’

‘Then why did she?’

‘Well, I’m only guessing here,’ Bliss said, ‘but I’d imagine that, at some stage, Lynsey saw the writing on the wall. Not Fred’s writing – Rose’s. Rose had lesbian tendencies and girls were often shared. Rose was a bully, and this was Rose’s house. In Lynsey, you’ve gorra big girl with a forceful personality – not the kind to be used as a plaything. Fred and Rose… I think it’s fair to say that, under different circumstances, it could just as easily have been Fred and Lynsey. Maybe there just wasn’t room for two big, insatiable women.’

Piers Connor-Crewe listened without uttering a word, as if his interest was academic. Piers was useful, Sam Hall had said on the phone, because he had extensive marketing know-how, having been in publishing, and of course he knew a great deal about ancient and Roman history. In the background Merrily had heard Ingrid saying brusquely, ‘Man fancies himself as Nero, if you ask me.’

‘So there we are, sir,’ Bliss said. ‘For Lynsey, the end of a golden era. The most excitement she’d ever had. And now she’s got to go back to the boring old Forest of Dean.’

‘As I understood it,’ Connor-Crewe said, ‘she had a relationship with a man, and at least one child.’ Which she seems to have rehomed, like with kittens – she was very good at that, apparently. Then she came to work in Ross – as a barmaid, I think – where she pursued her interest in the dark arts, acquiring some books from this little treasure house and usually paying, I’m told, in kind.’

Connor-Crewe’s eyes flared. ‘That’s—’

‘Irrelevant. The point is you had a relationship with her, founded on a mutual interest in the occult, whether commercial or private, and she spent time at your old rectory, full of bedrooms… which, in a strange kind of way, must’ve rekindled a few happy memories for Lynsey, perhaps sparked a few ideas.’

Connor-Crewe’s hand came down hard on the desk. ‘That is an utterly outrageous—’

‘Piece of gossip in the village of Underhowle,’ said Bliss. ‘Mr Connor-Crewe and his house parties and all those young guests.’

‘I think I ought to telephone my solicitor, don’t you?’

‘The ubiquitous Mr Nye, sir? Who is perhaps not quite as young as he looks, and probably likes a good party himself.’

‘And is doubtless well acquainted with the law relating to slander.’

Bliss looked blank. ‘What did I say?’

‘I think you accused me of allowing Lynsey Davies to use my home to recreate whatever filth took place twenty years ago in Cromwell Street.’

‘I think that’s your dirty mind at work, sir, but if you say so… Anyway, Ms Davies soon became interested in another property.’

Bliss flicked over a couple of pages in the magical diary. In between the impenetrable esoteric formulae, the text was an uneven record of what Lynsey considered to be significant episodes in her ‘spiritual development’. These entries, at least, were very clear – hand-printed and phrased in a schoolgirlish mixture of the colloquial, the portentous and the breathless prose of the romantic pulp novel.

* * *

We have been bound together by the stars and I knew we would meet again and so it has come to pass! Saw him in Ross yesterday, after ten years, and it turns out he’s working locally, and he took me to see the Place, which he says he has already become attached to. I was immediately picking up a powerful energy there and feel certain it’s on the sight of pagan Roman worship with blood sacrifice. We could do really incredible stuff there, the two of us, to reawaken the power. It is just mindblowing how things work out just when you need a buzz in your life.

‘Who’s she talking about here, Mr Crewe?’

‘Once again, why would I know?’

‘Because if she was in Underhowle I think you’d have known about it. And what she was doing. I take it you know which building she’s referring to.’

‘I can only guess the Baptist chapel.’

‘Where I understand you yourself have discovered Roman remains. Was it you who told Lynsey it was the site of an ancient Roman temple?’

‘I may have done. It’s an interest of mine.’

‘And was it an interest of hers?’

‘She was interested in anywhere she thought might have been used for ancient and mysterious rituals. She was… romantic, in that way.’

Merrily thought about Jane, who would also have been fascinated. Would have, once. She said, ‘Lynsey seems to have been very excited by the idea that the site was used for blood sacrifices. Did you tell her that?’

‘I doubt it. I told you, my interest is largely academic. It may have been, say, a Mithraic temple, but nothing’s been found there to suggest that. So why would I have told her something for which there was no archaeological evidence?’

‘You might just have enjoyed getting her excited,’ Bliss said mildly, and Connor-Crewe came out of his chair.

I… have… taken… enough of this melange of ill-informed speculation and cheap innuendo!’ He gripped the desk, leaning across. ‘So you… can either get to the point or get out.’

Frannie Bliss didn’t move. ‘Imagine how Lynsey feels… when she finds that this ancient site of pagan rites and blood sacrifice is currently the workplace of her favourite builder, sex maniac, amateur abortionist and… who knows what else she knew about him? Anyway, the man who’d given her the times of her life ten years earlier… and this time no wife around. Just the two of them.’

Connor-Crewe sat down, with his arms folded, gazing beyond Bliss at the walls of books. ‘I know nothing about this.’

Bliss said, ‘The indications in the diary are that the atmosphere of the place sparked something off between