The Lamp of the Wicked

Not like this.’ Screwing up his eyes as if he’d been hit in the face. ‘When I had some evidence. When I could go in and say, right, dig there, lads. I agreed it was the best thing to sit on it, meanwhile not to panic parents, husbands…’

What had happened was that Bliss had asked Andy Mumford to keep his ear to the ground, and one of Andy Mumford’s contacts in Much Marcle, birthplace of Fred West, had told him that Roddy Lodge had been seen there a couple of months ago with a woman answering Lynsey’s description. Mumford had gone over there, in his own time, and talked to a few people, testing out an idea of Bliss’s that Lodge might have disposed of a body in the area of Fred’s old burial ground – some kind of homage. It was one of the blokes Mumford talked to in the pub who’d gone to the press.

‘He’d had some money in the past for background stuff on the West family – in these difficult times, farmers are encouraged to diversify. Well, I couldn’t let Andy take the shit for that. Had to phone Fleming, tell him it was me behind it.’

‘Honourable of you.’

‘Yeh. What the Japanese call the honourable way out.’

‘And how did Fleming react?’

‘Dunno, Merrily. I was on the mobile and the signal was weak, you know?’

‘You got cut off.’

‘Question of postponing the inevitable. I’m stuffed, anyway.’ Bliss tapped the interview forms. ‘What’s this about?’

She got up and brought over the lamp from the window ledge. ‘You probably won’t like it.’

‘Now you tell me.’

‘You remember you once asked me if there could be a spiritual aspect?’

Bliss said, ‘I now know all about West’s claims that he was involved with a black magic sect, supplying them with virgins. That was investigated. Normally, you’d treat that kind of crap with a big pinch of salt, but this was a guy for whom no muck- heap was too smelly. Compared with some of the things Fred did ‘to women, black magic was cucumber sarnies on the terrace.’

‘I may disagree there, but that’s not what I meant. I think you said you talked to his GP?’

‘Dr Ruck. Didn’t speak to him meself, but I gather he wasn’t the kind to come the old patient-confidentiality. He thought Roddy was neurotic, possibly depressive, and prone to hypochondria.’

‘What, forever coming to him with headaches and various pains?’

‘That kind of thing.’

‘Maybe the sort of symptoms he was exhibiting in the interview room?’

‘What is this, Merrily?’

She was skimming through the first transcript, an interview laid out like a radio play.

DI BLISS: Roddy, a dead woman, now identified as Lynsey

Davies, was found in a truck registered to you and being

driven by you. How do you explain this?

DEFENDANT: What you saying?

DI BLISS: It’s a simple question, Roddy. Why was Lynsey

Davies’s body on your truck? A body that was decaying,

having been in the ground for some time.

DEF: She was cold down there, look.

DI BLISS: I see.

DEF: Told me she was cold, so I went and fetched her out.

DI BLISS: How do you mean she told you, Roddy?

DEF: She come to me.

DI BLISS: I’m sorry?

DEF: Come to me in the night, look. They comes to me in the

night and I’m cold too. Hard and cold. BLISS: Hang on, let me get this right – you’re saying this

was after she was dead? No – for the tape, please, Roddy, don’t just nod or shake your head. You mean after she was dead.

DEF: Yes.

DI BLISS: After you killed her.

DEF: Trying to trap me now, ain’t you, copper?

DI BLISS: I’m being absolutely straight with you, Roddy. You were found with the dead body of Lynsey Davies. Somebody killed her, and as you seem to have buried her and dug her up again, you will agree that it’s reasonable to suppose you also had something to do with her death. How well did you know Lynsey Davies?

DEF: Her said I was Satan. Give it her hard and cold like Satan.

DI BLISS: Was Lynsey Davies your girlfriend?

DEF: I ain’t feeling good. Got a headache.

DI BLISS: Can I get you a glass of water?

DEF: Got a headache. Can’t think proper.

DI BLISS: Roddy, you’ve seen a doctor, and he’s pronounced you well enough to be interviewed.

DEF: Can’t think. It’s bloody shitty in here.

DI BLISS: This is not productive, Roddy. I asked you if you wanted a solicitor, and you said no, giving me the strong impression you were prepared to answer my questions. Now why aren’t you doing that, Roddy? What’s up with you, son?

DEF. Can’t think in here.

‘I’m sure you said that, once or twice, he appeared to black out – to faint,’ Merrily said.

‘He put his head down on the table, yes. He gave the appearance of having lost consciousness. He gave the appearance of it.’

‘Frannie, if this was the same interview room you took me into, it was below ground level and lit by a fluorescent tube. It had electric air-conditioning. It had a tape machine. Also a video camera. An awful lot of electricity for a very small room – even I found it unhealthy in there.’

‘Well, you know,’ Bliss said, ‘we’d naturally prefer to chat to prisoners in the police conservatory, to a background of gentle fountains and aromatherapy candles, but the uncouth ruffians are apt to throw up, break things and wee on the walls.’

‘Humour me some more, Francis. How would the interview room compare to, say, Roddy’s cell, which I think he kept asking to be taken back to. How much power was there in the cell?’

‘Just the one ceiling light. But—’

‘You ever heard of EH, Frannie?’ She rose up. ‘And don’t tell me it’s a hospital show on Channel Four.’

‘No. I haven’t heard of it.’

‘Electrical Hypersensitivity. An allergy affecting people surrounded by electronic gadgetry or living in close proximity to high-voltage power lines and a confluence of transmitted signals, such as from mobile-phone masts, TV transmitters, satellite—’

‘Merrily—’

‘Probably only a very small percentage of people are affected to any marked degree. But in some cases we’re talking about a serious, chronic condition. You might find, for instance, if you looked into it, that Roddy Lodge was unusually sensitive to electric light and wore sunglasses even at night-time. You might find he was unable to wear nylon overalls because of the static or whatever. And we already know about his mood swings – miserable and withdrawn and then, “I’m Number One, I’m Satan, I’m the best drainage man in the known universe, the biggest serial killer…” ’

Bliss smiled. ‘So this is your personal diagnosis. Roddy was suffering from a condition that appears to have