The Lamp of the Wicked

woman. I cannot bring myself even to think about it. Asked myself a thousand times, I have, since I yeard: what could I have done? How could we have helped her, any of us? How could we have saved her?’

Jenny Box.

Jane said now, ‘I’m not sure anyone could have saved her. Really, I’m not just saying that. I’ve been thinking about it all day. She never told you anything straight out, did she? She was like so diffuse – is that the word? I mean, sometimes you looked at her and it was like part of her had already left the building. You know what I mean?’

‘Yes.’ Diffuse. Gone with the fairies. Flying with the angels. Merrily blinked back tears. ‘Oh God, if I’d only gone to see her yesterday morning…’

‘Instead of what? You couldn’t do everything. Maybe if I’d gone to see her… I mean, you’ve hardly slept this week as it is.’ Jane leaned over the table, both hands around her mug. ‘Mum, it was so strange, so unearthly, being in that room and her laid out like the Lady of Shalott. I can’t…’

When she’d come out of Chapel House with Moira Cairns, Eirion had been there on the square, having discreetly followed them back, planning only to hand Jane the Daughters of Uriel printout and see what happened then. In the end, he’d stayed all night, had been with Jane when DCI Annie Howe had arrived with the ubiquitous Andy Mumford and the scenes-of- crime investigators – a big overtime night for the Durex suits.

They’d all listened to the message on the vicarage answering machine. He’s defiled my chapel. The only interpretation they could put on this was that the chapel had been defiled by Gareth Box’s body and his blood. Why he’d gone down there, why he’d even returned from London, remained a mystery. All that was known for sure was that Jenny had smashed him savagely around the head and face with the heavy gilded iron cross that had stood on the altar.

They’d found Jenny’s bloodstained clothes in a bathroom. She’d evidently stripped off everything, taken a shower and then dressed in that long white Edwardian nightdress and gone to lie on the bed with her prayer book, her Bible, a carafe of water and two bottles of sleeping pills.

Andy Mumford had called back, at the end of his extended shift, and Merrily had told him about the woman from the Mail on Sunday who’d wanted to speak to her about Jenny Box. Mumford already knew about it. The Mail had been cooperative. It seemed that Gareth Box had supplied them with a large package of background information and a long, unattributable interview with himself. The proposed end product: a definitive profile of Jenny Driscoll demonstrating conclusively that Jenny Driscoll had become mad. The paper had been told of her gift of eighty thousand pounds to a woman vicar with whom she had become obsessed – a vicar who, incidentally, was having a secret affair with a rock musician who had ‘history’.

Box apparently had said that while this little detail might not turn out to be appropriate to the story, it might, if mentioned, make the vicar more amenable to a frank discussion of Jenny’s ‘stalking’ of her.

‘And Jenny found out about this?’ Merrily had said. ‘She killed him and then herself because she found out he was trying to destroy her in the press, for whatever commercial reasons…? That’s why?’

‘We don’t know,’ Mumford had said. ‘But it’s not the weakest motive I’ve ever come across.’

But then there was the other thing.

‘Reason I’ve called, see, Mrs Watkins,’ Jumbo Humphries had said, ‘is I thought I ought to let you know this small thing.’

‘Bugger means I thought he oughter let you know,’ Gomer said, ‘on account of all that stuff about you he pumped out of me unbeknownst, for this lady.’

‘What you have to understand, see,’ Jumbo said, ‘is this issue of client confidentiality. Couldn’t breathe a word of this while the client was alive, and I wouldn’t be able to tell you now but for—’

‘’Cept for me twisting the fat bastard’s arm,’ Gomer said grimly.

‘Well, yes. Except for my friendship of many years with Mr Parry. Now, you’ll know that I was retained initially through Marquis and Co., the London investigation bureau working on a regular basis for the Vestalia company. However, Mrs Box – so satisfied, she was, with my services that she asked me to undertake separate inquiries on a more personal basis, which of course I was delighted to do. This all come about because of the name of a Midlands-based company which she’ve noticed in the newspaper in relation to this Underhowle business, see. The name being Efflapure.’

‘See?’ Gomer said urgently. ‘See?’

Merrily blinked, well overburdened with information.

‘The reason this name struck a chord,’ Jumbo Humphries said, ‘was that, although the business side was something she left largely to her husband, she was vaguely aware of some investment he’ve made in this very company – Efflapure.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Merrily said.

‘As you say. My inquiries at Companies House and other sources revealed that Mr Gareth Box had invested substantially in Efflapure, and was – until his death, of course – a director.’

‘See?’ Gomer said. ‘This feller was keeping Lodge in work.’

‘Maybe I’m tired,’ Merrily had said, ‘but I think there’s something I’m missing.’

Eirion finally dragged himself away around six, leaving Merrily and Jane alone in front of the sitting-room fire.

‘You’re OK?’ Merrily asked the kid.

‘Yeah. We’re OK.’ Jane slumped down on the sofa. It was dark outside; the fire of logs and coal was the only light in the room. ‘I feel like I’ve been away. I feel like I’m still away.’

‘Strange days,’ Merrily said, head resting on a cushion.

‘I don’t know what to say. It’s like when Lucy Devenish died. It wasn’t real then, and this is different, obviously, because I didn’t really know Jenny Driscoll, but I did. You know? We just walked the streets in the rain for less than an hour and I knew her.’

‘Maybe you had more in common than you imagined.’

‘She said… she was talking about you, and she said, “It’s a deep-embedded evil she’s confronting. And she needs the angels at her shoulder.” What did she mean?’

‘She could’ve meant anything. I don’t really know, flower. There are lots of things I wish I knew.’ Merrily closed her eyes, thinking of Melanie’s angel, all the little connections you could make if you wanted to.

What will you do with the money?’ Jane asked.

‘If it turns out that it’s mine to give, I think I’m going to find out which charity is supporting research into electro- hypersensitivity.’

‘Cool,’ Jane said.

‘Yes. I’m sure Ted will agree, if threatened.’

‘Will the paper still do this story?’

‘They’ve got a much bigger story now, haven’t they?’

‘I mean you and Lol.’

‘I think that’s very unlikely, but I don’t really care. I think it’s time me and Lol… came out, as it were.’

‘You’re just saying that because he’s this big star now. Well… he is in Hereford.’

‘And then the world.’

Jane said, ‘I think I saw Jenny Box’s ghost.’

Merrily opened her eyes and sat up.

‘It was when we got back here, Moira and me. Jenny was walking across the square. She must’ve been dead some time by then.’ Jane gazed into the fire. ‘Moira didn’t see her at all.’

‘Moira didn’t know her,’ Merrily said softly.

‘You couldn’t miss her. Who else walked around with a big white scarf over her head? And her face – unclear. Like a face in motion. Like a face painted by… who was that guy?’

‘Francis Bacon?’

‘Yeah, of course.’

‘Were you scared?’